take Ilya's dick out of your mouth before you talk

Ilya and Marly make eye contact with each other, making a face, before joining Connors to head back into the bathroom. Ilya almost trips and falls on an empty Svedka bottle that he kicks to the side with a disgusted sneer.

Three grown men peek over the edge of a bathtub. There is indeed a baby in there.

Well," Ilya says, cheerily. "It has brown eyes, so it cannot be mine."

"Is it like a dog situation?" Marly asks, genuine. "Where they like, come with identification tags?" "Maybe we should take it to the police," Connors says. "And we leave out the fact that it was here all night surrounded by drugs and booze."

Ilya ignores both of them as he walks back into the suite's common room. His phone blinks to life--10 percent battery. It helpfully reminds him that his flight to Moscow is in 12 hours. Ilya swipes the notification away. He dials Svetlana's number.

She doesn't pick up. He calls again.

"Bluh," Svetlana answers.

"Where are you?" Ilya asks.

Shuffling. "Our hotel room?" Svetlana grumbles. "Where the fuck are you?"

Ilya switches to FaceTime. Svetlana picks up. She looks terrible.

"Look," Ilya orders. He swings his phone around the room. He holds for a couple more seconds on the bird, so Svetlana can get a good look at it. Svetlana hums appreciatively, so Ilya takes her into the bathroom. "Hey Svetlana," his teammates chime. Svetlana grunts in greeting. The three of them, plus digital Svetlana, peer over the bathtub.

"Do you guys remember anything from last night?" Ilya asks the room.

"Nothing," Connors says, despondent.

"Nothing," Marly confirms.

"Nothing," Svetlana says, cheerily. "I do know who's baby that is though."

All three of them swing their heads to Ilya's phone. "What?" Connor asks, hopefully.

Svetlana smirks. "Yeah, it's Marly's."

Silence. Then--"Fuck off Svetlana," Marly responds.

"No, I'm being deadass," she says, somber. "Marly married a stripper last night, and that's her baby."

Even more silence. Ilya, Connors, and Marly look at each other, stunned.

Then, Ilya bursts out into uproarious laughter.

"Daddy Marly!" Ilya crows. Svetlana starts laughing too, joining in. "Daddy Marly! Daddy Marly!"

"You two shut the fuck up!" Marly orders. "I didn't marry anybody--"

Connors' face is white. "Marly, your hand."

They all look down. There's a cheap, chapel ring on his fourth finger. Ilya starts laughing so hard he almost falls over.

"Svetlana," Marly begs, desperate. With fatherhood on the line he's locked back into life. "Do you remember anything else from last night? Do you know how we got here?"

"Literally no," Svetlana says, already burying her face back into the hotel pillow. "I only remember you getting married because it was so fucking funny. Then, we got back in the limo, I blacked out, the next thing I knew I am back in my hotel room," she waggles her eyebrows. "Seems like you guys had fun without me though."

"Come over," Ilya demands. "Help us solve the mystery of the missing baby. We can get burritos after."

Svetlana laughs, indignant, "Fuck that. You guys are halfway across The Strip from me. You come here."

"We literally cannot leave this room," Connors says, panicked. "Until we absolve ourselves of all guilt for everything that happened here last night."

Ilya sighs, starting to get irritated. "This is not a big deal, okay?" Ilya says, to the room. "I wake up to worse when I party in Moscow. Fix is very simple. We talk to hotel, tell them we do not know where we are, they insist we pay for damage we pay damage and leave and someone comes in to clean everything up. We tell call girl service about Marly's wife and tell them we have her baby, we call police about bird, and I head to airport. Easy peezy, as you say in your country."

"You aren't curious about what happened?" Marly asks. "You don't want to find out how we got here?"

"What is there to find out?" Ilya says, easily. "We have fun fucking night on my birthday and we black out. Is price of doing business."

As he says this Ilya opens his phone, reads through more of his messages.

His heart sinks into his asshole when he sees 1 new message from one Jane.

To start, everything from their text thread has been wiped from his phone. This is horrible news to Ilya, whose nighttime ritual the past six months had been reading all of Hollander's messages, jerking off to the memories of when Hollander let him fuck him, before continuing to not reply to any of his correspondences.

Also, it means he has no explanation for the single text that remains in their conversation.

Jane: goodbye, rozanov.

Ilya hasn't responded to Hollander in over six months. Yet, this singular message is enough to get him type, panicked--

Ilya: lol wtf are you talking about

He hits send. The message doesn't go through. Ilya's heart starts pounding in his ears.

He does something desperate. He calls Hollander.

The call doesn't go through.

Ilya has pissed off enough hook ups to know exactly what this is.

Hollander's blocked him.

The little fucking asshole.

"We must retrace our steps," Ilya announces, out loud to the room. "Starting with pregame bar."

"Yo, are you serious Cap?" Marly asks, hopeful. Connors looks equally relieved that Ilya has decided to take charge of the situation.

"I'm going back to sleep," Svetlana says, definitive, and hangs up.