Chapter Text
Ilya played well. Of course he played well, he danced across the ice causing chaos, like some tenacious fae. He enjoyed it, he only really played hockey because he enjoyed it, but he was constantly wishing for the game to be over, for practice to end just five minutes early, to fall asleep sooner.
The red text on his calendar was honestly a little embarrassing. Bold letters wrote out ‘Vets, 5:30’. The latest appointment he could get for after practice. He felt like a child counting down to Christmas, checking his calendar each day when he woke up to smile like an idiot.
He messaged Shane as much as he thought he could get away with. Messages with photos of Anya, asking about Anya, asking about dogs in general. Shane always responded pretty rapidly, in a strangled void of scientific jargon. Then, a few minutes later, it would be a simplified version of the confusing science. Why couldn't Anya eat chocolate? It contained theobromine which reduced metabolic rate and overstimulated the nervous system. What are common health issues with Spaniels? Arthritis, back pains, ear infections, eye infections…. It was a fairly substantial list, Anya had looked up at him as he read it aloud. She seemed unfazed. Ilya definitely wasn’t.
Towards the end of the week it turned into voice messages, Shane rambling nonsensically until he pauses, catches his breath, and recounts the information with a more direct tone, something Ilya has decided to simply call his ‘vet voice.’ He replays them, chewing on a pen as he pretends to write down notes, instead finding himself just listening to the voice on the other side. He can hear Shane’s breath, when he gets too close to the microphone. He rewinds to these sections. It’s not normal at all.
Then the messages derailed, slowly at first, then they spiralled into chatter and a warm sense that Ilya knew was affection. Questions about Anya widened into examples from past patients, which became stories of harried vets clinics, strange clients and insane colleagues.
“There’s a vet and a nurse who I have to work with,” Shane explained once in a voice note, “they’re both so in love with each other it’s borderline disgusting having to work with them… not that I’m homophobic, obviously, but they’re staring at each other’s lips every thirty seconds and keep on stroking fingers when passing over syringes… God I really shouldn’t be telling you this, should I.”
Ilya disagreed, Shane should most definitely be telling him this. Shane should be telling him everything in his calming honeyed voice. He had a picture book when he was younger, with sirens luring sailors out to sea to steal their treasure and their teeth. He’d always thought those sailors were ridiculous, even at nine. Now, he knew he’d give his treasure and his (fake) teeth to hear more of Shane. He’d pull them out of his mouth for him, if that wasn’t so disgusting and unsanitary. Shane hated unsanitary.
Shane is different over messages, more confident in cracking jokes at Ilya’s expense (although he apologised aggressively at first) and with a lightness to his voice that makes him joyful. He’s the same age as Ilya, he grew up with no pets and his dad loves reading the New Yorker and doing the puzzles at the back. Ilya sees Yuna helping David with a crossword at training and has to fight back a smile.
It does feel a little strange to talk to Yuna’s son without her knowing, it somehow feels like he’s breaking a rule when she mentions something about Shane that Ilya already knows.
“Skechers has reached out for a brand campaign, to be honest I’m not too sure,” she mentions casually after cornering him in her office one day, “they’re not known for being the sportiest shoe ever, but maybe they’re trying to change the image. I think they must be pretty popular with science and health people though, my son’s always wearing them and he’s a vet so hockey definitely isn’t their target market. They’re probably using you as a test to check if branching out is sustainable, I think you’re too big to just be a test, Ilya.”
He decides not to go for the campaign under her advice, but feels oddly resentful about her keeping him from something that’s Shane’s. He could be modelling the sneakers that he wears, he could be the image of those sneakers, of something that Shane owns and has and is tangible to him. Ilya could be connected to that, there every time Shane looks down in consults or when he ties them up in the morning. But he’s not there, he’s not part of Shane’s life. He’s part of the ice, of the team, of bullying the rookies and keeping them safe after a night out, of Dykstra’s awful taste in country music and Wyatt giving out comics to the kids in Ottawa hospital. He loves his team, loves his part in his own little world but can’t help but want to squirm his way into Shane’s.
Which is ridiculous. He’s known the man for about a month, but Ilya supposed he’d seen people make stupider choices. Like when drunk LaPointe and Holmberg got matching tattoos that they’ve never let anyone else see in Mexico… allegedly in Spanish.
The money thing is eating away at him, he knows that Shane’s an educated professional, he shouldn’t be wasting his time talking Ilya through the basics of dog ownership just because he’s anxious. Not for the amount of money he’s given him, anyway. Ilya doesn’t deserve that sort of care, he’s a grown man and he should be able to figure it out himself.
That’s partly why he needs this appointment so much, to give Shane a little more money as penance for putting up with Ilya’s annoying quirks and nearly crying at him over the phone. It’s pure nightmare fuel, he still thinks about the moment he felt his voice betray him and break, cracking uselessly as Anya looked up at him from the floor.
Seeing him is also a nice bonus.
When the day does finally come he sneaks out of practice early, makes a few excuses with Coach Wiebe, gets in a flashy car and drives to the vet’s clinic with a volcanic amount of energy. Anya seems to pick up on it, he struggles to make her settle in her dog seat. He’d bought a fancy one the same day of getting her, his phone had realised what was going on and he’d seen video after video of dogs getting killed in car crashes. Now, she was attached to the seat and surrounded by padding, and it wasn’t like he had any passenger princesses, anyway.
Waiting in the vets gave him little jolts of anxiety. The combination of the thought that something could be wrong with Anya and the idea of seeing Shane again was twisting his guts and making tremors roll down his legs. The receptionist gave him a small smile. He tried to return it.
“Just take a seat there, love.”
He sat down with Anya straining at the lead to explore. He pulled her back gently to settle her between his legs. The calm was short lived when the double doors swung open and she lept up once again.
“Ilya Rozanov?” A man appeared in front of him, dressed in green scrubs. “Sorry, hi, I’m John, a nurse here. The vet’s going to be a little while, he got tied up in surgery. You can wait for a couple minutes or you can reschedule? It’s your choice.”
“No,” Ilya blurted out, “it’s fine, I can wait.”
“Great!” The nurse, John, replied. Anya was doing little taps around him, so he crouched down to scratch at her head, “she’s beautiful, full spaniel?”
“Er, don’t know. She’s a rescue.”
“Awh, even better,” John cooed as Anya gave an excited spin before sticking her snout between his legs again. “I’d put money on her being full, just from her confirmation alone.”
Ilya nodded like he understood what this all meant.
“Ah!” Another person in green scrubs burst through the doors, assumedly another nurse. She scowled at John, “you always get the sweet ones and I’m left with the aggressive daschaunds.”
“You can er, say hello,” Ilya stammered out, waving vaguely over to Anya. The nurse beamed at him, squatting down and letting Anya move over to her. Her tail was wagging so hard Ilya got struck with the fear that she would hit it on one of the chairs so violently it would just completely pop off.
“Hello, hello, Anya,” she murmured.
“Don’t worry,” John laughed, “Eleanor only knows her name because it’s on the system, not because we’re like creepy stal…” He falters off, “you know what I mean, sorry. I don’t mean t be weird.”
Ilya couldn’t stop the laugh that breezed past his lips, the two nurses smiled up at each other, the kind of looks with dancing hidden beneath the eyes that Ilya only saw echoed on the ice between two really close teammates.
“No, do not worry. You are too nice to be real stalkers,” Ilya thought again, “although some stalkers are too nice, aren’t they?”
“Most stalkers are someone you already know well,” Eleanor replied breezily. John smacked her on the arm, “what?” She squawked, “It's a good fact!”
“In what world is that a good fact?”
“This one, this universe, c’mon Anya, don’t you agree?”
The spaniel just nuzzled deeper into the woman’s hands.
Ilya was still catching up to the concept he could be having this conversation with Shane’s work colleagues, of all things. It felt like peeling back another layer of paint to reveal the hidden code underneath.
He’d talked to Shane's mom last night, after a practice session Ilya had been pulled aside for media ‘training’. He was essentially a prisoner until Yuna deemed his instagram ‘acceptable’. Afterwards, Harris had asked Yuna about Shane, something along the lines of inviting him to the next barbecue. Ilya had given Harris a look and Harris had quirked an eyebrow back and Ilya was struck with how nice it was to have someone else in his corner, someone who’d apparently met Shane twice and could already tell he was viciously into men.
Yuna was delighted with the idea, but seemed to imply that Shane was unlikely to turn up, making vague suggestions of an anxious state of mind and a busy job, but did say that she’d invite him.
“I’ll mention it as well, he’d be more likely to come if both of us say, yes?” Ilya had suggested to Harris who’d just laughed and clapped him on the back. Maybe it was some Canadian joke Ilya still didn’t understand.
He was asking today, perhaps a little unprofessionally, but he really thought that Shane would enjoy this barbecue. There would be plenty of dogs as well, and Bood and Cassie had recently adopted a small patchy kitten that Ilya knew Shane would adore. He’d mentioned the barbecue, once, twice, over text. Just a little hint, a quick mention about the dogs Harris might bring and the patchy kitten who loved to be doted on. Shane had responded in the wishy washy way that Ilya could now identify as a polite Canadian ‘no’.
He would be dragging his, this, man to his team barbecue.
Another woman entering the waiting room in a pair of blue scrubs, caught his attention. Mostly because her entrance was so much less dramatic than Eleanor who’d practically flung the doors open.
“Mr Rozanov!” She came trotting over, “so sorry about the wait, I can administer the vaccine if you want, but I’m sure Anya would be more comfortable with Shane.” She bent down next to the spaniel to ruffle her ears, distracting Anya from where she was fighting with John’s fingers, “isn’t that right, sweetie?”
Ilya really hoped that Anya clearly being relaxed wouldn’t prompt this new vet to do the vaccine, but she just smiled at him wickedly. “Dr Landry,” she reached out a hand for him to shake, “it’s been a delight having you and Anya at this practice, Mr Rozanov.”
“Yes,” Ilya replied, completely unsure of what to say, “it is nice practice.”
“Hmm,” Dr Landry responded with another smirk. “Don’t worry, your boy will be down soon.”