Chapter Text
Shane has been looking forward to this for weeks. A rare 3 day break over a weekend no less. The Metros locker room is abuzz with cheer.
'Hollander! You bitch!' Shirtless, JJ slaps him on the back. 'What the fuck are you doing for the weekend, motherfucker?'
He shrugs, smiles. 'Just going to see my parents in Ottawa.'
'Holy shit, mon capitaine.' JJ rolls his eyes. 'Try not to have too much fun.'
Shane tries to ignore the snide looks Hayden is shooting in his direction. Your parents, really? Or going to fuck your asshole boyfriend all weekend...
'What about you JJ?'
‘Party at La Tambour. Francois says they will have some live musicians this time...might be fun? Meet someone interesting maybe?'
Shane shakes his head with a small smile. 'Sorry man. No can do. It's my mom's birthday.'
He hopes it was his dad's that he said last time.
'Pas de souci, man. Another time.'
He is about 20 minutes out of Montreal when his phone buzzes for the first time. Then again. Then again. He pulls in at the next rest stop.
It's Ilya.
Omg Shane. You are probably driving now. But is bad news. I think Troy choose bad restaurant for lunch today.
I got sick. He just text me saying he is sick too.
Don't worry please! You can see your parents. I will be okay. ILY <3
Fuck.
He calls Ilya straightaway. It rings out.
'Hi, this is Ilya. I will never listen to your voicemail.'
Rings off. Tries again.
'Hi, this is Ilya. I will never listen to your voicemail.'
He tries to call his mom. It rings out and goes to voicemail.
'Hi! This is Yuna. Please leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can.'
'Hi Mom. It's me, Shane. I think...' He hates how unsteady his voice is sounding 'I think I told you I'm in Ottawa this weekend? On the road and just...checking in. I'll try again.'
His heart is pounding in his chest. Face down he leans into the steering wheel.
His phone starts buzzing. Ilya.
'Oh my god Shane. Tell me you are not having panic attack.'
The mocking tone doesn't have the same energy as usual but thank fuck he can hear his voice.
'I'm not... Just wanted to check in.'
'You are such a bad liar.'
'Are you ok?'
'Hmmm. Really I don't think you want to know details. Is just a little food poisoning. I will be fine.'
'That's not exactly answering the question.'
'What do you want to know, Shane? Am in bathroom on floor. Hugging toilet for half an hour. Maybe it is my new boyfriend.'
'Should I be jealous?' He tries to play into Ilya's joking tone for a second.
'Oh god. I need to go...' He hears the retch before Ilya rings off.
Oh fuck.
—
Troy is looking so miserable it breaks Harris's heart.
'Oh my god. This feels so wrong. I can't believe I vomited on Mr Neck-Neck.'
'Rite of passage, babe. Thankfully he's survived this before, more than once.'
He kisses his boyfriend's forehead.
'Hopefully you'll feel better in the morning. I can get anything you need.'
He turns back as he carries the bed linen and Mr Neck-Neck towards the washing machine.
'Hey Troy, did you hear back from Ilya? Guessing he's home alone. Might be worth checking in.'
'Not for a while, no. Last thing he said was he's never letting me choose a food place again.'
—-
The vibration of Ilya's phone is amplified as it sits on the bathroom tiles
Fuck. It's probably Shane again. Prone, he stretches for it, enjoying the cool of the tiles against his forehead for a second. As much as he can enjoy anything right now.
It's Harris.
'Hey, Ilya! So sorry you guys are sick ☹ Do you need anything?'
Ugh, he might have known. Just so fucking helpful. At least Troy is with Harris probably. Too bad it's beyond him to message back right now.
—
Shane pulls into the driveway in the dark. It's just after midnight. He'd stopped again after his mom called back. He told her he was going to Ilya's and would check in if they needed anything. He's bought Gatorades and crackers from the nearest gas station.
He unlocks the door. Everything is quiet. Takes off his shoes. Puts the supplies in the kitchen.
Calls out. 'Ilya. I just got here.'
He pads from room to room. Finds his boyfriend half asleep in sweats on the floor of the larger upstairs bathroom. Tries not to think too much about the smell of vomit.
'Ilya.' He strokes his hair.
'Shane.' Tears are in Ilya's eyes. He looks like shit. 'I'm sorry. I was looking forward to this weekend.'
'It's ok. Do you want to go to bed? I can help you.'
—
Shane feels Ilya settle next to him in the bed for half an hour or so. He's grabbed a Gatorade and placed it on the nightstand next to him. Ilya hasn't touched it. Shane tries not to worry if what he has could be infectious. Does some googling in the dark. Google suggests...probably not so much if it's definitely been a food borne thing.
Shane is just on the cusp of sleep when he hears a hushed 'Gospodi'.
Ilya is up, moving quickly back to the same bathroom. The ensuite would have been closer.
He is back in maybe 5 minutes or so. Then off again in a few minutes, groaning softly.
Shane is so tired. It takes till the third time for him to sit up and put the light on. His boyfriend hasn’t come back. It’s been maybe 15 minutes?
Fuck. He feels like he is being bad at this.
He checks his phone. 1:35am. He has a couple of texts from Hayden 10 minutes ago.
Dude. Sorry if I was being a dick earlier. I hope you have a nice weekend.
Hyped for Toronto next week. We're going to slaughter them.
He texts back.
Hey man. Fucking right we are. No worries about earlier.
Weekend plans are kinda not going to plan. Ilya has food poisoning ☹
Hayden calls him a minute later.
'Hey man. I was up with Amber anyway so thought I'd check in. Say hi to uncle Shane.'
Shane hears the kid for a few seconds. A soft ‘Hew-wo’. It seems dumb but it does help a little.
'So Roz has it firing out of both ends then? F…’ Hayden catches himself. ‘Effing brutal. Reminds me of when me and Jackie were on honeymoon in Mexico...'
Shane remembers the story. Way to test out the ‘in sickness’ part of those wedding vows, in a hotel room with a single bathroom. What a fucking nightmare.
At least with this it’s just the one of them. It could be worse.
'Yeah I think so. I think he might have locked himself in the bathroom down the hall.'
'Not the ensuite then? Trying not to be gross in front of ickle baby Shane?'
'I guess not.'
'Should you go and check on him? Bring him some water or Gatorade or something? A bucket if he needs it?'
Fuck. He could kiss Hayden in that moment.
'Thanks man. Yeah I should.'
'Also. It might not be wise for him to lock the bathroom. In Mexico I almost passed out on the john. Jackie was freaking...'
'Gross.' Shane responds automatically. 'But thanks Hayd. Really appreciate your help. Speak soon, ok?'
'Speak soon, dude. Give me a shout if you need to. Hope Roz feels better.'
Shane gets up. Grabs the Gatorade from the nightstand. Ilya’s phone buzzes, lighting up for a second. He leaves it but grabs his own.
He walks down the hall. The sounds from the bathroom are…not good.
He knocks gently.
‘Ilya. I brought you the Gatorade. Maybe you should try and drink something. I’ll leave it outside the door ok?’
A hoarse ‘ok’ is all he gets in return.
‘Did you lock the door? It’s maybe not a good idea, just in case…’
He hears dry retching.
Then, weakly, ‘No, Shane. Door is not locked. But I do not think you want to come in.’
‘Do you need…? Can I bring you anything else? A blanket? A bucket?’
‘Bucket is good idea, yes. There is one in kitchen.’
It takes too long to find it. In the back of the cupboard under the sink.
When he returns the Gatorade is gone. He hears more vomiting.
Fuck.
‘Ilya, I’m coming in.’
His boyfriend is on the toilet, leaning forward, retching, his eyes and nose streaming. Yellow vomit down his sweats and on the floor. The bottle half drank lays on its side.
‘Oh god, Shane.’ Ilya grabs the bucket, shaking, tries to catch a breath. ‘I think Gatorade was bad idea.’
‘No shit.’
‘No. Opposite problem.’
At least his sense of humour is still intact. Shane finds the nearest bath towel and throws in down on the floor in front of him. He gets a damp washcloth from the sink. A glass of water. Ilya is still retching as if he were convulsing.
‘I can hold the bucket.’
He takes the washcloth to Ilya’s forehead, then his nose, his mouth. Eventually the shakes start to abate.
‘Here, take a sip. Just a small one.’
‘You’re ok. You’re ok.’ Shane whispers.
Ilya is crying, softly now. He has never seen him look so small.