Chapter Text
The drive to the hospital takes less time than Shane expects. Bood moves between lanes on autopilot, taking shortcuts with the ease of someone who has had to do this journey too many times .
‘Kid, come on, I know you've got questions. What do you want to know?’
‘How is Ilya? Honestly.’
Bood sighs. ‘He's recovering well from the fractures, including his ribs which got cracked when he coded on the table. It could be months before he’s walking independently, but that's not the main issue.’
‘He’s still under, isn't he?’
‘He hasn't regained consciousness for any meaningful length of time since the crash. His brain swelled briefly the week after the surgeries, but it went down again. They scan him every few days to check his baseline, and all seems well….’
‘Except the fact that he’s not waking up.’
Bood scrubs at his face .’The longer he's under, the doctors believe the less likely he is to fully recover. At this point we'd settle for him walking and talking and never setting foot on the ice again if he means he gets through this.’
‘You haven't mentioned his family. Are they still in Russia?’
‘What there is of them but …’ Bood’s hands grip the steering wheel like it has offended him. ‘They turned up the week after the crash, and when they found out that Wiebe and I had been designated medical proxies by Ilya some weeks prior, they lost their minds and started throwing fists.’
‘It took them a week to get in touch?’
‘Yep, even for allowing for being thousands of miles away, they seemed so fucking cold. We’d offered to fly them over, but they did not respond. Hell, even Torgersen's family were faster, and they were in rural Norway. The front office contacted Ilya’s family within hours of the crash, like they did for everyone else who was in the hospital, but his brother and father only turned up when Ilya failed to send them any money that month, like he had been doing since the draft.’
‘Where are they now?’
‘Well as soon as they realised their golden goose had stopped laying, they left.’
‘Shit, that's rough.’
‘Yeah, tell me about it, but at least Ilya’s safe for now. Wiebe’s looking into the adult adoption process in case there are visa issues later on.’
They pull into the visitor parking. Bood stares straight ahead, saying nothing.
‘Do you need a minute, Bood?’
He gives a wry chuckle. ‘I should be asking that of you…No Kid, I'm fine. I know that was a lot to take in.’
‘Thanks for sharing, but hospitals don't faze me. Mom was in and out of here when I was younger; all good now, but I know that it can be a lot for other people.’
‘Ready?'
As I'll ever be.’
---
They lapse into comfortable silence on the walk to the ICU. One of the nurses buzzes them in.
A small woman in immaculate green scrubs approaches while they are sanitising their hands. She catches Bood’s eye. ‘Oh captain, my captain, who is this? ‘
Bood laughs softly and bows as though addressing royalty. ‘Doctor, this is Shane Hollander, recently poached from Montreal to join us. Shane, this is Dr Delos Reyes, and this is her kingdom…’
Shane inclines his head, and finds himself smiling through his nerves. ‘Delighted to meet you, Dr Delos Reyes.’
She grins. ’Oh, that’s what the registration board calls me - I go by Dr Charmaine in here…’
Shane smiles shyly. ‘Lovely to meet you. I hope we're not disrupting the ward…’.
She grins. ‘How could two gallant gentlemen such as yourselves cause a disruption? Come on, I'll take you through to your boy.’
She leads them down the corridor. Shane purposefully keeps his eyes directly ahead, consciously averting his gaze from the occupied beds behind half open doors.
Ilya’s room is at the very end of the unit. Bood and Shane wait at the door whilst Dr Charmaine checks Ilya’s vitals before waving them in.
‘All yours, gentlemen. He's had a good morning – we've been able to dial down his sedation, with a view to giving him another chance to wake up naturally over the next few days.’ Bood’s face grows fond as he approaches the bed and takes up Ilya’s hand. “Afternoon, sleepyhead. Brought Hollander with me today. Tells me he saw you playing at Worlds.’ He motions Shane to sit on the other side of the bed. ‘I'm sure he's got lots to tell you about how he's getting on. I'm just off to get some of your fan mail for Harris…’
Bood follows Dr Charmaine back into the corridor, purposefully ignoring Shane’s silent panic.
His mind goes completely blank; he stares at Ilya's face, and tries not to wince at the bruising which marrs the symmetry of his face.The inflated mattress under him shifts with a long hiss, subtly adjusting his position. Shane tries to stifle his flinch at the sound and sits down. Here goes nothing…
‘Hi Ilya.. I’m Hollander, well, Shane really. I'm not sure you remember me from World Juniors. I remember seeing you at the draft, too. Montreal traded me here last week. It’s weird to be back in the town I grew up in..’
Shane watches the pattern of IIya's breathing as he talks about practice and getting to know Ottawa again after years away. ‘They've put me in the arena condo,' he continues. ‘Up on the fifth floor. I’ve got a pretty cool view of the city, and a balcony, which I won't be using until we're out of minus temperatures… I wonder if it's colder here than in Moscow. We're closer to the Arctic circle, I think, but I don't know that we get the same kind of snow..’
The faintest of smiles seems to grow on Ilya's face. Once or twice Shane is sure he sees a flutter of eyelashes. ‘Hope I'm not boring you...’
He stares down at his hands, feeling hopelessly inadequate. ‘Small talk really isn’t my thing. I prefer reading. My Dad got me into the Discworld books when I was younger. I've got the first one on my phone. Let me pull it up…’
--
Shane has made significant progress into the first chapter by the time Bood returns. His laugh makes him jump.’ Enjoying yourself?’
‘Yes, actually,’ Shane admits. A genuine smile lights up his face. ‘Helps having a captive audience. I think he could hear me …’’
Dr Chamaine is at the door again. ‘Good tactic, Mr Hollander. Let’s hope you’re as good on the ice as entertaining your boy here.’
Shane blushes at the praise. ‘I’ll do my best.’
Three feet and a world away, someone is sad when the soft spoken storyteller closes his book.
But now he knows their name and the places where he can find them.