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“Dr. Hollander, you have a patient on bed 6.”
“Thanks Jackie,” Shane replies, taking one last sip of his god-awful homemade protein smoothie before accepting the clipboard from her outstretched hand. He really needed to rethink his recipe for his morning “meal”, the taste of kale was way too strong, but it was clean. So, he tries to remind himself the drink was good for him, somehow.
Attempting to distract himself from the bitter taste in his mouth, he looks at the information on the chart in front of him. “What kind of case are we looking at?” He hums as a question not seeking an answer rather just to break the silence. He’s hoping to make it seem like he isn’t ignoring the nurses in front of him, regardless of the fact they seem quite busy.
Passing comments and whispers of workplace gossip in recent months made it clear to Shane that many of his coworkers thought his social skills were lacking and it left some feeling a bit awkward around him. He is trying to work on it. It inevitably was a trial and error process. Like last week, when he realized he asked far too many questions about Dr. Lemaire’s wife. He was just trying to show interest in the other doctor’s story about her but was later told by a nurse it seemed like he was a little too interested. Still, he continues to try. Not everyone was too critical of him though, the nurse in front of him, Jackie, is always nice, so her presence put him at ease.
His eyes skim across the vitals section to the chief complaint as he’s been trained to do. He’d put money on it that the listed issues are “fever, coughing and chills” or some form of it, it was flu season after all. Although Shane felt like in the hospital, it seemed to always be “flu season.” However, he is surprised to see some drastically different ailments listed.
Smoke inhalation, facial laceration, second degree burn on the left forearm and a possible sprained wrist with bruised knuckles on the right.
“Your favorite patient.” Jackie’s smile turns sly before looking back at the monitor in front of her.
Oh no.
There’s no questioning who this supposed “favorite patient” is.
That damned Russian firefighter again, Roza-something. Loose blond curls, icy blue eyes, impossibly muscular and a smirk that Shane was convinced (although medically impossible) was welded onto his face. Everything about the man irked Hollander. His cocky smile, his sarcasm, his carefree attitude, and most of all, his recurrence in this very emergency room.
Maybe Shane was hyperaware of caution and proper risk-assessment due to his career requiring as much, but this man seemed to have no regard that danger was not something to be sought out. This is the fifth time in four months that he’s been admitted, and Dr. Hollander has had the “pleasure” of being a part of two of those earlier visits. Every occurrence was some form of a workplace injury. Burns, lacerations, debris lodged in eye and a few other smoke inhalations were the parts of the ever-growing list. And with the last time the firefighter somehow found the audacity to look Shane in the eye and say, “See you tomorrow Dr. Hollander!” with a cheeky smile as if he has no intention of ever being careful again.
Shane hates it.
Shane has a lot of respect for fire fighters and all first responders. They did something he would hate to do, take risks. Their job was to take risks all day, every day. No set schedule, no consistent environment, no ability to predict the events waiting to unfold. Shane wouldn’t even dare to think how much he would despise it. At least in the ER he was in a controlled and familiar environment and the only wild card was the patient and their ailments. He respected the risk takers. However, this one man in particular felt like a reckless accident patient more than a well-meaning and self-sacrificial hero.
“Rozanov” Shane mutters to himself, re-familiarizing himself with the name by looking at the chart one last time as he sucked in a breath and approached blue curtain obscuring the view of bed 6.
As he slides the curtain open, Shane sees the man in question sitting on the end of the bed swinging his legs with a carefree look on his face as if he had a papercut and not a bloody gash above his eyebrow and a second-degree burn on his forearm. The man looks up acknowledging him. Even from behind the oxygen mask, the firefighter is obviously beaming at Shane’s presence.
“Ah yes, Dr. Hollander, great to see you.” His deep voice rumbles, contrasting with his cheeky smile, one that Shane would admit, was effectively charming. Shane drops his head to the chart before he admits anything more to himself.
“Mr.—Rozanov, what a surprise.” Shane deadpans, not daring to look up. Not that there was anything to look at on the chart, he had practically memorized it, but he couldn’t bare to look up and be met with any more of Rozanov’s antics, and it had only been 20 seconds since he walked in here.
“You can call me Ilya.” The Russian cocks his head to the side, his smile, now tight-lipped but still plastered on his face. “I told you last time.”
Shane holds a stoic look as he nods his head. “O-ok.”
Get it together Shane.
“Glasses, I like them.” Rozanov continues, tapping next to his own eye with another smirk.
Truthfully, Dr. Hollander’s contacts had a shipping delay and he ended up having to use his backup glasses while he waited for another three days. It was already bothering him enough to be out of his normal routine and now Rozanov was being an ass about it. Well, not really, but bringing it up made the feeling of the glasses burn on the bridge of his nose.
“What brings you in today Mr. Rozanov?” Completely forgoing the permission to use Rozanov’s first name. Shane adjusts his posture, standing straight as he could. Normally, he would have sat down on the swivel stool next to the bed. That’s what he normally did to seem less intimidating to patients, bedside manner and all. However, he could not convince himself to do so for Rozanov.
Rozanov pulls down his oxygen mask before responding, Shane grimaces as he does so.
“I discovered I cannot breathe smoke, again.” Rozanov shrugs, cocking his head to the side and winking as if he’s actually thinking about the consequences of his actions.
“Maybe it would help if you stopped talking.” Shane takes the mask and directs it back to Rozanov’s face, before going to put on exam gloves.
“You act like I am not your favorite patient, Dr. Hollander.” Ilya tuts, muffled from behind the mask, but Shane hears it clear as day.
“My favorite patients are ones that don’t return.” Shane states, exasperated. He reminds himself that this firm statement wasn’t exactly true. Shane had some patients he enjoyed seeing despite their chronic illnesses causing repeated visits, but that was different. It wasn’t on purpose. Not that Rozanov technically was here on purpose. But he could have been more careful and that felt purposeful enough for Shane.
“So, you say it is not good that I jump out window to see you again?” Rozanov says with a borderline crazed look in his eye.
What? These injuries don’t line up with- oh wait, sarcasm.
“No.”
Rozanov chuckles in response.
He tries to ignore Rozanov’s gaze as he holds the thermometer to the other’s forehead, being mindful to avoid the area with the cut. Temperature is a bit high, but not alarmingly so. There’s a subtle warmth in Hollander’s face as he takes Rozanov’s pulse, holding onto the blonde’s wrist. He tries to will this reaction away, but it’s no use. The pulse is normal, but Shane wonders if his is. Trying to get the respiratory rate and evaluation of breathing, Shane gets a glance at the tattoo on the other’s chest. It’s not much of a look, but he had seen it in its entirety during Rozanov’s last visit. A large neo-traditional portrait of an aggressive-looking walrus. Odd choice, tacky at best, but to each their own.
Shane starts by assessing the gash on Rozanov’s face. It’s not deep but could use some skin glue to heal cleaner and neater. He then gently looks over the burn. It doesn’t look too bad for being 2nd degree, only some mild blistering and swelling, but it certainly will be uncomfortable for a few weeks. Cleaning, mild ointment and a bandage would do the trick. Moving on to the wrist it is the same, nothing more than a mild sprain that will likely ache for a bit, but no permanent damage. Temporary soft splint for a few weeks. He’s lucky, considering how bruised his knuckles are. It could have been much worse. The knuckles confused Dr. Hollander, the injuries indicated Rozanov had punched something, however Shane didn’t see any way Rozanov would have needed to punch something, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask.
Normally, this is where Shane would dictate what care the firefighter needed and hand off the actual care itself to a nurse. Unfortunately, the ER was incredibly short-handed today and Shane was going to have to treat the Rozanov himself.
Great.
Although, Rozanov is being a lot quieter today.
“Ok, the laceration needs to be cleaned and closed, I’ll treat the burn and I’m going to get you a splint for the wrist.” Shane says in a matter-of-fact tone. He pulls a small disposable towel out and wets it with water from the sink nearby before taking the oxygen mask off the other man.
“Nothing too serious, I assure you.” He hands Rozanov the cloth before turning around to write in the chart and then almost instantaneously spinning back around. “The cloth is for the ash.” He points to Ilya’s face.
“Yes, I know, Dr. Hollander.”
“Oh, sorry.” Shane feels his face redden again.
“No, all good.” Rozanov says quietly, not letting Shane worry about the lack of need for clarification for too long.
The firefighter starts wiping down his face and Shane writes in the chart. When the doctor looks up, he can see Rozanov’s smile is there, but weaker than before. Smoke inhalation takes a lot out of a person, he’s surprised Rozanov is only now losing steam. He sets up the man with a nasal cannula, so he’s still getting supplemental oxygen, but it is a little less bulky.
“I have to grab the supplies, feel free to lay back. You’re likely exhausted.”
Ilya lets out some form of a wheezy laugh as he starts to gingerly move backwards onto the bed. “Yes, sir.”
When Shane returns, Rozanov is almost asleep. It is odd to see him so quiet and peaceful; it lets Shane notice that he really is an attractive guy.
“Ok, lets get started.” He cuts his own thoughts off before they wander much farther. Rousing Ilya from his rest. The blonde man doesn’t move much as Shane puts on a new pair of gloves and opens the kit with the skin glue.
“No stitches?” Ilya asks, with a tone of surprise lacing his words.
“No, the cut isn’t that deep, and that part of the skin doesn’t have a lot of tension on it, so the glue is neater and easier.”
Ilya blows a raspberry. “Damn, I was hoping for a scar.”
“Sorry, not this time.” Shane slips a small smile.
Using careful precision, Dr. Hollander cleans out the mix of dust, blood and ash out of the cut. He gets glimpses of Ilya’s side-eye gazing in his direction.
“Why did you become a firefighter?” Escapes the Canadian’s lips. He’s never attempted small talk with Rozanov. Granted, normally Rozanov would fill the silence with his own babbling, but he didn’t seem to do so this time. Everything about Rozanov, Ilya, was a bit more bearable this time and Shane isn’t sure why.
The Russian looks a bit caught off guard at Shane’s comment. However, the disorientation doesn’t last long. He smirks, then shrugs as he answers.
“Wanted to be more useful.”
That’s vague.
“Well, why firefighting?”
“I don’t know. It wasn’t my plan. I came to Canada as a teenager to play hockey.”
“In college?”
“No, NHL.” Ilya says causally. Shane stops and pulls back the cloth he’s cleaning with to look at the man in front of him to ensure he actually heard what he thinks he heard.
“You were in the NHL? What team?”
“Winnipeg.” Ilya says with a monotone voice, not much enthusiasm radiates from his statement, but there’s not a tone of disgust either. Which made sense. Really it all started making sense to Shane now, down to the tacky walrus tattoo.
The Winnipeg Warships had never really been a huge name in hockey, never up for any Stanley Cups, he couldn’t recall if they’d ever made it to a conference final. Yet Shane knew they were beloved by Manitoba. The local fans were a dedicated and loyal bunch that surely kept the team’s morale high for home games. Shane knew this firsthand. He had gone to game as a kid while visiting his aunt and uncle in Winnipeg and he even had a picture with Wiley the Walrus, the Warships’ character mascot. Again, a modest team in the NHL, but it was still surprising an NHL player was sitting in Shane’s ER. Not that Shane really paid all too much attention to hockey as an adult, his career was somewhat consuming of his life. Regardless, he is Canadian, and all Canadians knew at least a little something about hockey.
“After I quit hockey, I was already Canadian citizen, yes? So, I wanted to be useful to Canada since they keep me.”
Shane nodded, patting the now clean skin dry.
“Because of my nationality it would have been hard to be police or military, so, firefighter it is.”
“There’s lots of ways to be helpful to Canada.” Shane retorts mindlessly, prepping the skin glue. This likely would have been one of those moments where if this was his coworker he’d regret saying that in fear he sounded dismissive of their choices, but Rozanov doesn’t seem phased, rather intrigued.
“Like what?”
Shane makes eye contact with him, not expecting Ilya to care what he thought. The shared look proves too much for Shane as he drops his gaze back to the wound.
“P-postal service or librarian? Hold still.” Shane mutters as he begins as he applies the glue. And yes, Shane knew these were unconventional positions to consider as “useful”, but he couldn’t imagine a day without access to the resources of the postal service or libraries. Missing important bills, no written communication, no access to free books or other media forms? Life would be chaos.
“Wow, Dr. Hollander you really are boring.” Ilya says with a small smile as Shane steps back to let the glue dry before proceeding.
Boring was a word Shane was well acquainted with and disillusioned to. His routines, preferences and lifestyle choices were all often passively referred to as “boring” by friends and coworkers. But these “boring” things are what made the uncertainties of life tolerable for Shane. They were safety nets and it has taken him all 28 years of his life to finally accept these are healthy things that help him manage daily stress, regardless of what others thought.
Despite these past experiences, he didn’t sense any belittling tone from Ilya’s comment. The word boring was used just out of comparison to the undoubtedly hectic life the firefighter lived that Shane would despise living. And for the first time in awhile, Shane actually didn't mind being described as boring.
“What can I say, I see value in the things that keep society turning.” Shane defends, feeling himself gain a bit more confidence.
Ilya nods, with no sign of any judgement or disbelief.
“I understand, but for me it feels good to save people who can go do great things.”
Shane actually found that sentence to be impressively well-adjusted. No criticism of what Shane suggested, just a matter of fact response that laid out his own choice. Quite mature.
They sat in a somewhat comfortable silence as Shane completed all of his final touches to make sure the cut was dry, protected and set to heal.
“Well, that’s it for the laceration I have the burn supplies, but I forgot the splint.” Shane was about to step out when suddenly the curtain is slid open by a young woman with a baby on her hip.
“Are you Rozanov?” She asks softly, clearly nervous. Ilya nods, sitting up a bit straighter.
“I-I’m Lindsay Walsh, you rescued my baby, Noah. I just wanted to say thank you.”
Ilya smiled and nodded again as he pulled the nasal cannula off his face. There were a few seconds of awkward silence, before Lindsay startled as if she was needlessly holding everyone up and continued. The poor woman was probably frazzled from today’s unexpected events.
“I-I had gone out back of the apartment to take the trash out, it only takes me a minute or two and he was down for a nap, but the time I came back inside, they had blocked off the entrances because of the smoke. I know I was frantic, but the way you looked me in the eye and told me you’d get him.” She looks to her son while speaking, trying to hold back tears. Ilya nods, likely understanding how traumatic it was for her to recall the event. Shane feels like he shouldn’t be listening to this, but he doesn't think he can pull himself away either. Lindsay’s eyes drop to Ilya’s lap where is bruised hand is resting.
“I heard you had to punch your way through a door, I’m sorry about your hand, and anything else.” She looks around, assessing his other injuries but Ilya flippantly waves it off as if it is no big deal.
Well now that explains the sprain and the bruised knuckles Shane thinks.
“No worries, ma’am part of my job, and Dr. Hollander is fixing me up good as new. Right?” Ilya winks at Shane, and Shane feels his heart leap a bit at the gesture.
Get it together Shane, this is not about you.
Shane nods sheepishly. Lindsay smiles at him briefly before looking back to Ilya.
“I just wanted to tell you thank you from the bottom of my heart. I’m sure you don’t hear that enough. Noah is all I have.” The woman starts to tear up.
Ilya slides off the bed into a cautious standing pose to offer her a side-hug being careful with his burn, which she gladly accepts.
“Of course ma’am. I love what I do.”
“I-I’ll be right back.” Shane slips out to grab the splint. When he returns, he sees Ilya playing with Noah in Lindsay’s arms. Not long after, Lindsay excuses herself and the baby, but not before she offers one last thank you.
Shane sees a lot of good things in the ER, but that is truly a good moment for a place that is so filled with people having the worst days of their lives.
“See? I am useful, Dr. Hollander. Makes me happy.” Ilya notes as Shane slips the splint onto his hand.
“I’m pretty sure it’s the other way around. They’re supposed to be thankful for you.” Shane retorts as he tightens the splint.
“I don’t think I’d be happy without this job.”
“Even though you risk dying every day?” Shane challenges as he slips the nasal cannula back onto Ilya's face.
“Not everyday.”
“I don’t know with you. You’re practically here every day.” Shane says with a small smile as he sets up the burn dressing supplies.
Ilya shakes his head with an amused look on his face, likely sensing Shane was coming out of his shell.
“But no,” the firefighter looks him straight in the eye as he continues. “That doesn’t bother me at all.”
A silent pause falls upon the two of them for a moment as both men consider what Ilya had just admitted to.
“I guess I shouldn’t say that to a doctor.” Ilya’s gaze drops to the floor and for the first time today Shane feels like he sees a slightly less confident version of Ilya Rozanov.
Shane shakes his head as he sits on the swivel stool next to the bed. “No, I get it, the reward of knowing you’re making a difference outweighs the risk for you. Nothing wrong with that as long as you’re still careful.” He states, quirking up his eyebrow with the last sentence trying to make it stick with Rozanov. It doesn’t seem to. The blonde seems to be thinking about something else.
“Would you?”
“Would I what?” Shane asks as he starts to clean the burn.
“Put your life on the line for a patient?” Rozanov asks again with a slight strain in his voice that Hollander doesn’t miss. The doctor lightens up his touches and makes a mental note to give Rozanov a mild pain med prescription.
“Well, I put my career on the line to save a kid once.”
Fuck, why did I tell him that?
It was true, and it was likely the one uncalculated thing Shane has ever done in his life. An 8-year-old girl was asphyxiating on fluid in her windpipe and needed a procedure that Shane knew how to do, but wasn’t authorized to do as an intern. By the time a superior had made it to the room, he had completed the procedure and effectively saved the girl’s life. Despite criticism from some, it was decided by the higher ups that he saved the child’s life and was not to be punished for choosing the necessary option. Though some said it was reckless, Shane just didn’t see a reality where he didn’t save the girl. At the heart of it, medicine was very clear for Shane. Life in danger, save life. Simple.
Ilya’s eyes widen with realization and a small smile blooms on his tired face.
“Oh, Hollander is not so boring after all.” The Russian looks impressed and a bit surprised. Shane couldn’t understand why, it was his job. Shane raises an eyebrow at him before going back to his work.
Ilya shakes his head, “But no, like your life, risking your life."
"Like how?" Shane questions. Ilya thinks for a moment, before his eyes brighten.
"Like in Grey’s Anatomy when Meredith hold bomb inside patient so the room does not blow up.”
“I don’t watch Grey’s Anatomy.” Shane replies with a small scoff, not looking away from the burn.
He feels the tension form in his jaw. He knows he’s holding back the information that he is well aware of that scene in Grey’s Anatomy. He was, and still is, an avid watcher of the show, despite the questionable medical practices and incorrect medical terminology. He would not be mentioning that he knows by heart that the scene Ilya is talking about is from Season 2 Episode 17. And he absolutely wouldn’t add the detail that he had been practically foaming at the mouth over Dylan Young.
The firefighter glances at him skeptically and for a split second, Shane worries that Ilya can read his thoughts.
“I thought all Canadians watched Grey’s Anatomy, no? Is it not what you consider a classical TV?”
“TV classic?” Shane attempts to correct as he starts to apply the ointment to the burn.
“Yes, classic.” Ilya nods.
“Well, I guess. I never watched it though.” Shane shrugs.
Liar.
“I wouldn’t think you’d be a person to watch that show.” Shane inquires, intrigued by the idea of a former NHL player sitting on his couch and watching a soapy medical drama. “Not that I know that much about it.” he covers.
Ilya shrugged. “I have a friend who likes to watch it when she comes to visit. It helped me improve my English.”
Shane nods.
“I did not think I liked it that much, then I had boyfriend that didn’t like it. He thought it was lame, but actually he was the lame one.” Ilya winks. Shane blushes, again.
Boyfriend?
“Oh, he was boring too?” Shane mutters.
Ilya quickly shakes his head.
“No no no. Lame. There’s a difference. You’re boring, but not lame. Much rather be with boring than lame.”
Shane doesn’t react to that, willingly. Yet, he feels his face continue to flush. He tries to deflect by returning to the conversation.
“But I get what you mean, I guess I’d like to think I’d be willing to do that.” Shane answers.
The Russian scoffs, “Stupid of me to expect anything less from the honorable Dr. McFreckles.”
Shane knows he should be offended, especially since his freckles were often a sore subject with him, but instead he snorts, unattractively.
Ilya’s eyes narrow in suspicion.
“Ah, Mr. Doctor does watch Grey’s Anatomy.” Ilya says quietly as he smiles proudly with a beaming grin plastered to his face.
Shane rolls his eyes, knowing it’s useless to fight it.
“Don’t tell anyone, McSmokey.” Shane says as he wraps up the burn loosely.
“It’s easy to watch while on the treadmill, sue me.” he continues. And it was true. Shane knew he should probably stop watching so much television when he was exercising every morning, but it always made his workouts a little less painful.
“Never would dream of stopping that.” Ilya winks, and he smiles at Shane for the umpteenth time with that same smile that could make the doctor melt if he looked too long. And for the first time, Shane realized Ilya was flirting with him. He didn't know how to feel about it, really.
Shane had been quite aware of his own sexuality for a few years now. It’s something he had learned to accept and embrace with pride. What he could not embrace was the fact he found himself attracted to cocky and reckless men such as this one. However charming Rozanov had been today, he was still a thrill-seeking firefighter. And right now Shane was starting to admit to himself he found it attractive, knowing the somewhat heroic intentions behind it.
Regardless, Shane decides to be a bit reckless, well, in his eyes.
“Alright, Ilya, you’re all good.” Shane says as he takes the cannula from Ilya, gives one last glance to the other’s blood oxygen level and writes up the prescription for the pain meds. The look on Ilya's face shows that he catches onto the unexpected usage of his first name.
“Dr. Hollander?
“Hm?” Shane looks up from the chart, seeing a mischievous glint in the Russian’s eye as he’s starting to sit up again.
Oh no.
“Since I’m here often, maybe I can call you by your first name?”
Shane flips the chart closed, regaining all composure Ilya’s charm had slowly been chipping away at. “I have absolutely no desire to be in a situation where we have to be on a first-name basis due to the number of times you end up in my ER.”
Ilya shrugs and puckers his lips, admitting his defeat. “Ok, fair enough.”
He slides off the bed slowly, a bit more stable than the last time, but still with some amount of caution. He walks towards the nurses’ station to fill out the release forms. Shane watches him from the room the firefighter just occupied, he can’t help but indulge in one last glance of the man.
Shane was still in no way happy with the amount of danger Rozanov seemed to repeatedly place himself in, but it made more sense now. He made more sense now. And his reasons made it a bit more fathomable for Shane to admire him.
The doctor is pulled out of his thoughts when Ilya looks back his direction after a few moments, catching him staring. The Russian smiles and saunters past the doctor on his way to the exit.
“See you next time, Shane.” He winks.
Shane looks to him confused about how Ilya had found out his first name, regardless, he gives Ilya a nervous wave back. He suddenly has a thought and whips his head to look back to the nurses’ station where Jackie is hiding a grin behind her files.
“Jackie, really?”
She just shrugs, “One day, you’ll thank me for that.” She quips.
And Shane must admit she might be right.