Chapter Text
Ilya pulled Shane in for a very tight hug the moment they got out of the car. He buried his face into the other man’s shoulder as arms came around his waist.
Holy fucking shit.
He was still processing the whole thing, and he wasn’t sure he would until Filomena actually moved in. He wondered when she would find out: after the playoffs ended for them, probably. The Centaurs were doing fairly well this year, ranking third in the Eastern Conference and sixth in the NHL. They were also expected to make it to round two of the playoffs, round three if they were lucky. So they had a lot to focus on until she would be even preparing to move.
Shane was holding him close, and he kissed his temple. “Ilya, oh my god,” he whispered into his hair.
Ilya nodded against him. “Oh my god,” he replied, voice shaking. “This is actually happening.” He lifted his head and Shane took his face in both hands. They were both smiling, and Ilya’s face almost hurt from it before Shane leaned forward and kissed him. It was firm, but Shane’s lips were so warm, and Ilya couldn’t help but kiss him back hungrily. They were still in the driveway, but it was nearly midnight, and Ilya honestly couldn’t care less if anyone saw them.
So long as everything went well, they were going to have a family.
“Let’s celebrate,” Ilya whispered against his lips.
Shane obliged, holding his hand and bringing them to the front door.
—————
The rest of the season was a breeze that year. The Centaurs won a good chunk of their games and had snagged a spot in the playoffs early on. Outside of hockey, Shane and Ilya underwent more CAS training and had two more home visits for confirmation that it was a safe and healthy place to live. Shane, of course, always had the house as organized as possible before CAS officials came. Anya, thankfully, was very well behaved during these visits and often won over anyone who was there. She only barked when they rang the doorbell, but otherwise she only sniffed the visitors and followed Ilya around the house during the inspections.
Ilya and Shane announced that they were retiring at the end of the regular season. The response was bittersweet; the rest of the players gave them long hugs, saying how much they’d miss them and how it was a pleasure working with them all those years. A few tears were shed, mostly by Ilya and Luca Haas, but Shane’s eyes were also a little watery.
They lost in the second round of the playoffs, as anticipated. That day was a lot more emotional; there was a lot more crying, and Shane finally let the tears fall from his eyes, along with Ilya, Luca, Troy, and Harris. It finally hit him how much he’d miss it: playing hockey, being surrounded by a team that was accepting and respectful. Most hockey teams would never be crying like this, and he was so grateful to be around a team that wasn’t held down by toxic masculinity and let themselves actually feel their emotions. He hoped one day that Filomena could meet them all—she had already, at the hospital. But he hoped that they could take her to barbecues and she could meet their kids and their wives. Most of their kids were very nice; he wanted her to have nice friends.
—————
The final crash came on June 10th.
The two of them had spent the last few days setting up Filomena’s room. They had bought some furniture already: a bed, some bookshelves, and a dresser. But Shane and Ilya planned to take her to a store or two after she got there because they wanted her to have some choices on how her bed and her room was decorated.
Ilya looked at the time on the bedside clock; he would usually be up by 10 am, but instead, he was curled up and turned away from the bathroom. He knew Shane was in there and didn’t want him to see. Not yet.
But he heard Shane immediately walk over to his side of the bed. Ilya’s eyes were closed, but they were red and puffy, and his lashes were wet. Shane put a hand on his shoulder and rubbed his thumb over the spot.
“Hey,” he murmured, and Ilya opened his eyes. “What are you thinking?”
Ilya shook his head. “It’s not anything I haven’t already told you about.” He wasn’t lying; he and Shane had talked about his worries around parenting. But it all hit him when he woke up this morning.
Five days left to cope with cigarettes. Five days left to sit on the couch and do nothing. Five days left to cry. Five days left to break down and not face consequences.
He knew Shane believed in him. He always assured Ilya that they were both ready for this, ready to take care of someone other than themselves and Anya. But Ilya’s mind didn’t care about that. Ilya’s mind hated him. He’d hit the wall, and the wall hit him back.
He felt Shane’s hand on his face, caressing his tear-stained cheeks. Ilya finally looked up at him; Shane’s eyes were sympathetic, and he could tell his teeth were caught on his bottom lip even if he couldn’t see them. Finally, Shane met his gaze.
“Do you want me to get back in bed with you?” he asked. Ilya nodded.
Shane climbed in next to him, wrapping his arms around Ilya with his chest pressed to the other man’s back. And Ilya liked when Shane held him from behind, but he didn’t want that today. He turned ungracefully in Shane’s hold and buried his face in his chest. Shane’s hand went to his hair, massaging his scalp like he always did. He rubbed his other hand up and down Ilya’s back. Ilya breathed him in; the scent of his body wash (ocean salt and sandalwood) and just the scent of Shane himself.
“I’ve got you, baby,” Shane whispered into Ilya’s forehead after he left a kiss there. “You’re gonna be okay.”
Ilya cried harder into Shane’s t-shirt, holding onto the fabric like a lifeline. Shane was his lifeline, if he was being honest. He was so grateful then to have Shane hugging him. Shane cared so much about being productive, but he gave up any part of his day when Ilya needed help. It made him so loved and so guilty. Not that Shane ever made him feel bad about it. He always told Ilya he’d do anything to help if he needed it. But again, Ilya’s mind hated him.
Anya nosed open the door a few minutes later, and he felt her jump onto the bed and lie down with them, resting her next to Shane’s stomach. Ilya reached out a hand to pet the soft fur on her head.
His entire childhood played through his head like it was on film. He remembered staggering in little skates on a frozen pond, his mother hugging him when he fell and scraped his knee. He remembered arguments with his brother over toys, which usually resulted in him getting pushed over and Alexei running away. He remembered shouting matches that echoed through their house, his mama crying in the bathroom afterward. He remembered her smiling, singing softly when she made food in the kitchen. Ilya would strain to rest his chin on the countertop and see what she was doing. He remembered when he won his first game, and she took him out for ice cream to celebrate. How his father had scolded her after. He remembered going to wake her up and feeling her cold hand in his own. Realizing it wasn’t the kind of cold that came with snow, but something worse. The only thing he couldn’t remember was how many nights he’d cried himself to sleep after the fact. And every time he thought of what his mother looked like, something was off.
He could no longer remember the color of her eyes.
Ilya began choking on the sobs, breathing rapidly to get even just a little bit of air. Maybe propping himself on his elbows would help? He could hear Shane’s worried voice above, asking him what was wrong, cradling his head and begging him to breathe. Ilya could only press his forehead to Shane’s collarbone, praying the pressure would ground him. He heard Anya jump off the bed, making a confused noise. His eyes were squeezed shut, and all he could see was black. He felt sick and couldn’t bring himself to open them.
“Ilya, please,” Shane said, voice cracking, “what can I do? Is there anything? I don’t—”
It was too much.
When he came to, Shane was leaning against the headboard, holding Ilya up with him. He blinked slowly before he began lifting his head from Shane’s shoulder. It took approximately 0.2 seconds for Shane to squeeze the other man against him.
“Ilya,” he croaked.
Ilya held on tight, fearing another spiral. He remembered dry heaving, shoving his head into Shane’s chest. The rest of it was a blur. Somehow, he still had more tears left, and he put his face into the other man’s shoulder.
“You blacked out,” Shane said wetly, voice breaking. “Not for long, but…”
He lifted Ilya’s head from its place, taking his face in his hands and meeting his eyes. Shane looked pretty bad himself; his soft, concerned brown eyes were swollen, and water had gathered in the corners. Ilya closed his own, and Shane traced his cheek with his thumb. He leaned into the touch, letting more tears fall.
Ilya eventually returned his face to Shane’s chest, and Shane wrapped one arm around his shoulders, holding him close. He used the other to reach into the bedside drawer and grab the bottle of Atarax before reaching for the black water bottle he always kept by their bed. He took a pill from the bottle and handed it to Ilya before closing. He opened the top of the water bottle and held it up. Ilya threw the pill in his mouth before taking the sip.
Shane returned everything to its place before wrapping his other arm around Ilya’s shoulders, while he put his arms around Shane’s chest. Shane kissed his hair and his forehead over and over. In another circumstance, Ilya would’ve smiled, but he didn’t think he was physically capable of that right now.
“You scared me,” Shane murmured, voice shaking, before placing another kiss on his forehead.
Ilya sniffed before answering. “I’m sorry—”
“No,” Shane said matter-of-factly before holding Ilya tighter.
A quiet “okay” was all Ilya could respond with.
The thing that scared him most was that Shane’s comforts hadn’t stopped it. It would’ve been worse if he were alone, but he hated that even if the arms of the one he loved most couldn’t stop the intense hurt from taking him over.
Luca, sensitive kid (he was 25 now, but Ilya would always think of him as one) that he was, played sad songs in the locker room after losses. At first, he didn’t get it, but he realized after a while that it had become cathartic. So he’d saved some to a playlist to listen to when he was feeling sad and Shane wasn’t around. And the same one kept playing over in his head as he began to fall asleep. The repetition helped a little, but the words were a deep cut; a reminder of something that would always be true, no matter how much he wished for the opposite.
All because my head is full of poison / And my heart is full of doubt / I got toxins in my bloodstream / You tried so hard to suck out / And it feels like medication / And it’s good for me, I’m sure / But it don’t matter how your love feels anymore
It’ll never be the cure…
—————
It was a while before Ilya woke up again. Shane knew the Atarax would make him tired—you couldn’t have a panic attack if you were asleep—but he still paid close attention to the rise and fall of Ilya’s chest.
Shane should’ve grabbed it the moment he’d climbed back in bed.
Ilya didn’t need Atarax most of the time. It was just a precaution for any time he felt he was going to spiral. Shane had seen him start to spiral, but usually they caught it early enough that he wouldn’t get too far. He would be asleep or at least sedated before it got bad. But Ilya had never passed out before. The memory was already etched into Shane’s brain; Ilya’s choking sobs, hyperventilating, the way his forehead pressed more and more into Shane’s collarbone before his body went limp. It lasted for less than 20 seconds—Shane had counted because he needed to—but each moment had felt like a lifetime.
At least he didn’t need to wait hours on end to make sure Ilya was okay. Well, as okay as he could be right now. He was asleep in Shane’s arms, the usual kind that came with medication: almost peaceful, but not quite. Ilya’s long lashes fanned out against his cheeks as he breathed softly. Evenly. Shane had one hand on his waist, keeping him close, and kept the other threaded in his hair. He played with the soft curls, scratching Ilya’s scalp to soothe him as he slept. It was also a little therapeutic for Shane, having something to do with his hands while he held his sleeping husband. Because Shane couldn’t sleep right now; he was too focused on keeping Ilya comfortable. And too worried about what would happen if he wasn’t there when Ilya woke up.
Ilya opened his eyes around 1:30, blinking before he stared up at Shane with big, sad hazel eyes. Shane continued to play with his hair as he kissed his forehead.
“Hey, baby,” he murmured when he pulled back, unable to hide the concern in his voice. “How are you feeling?”
Ilya looked down, and then back up. “A little better,” he replied quietly. “Not a lot.”
Shane pulled him in for another hug. “I’d say there’s been improvement.”
Ilya nodded against him as Shane rubbed his back. “Wanna tell me what’s going on?”
“After I eat, maybe.”
“Okay.” Shane could help with that. “What do you want for breakfast?”
“Pancakes,” he said, sounding dejected. “Maybe the kind with chocolate.”
“Of course, baby.”
Shane put his nose into Ilya’s hair, inhaling the scent of his shampoo. It comforted him a bit.
“I took out Anya earlier,” Shane told him, “so you don’t have to worry about her. I can take her out again in a bit. I’ll make you some coffee before, and then I’ll make breakfast.”
“Okay.”
Ilya moved to get up, and Shane immediately followed. After Ilya brushed his teeth, Shane got out his meds and brought a glass of water to him. Ilya took them silently before grabbing Shane’s hand and lacing their finger together.
They walked downstairs slowly and made their way to the kitchen. Ilya snaked his arms around Shane’s waist as he made coffee, resting his chin on the other man’s shoulder. He wordlessly handed the coffee creamer to Ilya, who poured it in along with some maple syrup.
Shane turned to give him a quick kiss when he was done. “I’m gonna go let Anya out. Just wait here, and I’ll make you breakfast when I’m back.”
All Ilya did was nod. Shane couldn’t blame him.
He let Anya out back again, which only took about a minute. Ilya was sitting on the couch when he came back inside, and Shane quickly kissed his hair before going to make breakfast. He whisked together the pancake batter before portioning it on the pan, sprinkling over a sizable amount of chocolate chips on Ilya’s. He flipped them over and plated them once they were done. Usually, they would sit across from each other, but Shane decided it was better to sit next to him today. He brought over the plates, along with syrup and utensils. They ate in silence, with Shane reaching over occasionally to squeeze Ilya’s hand.
They settled on the couch when they were done, Ilya clinging to the fabric of Shane’s t-shirt while Shane continued to play with his curls.
“Are you ready to talk about it?” Shane asked while studying him. “I really love you. I wanna help if I can.”
Ilya nodded. “Yes,” he said before inhaling deeply. He looked at Shane’s chest when he admitted the rest.
“I realized I can’t remember the color of mama’s eyes.”
“Oh,” Shane said as Ilya’s eyes welled up with tears again. “Baby.”
If anything would make Ilya catatonic, this would be it. Another gut-wrenching loss all over again. It wasn’t anyone's fault—though he did kind of blame Ilya’s father for being so awful—but Shane knew it would eat at him.
“I’m so, so sorry.”
It wasn’t enough, but Shane couldn’t think of anything that could actually convey what he felt for Ilya in that moment. Losing his mother was already so painful for him. It was another kind of pain to lose the memory of her.
Ilya sniffed before continuing his explanation. “And my whole life is flashing before my eyes,” he croaked. “Some memories are good, but a lot of them awful.” He buried his face in Shane’s chest. “And I can’t remember the color of her eyes, but I still remember how cold her hands were.”
He wondered if he could ask Svetlana to find pictures when she went back to Russia this summer. Home videos, if she could. So Ilya would have something good to remember. And then he wondered if that would make everything worse.
Ilya‘s therapist, Galina, had told him that trauma is worse when people go through it alone. Which made sense, but it also made Shane angry because Ilya didn’t have to be feeling this way. Losing his mother the way he did is always traumatic, but the way his other family members treated him was the reason it got this bad. Svetlana had been there, but a friend is not a licensed therapist who can help you make sense of it all. There was no one to help Ilya properly process it, and he was the only one who felt the consequences of that mistake.
Ilya took another long inhale. “And I only have five days,” he said, “five days left where I can feel like this. Five days until I have to hide it all.”
“Hey,” Shane told him, slowly rubbing his back. “You don’t have to hide it.” Shane sighed. “Granted, I wouldn’t have a breakdown in front of Filomena—”
“What if I do?” He sobbed. “What if—”
Shane hated that he knew exactly what Ilya’s fears were.
“You won’t,” he murmured. “You won’t. As bad as it is, you’re pretty skilled when it comes to hiding your emotions.”
Shane exhaled. “And I think kids like it when adults are honest with them. Maybe you shouldn’t go into excruciating detail, but you can say you’re feeling sad and you can say why. And when you need it,” Shane said before kissing his forehead, “you can always go into detail with me. I’ll always be here. Whenever you need me. If at the end of the day you can’t hold it in, I’m there.”
Ilya squeezed him tight. “Promise?”
“I promise, baby.”
Shane had one more thing he wanted to say before he was content to stay in silence.
“And I know we have five days, but that’s still a lot of time,” he reassured. “The bed and stuff are already set up, and we agreed we’d take Filomena shopping to finish up the rest. So you can use these five days however you need to.”
Ilya finally lifted his head. His eyes were watery, lashes still wet, but he didn’t look like he was drowning anymore. Shane kissed the bridge of his nose before Ilya buried it in his neck.
“Even if those five days include a cigarette?”
Shane gave a small smile. He hated that Ilya smoked them, but he didn’t do it often enough that Shane considered it a real problem. He placed one more kiss on his husband’s head.
“Especially if those five days include a cigarette.”
—————
They spent most of the day cuddling on the couch, with Ilya eventually putting on the TV to distract himself. Otherwise, he and Shane just lay there together, only getting up when they wanted to get water or take a lap. It was already June, but Ottawa weather didn’t care about that, so Shane had them both covered with a blanket. They changed positions every so often so their limbs wouldn’t fall asleep. As much as Ilya loved when Shane took care of him, having his husband lie on his chest provided the same sense of relief. Shane liked to call it the weighted blanket effect. But most weighted blankets weren’t 200 pounds of muscle, and they didn’t look that cute wearing Ilya’s hoodies.
He had a few cigarettes over the next few days, vowing to Shane he’d throw away the pack by the night of the 14th. He knew Shane wasn’t a fan of his smoking habit, but due to their agreement, Shane didn’t bother him about it.
Ilya held Shane’s hand through the duration of their evening walk with Anya. She had slept in her bed by the couch the whole time they were there.
The next day, after a good night’s sleep, Ilya called his therapist and asked to schedule an appointment ASAP, and luckily, a slot was open for the following day. They went over everything that happened leading up to his panic attack, along with the aftermath. They also discussed the likelihood of it happening again; it was very low, but she said he needed to stay sitting up when he felt a spiral coming on, so that both blood pressure and breathing would be optimized. They developed a plan to prevent it, which involved knowing the location of his medications, keeping water by their bed, and coping strategies to stave off spirals until he could access the Atarax. She also gave him a list for Shane, which included the plan along with signs of oncoming panic attacks.
Shane checked in with him multiple times a day since the panic attack, asking him what he was thinking about and to rate how he felt on a scale of 1-10. It was a little much, but Ilya always appreciated how attentive Shane was with him.
The night of the 14th, after Ilya had thrown out his cigarettes, the two of them lay in bed. Ilya’s eyes were closed as he rested his head against Shane’s chest, feeling the other man’s fingers card softly through his hair.
He felt Shane kiss his forehead before the check-in. “How are you feeling, baby?”
“Alright,” Ilya said as he nodded. “Nervous, but a lot better.”
“I know it’s not the same for you as it is for me,” Shane said before he exhaled, “but I want you to know I’m scared too. About when the season starts, and I won’t be going back to hockey. I don’t know if it’s hit me yet, and I’m scared for when it does.”
Ilya kissed the skin on his chest. “You’re allowed to be scared, milyy.”
“I know, I just don’t want to worry you or Filomena about it. I don’t wanna end up being a control freak or hyper-focusing on anything.”
“I believe in you, my Shane.”
“I also don’t want you to feel alone in being scared,” Shane sighed as he tightened his grip on Ilya. “Because you’re not, and we can help each other through it, I think.”
Ilya nuzzled into his neck. “I will always help you, moya lyubov.”
He could feel Shane smile into him, kissing his hair in the process. “I’ll always help you, too.”
As Ilya felt his eyelids grow heavy, he hugged Shane as close as he could. He was never more grateful for his lovely husband than he was now.
“I love you, moy angel,” Ilya whispered before sleep finally took him.
He felt Shane kiss his forehead one last time before he dozed off.
“I love you too.”