Chapter Text
Shane began to suspect something was up with Ilya a couple days into the cabin trip. Things had started normally enough, but Ilya's normally healthy appetite had waned, and he seemed to be in some sort of pain whenever he thought Shane wasn't watching him.
"Are you good?" Shane said, noticing Ilya took a longer time in the bathroom than normal. "Dinner treating you okay?"
Ilya shrugged. "Is nothing. Drank too much lake water."
"I'm sorry, want some Tums? I got pretty much everything for an upset stomach. I even have pickle juice."
"Pickle juice only fixes things when chased by whiskey." Ilya said flippantly.
"I think it's the other way around, but yeah, you could have that too." Shane said tenderly. Ilya laid down on the couch next to him and pushed his head into his lap, kind of like a big cat. Shane gently smoothed his hair back from his face. His skin and hair were so soft, and-
"Hey, you're really warm." He said, feeling a pang of fear in his chest. He could feel sweat along the edges of Ilya's hairline.
"You saying I am hot, Hollander?" Ilya teased. He nuzzled his way closer, if that was possible. Shane continued combing his fingers through Ilya's curls, trying not to flip the fuck out as he worried over him. Even as he watched, Ilya twisted what must have been a little too far, and winced slightly before hiding his face in Shane's lap blanket.
"Let me get you some medicine. Please. I don't like seeing you in pain." Shane said softly. He picked Ilya's head up so he could scoot out from under him and off the couch. He heard Ilya sigh and pad after him as he made his way to his en-suite bathroom, where the best-stocked medicine cabinet was.
"Here, have a couple Advil. You want Pepto too?"
"No." Ilya said, accepting the Advil and shoving them in his mouth, dry.
"Eugh." Shane groused.
"Sorry. May I have some warm milk with my medicine, Daddy?" Ilya asked. Shane didn't like how that caused a bit of confusion and panic in his brain, so he ignored it and went to the kitchen. He got the small carton he'd gotten specifically for Ilya (it wasn't in his diet, but the Russian practically rolled in dairy all day long), and poured him a small glass.
"Blech, you were right. Pills taste bad." Ilya complained, taking the milk from him and draining it. Shane leveled him a look, which earned him Ilya's tongue poked out at him. It was streaked blue from the liquid gels. Shane repeated his yuck noise and padded back to the couch with a grimace.
"Will you tell me if your stomach hurts more? I'll make you some food, just for the Advil to stick to."
"Oh-kay." Ilya said in his familiar cadence. He snuck up behind Shane and wrapped his big arms around his waist. "You take good care of me. You must secretly be naughty nurse."
"Asshole." Shane said affectionately. He turned and gave Ilya a little playful shove, worry spiking again when he saw Ilya try to hide a wince afterwards.
"Ilya. Seriously. I'm worried something is really wrong." Shane said, reaching out for Rozanov again. The taller man sighed and went to him, leaning their foreheads together.
"I am fine. Have weathered belly aches before."
Even from their limited points of contact, Shane could feel the heat radiating off him. It seemed like something they definitely needed to worry about, but if Ilya was going to be stubborn, then Shane was going to let him. For now.
Later, they were laying on the couches in the living room. Shane had dozed off while reading, his feet in Ilya's lap. Shane was startled awake by Ilya shoving his legs off of him and bolting away, ostensibly in the direction of the bathroom, but he didn't make it. Shane heard him start to puke somewhere in the kitchen, eventually making it to the sink.
"Ilya?" Shane asked, flipping the light on. Ilya was leaning heavily on the sink, heaving into it. Shane dodged the puddle of sick on the floor and went for the paper towels, throwing them down before someone slipped. He'd clean everything later.
"Ilya. Sweetheart. Let me get you to the bathroom, then I think we need to call somebody."
"You-you never call me that." Ilya gasped between heaves.
"Well, I can always start. C'mon, let me get you to the bathroom."
Ilya spat one more time in the sink, then wiped his mouth. Shane reached for him, one hand gripping the sweat-sticky fabric of his tank top and the other wrapping around his wrist. Ilya stumbled along, letting Shane guide him to the bathroom without protest.
"Shane, I think-" Ilya began to gag again. "Leave me, I need to-"
Shane jumped backward out of the half bath just in time to avoid the door being slammed on his nose, and also the violent sound of fluids splashing into the toilet.
"Um, there's a trashcan right there, if you need to do both at once." Shane said, feeling spectacularly unhelpful in this moment. "I'm gonna go... uh, clean. Let me know what I can do to help."
"Thank you." Ilya said weakly from the other side of the wood. Shane swallowed down his panic and forced himself to walk back to the kitchen. Methodically he got out the Pine-Sol and more paper towels, soaking up the mess on the floor and throwing everything away, then taking out the trash for good measure. Then he worked on the sink, washing everything down and then scrubbing it for good measure.
Finally, he looked at the clock. Shit, almost thirty minutes had gone by. He couldn't hear anything from the half bath, had Ilya passed out or something?
"Ilya? Just checking in." Shane knocked on the door gently. There was a groan, then the doorknob popped. Shane gently pushed the door open, seeing Ilya's legs splayed out on the other side.
"Are you okay?" He asked tentatively. Ilya was sagged against the wall, panting slightly. He was sweating, looking flushed. He most definitely was not okay.
"I've been better." Ilya said, trying for casual and failing miserably.
"Hey. I think I need to take you to the hospital." Shane said. He started to gnaw on his lip, worrying it between his teeth.
"Is fine, I think maybe lunch did not agree with me."
"Ilya... This is serious. I'm serious." Shane felt the panic creeping up the back of his throat again. God, he was so stupid for letting it go earlier.
"I do not want to go to the hospital." Ilya protested. "They will give me same medicine we have here and tell me to go throw up somewhere else."
"I'm worried it's worse than that." Shane replied. "I'm scared, okay?"
Ilya looked like he wanted to protest, but his stomach rebelled. He leaned over and dry-heaved over the toilet bowl and then spat out some bile. He winced in pain as he leaned back against the wall again.
"Please, Ilya..." Shane's brain was spiraling. He was shorter than Ilya, but he could probably pick him up and force him into the car if he had to. The Russian could probably scrap, and he wouldn't go down without a fight, but Shane could probably hold his own with Ilya distracted by his current state. But then what if he hurt him worse? God, it would be like trying to put down a Great Dane or something. He'd keep looking at him with those dopey blue eyes, and Shane would melt...
Shane watched those same blue eyes looking warily back at him, and noticed a blood vessel had broken in Ilya's right eye from how hard he'd been puking.
"You stay here. I'm going to get us ready to go."
"I am not going anywhere, Hollander..."
"That wasn't a fucking question, Rozanov." Shane snapped back. He left the bathroom and beelined for the bedroom, where he'd left his wallet. He swooped by the living room table where both their phones were stacked on top of each other. Then he looked around helplessly for his keys. He hadn't seen them since they'd gotten here, where-
A loud thud jarred him out of his mental scan of the house.
"Ilya?"
Silence.
"Fuck."
Shane raced back to the bathroom, only to find Ilya sprawled out in the kitchen. He'd clearly been trying to come to him, and either tripped or passed out.
"Ilya?!"
Shane gently tapped his shoulder, and the Russian stirred.
"Hollander..." Ilya groaned, one hand clutching his stomach. "It hurts."
"Fuck. I'm gonna call 9-1-1."
His hands were almost shaking too badly to dial, but he finally got the emergency SOS button on his phone to activate.
"9-1-1, what is your emergency? Quelle est votre urgence?"
"I need an ambulance. My friend just passed out, he's been complaining of severe stomach pain, he's been throwing up a-a-and I think diarrhea too?" He heard Ilya make a noise of disgust, but ignored it.
"Okay, can you tell me your name?"
"Shane."
"Hi, Shane. I'll get an ambulance to you as quickly as I can. Where are you right now? Are you safe?"
"Yeah, yes. I'm at my cottage." He listed off the address.
"Okay, there is an ambulance on the way to you, Shane. Why don't you stay on the line with me and let me know how your friend is doing."
"Sure. He's gone quiet, but his eyes are open. And he's laying on the floor. Can I put his head in my lap or should I keep him still?"
"You can prop his head up gently. If he seems like he's going to vomit again, I'm going to need you to turn him on his side, okay?"
"Okay."
Ilya weakly tapped on Shane's arm, indicating he wanted to roll over.
"I think he's going to throw up again, I'm helping him roll over." Shane said into the phone, Ilya started to heave himself on his side, then froze in place partway.
"Ilya?"
"Shane, I think- Um, feels weird. Maybe better."
Ilya slowly rolled the rest of the way, setting onto his side. He breathed deeply for a moment, then suddenly tensed.
"Can you tell me what's happening, Shane?"
"Umm... He says the pain stopped, but he still feels weird..." Ilya let out a low groan, cutting him off.
"Ilya? Sweetheart, please. What's wrong?"
"Did something happen there, Shane?"
Ilya convulsed once, twice. Then Shane dropped the phone because Ilya began screaming.