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The Montreal skyline was impressive, especially when lit up in all its sparkly, bright city glory. The people trudging along on their way home from their long work days, kids in the backseat, dogs waiting for them at home. Perfect in its anonymity. Emergencies far from the general public's mind as they journeyed to their homes.
The sun had set a bit ago, bitter cold blowing in off the water with more intensity in the absence of the sun. He was used to brutal winters, but this one was proving to be especially difficult. The weather patterns were causing too much ice build-up. Dangerous conditions paired with stupid drivers meant his ER was full to the brim with car crash survivors, and his morgue with victims. And that was just the icing on top of a typically hectic ER environment.
Montreal General was the main trauma center of the metropolitan area, something that the city was working slowly to rectify. Emphasis on fucking slowly. He had been here less than a year now, having transferred from BMC after a particularly testy relationship with the Head Surgeon there. Even with the slow improvements it was a huge step up from his previous job.
Thierault had been a fucking asshole. There was no reason to approach medical care in the way that he preferred. The homeless population of Boston could not help their situation, evident by the coalition of doctors going out of their way to try to help them on the daily, and then Thierault had just cut the program funding, placing police on every corner leading up to the hospital and distancing their relationship with the food bank and shelters nearby. It was the antithesis of everything Ilya believed in, something he refused to be quiet about, and so he lost his ER. Fired, silenced, along with the other doctors trying to fight this insane change in policy.
How a man who lacked all empathy had ended up in a decision making position at a fucking hopsital blew his mind. He was actually probably a psychopath and Boston was going to shit for it. It was a miracle Ilya had been able to secure this job after that shit show. It was a step down technically. He went from Lead Trauma Attending to just Attending, which was fine, management here was good. Ilya didn't need to replace anyone. The fact that he had even been hired after being disgraced so effectively by the BMC PR team was astounding. He was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
That being said, he wasn't sure he wanted this anymore. Ilya gazed out at the streets below, tracking a siren as it wound its way through the streets of downtown to reach the ER bay. How he was able to tell the difference between the ambulance sirens and the police sirens was a mystery to him as well. He supposes there was just something intrinsic to it these days. He watched the ambulance careen around the corner, pulling into the bay beneath him, disappearing under the overhang that jutted out of the wall eight floors below him, and waited for the urge to go down there to hit him. His shift was over, or over enough that he should not be stepping into one of their trauma rooms unless he wanted to work a double. And he didn't want to.
And that was new. Ilya was known for having to be bribed and coerced into leaving, his Lead Attending usually resorting to some sort of half-baked threat to get him out of there. There were always more people that needed help. He should be here if they needed him. That was, at least, how he usually felt about his job. Until this week.
This week was not so different. He refused to let it be different. He was just tired, needed sleep. That was the only reason why he didn't want to be here. It had nothing to do with Ley-
Stop.
Ilya gripped at the safety railing behind him, tight enough that hopefully his bare hands would freeze to the metal in this bitter cold, locking him in place. His palm burned where it melted the ice on the rail. This skyline had always reminded him of Moscow. There were very little similarities by way of architecture, with Moscow not having much of a skyscraper skyline, but really it was the feeling. Big city, big population, big lights, lots of people who needed help. Gloomy.
He couldn't practice medicine over there though. There was too much weight to the air, it was suffocating. So he was here, in Montreal, dodging phone calls and memories, because he could not escape even if he wanted to. The only true escape would be-
"Rozanov." The voice that called out to him was sharp, causing him to lean back more securely into the railing. Fuck.
Ilya glanced over his shoulder, taking in the sight of Dr. Shane Hollander, Lead Attending in the ER below, standing a few feet behind him, clutching a water and what looked to be a protein bar. He at least had the good sense to put on a jacket before braving the roof, unlike Ilya, who if pressed would just cite his good Russian genes and ignore the bone deep shivers coursing through him. Ilya said nothing, turning back to the view.
"What are you doing?"
"Taking in the view, Hollander." Ilya gestured to the bay below him. "What came in?"
"I don't know. I was looking for you. Garcia tried to tell me you went home but..."
Ilya rolled his eyes. Fucking Garcia. The intern was too new to know that was a direct giveaway. It would have been inconceivable for Hollander to think he had actually gone home when he usually had to beg him to at least nap in an on-call room. Hence, the roof. Where Shane found him standing on the wrong side of the safety railing, leaning forward to 'take in the view'. Right.
"Here." Shane passed the protein bar into Ilya's line of sight, resolutely, unwilling to back down. A little thrill ran through Ilya, disguised by the literal shivers wracking his tense body. Hollander had perfected a bossy tone that worked on most everyone in his vicinity; nurses, interns, fellow attendings, surgeons, the board of directors... Ilya had only heard about that incident but if you asked him, and no one did because it happened before he got here, it was hot as all hell. Shane had this hospital wrapped around his left wrist, siphoned right through the vein leading straight to his heart, where the love of this place kept it running in perfect order. Ilya had no desire to mess with that hierarchy, despite the truly egregious amount of people that thought he would push to be Lead Attending once he got here.
He was an asshole, but not that much of an asshole. He could recognize when someone did him a favor, like Shane had when pushing to hire Ilya to his staff during the smear campaign Thierault was funding against him, and he was not going to do anything stupid to jeopardize that. So he worked hard and he kept his head down (mostly, sometimes) and he didn't test Hollander's authority unless Hollander walked into his trauma room and tried to make adjustments, because that was the only time he was allowed to tell him to bug off. And it was good this way. They worked well together, a surprise to everyone involved, except Hollander himself.
Shane shook the bar in front of Ilya's face, getting seriously close to clocking Ilya in the nose with it. "Okay, okay. Stop. I'll eat it." Ilya uncurled his right hand from the railing, grimacing at the stiffness of his finger joints, shaking the melted ice off. Whether that stiffness was from the cold or his age, who fucking knew. Thirty-five wasn't old okay, no matter what the med students said, his joints were fine thank you very much.
A Cookies & Cream Barebell protein bar. This protein bar was one of his favorites, one of the only ones he would actually eat to be honest because it kinda tasted like candy. A few weeks after he started working here he noticed this brand being added to the drawer of back up bars in the break room. Something that the charge nurse, Svetlana, hinted was funded directly out of Dr. Hollander's paycheck. Svetlana was a gossip and she had informed him of this with the most malicious glee he had ever seen when he asked, so he took that with a grain of salt.
Ilya leaned onto his left elbow, trying not to be so obvious about leaning into the warmth emanating from Shane, as he bit into the bar. Even with it being his favorite, a low standard to hold when it was the only one he would willingly eat, it was still gross and chalky. He actually hated this shit, but as he swallowed the first bite his stomach rumbled, so. Ilya cast back through his memory, trying to remember the last full meal he had eaten.
"Taking in the view, huh?"
"Mm, almost as boring as you. Moscow has much better skyline." Lie, lie, lie. It was all Ilya knew how to do these days. Lie to Shane Hollander's face about anything and everything. 'Yes, I ate before I got here. Yes, I slept last night. No, I don't want to go home. I'm fine. That didn't bother me. I don't love that you stock my favorite protein bar. No, I wouldn't eat you alive if you let me.'
Shane made a noise in the back of his throat, shifting closer. Ilya held his breath, not daring to move as their shoulders briefly pressed together. If this was all he would ever get, that would be okay. He could live with this. Lie.
As Ilya was taking the last bite of his protein bar, tucking the wrapper in his pocket, Shane held out the water bottle in his hand, cap already unscrewed. "You did your best." He said, as Ilya was raising the bottle.
He paused with the rim of the bottle almost touching his lips. "Always. I am the best." Cockiness was second nature, but that’s all it was. In Boston, it was true. Ilya was the best. Here, though… Here, in Montreal, he was happy to be second best, to shed the weight of the full ER, to teach and treat but not lead. That was Shane's job and Ilya was happy to let him do it. He was tired.
Shane was quiet for a while, Ilya tried not to stare too openly, watching Shane take in the skyline from the corner of his eye. It was peaceful up here now. Ilya leaned into the roof, even considered getting on the safe side of the safety railing. "With the Shultz case."
Oh.
~
"Sveta! What's open?"
"Trauma 3!"
"You heard her boys." Ilya tried to follow as the EMT's rolled the DOA into Trauma 3, flinching as someone latched onto his elbow roughly. He glanced down, a young girl clutching desperately at his arm. Other than her grip, she was a blank slate, staring after the gurney as it rolled out of view. "Hello." Ilya said softly, hoping those eyes would focus in his direction. He recognized the shock on her face, even without her turning to look at him.
"Sveta." He called, watching for her head to pop up from whatever she was buried in at the moment. It wasn't Svetlana who answered him though, Princess popping her head up from the nurse station.
"What do you need, Roz?" She called, eyeing the girl attached to his arm.
"Get someone in Trauma 3 ASAP."
"On it."
Ilya pulled them out of the immediate bustle of the ambulance entrance, kneeling when he had them safely out of the way. "Are you hurt?" He looked her over as best he could, trying not to touch her too much at the moment. The only thing he knew about this case was that the woman was DOA, she was only being moved into a trauma room so that they could determine the cause.
They didn't really need him for that, and with the grip this young girl had on him... he couldn't help them anyway. He might be able to help her though.
"What's your name, sweetheart?" Ilya kept his voice low, keeping her facing him with her back to the chaos of the ER. She wasn't even seeing him, though. "Okay. Let's get you something to drink, hm?"
Ilya made to stand up, resting his hand gently on her shoulder to guide her to the break room. As he reached his full height, he barely heard her mumble something. "What was that?" She looked up finally, eyes shiny with unshed tears. Dread pricked at Ilya's skin, crawling across his nape. He recognized that look.
"I found her."
~
Ilya couldn't tear his gaze away from Shane's profile. Emotions bubbled up in his chest that he was sure he had buried with the person who meant the most to him over 20 years ago. He couldn't do this. He couldn't talk about this. "There was nothing to do with that case. She was DOA."
Shane nodded, finally looking Ilya in the eye. It was too much. "The daughter wasn't. You did good with her."
Ilya shuddered, entirely separate from the cold air that had infiltrated his system. He tightened his hold on the water bottle, resisting the urge to launch it into the stratosphere, knowing that what goes up must go down and on the way down it would likely hit someone or cause a car crash. And then Shane would look at him with that disappointment that sometimes marred his face when Ilya wouldn't rest and then Ilya would feel even worse that this man had stuck his neck out for him to get this job and Shane would never give him the time of day again. Because he had killed someone with a gravity influenced, high velocity water bottle.
"I didn't do anything."
~
Her name was Leyla. Leyla Shultz. And her mother was dead on arrival.
She had not told him her name. Once he had gotten her out of the chaos and into the hands of one of the nurses, he flagged an EMT as they were leaving, securing both her name and more information on the situation.
"I found her." echoed through the hollow space that was Ilya's brain right now.
IfoundherIfoundherIfoundher.
This little girl, maybe 11, maybe 14, Ilya had never been good with kids' ages, had found her mother, likely after a day at school. Ilya glanced at his watch. 3:58pm. Yeah... likely after a day at school. She was sitting in the break room now, open water bottle in front of her. She had heard them, in the house, in the ambulance, on the way in the doors. She had been there every step of the way. Did she know what DOA meant?
Ilya wasn't sure he could do this.
~
"You did a lot for her." Shane paused here, shifting again into Ilya's line of sight, trying to catch his eye. He waited until Ilya let their eyes connect before gently saying, "I know you know that."
But Ilya didn't. Not in a way that he could admit to himself. Because if he admitted that he was able to help her in any way, then he also had to admit that he then abandoned her. He knew better than anyone that one day, one moment, of 'help' from a doctor was not enough to offset the years of guilt, and anxiety, and sadness that would haunt her after that day.
Shane let his elbow rest over Ilya's hand, and Ilya knew what he was doing. Comfort and warmth, all wrapped up into the elbow of this wonderful man beside him. Ilya would be reveling in the attention if he was at all present in this moment. "She is going to be okay because of you."
What was she doing now? Would she live through this? Did she remember him? She had his number but she had not yet used it, so she must not need him. Right? That's what that meant, right? She didn't need him, likely wouldn't need him, because he was just a blip in the unending universe of well-wishers and grief havers, someone who had never known her mother, had no attachment to the family at large. He wasn't entitled to share that grief with her, not openly.
And yet-
"I comforted her like I do any patient. It didn't mean anything."
~
He was 12 years old. She was 32 and sad. So so so sad.
They had gone on a field trip the day before. The aquarium.
Ilya had been so excited when she told him that he didn't have to go to school that day. And that Alexei wouldn't be going with them. Ilya liked Alexei just fine, but he always made mama sadder for some reason. He remembers being glad that his older brother wasn't invited. Just the two of them. The way it was meant to be. The way it would always be when he grew up and they could leave Russia together, leave their bullies behind.
The day was perfect. Bright and sunny, the air clear and alive with the sound of birds. They walked through the city hand in hand, bright smiles on both of their faces as Irina listened to Ilya talk. She was full of life that day.
~
Ilya nodded, trying to swallow around how tight his throat had gotten. Despite trying so hard to ignore them, shove them back where they belonged, memories kept leaking through. He couldn't forget her eyes.
His mother's eyes had faded from memory long ago, even with the resemblance to his own. Something that at first he basked in when people reminded him. Yes, he was a part of her. She continued to live through him. See? He had her eyes. He should be proud of that. He was. His grief got a little lighter with every reminder.
And then it became a weapon. No longer were people complimenting him on the resemblance. No longer was he reminded of this similarity in the loving way he should be. People moved on, people forgot what she looked like much sooner than he did. Not his brother though. Nor his father. They remembered.
And they tortured him with it. He carried his mother's eyes, yes, but he also carried her sadness, a deep and dark well that had no true end to it and yet it echoed back at him incessantly.
No, he didn't remember his mother's eyes. Couldn't. Not anymore.
He remembered Leyla's eyes though.
~
Ilya knelt down in front of the girl. "Is there anyone we can call? Your father, a sibling...?" Ilya trailed off, watching in dismay as the little girl shook her head slowly. Fuck, okay. Maybe with a little more coaxing. Or maybe her mom had an emergency contact on file. "Okay. I'm going to go check on your mom now. I'll be right back."
Ilya was just pushing down on the door handle, ready to walk into trauma 3 and actually do something to help, something more in line with his abilities, when a sniffle stopped him in his tracks.
"I know what DOA means." Leyla said, her small voice loud in this room. Ilya shut his eyes against the burning. Of course she did. "My mom likes-" a sharp inhale that Ilya felt deep in his own lungs as she corrected, "-liked that medical show, Grey's Anatomy. I know she's dea-" She broke off with a loud sob. Ilya turned to find her crumbling apart, hands pressed roughly to cover her eyes as she leaned into the table in front of her, forehead touching down roughly as she let go.
Ilya didn't leave her side after that.
~
"It clearly meant a lot to you." Ilya blinked at Shane, trying to reorient, place their conversation in the context of all the memories, get his timelines straight.
"I'm fine." Ilya was sure he was never going to stop lying through his teeth to this man.
"I know." And it sounded like the truth. It sounded like Shane was really saying, 'I know you aren't doing okay. I know something is wrong. I know you need support right now. I know you.' But that was impossible, because Ilya was dedicated to the art of not being known. It was his favorite hobby. Medical school had made it easy. There was no time for anyone to get to know you. Add to that having moved to a new country for it, being the beautiful foreign guy in class who was too cocky for his own good and he was hated in most circles.
And suddenly, Ilya was angry. This guy knew fuck all. Let him throw himself off this building in peace, thank you very much. "I'm fucking fine, Hollander. Piss off."
~
They called Leyla's grandmother, who lived in the middle of nowhere Alberta and would not be able to make it to pick Leyla up until tomorrow at the earliest. And so they called the social worker, hoping to place Leyla in a temporary situation where she could at least have a bed to sleep in overnight.
"Why can't I just go home?"
"You know why." Ilya was not about to say out loud the unspoken. There was no one there, at her home. And she was only 11. She could not go back there alone. He remembered how much logic helped sometimes. Leyla seemed like a very logical person. "How would you get there?"
"I have UBER on my phone." Ah, yes this was a good point. She was very logical.
He sighed, fiddling with the plastic bottle cap on the table between them. "Okay... and then what?" He barely flinched as her anger filled the small room, having expected it's imminent arrival.
Leyla slammed her hands on the table, standing all the way up to her fullest height, barely making a difference to her sitting height. " I will go home, to my own home, not to some stranger's house, and I will wait there for my grandmother to come get me. I don't want to go with the social worker. I can take care of myself." She was yelling at him, furiously wiping at the tears streaming down her face. How could he tell her that he understood her anger? Would she even believe him? " I can take care of myself!"
"You shouldn't have to." Ilya kept his voice light, trying not to crumble under the weight of his own memories. She shouldn't have to. She should still have her mother. She was too young to be alone.
He had been too young to be left alone.
This seemed to hit the poor girl like a freight train. She staggered and Ilya was up in an instant, ready to catch her if needed. "I want my mommy." She sobbed, and thank god he was ready because it was necessary for Ilya to catch her, to cradle her head in his hand and lower her to her knees gently. He was ready to back up if she needed space but she collapsed into him, barely breathing around the great heaving sobs wracking her frame.
Ilya held her and let her cry, wishing all the while that this hadn't happened to either of them and that someone was still around to hold him when he cried.
~
Hollander did not piss off. He didn't even blink at Ilya's outburst. Annoying, nonchalant asshole. Ilya grit his teeth, glancing away back out to the twinkling lights of this new to him city.
"Drink your water." Shane said in that infuriating, but effective, Lead Attending voice of his. Ilya huffed, bringing the water bottle that he had absolutely forgotten he was holding up to his lips. He sipped, raising an eyebrow at the other, 'See? I'm fine. I don't need help or to be babysat like some fucking intern. Go away. I'm not going to throw myself off the roof.'
He wasn't.
"Fuck, I wish I had a cigarette." Maybe he wouldn't do it, wasn't going to do it, if he had a fucking cigarette. But he had forgotten them downstairs when he had left his last case of the day, the need for fresh air being the only thing on his mind.
"Smoking is bad for you."
Ilya rolled his eyes, having expected that response. "Fuck off, Hollander. I also went to medical school." Ilya glanced over as Shane leaned away, already missing the warmth of him pressed close, unwilling to acknowledge how pathetic that definitely was.
Shane was holding out a pack of his cigarettes and his lighter, an unnecessary peace offering between them.
~
Ilya picked Boston for medical school, hoping he could find glimpses of his mother in the every day of the busy city. And it worked. She was everywhere, in everything he did. She would have loved Chinatown, the smell of dumplings and cooking meats so similar to the scents that floated through market days in Moscow. He would have taken her to the North End, and she would have enjoyed the Italian pasta walks like he did. The could have ridden the ferry for no reason other than it was fun to be out on the water. She would have hated the rise of Seaport in the same way he did, loathing the concrete jungle of it all, and reluctantly enjoying the night life and markets that popped up around it. He did the tourist shit because she would have wanted to, he went to the ballet because she had loved the Russian ballet, he walked the Boston Commons and lingered in the botanical garden during Spring because the scent reminded him of her garden. She was everywhere in that city. He could hear her laugh, her joy, in the sounds of all the moving parts of a city that he loved, and that loved him back.
~
He hadn't taken the time to find her in Montreal. He went to work and he tried not to look for her. He went to sleep and he didn't dream about her. He didn't go out, he didn't participate, he didn't connect with his coworkers. He lost himself in quick hook-ups with strangers, never seeing one person twice. He did everything in his power not to connect, trying so desperately not to find her here. Leaving Boston behind felt like a sign. Time to give it up, time to move on.
And so he was wholly unprepared to find her in his DOA patient, wholly unprepared to be sucker punched by his similarities to Leyla, to not be able to shake the image of his mother lying in that bed, pale and cold.
And yet, here she was. In the form of a stubborn, entirely too insistent, handsome Attending who was holding out his cigarettes to him, an offer to stay here, to not leave just yet.
Ilya breathed out unsteadily, not even reaching for the proffered death sticks. Shane wouldn't stick around once one was lit. Maybe, probably.
And maybe Ilya wanted Shane more than he wanted a cigarette.
Ilya only realized that he was crying because the tears were warm against his cold cheeks. Shane looked unsurprised at the quick emotion. Literally nothing could shock this man apparently. Then again, he had found Ilya on the wrong side of the safety railing, so maybe tears were the expected outcome here.
Warmth wrapped around the hand still gripping the railing, he loosened his hold, swaying a bit with a strong gust of wind. Shane gripped his elbow, panic visibly flashing across his face for the first time tonight.
“Where did you get these?” Ilya asked, tentatively reaching out for the pack and lighter.
“Svetlana pulled them out of her desk when I said I was looking for you.”
“Ah.” Ilya’s hands were shaking too much to get the pack open. Trying to strike a light would be equally embarrassing right now. “предатель. Now you know about my secret stash.”
Silence descended over them, augmented by the city sounds floating up to them from street level. Ilya wasn't sure what to say now, so he just fiddled with the case in his hands. After a few seconds he pocketed both the pack and the lighter, and then he slipped under the rail, steady on the correct side now. He leaned on his elbows next to Shane, a breath of air separating their shoulders.
“So what's this all about?” Shane asked, staring out into the city. Ilya was glad for the indifference, the privacy that this afforded him. He knew the other was only asking because of Ilya’s worrying behavior, convincing himself that it was because Shane cared would be dangerous. That was an impossibility. Shane wouldn’t care for him, not to the extent that Ilya craved it.
~
Ilya heard the door of the staff room open and shut softly almost immediately after. Leyla had exhausted herself into a stupor, barely reacting to anything around her. At some point she had curled up in Ilya’s lap. He knew what it felt like to be alone, he would not be the one to leave her with this.
A throat cleared itself behind him. Ilya craned his head around, trying not to jostle Leyla too much with the movement.
Fuck. Hollander.
“Is she sleeping?” He kept his voice quiet, which Ilya appreciated. Not that he thought Shane would have yelled, the man was full of more empathy than most people carried in their little finger, but this couldn’t look great from an outside point of view. Ilya was sitting on the floor with a small child asleep in his lap and his Lead Attending was standing over him. He was going to get fired again.
And then Shane was looking at Ilya and not Leyla, head cocked to the side in confusion.
“Rozanov?” Right, Shane had asked him a question.
He shook his head, “Just exhausted. I thought I might have to sedate her if it kept up much longer.”
Shane crouched down, bringing himself level with them. “We need to move her mother.” He whispered, holding Ilya’s gaze. “And the social worker is waiting.”
Move her. Social worker. Leyla had only just calmed down, she wasn’t ready to go back out there.
He wasn’t ready.
~
“My mother might have liked this city.” Ilya had turned his back on the skyline, trusting the railing to keep him upright. The pack of cigarettes was back in his hand. He fiddled with the lid, debating the probability of keeping Shane here and having a cigarette.
Finally, “Will you leave me if I have a cigarette?”
Shane shook his head no, still staring out at the city. He stayed quiet though, waiting for Ilya to continue. Ilya hummed, sliding a cigarette out of the pack to slot between his lips. When Ilya glanced up again, bringing the lighter up to his cig, Shane was staring right at him, eyes lingering on the cigarette. Or maybe his mouth.
A guy could dream.
Ilya cupped a hand around the lighter, blocking the wind while he tried to strike a flame. He was right earlier. His hand was shaking too much for this to not be embarrassing. After the third click and no resulting flame, Ilya dropped his hand to his side, giving up. Shane slipped the lighter from his hand, their fingers brushing together softly. Ilya followed Shane’s movements closely, watching him step into his space, the other’s eyes determined in a way Ilya didn’t usually see outside of a trauma room.
He was so close now, practically pressed against Ilya’s front, radiating warmth and reaching straight into his chest to stop Ilya’s heart. He was cupping his other hand around the cigarette still dangling from his lips to block the wind, lighting Ilya’s cigarette for him.
Warm warm warm. It was so intimate, so close, that Ilya didn’t even think about it before his hand was gripping Shane’s waist, keeping him there. He hadn’t made to step away but Ilya was pretty sure he would die if he tried so he had to stay put. He was a doctor and this could save his life. Doctor’s orders. Ilya smiled to himself after this train of thought.
After a shaky inhale, Ilya turned his head to blow the smoke away from Shane. When he turned back, he cocked an eyebrow down at him, “I’m taking this as permission to never stop smoking.”
Shane shrugged, gazing past him briefly. Ilya drank in the lights dancing on his face, finally close enough to map out some of the man’s freckles. “If smoking keeps you from throwing yourself off the roof? Sure. Some bad habits are better than others.”
Oh... alright. Ilya couldn’t really argue with that.
“Did something happen to your mother? Is that why one of my best almost threw himself off the hospital roof?” Shane still wasn’t stepping back. Ilya was shocked by this turn of events. He never thought Shane would even look at him, let alone be on the roof of their hospital handing him a cig and keeping him warm, caring for him.
The questions he could do without, though.
~
He had called his papa first. It seemed the logical thing to do. Papa would fix this. He would realize that he was too hard on her and he would be nicer to Mama and then this wouldn’t have happened.
He was too young to know any better. And yet, too old to believe it would work.
His father raged at him for not calling the police immediately. Raged and raged and raged. All while Ilya sat crumbled on the floor of their living room, seeing his mothers pale hand hanging off every surface around him, unable to cry.
Unable to move or think or speak.
His mother wasn’t coming back. Deep down, he knew this.
The questions were never ending. Questions he didn’t know the answers to, questions he couldn’t answer even if he wanted to. His father kept asking though, screaming until he was hoarse, not understanding that Ilya wasn’t even there. He was still in that bedroom, staring at his mother’s hand, he was outside, as they rolled her into an ambulance, he was in the waiting room, waiting for some news, waiting for his tears.
It was his fault. His father made sure he knew that. His fault he was at school, his fault he took too long getting home, his fault he couldn’t make his mother happy, his fault the ambulance didn’t get there in time to save her.
But Ilya knew this was not his fault. She had died long before she took those pills. Nothing his papa said could convince him that the demons hiding under his mothers skin, the demons who had convinced her to leave him behind, had anything to do with him.
Not when his father was screaming his admission straight into Ilya’s face.
~
Ilya blew more smoke to the side, considering his options. Shane was persistent, he likely would not leave this alone. And if he wasn’t leaving this alone then there was a chance he might force him to take a break. Ilya could not handle that. He didn’t need a break.
Okay, so he tells him. Logical. Quick like bandaid removal. “She killed herself. Pills.” Now they move on. Right?
Right?
As soon as he made eye contact with Shane, he knew he had made a mistake. The other looked devastated, eyes shining like he might cry for Ilya’s mother. “When was this? Recently?” Ilya smoothed his thumb across the other’s hip, trying to soothe Shane but probably, just soothing himself.
He shook his head, looking away for a moment. Shane’s emotions were too loud and overwhelming, Ilya was not prepared to cry again tonight. Whether his eyes listened to that order was another thing entirely. If he kept seeing Shane looking so wrecked at his expense the waterworks wouldn’t be stopping anytime soon.
Embarrassing.
“I was 12.”
“Oh.” Shane breathed out, and then his breath hitched, something like understanding flooding his tone. “Leyla.”
~
Ilya stood up with Leyla still in his arms. She was awake, clutching at his shoulders. He knew she hadn’t been sleeping. He doesn’t remember much of the days after but he knows for a fact that the gaps were not due to sleep.
She likely wouldn’t be sleeping any time soon.
Shane stepped back, a hand held out to steady Ilya if he struggled or if Leyla started slipping. Leyla finally spoke up, barely lifting her head off Ilya’s shoulder. “Where’s my mommy?” She mumbled.
Shane gently placed a hand on her back. “She’s in what we call a viewing room. She’s waiting for you.” Leyla responded with a sniffle, and Ilya felt fresh tears hitting the collar of his scrubs.
“Would you like to go see her?” Ilya asked as gently as possible.
Leyla shook her head no, and Ilya understood. She had found her, she had already seen her mother dead. What was the point of looking at her again?
Ilya lowered her to the ground, setting her on her feet but keeping his hands on her shoulders, trying to be a grounding presence.
“I know it’s hard. I know you’ve seen enough. And if you truly don’t want to, that’s okay.” Quiet tears were rushing down Leyla’s face now, sniffles and little gasps falling from her. Ilya saw Shane move to the counter out of the corner of his eye, picking something up. “She won’t look like when you found her. I promise. She will look like she is sleeping.”
Shane returned to their side with some tissues, which Ilya took gratefully. He pulled a few out of the box, offering them up to Leyla. When she didn’t reach out to take them, he hesitated for a second, before reaching up to gently dab under her eyes. She closed her eyes and leaned into it, so he cleaned her up with her permission, pressing some extra tissues into her tiny pockets.
Shane stood above them with his arms crossed over his chest, something soft and fond in his expression that Ilya wasn’t willing to unpack right now.
His attention shifted back to Leyla when she cleared her throat. “Okay. I want to see her.” She rubbed roughly at her irritated eyes, “Will you stay with me?”
“Yeah, of course. If that’s what you want.”
~
“My father was not a nice man.” Ilya was running this cigarette down faster than he really wanted to. “Especially to her.”
“And he’s…”
“Yes. Dead.”
“Ilya.” Shane breathed out into the limited space between them.
Ilya. Shane had never used his first name. Never. It was too much, too close. He needed him to step away before he did something stupid. Ilya's hand flexed on Shane's hip, but ultimately stayed where it was/
His throat clicked closed, and he had to look away. This was not what he expected when Shane found him. He wasn't sure what he expected actually, but holding Shane close while he smoked and talked about his mother wasn’t even in the realm of possibility ten minutes ago. Despite all his effort, more tears slipped down his cheeks.
“She was so funny. And beautiful too. I think she would have liked it here… if I had had time to get her out.” arm hands cupped his cheeks, thumbs brushing his tears away softly.
It was too much. He was giving up too much of himself. There would be no pulling away after this, which, in theory, was perfect. It was what he wanted.
Was it what he deserved though?
~
The room was quiet when they entered, as rooms like this always were. Leyla was clutching his hand tightly, staring holes into the floor like maybe it would swallow her up and she would never have to deal with the fact her mother had left her.
“It’s so quiet.” She whispered.
Ilya agreed. It was way too quiet. “I can play some music?” Whether it was him claiming he could or asking her permission he’ll never know, but Leyla nodded. So he pulled out his phone, opening his music app.
“She loved the Arctic Monkeys. We were supposed to see them in June.”
Ilya knew some of their songs, could recall listening to them high in his bedroom between semesters in undergrad. He clicked on the album he knew, turning the volume down to an acceptable level before he hit shuffle.
And then he sat with her, humming along to some of the songs so she would know she wasn’t alone, while she held her mothers hand and cried.
About 10 minutes later (they were in the middle of the third song on this album) Leyla looked up. “Do you know what it was?”
“Pulmonary Aneurysm. There would have been nothing anyone could do. She wouldn’t have had time to feel much pain.”
Leyla took a very deep breath, nodding once, “Okay.” Ilya hoped it was the right thing to say. If there even was a 'right' thing to say in these moments… “Thank you, Dr. Rozanov.”
~
Once Ilya had finished his cigarette, stubbing it out and pocketing the bud so he could toss it properly, Shane took him by the hand. Ilya was so surprised, gazing down at their clasped hands, that he didn’t even realize Shane was pulling him away from the edge until they were at the stairwell door. Shane pulled the door open with his other hand, pushing the brick holding it open to the side with his foot.
And then they were inside.
And Ilya could feel everything now that the wind wasn’t numbing his senses.
~
“Mama I’m home!” Usually Irina was waiting at the front door for him when he got home from school. A juice box and snack ready for him at the kitchen counter. She wasn’t there today and the house was quiet.
He didn’t find this too alarming. The house was always quiet because that’s how his father liked it, and mama followed that rule even when he wasn’t home, just in case. And he wasn’t upset that she wasn't waiting at the door for him because he was very late today.
He had been held up with his English teacher after school, trying to grasp the difference between adverbs and adjectives. English was such a stupid language. He had to learn for them though because Mama wanted to move to America so Ilya needed to know English.
It was weird that she didn’t answer him though. Maybe she was napping. She was napping a lot lately.
Ilya dropped his backpack next to the shoe rack, placing his shoes more intentionally to avoid upsetting Papa. Then he sprinted to their bedroom. He would lay down with her and maybe he could nap too. He could be tired.
Ilya stopped outside he parent’s room, knocking lightly on the door before pushing it open, “Mama?” Ilya peeked his head in, pushing all the way in the room when he saw her curled up under the covers. “Mom?”
Not even a twitch.
He padded softly across the room, approaching her outstretched hand. He reached out to grasp it but stopped. What if she was scared when she woke up? What if he startled her?
Ilya shook his head, scattering his unruly curls across his forehead. This was Mama. She wouldn’t yell at him. She never yelled at him.
Her hand was so cold.
Ilya sat on the floor and called his father.
~
Ilya was sitting on the floor again, this time at the top of a stairwell, with someone who cared enough to listen. Someone who hadn’t said it was his fault for not calling the ambulance. Who didn’t berate him for failing her and, consequently, the whole family. Someone who might one day love him, like she did, if he was lucky.
Ilya had done too much crying today. Enough to last him a lifetime really.
“This is why I never talk about this.” Ilya didn’t even recognize the sound of his own voice.
Shane rolled his eyes, “Oh yeah, that’s healthy.” The hand he had on Ilya’s back shifted up to his nape, jostling him playfully.
“Clearly.” Ilya chuckled.
~
Ilya stood behind Leyla, arms crossed and looking menacingly down at the social worker sitting across from her. “Your grandmother will be here tomorrow, so tonight we need to find you somewhere to sleep.” She glanced up at Ilya behind her, “Is there a reason you are still here, Dr. Rozanov.”
There was no question implied in her tone, which made him pause. Maybe he was already too attached, holding on too tightly to a little girl that reminded him too much of himself. Ilya was aware, even if no one else knew why he might be acting like this.
“Leyla asked for me. I am -” Ilya paused, searching desperately for the word. He was so tired and sometimes all the English just slipped away from him. “advocating for my patient.”
“Miss Leyla Shultz is not a patient at this hospital.” Her pen tap-tap-tapped against the table between them.
“Her mother would want us to consider Miss Shultz's wishes, so I am still advocating for a patient at this hospital.”
“That’s a reach, even for you.” The social worker said blandly, before turning her gaze back to Leyla.
~
Shane was walking Ilya down the stairs, a step ahead of him. Ilya could admit one more thing before they reentered society, and probably pretended this never happened. “I keep expecting her to call me.”
Unapologetically, Shane said, “I doubt she will.”
“I know.” Ilya sighed, running a hand through his hair, “I’d like to know she was alright though.”
Shane made a small, sympathetic noise, “Your job ends when they walk out those front doors. And you did a good job. Let that be enough.”
He was right, of course. It would be easier if he let Leyla go, if he didn’t hold onto the hope of her reaching out. He did his job and he did it well. He had helped her when she needed him.
That was enough.
Shane looked back when he reached the bottom of the stairs, waiting for Ilya to be level with him. "Do you have plans tonight?"
No, Ilya never had plans anymore. It was depressing. He shook his head, averting his eyes.
He heard Shane take a deep breath, like he was bracing himself for something. "Would you like to get dinner?"
"Dinner?" Ilya hesitated. If the roof had shown him anything it was that Shane just might be interested in him. He had already bared his soul to this man. All he had to do was jump now. "Like a date?"
"Yeah." Shane grinned widely, relief bright in his eyes. He was beautiful.
Ilya responded with a grin as well. "Yeah, I'd really like that."