Chapter Text
Scott, Ilya, and Rose sit in the hospital director’s office.
It’s a nice office. Tasteful, with a mahogany desk and soft lighting. There are various diplomas on the wall.
Scott would very much like to be anywhere else.
Ilya has an ice pack pressed to his knuckles. The hospital director- a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and deep under-eye bags- sits across from them, arms crossed, and expression unimpressed.
Scott kind of wants to laugh.
This is exactly like getting hauled into the headmaster’s office at his boarding school.
And oh boy, are they in trouble.
“I recognize this situation is sensitive,” the director- Dr. Mason- says sternly. “But you cannot go around punching people or attacking them. Not in this hospital.”
“Sorry,” Rose says after a beat. “It was inappropriate.” Either she genuinely means it or she’s an incredible actress, because she manages to look properly ashamed.
“I am not,” Ilya says flatly.
Scott kicks him in the shin.
Ilya winces and clears his throat. “I am… sorry for having disturbance. Is not fair to you.”
“Or my staff. Or the other patients,” Dr. Mason says. He sighs deeply and leans back in his chair. It squeaks loudly.
“I will make a donation to your hospital,” Ilya adds. “To say sorry.”
“Me too,” Rose says quickly.
“Me three,” Scott offers, because honestly? He does feel bad about all of this.
Dr. Mason closes his eyes for a long moment.
“…Of course you will,” he says.
The poor director looks torn, like he genuinely has no idea what to do with them. He obviously knows exactly who they are, which only makes this whole thing feel like a bad joke.
Two hockey players and a movie star walk into an ER and try to fistfight a woman handcuffed to a wheelchair…
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Dr. Mason says finally. “We’ve moved Ms. Loren to a separate wing of the hospital. You three are not to go anywhere near it.” He gives a pointed look at Ilya, who does his best to look innocent. “I’ve warned security. If you try to see her, I will have you trespassed.”
Then he clears his throat.
“Your friend is out of surgery.”
That gets everyone’s attention.
“Is he okay?” Rose asks immediately. “You can tell us.”
Dr. Mason slides on a pair of reading glasses and looks down at a small stack of papers on his desk.
“Are either of you Yuna or David Hollander?”
“Would you believe me if I said yes?” Ilya asks.
“No.”
“Then no.”
Dr. Mason peers at them over the rim of his glasses.
“There’s a secondary emergency contact I can speak to. Ilya Rozanov.”
Well.
That’s… surprising.
Scott and Rose make eye contact, and they both have the exact same thought at the exact same time.
They’re fucking, right?
Oh yeah. They totally are.
That probably explains why Ilya had been so confident the hospital staff would update him about Shane.
“That one is me,” Ilya says. “Do you need to see ID, or do you want to Google me?”
Dr. Mason just looks tired. “It’s fine. I know who you are. Now- Mr. Hollander had what we call a protrusion of internal organs.”
Ilya blinks, clearly lost.
“His intestines were out,” Rose supplies gently, clocking that Ilya doesn’t know what protrusion means.
“His guts were out,” Ilya says, oddly calm.
Scott is honestly impressed. This is the most controlled he’s ever seen him when it actually matters.
“His small bowel was exposed,” Dr. Mason corrects. “We performed an exploratory laparotomy. It came back negative, which is a good thing.”
“His guts were out. How is that a good thing?” Ilya demands.
“It means there were no penetrating wounds to his internal organs,” Dr. Mason explains. “The primary damage was to the skin, muscle, and fat of his abdomen. The protrusion happened because there was no abdominal wall to keep everything in, so to speak. There was no need to repair the intestines themselves. All things considered, Mr. Hollander is very lucky.”
“I hate that word,” Ilya mutters.
Scott does too.
He’d been lucky when his parents died and he didn’t.
Lucky he was good at hockey.
Lucky he got a scholarship.
Lucky, lucky, lucky.
“Fortunate, then,” Dr. Mason amends.
“Can we see him?” Rose asks.
“Not yet. He’ll be in recovery for a while, and then the ICU.”
“ICU?” Scott echoes, immediately tense.
“I-C-U?” Ilya repeats. “What is this?”
“Intensive care unit,” Rose supplies helpfully.
“And he needs this… intensive care?” Ilya repeats, the words sounding rough in his accent.
“It’s a precaution,” Dr. Mason says. “Just until we’re confident in his recovery.”
“He is out for season, yes?”
Wow. Scott didn’t think they’d make it this far into the conversation before Ilya asked about hockey. Still.
“Don’t be stupid, Rozanov,” Scott snaps. “Shane was stabbed. Of course he can’t play hockey.”
“It was more of a slashing wound,” Dr. Mason corrects. “About seven inches long. Roughly the length of a banana.”
“That’s a little over seventeen centimeters,” Rose adds automatically. Because of course she would know the conversion between metric and imperial.
“He is fixed, yes?” Ilya asks.
Scott feels his chest tighten. He wants that answer too. Badly.
“The wound has been closed,” Dr. Mason says. “The abdominal wall has been repaired. There were no internal organ injuries, which is the best possible outcome in a situation like this. He’ll be sore. He’ll need time. But yes, he’s stable. We are optimistic."
IIlya exhales hard, like he’s been holding his breath for hours.
Scott feels like a rubber band wrapped tight around his ribs has finally snapped. Rose looks just as relieved, shoulders sagging, tension draining out of her face.
Scott hadn’t known what to think when he’d heard Shane had been stabbed. His mind had gone straight to blood and gore and intestines spilling everywhere. Knowing Shane had been stitched back together-knowing there’d been no terrible internal damage- makes it something he can actually hold in his head without panicking.
“…but he’s only allowed one overnight visitor,” Dr. Mason is saying.
Scott blinks. He definitely missed a chunk of that conversation.
“You should let his mom be the overnight visitor,” Rose says to Ilya. “She’ll want to.”
“Yuna is not here,” Ilya says flatly. “I am.”
“Rose and I are here too,” Scott points out. “Why should it be you?”
“I’m his emergency contact.”
“Secondary emergency contact,” Rose adds sweetly.
Ilya frowns at her. Rose looks delighted to have gotten under his skin.
“It won’t be for a while anyway,” Dr. Mason interjects. “We’re moving Mr. Grady to the third floor for the night. Mr. Hollander is currently on the fifth and will be transferred to the ICU on the seventh floor, east wing.”
Scott had only commented on the visitor thing to piss Ilya off.
He likes Shane. He does. But he is in love with Kip.
He is absolutely staying with Kip.
“After he stabilizes, we’ll move him to a VIP room,” Dr. Mason continues. “I can only imagine the media circus this will cause. We’ll also be providing additional security.”
“Thank God,” Rose mutters. “You won’t talk to the press, will you?”
“We may make a statement confirming Mr. Hollander is here,” Dr. Mason says evenly, “but that is it. It depends on his next of kin. That is not you, Mr. Rozanov. You are an emergency contact and nothing else.”
“The backup emergency contact,” Scott mutters under his breath.
Ilya cuts him an annoyed look. “I punched a woman in a wheelchair. Do not think I will not punch you.”
“Save it for the ice, gentlemen,” Dr. Mason says warily. “It’s against my better judgment that I’m even permitting you three to stay.”
“I didn’t do anything!” Scott protests weakly.
“The three of you were involved in a fistfight with a patient who was handcuffed to a wheelchair,” Dr. Mason says flatly. “The three of you have some level of notoriety. All three of you are a pain in my ass. And my legal team’s ass. Behave.”
His tone leaves absolutely no room for argument.
“Yes, sir,” Rose says, meek as a church mouse.
Scott nods. “Yes, sir.”
Ilya crosses his arms, jaw tight. “…Yes.”
Dr. Mason exhales like he’s aged ten years in the last fifteen minutes. “Security will escort you back to your respective friends. You are not to leave your assigned wings. You are not to approach Ms. Loren. You are not to speak to the press. You are not to cause any further disturbances. If any of those rules are broken, you will be removed from this hospital.”
He stands. That’s clearly the end of the meeting.
“Understood?” he repeats.
“Understood,” Scott says.
“Understood,” Rose echoes.
Ilya gives a stiff nod. “Understood.”
Dr. Mason opens the office door and gestures sharply. “Go. Before I change my mind.”
They file out into the hallway.
Rose lets out a shaky breath. “Wow. Okay. I officially never want to be in a hospital director’s office again.”
“You were the one who tried to tackle her,” Scott says.
“She wanted Shane dead.”
“Still.”
Scott rubs his face. The adrenaline is finally wearing off, leaving him exhausted and wrung out. “I just want to see Kip.”
A pair of security guards peel off to escort them in opposite directions.
One gestures to Ilya. “Seventh floor. East wing.”
Another nods at Scott and Rose. “Third floor.”
Ilya hesitates, glancing toward the elevators. He’s an asshole, but he;s utterly alone right now. Scott forgets how young Ilya is, sometimes. He really is just a kid.
“You go,” Scott says quietly. “We’ll be here. Text me if you need anything. I’ll send you Rose’s number,” he glances at Rose to confirm that it’s okay to do so, and she nods. ‘If you need anything.”
Ilya studies his face for a second, then nods once. “I come back.”
Then he turns and heads down the hall.
Scott and Rose start toward Kip’s wing, escorted by security.
Halfway there, Rose’s phone buzzes in her pocket. She pulls it out and reads it.
“What is it?” he asks as she frowns.
“It’s a text from my manager, Randi."
Scott swallows and peers over her shoulder, trying to see “Bad?”
“Define bad,” Rose mutters, passing Scott the phone.
Randi: Press is already circling. Call me when you can.
He hands the phone back to Rose and she shoves it back into her pocket and they wordlessly as they keep walking.
Toward Kip.