Chapter Text
2014 Sochi Olympics
"Go away, Hollander."
"Are you ok?" Shane pressed on even though Ilya just gazed out over the ice, as if he wasn't there. As if the last time they saw each other hadn't been life changing for them. Well, maybe it wasn't for Ilya. Maybe Shane was just another notch in his bedpost.
"Please, go." He sounded less angry this time. His deep voice thick with exhaustion and maybe sadness.
"You didn't answer my text."
"No, I did not answer your boring text. Now, will you go??" He finally looked at Shane before his gaze slipped to the space behind him, flicking to scan the area before returning to his face. Shane considered turning around to see if they were being watched but he couldn't look away from Ilya. Couldn't look away from the touch of fire that had finally returned to him.
Vaughn's words from this morning replayed in his head, about how brave it was for a gay man to be out in Russia. Ilya was still glaring at him but Shane couldn't help but notice his pale complexion, the dark rings under his eyes, the corners rimmed in red. Shane wanted to keep pushing until Ilya pinned him and kissed him against the wall. But not here. Not now.
"Fine." Shane shook his head and tried to project his annoyance, as he did he glanced around the stadium. One level below them a man in black stood smoking a cigarette with his eyes glued on the two of them. Another man in a dark suit stood behind a glass window just across from them, his phone lifted, pointed at them. Not at the skaters below. He could be on a zoom call. Or he could be recording them both. Shane tried to take a deep breath to slow his now pounding heart.
"Fuck." He turned and walked away even though it killed him. He wanted to tuck Ilya under his arm and usher him away from this place. Away from the eyes, the press, the judgement. To take him back to Canada and just keep him there. Which was ridiculous. Ilya was born here, his family was here. He knew how to keep himself safe far better than Shane ever would. He kept his pace slow and measured as he returned to his seat next to Vaughn and Hunter. He made a quick excuse for why he'd left and they made some comments in response though he didn't hear them. He glanced back up to where Ilya was still standing, leaning heavily against the iron frame of the stadium his eyes locked on the ice below.
There was no guarantee Ilya even wanted his attention. Maybe he really did want to be left alone. Something twisted low in Shanes gut telling him that wasn't the case. Something was seriously wrong and it wasn't fair that Ilya be left alone to handle it. They needed to talk in private and Shane wasn't leaving Russia until he knew Ilya was okay.
***
Shane made his excuses and left just before winners were announced before stationing himself outside near a rear exit, the one closest to where Ilya was standing. He took a risk, assuming Ilya would avoid the main doors where the crowds would be thickest. And then he waited, just off to the side in the shadow of a pillar.
He waited until the man in black that had been smoking walked out, his cell pressed to his ear as he chatted in a rapid stream of Russian. The only world Shane caught was, "Rozanov" before the man briskly walked off. Shane folded himself deeper into the shadows and considered just abandoning his plan and staying there. He was being reckless. This was stupid and the danger was real.
Suddenly Ilya appeared. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his jacket, shoulders hunched up, a hat pulled down low over his face, as if he were folded into himself. He looked nothing like the confident player Shane knew. Before he could over think it Shane reached out and grabbed Ilya's wrist and tugged him into the dark corner with him. Ilya's eyes flared wide and fearful as he physically recoiled. He was terrified and his flight had been triggered instead of his fight. Another marker that he was nothing like himself.
Shane released his grip and took a step back, keeping his voice low and calm as he spoke. "Hey. It's okay. Ilya, it's just me."
"Jesus. Hollander. I thought you would murder me." Ilya's chest heaved as he tried to breathe and Shane worried he was having a panic attack.
"I'm sorry. I just needed to know if you were really ok. Are you…Are you in danger?"
Ilya leaned on the wall and glared. "You do not understand English, Hollander? I thought I was clear." His words were fierce but his eyes were wild, sweeping the empty space outside of their cove.
"Do you have a smoke?"
"What?" Ilya's brows drew together as he tried to process Shane's request and failed.
"Do. You. Have. A. Smoke? I assume its not illegal to take a smoke break in Russia? And I assume you have the time for it considering your Olympic run is over?"
Ilya's glare deepened before he snorted a laugh. He shook his head and glanced around again before drawing two cigarettes and a lighter out of his coat pocket. They were surrounded on three sides by thick marble bricks with only pavement and the green grass of an empty park across from them. A few people quickly wandered by, eager to escape the damp cold, but no one stood nearby. No unmarked vans sat on the edge of the street.
Ilya lit both of the cigarettes at the same time before passing one to Shane. Their hands brushed as Shane accepted the offering. He'd only intended to hold it while they talked but once he had it in hand he couldn't help but press his lips to the place where Ilya's had just been and take the smallest of drags. He let the barest wisp of smoke sit in his mouth before he blew it back out. He looked down to try and hide the look of disgust on his face at the taste. He'd brush his teeth the second he returned to his hotel room.
When he looked back up Ilya's expression had softened, the corner of his lips lifted in a little half smile.
"What?"
"Is nothing. I am just a bad influence on you, I think." Ilya's eyes dropped to his shoes as he spoke and Shane couldn't help but feel like Ilya had admitted a deeper truth than he'd intended.
"You aren't. You make me work harder. You make me want to be better. You aren't a bad influence, Roz."
He hummed and sniffled before crossing his arms over his chest. "You don't need to worry about me. I am fine."
"You don't seem fine."
Ilya took a long drag then roughly swiped his palm across his eye. "I am national disappointment. But, no. I am not in danger."
"Yeah I watched the game. It was rough."
"They did not like me. My teammates. They did not like that I left Russia to play for US or that I am one of the youngest on the team or that I was Captain. There were better choices for Captain. They think…" Ilya's voice thickened until he couldn't speak. They waited in silence with nothing for company but the chilling wind that whipped around them.
After several moments he continued. "They think that my father is the reason I was given that position."
"That's bullshit! You are the best player on that team."
"My father also thinks that he is the reason... He is furious with me."
Never had Ilya looked more like a child than he did now. Shane wanted to reach out and hug him or touch his hand, but he didn't dare. Ilya took a step back as if he knew what Shane was thinking.
"Is there anything I can do?"
Ilya glanced back up at Shane's face then at the cigarette still smoldering in his hand, mostly untouched before he took a final drag of his own. He dropped the butt on the ground and stepped on it. "When do you leave?"
"Wednesday. Seven am."
He nodded then his eyes locked on to Shane's with an intensity only Ilya could possess. "Good. You will not contact me again. You will not text me. You will not try to see me or ask anyone about me. You will do whatever it is that good little Canadian boys do until Wednesday and then you will get on your plane at seven am and you will go home. Do you understand?"
"And once I'm home?"
Ilya released an annoyed snort and snatched the untouched half of Shane's cigarette out of his hand before bringing it to his own lips. He finished the half in three long drags, watching the smoke curl away into the night sky with each release. Shane felt oddly calm as he waited in silence, knowing that Ilya didn't mean what he was saying. Knowing that Ilya was only trying to keep him safe. But also knowing that Ilya wasn't ok and that he wasn't going to do as Ilya ordered him, for once.
"Just fucking forget about me, Hollander." Ilya dropped the second butt onto the ground, next to the first and smashed it with the toe of his shoe. He studied the two crushed butts longer than necessary before he looked back up.
Shane shook his head and forced himself to look directly into Ilya's eyes. "No." Before he turned and walked away.