Chapter Text
Ilya slumps into the seat next to him, pulling on his seatbelt and leaning his head back against the headrest. He's breathing a bit harder than a casual walk through the airport should really warrant, and Shane glances at him, concerned.
"Are you okay? Did something happen?"
"No, is all good," he says hoarsely. "No one recognised me."
Shane frowns, noticing that Ilya's eyes are closed behind his sunglasses.
There's a pause before Ilya says, "I am getting sick. Maybe."
Shane makes a noise of acknowledgement, taking in his appearance again. His hair is sweaty underneath his cap, his face is paler than usual, and his lips are chapped.
"Do you have a headache?" Shane asks, reaching across him to open the glove compartment. "I think I've got something…"
"I can't have, um…"
"NSAIDS, right, I looked it up. I've got Tylenol?"
Ilya blinks open his eyes, taking the box from Shane. Shane hands him a water bottle, and watches as he swallows two pills with a wince.
"Sore throat?" He asks.
Ilya nods, fumbling as he puts the pills back into the glove box, and closes it.
Shane makes a sympathetic face. "Poor baby."
Ilya smiles slightly, leaning back against the headrest. Shane pats his thigh.
"I'll let you sleep until we get there," he says, checking the mirrors and pulling out of car park.
Ilya had flown back into Ottawa on a late flight following a brand engagement in LA, and the sun was already starting to set. The streets were mercifully empty as Shane left the airport and started the drive to the cottage. He couldn't help the occasional glance over at Ilya, who had curled towards the window, apparently dozing off.
Shane didn't mind driving at night, for all that he'd been anxious when his parents first tried to teach him to drive. In the quiet of the car, with only Ilya's breathing to break the silence, it was peaceful. Watching the light his headlights cast on the road, Shane felt a similar state of calm that he sometimes felt on the ice, when he was fully in control of the play. He almost regretted how long he had resisted getting his licence, but driving in the city was a whole other challenge that still made him anxious.
Ilya mumbled something, shivering, and Shane turned up the heat. He put his hand on Ilya's thigh, near his knee, rubbing small circles with his thumb.
Ilya blinked awake when he pulled into a gas station. He'd had to dive a bit of the way, but couldn't remember if the medication he kept at the cottage was safe for Ilya.
"Wha..?" Ilya mumbled, rubbing his face.
"Hey," Shane whispered, putting a hand on Ilya's shoulder. "I'm just going to grab some stuff, do you want anything?"
Ilya blinked at the light of the gas station. It would be cute how sleepy he was, if he wasn't obviously feeling like crap.
"Oh, um…" Ilya swallowed. Grimaced. "The… throat things?"
"Lozenges?" Shane asked. "No worries. Won't be long."
He wanted to lean over the console, press a kiss into his hair, but the gas station probably had cameras, and there was only so far a shared charity could excuse their closeness. He settled for briefly cupping the back on his neck, before pulling away.
Shane nodded to the attendant as he entered, desperately hoping he wasn't a hockey fan. He took his time in the medicine isle, his phone out to look up drug interactions. He chewed on his bottom lip as he searched. Apparently none of the common cold and flu tablets were safe, which didn't seem right. Surely there was something Ilya could take? He settled on Claritin and Mucinex, and two flavours of lozenge. What else? He had plenty of Tylenol at the cottage, tissues… He grabbed a couple of Ilya's favourite snacks just in case, taking his haul up to the counter and paying quickly.
The attendant didn't make conversation beyond a greeting, which Shane was embarrassingly grateful for. He couldn't tell if he'd been recognised, and anxiety was prickling up the back of his neck. He thanked him with a tight smile, walking out in a way that he hoped was normal.
Ilya was more awake when he got back in the car, his face illuminated by his phone.
"Sorry," he said, handing him a packet of the lozenges. "Apparently you can't take fucking anything."
Ilya took the lozenges gratefully, freeing one from the blister packet with his thumbnail. He popped it in his mouth.
"I know," he said around the lozenge. "Is so annoying. Teammate will offer something, but oh no, have to google to see if I will die first."
He stifled a cough into his hand.
"Well, you won't die," Shane said. "… Probably. But thank you for being responsible."
"I am very responsible," Ilya said, closing his eyes as Shane started the car up again.
"They are helping though, right?" Shane asked.
"Yes. Is better." Ilya sniffed, rubbing his nose. "Thank you for making me. I wouldn't… Wouldn't have, without you."
Shane put his hand back on Ilya's thigh.
"I love you," he said.
Ilya smiled. "Ya tebya lyublyu."
They drive in silence for a while, but now that Ilya's awake and upright, he can't stop sniffling, and it's driving Shane nuts. With his eyes on the road, he fumbles in the centre console to unearth a packet of travel tissues, which he hands to Ilya.
"Huh?" He says. Then sniffs. Loudly.
Shane has to try very hard to remember that Ilya isn't being annoying on purpose.
"Blow your nose," he says.
"Oh, right. Sorry," he says, the plastic crinkling as he pulls out a tissue.
He blows his nose wetly, and Shane tries not to wince. It's just… It's just gross, okay, and Shane's only human. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Ilya scrunch up his face before he pitches forward to sneeze into his hands. He makes a rough sound in the back of his throat, then straightens up, fumbling with the tissues. Shane grabs the hand sanitiser he keeps in his door, holding it out to him. He glances away from the road to squirt a dollop into his outstretched hands.
Ilya clears his throat. "Thanks."
"All good," Shane says, returning the hand sanitiser. "You okay?"
Ilya grabs another lozenge. "This is bullshit."
Shane snorts softly.
Ilya's drifting off again when they pull into the cottage, and Shane has to put a hand on his shoulder to wake him up.
"Hey," he says quietly. "We're here."
Ilya nods, swallowing painfully. He straightens up, rubbing his eyes before gathering his medicine and tissues and getting out of the car. Shane grabs their bags, and Ilya doesn't even make a comment about carrying his own. Ilya slumps down on the couch as soon as they get inside, dropping the boxes on the coffee table. Shane puts their bags away, then comes back into the living room to find Ilya with his head tilted back and his eyes closed.
"Hey, c'mon," Shane sits next to him, jostling his shoulder.
Ilya makes an annoyed noise, but sits up and accepts the Gatorade that Shane presses into his hand. He cracks open the lid and takes a sip, then makes a face.
"My throat hurts," he complains.
"Aw, Poor Baby" Shane says, only half teasing.
He leans forward to put his arms around him. Ilya tucks his head into Shane's neck, and Shane presses a kiss into his hair. Ilya makes a whining noise. Shane rocks them back and forth gently, rubbing his back.
"I'm sorry you're not feeling well,"
Ilya nods into his shoulder, then pulls back, blinking tired eyes at him.
"Take some medicine and have a shower, you'll feel a bit better. Are you hungry?"
"No," Ilya says, reaching for the medicine.
Shane frowns a bit. "Okay. Do want some tea? With honey? That's supposed to be good for a sore throat."
Ilya swallows his pills with the Gatorade. His throat aches, and his head is throbbing again.
"Okay," he says, even though he mostly just wants to sleep.
It's way too much effort to pull himself to his feet to head off to the shower, but Shane pats him on the hip as he passes, so he feels a little better already.
The hot water feels good as he lazily washes his hair, the steam loosening his sinuses. His throat burns when he sneezes, and he has to turn off the shower and rest his head against the cool tile after a few minutes because the heat is making him dizzy. He'd had a bit of a dry throat yesterday, but had woken up at five this morning with a definite headache and sore throat. After a google search had told him he couldn't take cold and flu tablets, he'd cried in the shower before his photoshoot. It was just… a bad day. The ones he still had even with the medication.
He'd done his best to fake it through the shoot, but he's sure that everyone noticed he was in a bad mood. Which just makes him feel worse, because he's a professional athlete, and he can't handle a sore throat without taking it out on someone? He's pathetic — which is one of those things he's not supposed to think about himself anymore, but he can't really help it at the moment.
He steps out of the shower, drying himself off with his eyes closed. He's shivering, so he unearths sweatpants and an oversized hoodie which he thinks might have started as Shane's. He searches Shane's bag for a pair of thick socks to steal, because he hadn't brought any. He sits on the end of the bed to pull them on, breathing through his mouth and generally feeling awful. His back hurts, a dull ache right between his shoulder blades. He huffs, annoyed, then has to fumble for a tissue when it makes him sneeze.
He blows his nose, then has to find where Shane keeps his wastepaper bin. He leaves it next to his side of the bed. His nose is running again, so he grabs the whole box of tissues on his way to the kitchen.
"Hey," he says to Shane, rubbing at his nose. "Do we have garlic?"
Shane looks up from his phone. He's sitting at the counter, with two steaming mugs in front of him.
"I think so, yeah," he says, pushing one of the mugs towards him. "Why?'
"Old Russian remedy." Ilya says, depositing his tissue box on the counter and opening the fridge. "Is best medicine."
He grabs their water jug to pour himself a cup of water, then finds the garlic in the pantry. Shane buys it already peeled, which Ilya would normally make fun of him for, but is deeply grateful for right now. He selects two cloves of garlic and puts the rest away. Shane is making a face at him, phone down on the counter.
"Are you just going to…? Yeah, okay," he says, as Ilya puts the cloves in his mouth and starts chewing.
Shane's face twists a little. Ilya swallows, washing it down with the water.
"Your breath is going to stink," Shane tells him seriously.
Ilya's nose is threatening to drip onto his upper lip. He grabs a tissue, blows his nose wetly. "You are not kissing me right now, so is okay."
"Fair enough." Shane nudges the mug closer to him.
Ilya smiles thankfully, slumping into the seat next to him. The tea is warm, the honey soothing on his throat. And it helps wash out the flavour of the garlic.
"So," he says. "How were Pike children?"
Shane smiles. "Good. The twins missed you."
"Would have more fun with them than in LA. Was so hot, I was melting."
Shane huffs a laugh. "I thought you liked the sunshine? You liked Florida."
"Mhm, not by myself." He props his elbow on the table, puts his head on his hand so he can face Shane. "What did you do with twins?"
Shane starts telling him about the show that they're into at the moment, which they had insisted Shane watch with them, but he can tell Ilya isn't really following. Shane takes in the way that Ilya's blinks are getting longer, his head jerking as he tries to keep himself awake. When he almost slams his face on the table, Shane stands up, putting a hand on his back.
"Come on sleepyhead. Time for bed, I think."
"No…" Ilya whines, but he drags himself to his feet, rubbing at his nose.
Shane sees him to bed, making sure the tissues and bin are in reach. Ilya pulls the covers over his shoulders, wiggling to get comfortable.
"Love you," he mumbles into the pillow.
"Love you too," Shane says, and strokes his hair until the snuffley snores tell him that Ilya's fallen asleep.
Ilya wakes up groggily. The sun shining, but the curtains are only open a crack, so it's not too bright. Shane's already gotten up, straightened the sheets on his side of the bed, but it can't have been too long ago, because there's a bottle of cold water on his nightstand, sweating with condensation. Shane has lined up the little boxes of medicine next to the tissues, and it makes Ilya grin to imagine him taking care to get them all straight.
He pushes himself upright, body heavy and starts sorting the medicine. Tylenol, Mucinex, Claritin, and his Zoloft, the little white pill settling amongst the other.
He swallows them all with a mouthful of water and — fuck, his throat hurts. It hurts so bad he feels like he's about to throw up, so he pulls himself to his feet and into the bathroom. He takes a couple of breaths, but his mouth is filling with saliva, and swallowing again hurts so bad that the about-to-throw-up feeling gets worse.
He sits down on the tile next to the toilet, feeling like shit. When his mouth fills with saliva again, he spits it into the toilet.
Of course, that's when he hears Shane's voice in the main bedroom.
"Ilya?"
"Yes," he rasps, reaching out a hand to swing the bathroom door the rest of the way open.
Shane steps into the doorway, making a face at Ilya on the floor. He glances at the toilet.
"Are you going to throw up?"
Ilya shrugs. Shane crouches down to put a hand on his forehead.
"Did you take the medicine?"
"Mhm," Ilya says, nodding into Shane's hand.
"Okay," Shane says, pulling away his hand after a moment. He glances into their bedroom. "Um…"
Ilya spits into the toilet, then clambers to his feet. Shane grabs him when he tips over a little. He's so thirsty, but clearly water's not an option. He flushes the toilet, washes his hands while Shane hovers.
"Can," he says, then has to clear his throat harshly. "Can I have some tea?"
Shane nods, resolving himself. Ilya knows he does better with clear instructions.
"You're okay in here?"
Ilya gives him a thumbs up and a smile that probably looks more pathetic than sexy, but it seems to work on Shane. He rubs his shoulder, then leaves Ilya in the bathroom.
Ilya sighs, shivering. He doesn't feel like he's going to throw up anymore, but he still feels awful in the way that only comes from being sick. His head hurts, he's sweaty, his nose is running again, and his throat is trying to kill him. He'd rather take a hard hit to the boards. He heads back into the bedroom, popping a lozenge into his mouth. He blows his nose, then wraps himself in a throw blanket. With his lozenges and tissues, he makes his way into the lounge room, flopping down onto the couch.
Shane puts a mug down in front of him after a moment, holding him by the back of the neck while he presses a kiss to the top of his head. Ilya smiles. When Shane steps back, Ilya reaches for the mug, but Shane says— "Wait!" —and disappears back into the kitchen.
He returns with a bin in one hand, which he sets down next to the couch, and a thermometer in the other.
"Sorry, I just— you felt kind of warm earlier, I just want to check your temperature."
"Okay,"
They just blink at each other for a moment, until Shane wiggles the thermometer at him and says: "Open wide."
Ilya opens his mouth way too wide, locking eyes with Shane and wiggling his eyebrows. Shane blushes, breaking eye contact and pushing the tip of the thermometer into his mouth.
"It's supposed to sit under your tongue…" He says, trailing off.
Ilya takes it from him, holding it under his tongue until it beeps. He holds it up to Shane.
"Is good?"
"It's a little high, but I think you'll live."
"Thank you, Mister Nurse," Ilya jokes.
He wipes off the thermometer and reaches for his tea. Takes a cautious sip and… Yes, it's much better on his throat. He relaxes back into the couch, hands cupped around the warm mug. Shane watches him with a small smile.
"Are you hungry at all? I made… I made something I used to eat as a kid when I was sick, but it might be kind of weird, and you don't have to if you're still feeling nauseous…"
"Shane," Ilya says, soothing. "Is okay. I can eat."
Shane nods, disappearing into the kitchen.
He returns with two bowls, settling them on the table with spoons.
"It's… um, it's called okayu, it's basically just a rice porridge. Normally it's just rice and water and some salt, but I made it with chicken stock, because that's how I had it as a kid… but that's probably not the best if you're feeling nauseous… Sorry…"
Ilya swaps his tea for the bowl while Shane rambles, scooping a spoonful of the porridge. It's warm and chewy. Around another spoonful, he says:
"Is good. I like it, thank you." He swallows. "Don't stress so much."
Shane huffs a laugh, settling onto the couch next to him.
"Okay, sorry,"
"No, no sorry. Boring Canadian, is only word you know?"
Shane smiles, "You're right."
"I am always right,"
Shane reaches for the remote, switching on the TV and flipping through a few channels to land on a home renovation show. He glances at Ilya.
"Is this okay? I can change it."
"No, I like to indulge your real estate fetish."
"Fuck you," Shane says, picking up his bowl and leaning back into the couch.
Ilya glances at his bowl. It was the same serve that Shane had given him. A small portion, for someone he thought was going to throw up. He puts his bowl back on the coffee table so he can wipe his nose and sip some tea, trying to figure out how to approach it. He should be… sensitive, because he'd noticed that Shane had been very stressed about his diet recently. But he's sick, and his throat still hurts, so all he says is:
"Is that all you're having?"
Shane shifts, glancing away. "I ate something earlier."
"… Okay."
They watch the show. It's fun, watching Shane get overly invested in interior design. At one point, the renovator rips out the original green kitchen backsplash to replace with a boring white, and Shane gasps out loud. Ilya finishes his breakfast, and sips his tea slowly. He feels a little less gross, maybe. Once he's finished his tea, he shuffles over so he's lying down with his head in Shane's lap, still curled in his blanket. Shane runs his fingers through his hair.
He must doze off, because he wakes up to Shane shifting him onto the couch.
"Sorry!" He whispers. "I just have to get up, go back to sleep."
Ilya makes an annoyed sound, but his eyelids keep drooping and he quickly slips back into sleep.
Shane clears the table, washing the dishes in the kitchen and tidying up after breakfast. He's kind of hungry again, but nothing really looks good. They're supposed to be having dinner with his parents tonight, but it looks like they'll be cancelling so he'll have to figure something out… But thinking about it right now is stressing him out. He likes his meal plan. During the season he never has to think about what to eat, the nutritionist decides it all. And maybe sometimes it sucks, and he knows that Ilya doesn't like it when he refuses to cheat on his diet… But it makes him feel good. To stick to something, and have it all just work.
(And he'll never admit this to Ilya, because it's embarrassing, but it used to be… Sometimes when he was hungry he would stand in his kitchen and cry because he couldn't figure out what to eat. The meal plan fixes that.)
Right now, Shane takes a deep breath, grabs a Gatorade and the least gross flavour of protein bar that he has and heads to the gym. He needs to run through his normal workout to clear his head.