Chapter Text
Wyatt guarded the puck behind the net. Releasing it to Ilya as he looped through back behind the goal. And the action was back on.
Ilya, Shane and Troy was on the ice as forwards. The defensemen were Dykstra and LaPointe.
Ilya passed to Troy, who played it back to Dykstra as they moved forward. Dykstra played the puck past a Washington player, almost dancing past a second one before sending the puck flying towards Shane’s stick.
Shane lost the puck when a massive Washington player shoulder checked him and another one flew by to steal it.
The play quickly moved to Ottawa’s defensive zone. Where most of the players battled right in front of Wyatt’s goal.
Shane managed to steal the puck back, pulling towards the boards for a moment, before dropping the puck back to Ilya who went for the breakaway.
HEATED*RIVALRY
He gave a quick signal to the bench, that he needed to swap out, as he started heading towards it. He hadn’t gotten far before the expectant gasp of the crowd tore his eyes towards the Washington’s defensive zone.
Shane was certain his own heart had stopped in his chest as he saw a teammate fly through the air. He didn’t catch who it was, even as the body started it’s second in-air rotation. He saw his teammate’s arms stretch up in an attempt to brace for the inevitable impact with the ice.
The arms did little to soften his impact. The next body part to hit the ice was the player’s head. The sound was sickening, the response from the crowd equally so. The sound of the whistle stopping the play was too loud.
It’s never a good day when an entire arena goes dead quiet.
HEATED*RIVALRY
Troy’s entire body clenched as he saw Washington’s enforcer come in low. He collided hard with Rozanov who had been running the puck, extending upwards causing Roz’s skates to leave the ice all together.
He kept his eyes on Ilya until he’d completed a full rag dolled somersault/cartwheel combo. Long enough to calculate that the landing would be nasty. Something his brain would do better without seeing.
The sound of Ilya’s body hitting the ice was nauseating. He hesitantly opened his eyes, worry penetrating his gut like sharp icicles.
There was no sound left in the arena. Troy could hear his own pulse pound like a kick drum inside his ears.
When had his mouth gotten this dry?
“Please move…” he prayed as he started gravitating slowly against their downed captain, “Please move…”
He looked up, finding Shane about at height with their bench. Worry and confusion coloring his face.
“Shit… You didn’t see it was Ilya, did you?” Troy thought out loud, but not loud enough for anyone else to pick up on.
HEATED*RIVALRY
He couldn’t breathe. He was physically incapable of taking the breath he so desperately needed. He felt how the soft dips around his neck caved in with each attempt to draw a breath instead of cold soothing air filling his lungs
Relax. He told himself. You’ve knocked the air out of your lungs. It sucks for a few seconds, then it’s fine. Like the million other times you’ve done this.
The first breath that his body allowed sounded strangled and wrong, but holy fuck… He was pretty sure it was the best breath he’d ever taken. He coughed a little on the exhale, and the next inhale sounded just a tiny bit less horrible.
Fuck. His chest hurt. More than one rib had to be cracked. The ones near his back was the worst, making his entire upper back feel like a blooming bruise already.
To his horror he realized the lack of sound coming from the crowd. Fuck, he had to show he was alive. The hit had probably looked awful.
He tried moving his right arm, hissing as his wrist seared with pain. He relaxed his right arm once more and lifted his left in order to give a little wave.
The crowd roared, a sound of pure relief.
Suddenly a referee was over him. “Don’t move, Rozanov!”
“What?” he choked out.
“I think you landed on your head.”
“Yeah. I noticed.” Ilya grimaced.
“We want to be really careful with your neck and back, okay?”
He topped himself before nodding, “Okay.”
“Does anything hurt?”
“Yes.” Ilya bared his teeth, “Entire chest… Knocked the air out of myself. Think a few ribs might be broken. And my right wrist is broken.”
“How about your back and neck?”
“Huh?”
“How does your back and neck feel?”
Ilya tried to draw a proper breath, causing himself to cough and moan. The pain in his back bloomed hotter. “Ah, shit…”
“How about this? How does this feel?”
HEATED*RIVALRY
“What?” Ilya’s reply caused his stomach to flip.
He’d heard the ref ask how it felt when the ref squeezed Ilya’s thigh, hard enough to bruise by the looks of it.
“And this?” The ref managed to grab a hold of some skin that was possible to reach in the few inches that wasn’t covered by Ilya’s hockey pants or the plate for his shoulder pads. “Do you feel that?”
“Feel what?” there was an air of panic in Ilya’s voice now.
“You just focus on laying very still, okay?” the ref said before he signaled to the medics to bring a C-collar. “You feel your arms, right?”
“Yes… I told you, my right wrist is broken…” Ilya grimaced.
Shane realized he’d have to be within Ilya’s field of view before speaking to him. He didn’t want to risk his partner turning his head towards his voice, potentially aggravating whatever injury he’d just suffered.
HEATED*RIVALRY
He breathed his first sigh of relief as Shane came into view above him. “Shane…”
“Heeeeyyyy…”
Ilya didn’t like the shakiness or fragility in Shane’s voice. It was like he’d figured out something Ilya was still working on putting together.
“How does your head feel?”
“Probably gonna suck for a few days…” Ilya admitted, it wasn’t his first concussion, but it also didn’t feel like it was going to be the worst one to date either.
Shane nodded, “-You didn’t answer the ref about how your neck feels.”
“Feels fine.”
“And back`”
“Got some broken ribs all the way in the back…” Ilya bared his teeth. “Those are awful…”
He let his left hand come to rest against his midriff, and then frowned as he re realized he didn’t feel the weight of it resting on his abdomen. He raised his left hand again and started working his hand out of the glove, not the easiest task to do with only one working hand. He got it off and proceeded to poke and prod at the fleshy section between his protective gear.
“I think… Парализо-” he trailed off before saying the whole word, as he realized it was a very similar word in both languages, “I’m paralyzed?”
Shane’s expression in that moment would forever stay with him. The way his eyelids barely held back the tears about to spill. The way he was trying to act like he wasn’t scared halfway to death, while actually trembling where he had gotten down on one knee next to Ilya. The hand resting on Ilya’s shoulder, thank any deity or god that was responsible for allowing him to still feel that.
“I think so…” Shane’s voice sounded like a crisp and fragile maple leaf in the fall, like the slightest pressure would make him crumble entirely.
He felt his own stinging eyes spill over and hot, wet trails travelling down the sides of the lower part of his temples before merging with his sweaty hair. The sound that left his chest was one he wish he could’ve denied ever making, it was so fragile and weak. Definitely a sound his dad would’ve never let him live down if he’d still been alive.
He choked down the next sob, not because it was embarrassing. He honestly didn’t care too much about that. But the first one had caused his chest and back to light up with pain. Not something he was too interested in repeating.
HEATED*RIVALRY
Shane’s heart felt like it shattered into a billion pieces as Ilya started crying. He knew Ilya was every bit as scared as in pain. And if he knew him well enough, like he thought he did, Ilya was not only scared about his general future, but his future with Shane.
Shane knew everything that remotely read worth, comfort or family had been conditional to Ilya growing up. It had all been performance based.
Once again he wished that he could travel back in time and beat up Ilya’s father. Not the dementia ridden old man at the end of his life, but the younger healthy but straight up unwell man who had forced Ilya break himself in hopes of just the tiniest bit of acceptance.
He saw the turmoil behind Ilya’s eyes, the internal war between trusting that Shane loved him and fearing that it was also just performance based. That he’d be no better than common trash now that it felt like his career was potentially cut short.
“Hey, eyes on me…” Shane choked out, wiping away one of the wet trails running the length of his own face, “Я тебя люблю, always.”
Ilya swallowed hard, “Я тебя люблю. На всю жизнь.”
“На всю жизнь.” Shane echoed, he was good with ‘for life’. Even though it was the bare minimum of time he wanted to share with Ilya. The video memes of ‘us in every lifetime’ popped up in his mind, anything less was the bare minimum.
HEATED*RIVALRY
The players had formed what best resembled a shield wall against the onlookers in the crowd and the broadcasting cameras.
Troy felt sick to his stomach at the thought of having such a vulnerable moment shown for the entire world to see. He’d heard Ilya mention that he couldn’t feel his stomach, and had heard him answer that he couldn’t feel it when the medics tried to poke at his thigh where his leg wasn’t covered by shin pads or the hockey pants.
He was grateful that the medics did their best to work around Shane for as long as possible. He could only imagine if he’d been the one laying there on the ice. Having Harris there to soothe him would have been one of the most important things for him in that situation. And vice versa. If Harris had been injured in any way, he would’ve imploded if he was forced to keep his distance.