Chapter Text
You don’t deserve any of this. You don’t deserve someone as good as Shane.
Huh. The thought came… unexpectedly, but it was certainly not unfamiliar. Ilya had felt similarly many times in the past, and by now he was usually able to wave away the thoughts without issue—a skill developed over his many years seeing Dr. Galina. His mental health was much better now. Stabler. It could be good and stay good for long stretches, and it took a lot more for his mental state to fall than it used to. Ilya no longer needed to fight every day, the way he had needed to fight throughout much of his early life.
He still sometimes had 'bad brain days', as he called them, times when the murmurings of his depression grew louder and became harder to ignore. When Galina had first explained to him that these sorts of things would never fully go away, he nearly punched a wall. All the hard work he’d been putting into getting better, just for his stupid fucking brain to keep sabotaging him? That wasn’t fucking fair. He should be allowed to get better, all the way better.
But it’d been many years since that conversation, and Ilya had eventually come to terms with this condition of his recovery. Frustrating though it was, he understood that depression was a permanent aspect of his life that couldn’t be cured. He also knew that a couple bad thoughts—even a full bad brain day—were almost never anything to worry about. He could handle this. If he needed it, he would ask Shane for extra support. Maybe book an extra session with Galina.
No, you absolutely will not. Man the fuck up, crybaby, and stop burdening Shane with this shit. You don’t need any extra therapy either. That whole thing is fucking stupid and you know it.
Oh, wow. The thoughts came quick, like a prepared comeback his brain had created. They lingered longer, too, covering his mind in a thick fog. No big deal, he could handle this. Inhale, hold, exhale, hold. Repeat. Calmly ask the thought to leave. Repeat until it works.
It took 4 rounds of breathing and a not insubstantial amount of focus for Ilya to clear the feelings from his mind. It threw him off balance; his thoughts hadn’t been that difficult to get rid of in at least several months. He shifted his weight around where he was sitting on the couch cushion, and Shane seemed to notice his sudden uneasiness. His gaze turned from the TV over onto Ilya, and a gentle smile tugged at the corners of Shane’s lips. Ilya loved that smile, the softness and warmth never failing to make him feel like he was something precious. He never felt that way before Shane.
“Hey,” whispered Shane, a bit sleepily. Had he been dozing off with his head in Ilya’s lap? Neither of them really knew.
“Hi,” Ilya responded. He leaned down and pressed a kiss into his husband’s hair.
“You okay?”
He tensed. Shane could often tell when something was wrong sooner than he could, which was an ability Ilya found to be genuine magic. He recalled a conversation about it they’d had maybe a year or two earlier.
’How are you always in my brain?’
Shane had snorted at that, and responded ’What?’
’I mean, you know when I am okay, and when I am doing, ah, not so good. Sometimes even before I know it. I do not understand, Shane, are you a witch?’
‘Uh, no, my mom is a witch, not me. I just… know you, I think.’ He paused. His voice was quieter when he spoke again. ‘You do the same for me. Understand me, even when I don’t.’
‘I do?’
‘Yeah, like, when I get anxious and start to spiral, you see it coming from a mile away. And you can always tell when I’m starting to get, y’know, overwhelmed. Or whatever.’ He set down the shirt he had been folding and rested his hands on top, pausing the chore, taking time to choose his words. ’You know which things are bothering me and you make sure they’re taken away, or at least reduced, so I don’t like… shut down. You’re always noticing when I think too much, about food, or my stats or- or anything else. You take care of me.’ His tone was slow and careful. ’I think maybe it just happens, when you’ve known someone as long as we’ve known each other. Being married and spending our lives together probably helps, too.’
Shane smiled and looked over to where Ilya was standing next to him. He saw that the corners of Ilya’s eyes were glistening, tears just starting to well up. Shane was right: they took care of each other. They had been doing it since the beginning, really, even if only in fleeting moments during hookups they pretended were casual. Thinking about how loved he was, how much pure adoration there was on both ends of their relationship, was overwhelming to Ilya. He couldn’t believe how lucky he had gotten.
’Fuck, come here, моя любовь.’ Their mouths crashed together, and the laundry they had been folding was pushed aside as they toppled over each other onto the bed.
The memory faded, and Ilya realized that he had probably been staring at Shane for a bit too long. He hoped the expression on his face said ‘I love you’ and not ‘My mind is somewhere else right now’, but judging by the slight furrow of Shane’s brow, it was probably closer to the latter.
“You’re thinking. Tell me where you’re at,” Shane said quietly, his fingers tracing light patterns on Ilya’s thigh.
“Yes, thinking. You should try it sometime,” Ilya quipped back, trying to rile Shane up. Some banter would be fun, and seeing angry-kitten-Shane would be a nice distraction.
It didn’t work, not really. Shane sat up and tucked a loose curl behind his husband’s ear. “Asshole,” he muttered, but that was practically a pet name for the two of them. There wasn’t even a hint of annoyance in his voice. Luckily for Ilya, Shane didn’t push the matter any further. He wrapped his index finger and thumb around Shane’s chin and tilted his head up for a kiss. The unpleasant thoughts were gone, but he still felt… wrong. Making out would help, and his feelings could wait for another time. He didn’t feel like talking right now.
He pressed harder into Shane’s mouth and pushed him onto the couch, falling on top of his husband. Whatever they had been watching for Sunday movie night turned to unimportant ambiance beside them as they rolled their hips together, both lost in the sensation.
Over the course of the week, uncomfortable whispers turned to a deafening cacophony, attention-hungry and impossible to silence. They followed him to practice, to dinners with Shane, on walks with Anya, into arenas, to cozy nights on the couch, into the fucking bedroom. He knew, logically, that the words filling his brain were untrue. That he shouldn’t listen. That they didn’t matter. It was hard not to pay attention, though, when the thoughts roared like ocean waves—crashing over his brain violently and drowning out everything else.
You should just retire already. You’re fucking terrible at this, it said after his shot went wide during their Tuesday night game. The idea made no sense. He was an NHL All-Star, and except for Shane, the best player in the league. He had scored once already in the game and they were beating Calgary 3-1 with 11:42 left in 3rd period. He was only 34, not really even close to retirement age; he could certainly play at least 5 more seasons if he wanted to, and he most definitely did want to. There was no reason why the thoughts should've affected him, but they hung low and heavy over his brain for the rest of the game. Three minutes later he missed a pass Troy had sent his way—and it had been a clean pass, something Ilya should’ve been able to take with his eyes closed. Then with 4:16 left, Calgary scored. Ilya had been on the outer edge of Ottawa’s defensive zone, nowhere near the goal, but he convinced himself it was his fault the puck went in. This time, the irrationality of the idea was hidden from him. He went home, the feeling of defeat heavy on his chest despite their 3-2 win.
When he woke the next morning, he knew something was wrong. A bad brain day each month or two was normal. Thoughts like these appearing briefly every few weeks was normal. Days of rapidly worsening fatigue and unshakable stress were not. Persistent cravings for a cigarette were not. Wanting to skip the team meeting to do nothing but sit in bed was not. Above all else, not telling Shane or Galina about this was not.
He knew what it felt like to drown—for his body to sink deeper and deeper into darkness, to feel pressure in his chest from the water filling his lungs—and right now his whole body shivered in the sharp, familiar chill of heavy liquid enveloping him from the waist down. He knew how this would go. He knew how quickly he would be thrashing in the tide gasping for air if he wasn’t careful, how easy it would be to slip back down if he never told anybody.
Ilya turned over to face Shane. He looked so peaceful asleep, plush lips parted just slightly, dark hair falling messily over his forehead. The usual furrow of his brow was absent, and Ilya relished getting to see him like this, content and tranquil. He wished Shane was able to relax more often, but he knew that his husband's anxious tendencies were just part of who he was in the same way that his soft freckles were. Ilya decided that telling Shane about… whatever this was would only cause problems.
Shanya has enough on his plate. This will pass. He does not need more to stress out over.
Ilya’s lips grazed his husband’s cheek, softly kissing as he whispered, “Good morning, солнышко.” Shane groaned and his eyes fluttered open.
“Mm. Fuck, what time is it?” He muttered, voice husky from sleep.
“Ugh, Shane, I swear to god if you bring up the team meeting this morning I will murder you. Scary-back-alley-in-Montreal style.”
“You know it’s important that we’re on time.”
“Yes, but I do not care. Why can’t we just skip?” He dragged out the last word dramatically. “Is the same every time. They will play our clips up on big TV, we say the same things about how to be better that we said last time, I give same pep talk I always do, everyone says a chant or something, and we beg Harris to bring out Chiron.”
“Okay that-” Shane held back a laugh, “that’s not the point. They didn’t make you the captain and me an alternate captain for us to just not attend team meetings.” He pushed Ilya’s chest lightly before turning to roll out of bed. Ilya reacted quickly, grabbing Shane’s arm to keep him in bed. Going to a team thing right now seemed impossible. Going anywhere seemed impossible.
As Shane was pulled back down onto the bed, his gaze met Ilya’s. There was something in the way his husband looked at him in that moment that Shane couldn’t quite place, but it seemed almost… desperate. A silent plea, blue eyes quietly begging Please, Shanya. Let’s just stay here. But the flicker of a prayer was gone the next moment, replaced by a blank look Shane knew to mean ‘I showed you something I didn’t mean to.’ He felt Ilya’s grasp loosen, hand dropping to the bed and head turning away.
“Hey.” His voice was warm but firm, and Ilya hated himself for how grounded he felt when he heard it. “Is everything alright?” Ilya felt the mattress shift under the return of Shane’s weight. God, that was his Shane, alright. Ever so observant.
“Yes. Fine. Let’s go get ready,” he responded, tone flat and distant with the fear that if it weren’t, Shane would know what was wrong. If he let himself express any emotion right now, he would surely be unable to mask his true feelings.
They got out of bed. They made a breakfast that Ilya had felt strangely disgusted at the thought of, and subsequently barely ate. They went to the team meeting, which went exactly as Ilya predicted it would. They went back home. They took Anya for a walk. They watched the new episode of a show they like.
The symphony of Ilya’s thoughts only got louder, sharper, more thunderous. Cool dark water swelled around him, beckoning, pulling him farther out into the break with every word whispered. He did what he could to push back, using every ounce of his energy to swim against the riptide, but he wasn’t sure if it was making any difference at all. He just hoped Shane wouldn’t notice.