Chapter Text
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Shane, his parents, and Farah were squeezed into a small consulting room just off Ilya’s room. All of them were nervously clutching their coffee cups as the doctor, nurses, and a few security guards walked into the room.
It was bizarre to see all the faces that Shane had gotten to know over the last two weeks squeezed into one room at the same time. While he could barely recall their names, he knew who would grant him an extra five minutes and who was stricter with the rules.
Shane fidgeted with the coffee sleeve holder as the doctor cleared his throat.
“Now that we have everyone here, I wanted to make sure that we are all on the same page. We typically don’t hold such meetings but given that Ilya is a high profile patient, the hospital wants to ensure that we are all aligned,” the doctor started grimly, pushing the glasses up on the bridge of his nose.
Shane glanced over at the security guards who widened their stance before returning his gaze to the doctor.
“At this point, Ilya’s condition has stabilized enough that he no longer needs the constant supervision the ICU offers. We are working on transferring him over to the neuro floor,” the doctor said neutrally, his eyes glancing down at the chart on his lap.
Shane furrowed his brow as he stared down at his coffee cup. Logically, it felt like he should be excited. Instead, there was a wave of anxiety and his heart started beating faster in response.
The change itself was terrifying.
“What will happen when he is moved to the neuro floor?” his mom asked, her phone out as she typed in her notes, glancing intermittently between the doctor and her phone.
“He will still be monitored, though it will feel less intense than in the ICU. We will rely more on family and friends to flag changes in Ilya’s abilities.”
“What does that mean exactly?” his dad asked, leaning forward in his chair.
“Since we will not be monitoring him as closely, we will rely on you to alert staff if he regresses.”
Shane’s dad nodded, as if this was completely normal.
Shane wasn’t sure he would notice quickly enough. The fears came fast: what if he missed a slurred word? What if he missed a critical sign? What if–
“When will we be doing the transfer?” Shane asked, trying to fight the fear that was threatening to drown him.
“We are coordinating with the neuro floor now to see if there is an available bed. Once we receive that confirmation, we can start the process of moving him over,” the nurse said evenly.
Shane hesitated, picking at the sleeve a little faster as the next question tumbled out. “Are any of the nurses here going to follow Ilya?” His cheeks reddened and he stared at the cup.
“No, he will have a new set of nurses on the floor,” the nurse replied evenly and slowly.
“Is there a reason why you’re asking?” the doctor asked, his head tilted to the side.
Shane scratched the back of his neck, regretting opening his mouth. “I just… I feel comfortable with his team here. They know Ilya well, and maybe it’s dumb but I worry about the changing of hands. Especially since everyone here has been so hands-on with him and know what he’s like,” Shane lowered his voice for the next thought. “And they know what I’m like.” Shane said, staring at the nurse who gave him a sympathetic smile.
“I promise you, the nurses and the team on neuro are more equipped to handle Ilya at this stage of his recovery. We’re transferring all the notes we’ve taken during his time here to them, so they’ll know everything that we know,” she said kindly.
Shane nodded and adjusted the grip on his cup. He barely listened as the conversation shifted to the security aspect. He was trying hard to focus on the idea that less monitoring and leaving the ICU was a good thing.
Why was he terrified of what was going to come next?
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Ilya’s transfer process began when he was wheeled to other parts of the hospital for exams and imaging. Shane’s parents had already collected the belongings from the room and were moving things to the new floor.
Shane felt rooted to the room. The stack of cards and puzzles was tucked neatly into a tote bag slung over Shane’s shoulder. He knew he should leave, he knew he should let the nurses do what they’d done a million times over.
And yet, Shane watched in a daze as the nurses slowly started to disconnect the machines in Ilya’s room. They were talking freely in ways that they hadn’t when Ilya was in the room. Someone made a joke. The other nurse laughed.
But Shane had to shut his eyes a few times as the machines powered off, their tones shifting before going silent. Shane felt his breath quicken with every power down, forcing himself to unclench his jaw with every change.
He had one too many nightmares of nurses turning off the machines for different reasons.
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Shane stepped out of the room to see that Ilya was sleeping in his bed after imaging. His IV pole and portable monitor were still attached to him and the bedframe. Shane flicked his gaze to the nurse, who smiled in response.
“You ready?” she asked kindly, as Shane nodded, readjusting the bag on his shoulder, only sparing one look back at the room he just left. Shane would have happily burned that room to the ground and all the memories that would haunt him with it.
“You can walk beside him, put a hand on the rail if you’d like,” she explained, gesturing to the side of the bed. Shane quietly walked alongside him, putting his hand on the rail, letting the cold metal shock his system.
“Hey, Ilya,” Shane whispered, and Ilya, still eyes closed, lifted his hand to the rail, awkwardly overlapping his fingers with Shane before shifting them so he could grip properly. Shane ducked his head low, grinning to himself.
“Alright, let’s get moving,” the second nurse called out at the head, pushing on the bed to move through the hallway. The wheels creaked, and the fluorescent lights blinked harshly overhead as they moved closer to the elevator.
“Watch the corner–”
“Melissa, I see it,” grumbled the first nurse, though the bed nearly clipped the corner.
Once they reached the elevator, Melissa pressed the buttons and the doors opened with a loud chiming sound. Ilya’s face scrunched in discomfort at the noise, only for his frown to become more pronounced as his bed was shoved into the elevator, the wheels catching on the lip.
“Shane?” Ilya whispered, his hand slid down the rail opposite of Shane’s, searching. His fingers twitched and lifted, as if trying to find Shane.
Shane quickly shifted and placed his hand over Ilya’s. “Right here,” Shane whispered back, seeing how Ilya’s face relaxed at the words, his hand going still as the elevator shifted.
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Shane walked with his parents to Ilya’s new room later that day. It had been nearly a full week since Ilya’s initial awakening.
The room on the neuro floor meant that Ilya could have more visitors at once (though, they still had to limit the stimulation for now) and plants. It was the small signs of changes and growth that gave Shane some form of relief.
They knocked on the door quietly, and Svetlana cracked the door open to beckon the Hollander family into the room. She had pronounced bags under her eyes and strands of hair falling out of her braided pigtails.
“Hey,” Shane whispered, giving her a hug, rubbing her back as his parents walked into the room. “How are you doing?”
Svetlana sighed against Shane. “I’m okay. Just a lot of questions. He fell asleep a lot. But he’s starting to commit more to memory so that’s good.” Svetlana said, pulling back from the hug, yawning.
Shane took in her disheveled state, the hastily braided hair, and the dark circles under her eyes. “You should get some rest. We got it from here,” Shane said as Svetlana smiled, looking over at Ilya.
“It’s funny. He told me to sleep too.”
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Ilya woke up shortly after Svetlana left. His eyes lingered on the bedside table where Chompy was sitting on top of his blanket.
“Chompy guards me,” Ilya said simply, his eyes fluttering closed before reopening. “I want my blanket.” He tried to reach for the blanket, his hand stopping halfway before he exhaled. His hands dropped limply to the side as he started to pant from the exertion. His eyes squeezed shut.
“Let me get that for you,” Yuna stepped in, carefully moving Chompy to the side as she unfolded the blanket and covered Ilya. She bent over and helped guide his arms out of the sheets and over the blankets.
“Better?” Yuna asked, looking down. Ilya opened his eyes, his breathing evening out as he stared down at the blanket. He was absentmindedly smoothing out the blanket, as if trying to tell if it was real.
“Da. Warm,” he said, a small sigh escaped his cracked lips as he adjusted his head on the pillow, his eyes closing once again. Ilya tugged at the blanket edge to bring it closer to his chest.
Yuna hesitated for a second, before leaning over and giving Ilya a small kiss on his forehead. When she pulled away, Ilya was fast asleep.
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A few hours later, Ilya woke up, his eyes turning over to Chompy before looking down to see Shane, Yuna, and David at his bedside.
“Svetlana, still here?” he asked, his eyes darting jerkily around the room.
“She is still here. Sleeping right now,” Shane answered, leaning forward on his chair.
“Team safe?” Ilya asked, shutting his eyes.
“The team is safe here. You will see them soon.”
“Da. Nice,” Ilya exhaled as he opened his eyes again to look over Chompy. He raised his arm and placed it on the guard rail. Shane, starting to learn the micromovements of Ilya, reached for Chompy and put it on Ilya’s side.
There was a pause as Ilya stared down at Chompy, before clumsily clutching the stuffed animal, the exertion was too much, and Ilya fell asleep with Chompy close to his side. Shane hesitated before he took a photo of the sleeping pair and sent it off to Hayden.
Shane: We have another Chompy fanboy over here.
Hayden: I’ll send you the Amazon link for you to stock up in case Ilya loses Chompy!!
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Later in the day, Coach Wiebe entered the room as Ilya was stirring.
Everyone agreed that it was best to introduce Coach Wiebe as the next addition to the circle. If only to prepare the team as to what to expect when they see Ilya later in the week.
Shane could see Ilya healing a little more each day in how present he was, how long he could stay in a conversation, and what he retained. He knew it would be a shock for the team if they were looking for their chirpy captain in full swing.
As Coach Wiebe approached the bed, Ilya opened his eyes and squinted. There was a pause as Ilya was clearly trying to place him.
“Coach,” Ilya said, resting back on his pillow.
“Hey Ilya,” Coach Wiebe said softly, leaning on a crutch as he made his way closer to the bed.
“Sit,” Ilya ordered, tilting his head slightly to the side as Coach sat down next to him, heaving slightly.
“It is good to see you, Ilya,” Coach said simply. Ilya’s eyes lingered on the crutch.
“Hurt?” Concern filled Ilya’s face as he kept his gaze on the crutch.
Coach Wiebe nodded, coughing lightly. “A little. Healing nicely though.”
“Good,” Ilya said, shutting his eyes.
“The team is safe and wants to see you soon,” Coach Wiebe whispered, glancing at Shane for guidance.
Or maybe it was reassurance.
“I want,” Ilya said, his breathing evening out, falling asleep mid-conversation.
David turned to Coach, “This happens. It’s good. Sleeping, healing… Each day is a little easier.”
Coach Wiebe’s jaw was clenched as he stared at Ilya. He breathed heavily through his nose as he simply stared at Ilya for a few seconds before turning his gaze away, giving himself a moment before speaking. “I’m going to step out. I don’t want to wake him up,” Coach Wiebe lifted a hand to his face, his eyes shining, before reaching for his crutch.
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Over the next two days, they started having the team sit by Ilya’s bedside in small groups. Coach Wiebe was stationed nearby as the players tiptoed into the room. All were briefed, and slightly terrified, by the still-fragile state of Ilya.
Yet there were not enough warnings for some players.
Zane walked into the room with Luca. Luca, who was always quick to fill the silence of the ICU room with questions or stories, was silent when Ilya was awake. This was the same Luca Shane had once wished he could tape his loud mouth shut, now appearing to have taken a vow of silence. Zane, perhaps just as bewildered as Shane, attempted to fill Luca’s spot by talking loudly and far too fast, overstimulating Ilya almost immediately and earning the two of them an early break.
Still, Shane appreciated Zane’s mistakes over Troy.
Troy Bennet went into the room with Harris. While Harris calmly talked to Ilya in hushed tones, Troy sat silently by. With every whispered comment, Troy’s nostrils flared, his breathing quickened, and his shoulders hunched higher. At his breaking point, Troy shoved his chair back, nearly clipping Harris’ chair, before bolting out of the room and slamming the door behind him.
Already furious, Shane followed Troy out into the hallway. The words he’d prepared to shout died in his throat when he saw Troy on the ground. He was hunched over his knees as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Harris quickly appeared and huddled close to him, whispering softly as Shane retreated back into Ilya’s room.
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But Ilya remembered each one. He chided some for looking ‘terrible’. He told a few to go to sleep. Only a few had to be reminded to lower their voices, as Ilya was still struggling with loud noises.
Shane noted the relief and terror on the players’ faces as they left the room.
None of them could look Shane in the eyes.
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Shane, after a few days, realized he liked the quiet in the new room. The beeping machines were no longer needed and he appreciated that the only notable noises were Ilya shifting his bed or attempting to speak. Shane could listen to that soundtrack for the rest of his life and never get bored.
Ilya opened his eyes, and looked over to Shane.
Shane waited, knowing that patience was key here.
Shane shifted his chair, wringing his hands slightly.
“I forget,” Ilya said with a sigh, his brows furrowed in frustration as he stared at Shane.
Shane leaned forward and forced himself to keep his tone even. “What did you forget?”
Ilya looked up, blinking a few times as if searching for the words. He was breathing heavily through his nose.
Shane had to count the checkered boxes on Ilya’s blanket to stop himself from prompting, something the nurses hammered into him. He knew it wasn’t helpful but the instinct was strong.
“Things. Before this.” Ilya said, raising a hand and dropping it on the bed out of frustration. “Some things are there. And others are missing.” Ilya frowned as he looked at the blanket. “I know there is more,” Ilya muttered.
Shane nodded, crossing his arms. “Yeah, that happens.”
Ilya glared at Shane. “Why?”
Shane sighed, knowing it wouldn’t be the last time he explained the injury to his boyfriend.
“Your brain took a bad hit. When that happens, some memories go missing. But they usually come back.”
Ilya nodded, processing, as he clutched Chompy a bit more, “Okay. When?”
Shane hesitated, Ilya always hated this answer. “Some come quick. Some take a while. Others may never come back.”
Ilya’s jaw clenched, “Don’t like that.”
Shane reached over to take Ilya’s hand. “I know. I don’t either.”
“You remember? For me?” Ilya asked, squeezing Shane’s hand. Shane noted the increased strength and felt so proud of Ilya.
A week ago, he couldn’t grip.
“I remember. I’ll tell you.” Shane said, squeezing Ilya’s hand, grinning.
“Make new ones?” Ilya asked hopefully.
“Yes,” Shane said, nodding as he swallowed the lump in his throat.
“Okay,” Ilya said, his shoulders relaxing as his eyes started to droop. Only for them to reopen, as if a new thought came to mind.
“I remember you.” He said, looking at Shane, as if he was worried that Shane didn’t know that.
Shane felt his breath catch, a laugh or gasp escaped him as his hands tightened around Ilya’s before he realized he had to be careful. He had to rein in his emotions.
“Yeah?” Shane said, his heart fluttering as Ilya nodded, a soft smile on his face that reached his eyes.
Shane’s chest tightened. This was a smile that he only saw in the summers, at the cottage, completely unguarded. It was the rare smile that Shane only ever saw on the lighter days. One meant just for him.
Shane struggled to remember the last time they’d had a good day together.
“You are Shane. You stay.” Ilya said confidently, tilting his head as his eyes closed.
“I stay,” Shane said, his voice trembling as Ilya drifted back to sleep.
Once Shane could tell Ilya was truly asleep, he let his body relax in the chair. The deep breathing of Ilya was all he needed to feel secure.
-&-
A guard let Shane into the room. While the security presence had gone down from the ICU days, there were still guards stationed in the hallway. The public was now aware that Ilya had started waking up and the press was actively covering the story.
Shane noticed how his parents always had their notifications turned off when they were in the room with Ilya.
Shane walked in to see Ilya and his dad having a conversation. His dad had his arms crossed as he leaned in close to hear Ilya better.
“So you were first here? You beat Shane?” Ilya asked.
David nodded. “I beat Shane. I was in the waiting room during surgery. I saw you when you got out.”
Ilya pursed his lips, searching for the next words. “Can you stay? You have work. You all have work.”
“Work is okay with me, Yuna, and Shane taking time off to take care of you,” David said gently.
“Shane here a lot,” Ilya said, staring at David.
David looked over at Shane in confusion before turning back to Ilya. “Do you want more alone time?”
“No. Just,” Ilya said, scrunching his face up. There were a few beats of long seconds of silence before Ilya hung his head, shaking.
“Different,” Ilya said, shrugging, brows furrowed as there was another question on his mind.
“Is normal to have guards in hospitals?” Ilya asked, his eyes darting to the door slowly before back to David.
Shane froze. So much for the guards being subtle.
David hesitated. “It is different. They are here to make sure you get the quiet you need to rest. It is just for now. Are they loud?” David asked concerningly, giving the door a reproachful look.
Ilya shook his head, eyes closing slightly. “Not loud. Curious.”
-&-
“I think we need to tell Ilya today about Crowell.” Shane said in the car, as his dad drove and his mom was in the front seat. Shane took his parents' silence as encouragement to continue talking.
“He’s asking a lot more questions now. He’s able to have longer and more difficult conversations. And I talked to the neuro nurse, you know the one with blond hair, and he said that we should tell Ilya directly rather than letting him piece it all together.”
“Do you think he’s ready?” his mom asked.
“I don’t want to keep lying to him, even if it’s by omission. He asked me yesterday why I wasn’t at practice and worried that it was obvious I was with him,” Shane said.
“Then we tell him,” his dad said simply, turning to his mom. “If Shane thinks he’s ready, we should follow his lead. I take it Farah spoke to you about the handoff?” his dad looked into the rearview mirror.
Shane’s heart swelled, “She did. I’m getting looped in more now with the medical team. She’s flying back soon to handle press and everything else for us back in Canada.”
“We follow you then, we trust you,” his mom said, letting her head rest on the window, hardly throwing a look back at Shane or peppering him with questions to try to sway him.
His parents, unequivocally, trusted him.
-&-
Once at the hospital, Shane talked to the nurses on the floor about the plan. They assured him that no one from the medical team needed to be in the room, and that they would be on standby if the conversation were to escalate.
Shane knew having too many faces would be overwhelming to Ilya, so he had his parents and Svetlana out in the hallway.
Ilya was awake, sitting upright with pillows propping him.
Shane’s heart was pounding as he walked over to Ilya’s bedside, his palms started sweating as he sat down next to Ilya, pulling in the chair close.
“Hey, can I talk to you about something serious?” Shane asked, looking at Ilya, and half hoping he would say no.
Ilya nodded. “Yes. Serious?” he asked.
Shane bit his lip and nodded slowly. “It is serious.” Ilya reflexively took Shane’s hand. Shane hoped that Ilya would still want to hold his hand after the news.
“Remember Roger Crowell? And how he doesn’t like gay hockey players?”
Ilya nodded, his jaw clenching. “Yes, I remember.”
“Well.” Shane gulped. “He was angry I was missing practices, games, and was pissed that the press said I was at the hospital here.” Shane paused, looking for any confusion on Ilya’s face. Ilya nodded and Shane felt comfortable to continue.
“My mom and Farah pushed back. Players and coaches complained about Crowell to the league. The league fired him. But Crowell had photos of us kissing and holding hands that he sent to the press.” Shane took a deep breath. “He outed us.”
There was a delayed reaction, but Shane knew Ilya had understood when his grip tightened around Shane’s hand and his eyes went wide.
“I did what I thought was best. I released a statement confirming the relationship. I even posted photos of us on Instagram. We are safe, and we still can play hockey.” Shane said, forcing himself to keep his voice steady as Ilya stared down at the blanket.
“My fault?” Ilya asked in a quiet voice, his eyes focused on the blanket while his other hand was holding onto Chompy. Ilya was struggling to grip Chompy, his hands trembling in a way that Shane only saw in the early wake up days.
Shane ground his teeth together as he focused on the blanket pattern to anchor him. His heart fractured in ways he never thought possible. If it was any other time, he would be holding Ilya close and whispering over and over, not your fault.
Instead, Shane had to sit still, hold Ilya’s hand, and stay calm. He couldn’t sob or cry to overwhelm Ilya. But how was he supposed to respond when his boyfriend, fresh out of a coma, fucking asks him if it was his fault that they were exposed?
“Not your fault,” Shane said, squeezing Ilya’s hand gently, allowing himself a small show of ‘big’ emotions.
Thank God the nurse wasn’t here, Shane knew he would get a warning.
“People know about us?” Ilya asked, blinking rapidly and looking at Shane directly.
Shane nodded his head. “Yes. People know about us.”
“Who?” Ilya asked quietly.
“Everyone,” Shane responded.
Ilya’s brows furrowed, still confused, “Team? League?”
Shane swore in his head, realizing his mistake. He took a deep breath as he struggled to find the words that would convey just how public their lives had truly become.
“The team knows. The league knows. The general public knows. The news… it is all over social media. Everyone knows,” Shane emphasized.
Ilya nodded, “Everyone,” he whispered to himself. There was a pause as Ilya took in the information, his breath coming in quickly.
“When?” Ilya asked.
“Since two weeks ago. We were outed while you were in the coma and I confirmed it a few days later.”
“We safe?”
“Yes, we are safe. We can still play once we are out of the hospital and cleared.”
Ilya nodded, sniffling. He tried to swallow, but had difficulty doing so. “Is a lot,” Ilya said, leaning back and closing his eyes briefly before gazing over to Shane. Ilya’s eyes welled up with tears, and Shane was worried that he pushed it too hard and too fast.
“You stay?” Ilya asked fearfully, a tear escaped, as if this new information was going to change anything that Shane did.
“I stay,” Shane croaked out, as Ilya leaned back on his pillow, a look of pure relief on his face as he dozed off. Shane took in a shaking breath as he leaned over and gently wiped the tear off Ilya’s face.
He kept his hand there a moment longer than necessary.
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