Chapter Text
Shane woke up at his usual time in the morning, which just so happened to sync with Ilya’s. He had no idea if they both had similar times waking up, or if Ilya changed his so that he could always be awake with Shane, but it was almost always like clockwork. One of them would wake up, and the other would be awake within a minute or two. The one time it didn’t work like that, though, Shane was able to discover Ilya had just waited for him, staring at him as he slept, even calling him ‘peaceful and cute’.
He turned over to see if Ilya was awake and saw he was still zonked out. Probably because of how late he came home and how drunk he was. Shane had almost forgotten it had happened until he looked at him, sleeping like a baby. He imagined Ilya would wake up with a hangover, and you know what? Good. He deserved it after what he put Shane through.
He started to shake Ilya awake, seeing his face scrunch up in pain and his body turn in on itself more in protest. He was groaning like a child who didn’t want to go to school in the morning.
“Get up, Ilya!” Shane exclaimed. As much as he could have enjoyed the time alone while Ilya was sleeping, he’d had enough time alone while Ilya was out, and besides, he was hungry. Who else was gonna get him breakfast? “C’mon!”
Shane rolled his eyes and gave the man a kick to the shin when he cotninued to groan in protest, diving into his pillow with his full face like light itself was the enemy.
There was no doubt in Shane’s mind that Ilya was indeed hurting from the drinking, but did it make him more gentle? Nope.
“Don’t make me drag you out of bed!” Shane threatened, all too ready to grab him by the beautiful, curled hair and throw him to the floor.
Ilya sat up with another groan, unhappy to be awake, but not so sad to see his sweet Shane by his side. Cute little threatening smirk and all, not even scared of being sour with him.
That’s when Ilya started to remember why his head hurt so much. He drank. A lot. Which was normal, to a degree. But he drank even more than that, and now he was certainly remembering what a hangover was like. Like he was in his late teens all over again.
He remembered coming home drunk, stumbling up the steps, only to throw up on Shane. Shit. He didn’t want to or even mean to do that. That must have sucked. But yet… Shane still took care of him! That was a sign of something nice.
“I am sorry, Shayna,” Ilya spoke, eyes squinted from the sunlight behind Shane’s head. “But I thank you for taking care of me.”
“I didn’t have much of a choice,” Shane gritted out.
“Of course you did,” Ilya wouldn’t let him act like it wsn’t his kind choice to do so, like it was no big deal. “You could have done nothing, or worse, been a bad girl. But you chose to take care of your Ilyushka!”
Shane’s face turned into one that was clearly not happy with the Russian. He was acting like Shane was some sort of bad person who would leave him. That wasn’t charity, it was being human. Too bad Ilya seemed to forget what that was like sometimes. Besides, it’s not like he chose to stay here to even encounter Ilya needing help!
Ilya always wanted to play the game where he twisted things in Shane’s head, and it often worked. But not this time. Not while Shane was on a bit of a power trip.
Before Ilya could reach out and pinch his cheeks like an idiot, Shane smacked his arm away. “Can you just get us breakfast?”
“You’re hungry?” Ilya asked.
Shane couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Yes.”
Ilya stopped, really looking at Shane, trying to read him. With the mood Shane was already in, it only made him grow more annoyed. He hated the attention on a good day, let alone now, watching him try to see right through him.
“You are still mad at me,” He came to the conclusion.
Shane scoffed. “I’m definitely not happy!”
“I’m sorry!” Ilya pleaded with his wife.
“You never told me you’d be getting shit-faced drunk, Ilya!” Shane shot back. “I thought you, of all people, could hold your liquor!”
“I wasn’t going to get drunk, but I was just so sad…” Ilya frowned.
“Why?”
“Because,” Ilya tilted his head down, like he was ever one to be shy. “I was missing you.”
Shane’s mouth fell open for a second, not expecting that. Damn. Ilya really loved him. Or at least convinced himself he did. The kind of love you only see in those fairytale movies, where you’d die without the other. Couldn’t he even enjoy his friends without missing her? Who was he?! Not the Ilya the media showed off, or even that he tried to portray to people on the ice.
“Just..just go get breakfast,” Shane decided on, not sure what else to say to that.
Ilya poked his pouty little face up from his chest and looked at Shane again, trying to see if moving on from the topic was his way of moving on from the anger, too. But it didn’t seem so if his face was any indicator.
“If I get you your favorites, will you forgive me?”
“Ilya!”
His frown grew even deeper, if that was possible, as he scrambled up from the bed, nude as the day he was born. “Okay, okay!” He said. “I get your favorites anyway.”
Of course, he would. And usually Shane would think it’s something he should reject for the sake of their circumstances, but not today. He’d done it before, just to make Ilya feel like he didn’t know him well enough. Today, however, he deserved his favorites.
Ilya walked over to the door, Shane moving the covers around to help cover her equally nude body as he watched. Shane watched as Ilya opened the door quicker than usual, hearing it click open.
“Oh shit…” Ilya let out a laugh of sorts. “The door was unlocked!”
Shane’s eyes went wide. The goodman door was unlocked the whole time?!
“Good thing you stayed with me,” He smiled at Shane like it was some choice she made and not a total mistake. “Love you too, angel.”
“But-!” Shane couldn’t finish his thought of astonishment as Ilya closed the door again, reaching out as if he could stop him.
Shane wasn’t going to panic.
Okay…. Maybe he was going to panic a little bit.
His breathing was heavy, showing as his chest rose up and down a thousand times in a minute. His eyes refused to leave the door. But he couldn’t break down totally yet.
He got to his feet, throwing the sheets off into a pile on the floor as he went over to the door for himself. What were the chances he forgot again while going to make him a smoothie? He tugged and twisted and pulled and yeah… they were locked now for sure.
“Fuck!” Shane hit the handle, not even paying attention to the way it hurt his knuckles.
He had a chance to get out. The door was unlocked all fucking night! And what did he do? He stayed there and took care of a drunken Ilya like some sorta housewife! It’s not like he even wanted to care for Ilya; he just assumed he was stuck!
And that’s how Ilya was getting to him, wasn’t it? Pulling back his hope of escape, piece by piece, until he didn’t even think to check the door and see if it was locked!
Shane wanted to scream and cry and burn the whole house down. But he needed to not totally lose it. Not now. That wouldn’t be his last chance (he hopes), so he couldn’t just give up. He just needed to be even more diligent when it came to the future. And for the love of God, always check the door!
He wanted to pull at his hair until it came out, but Ilya would kill him if he damaged the wig, wouldn’t he? He needed something to distract him from the buzzing anger in his veins. What else really was there than his first present, the might flatscreen tv on their bedroom wall.
Shane went back over to the sheets he’d thrown on the floor and picked them all back up, making the bed again. The one thing he was consistently good for and good at. Then he climbed in and took the remote from the nightstand, getting as comfortable as he possibly could right now, given what he now knew.
Things couldn’t get much worse, could they? At least that's what he assumed when he put on some sports news, catching them right at the usual hockey segment for the morning. His favorite. The closest thing he had to the game he lived and breathed lately.
He watched the screen as they talked, picking at the remote buttons to regulate some of his emotions when he was stopped, completely pulled out of it, by the TV.
The host was starting a new topic, and it was one Shane knew well. Maybe better than anyone. They were talking about Rozanov.
“Alright, and for all you Raiders fans out there worried about Ilya Rozanov’s comeback and whether or not he’s ready for it, we wanna ask if this answers your question!”
Two photos popped up behind the man, both featuring Ilya and a pretty redhead woman in a dress short enough to be a toddler’s t-shirt. In one, she was twirling her hair flirtatiously and just talking with him at the bar, but in the other, she was groping his crotch like it was just another day for her!
Another day in Slutsville, Shane couldn’t help but think as he continued to give the man his full attention, needing to hear this more than he ever could have thought.
“Yes, that’s right, the party animal is back out of his cage! Seen just last night at a local club with the rest of his team in Boston, it looks like Ilya is not only feeling better after the loss of his wife and unborn child, but moving on! Three cheers to you, Rozanov! And good luck to all my lady-raiders fans who I know will be trying to get a piece of the man now that he’s back out on the market!”
Shane paused the show before it could go to commercial, seething as he continued to look at every little detail of the pictures some sleasy paparazzi must have taken.
That was Ilya, alright, right down to the outfit he’d been wearing when he left the house. And everything he mentioned about being at a club with his teammates added up to. There was no use denying this or calling it a good Photoshop. This was real.
Shane didn’t even have time to figure out why he was so angry about it before the anger took over everything.
That bastard!
If the remote control was any less sturdy, Shane might have broken it in half, instead, he settled for throwing it across the room. He heard it clack against the wall and fall to the floor, but it didn’t make him feel better about this.
Who the fuck was this chick?! Why was she touching Ilya at all, let alone like that?! That was Shane’s job! And no, he wouldn’t share!
Did Ilya think she was pretty? She wasn’t that pretty. She just had too much makeup on. Shane was a natural beauty! He never wore the stuff! Maybe he should, though… maybe that was why she got to feel him up, and he was left at home.
Dammit, now he was worrying about himself, all because some bimbo decided to give Ilya attention, and his bastard of a husband didn’t deny it quickly enough. If at all. Shane had no idea what to think happened. He wished he could say one way or another, but Ilya was problematic at best! It could go either way. Not to mention the fact that he was drunk. Oh god, did he get drunk with her?
Shane needed answers, and dammit, he needed them now. Because hell hath no fury than a forced wife scorned. That was for sure. And Ilya Rozanov was just going to have to learn the hard way.