Chapter Text
It's two in the morning when Ilya wakes to the sound of his apartment door. The knocking is constant and desperate, filled with an urgency that makes his heart pound. He gets out of bed, tangling himself briefly in the sheets before he can manage to leave his room. He takes the stairs two at a time and, when he reaches the entrance, Ilya opens the door without stopping to check who's behind it—because only three people knew the access code—. His breath catches when he sees who it is, because it's neither Svetlana nor Marly, but the third person, the one he didn't want to see; the person who had fled from the same place months before.
The man who had broken his heart (even if Ilya continued to deny it).
Shane's hair is disheveled, his brow furrowed, his skin pale and sweaty, and his breathing ragged. One hand rested against the doorframe, the other hovered in the air, ready to knock again—only it wasn't necessary anymore—. Neither of them spoke in those first few seconds; they simply stare at each other. They looked at each other without helmets between them, without time to reign over their emotions, without anyone surrounding them, with nothing but the other's presence and an uncertainty that churned their chests.
“Wha-"
"I'm sorry." Shane said without hesitation, as if the word had burned his lips in its way to rushing out. As if he were running out of chances, without the courage to admit his mistake, with nothing but a deep panic born of despair. "I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."
Ilya didn't know what to do, what to say, or how to act because not even in his wildest dreams had he encountered a scene like this. He stepped back slightly from the entrance, leaving enough space for the Canadian to pass so that whatever was happening wouldn't occur outside the privacy of his home. Shane walked with trembling steps, a kind of hesitation in his gait, and a rapid panting that he tried hard to hide but that Ilya heard—and couldn't ignore—. Shane didn't move any further, forcing them both to remain in the middle of the entryway, which had been the stage for other kinds of dramas, other kinds of performances.
"Hollander..." he tried to speak for the first time that night, but once again Shane decided not to give him the chance.
“I shouldn’t have left like that, I shouldn’t have run away and stopped talking to you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never meant to—” Shane interrupts his apology with a groan of pain that is more than evident. His brow furrows and one of his hands (now at his side, stiff and tense) immediately goes to his abdomen, to the lower part where the pain seems to be coming from.
“Hollander…”
“It’s nothing, it’s nothing. I tore a muscle in the last game, it’s nothing serious.” He murmurs, downplaying what’s happening to him. For Shane, the last twenty-four hours have been terrible. Starting with the night before, in bed in an empty apartment in the middle of a city that no longer felt as much his as it did at the beginning of his career; phone in hand, reading articles he can’t remember now, until he stumbles across a tabloid. One of those where gossip abounds alongside photographs, and although most of the stories are lies or taken out of context, his heart can’t help but clench when a photo of Ilya with an unknown woman fills the screen. The accompanying paragraph is brief, alluding to a possible new relationship between them—she's a model about whom he knows nothing other than that she's with Ilya while Shane is hundreds of miles away, shrouded in self-imposed silence—; the Russian looks as always, impeccable and utterly dashing in a white silk shirt and jeans that suits him so good. And Shane isn't there, not in his apartment, not in the city, not near Ilya, not there. Because Shane himself made that decision, because it was Shane who ran away in fear, because it was Shane who decided he couldn't take it anymore when in reality he wanted the exact opposite.
The silence lingers, enveloping the Canadian like a tightly wrapped blanket, and the events of months past replay in his mind relentlessly. Ilya's face—confused, pleading, and terrified, yet resigned to the unfolding tragedy—appears each time he closes his eyes, the mournful tone of his voice filling the void, even if it's just a distant echo, an illusion. Shane knows he made a mistake, that he did what he does best when confronted: he runs, he withdraws, he takes refuge in silence and distance because he doesn't know what else to do, because he has never allowed himself to be selfish with his desires, with his dreams. Shane knows he was a coward when he should have been brave, and how he regrets it; because now he has to see Ilya with someone else, because he has to get used to the idea that someone else will be by his side, someone else will be there between his sheets, in his house, in the Russian's arms. He slams the news page shut, switches tabs, and goes to the airline's website; the nearest flight leaves the next night—all the others are already sold out, and Shane wonders if that many people really travel to Boston every day—; he buys the ticket without a second thought and starts organizing the impromptu trip he just booked.
In the morning, he talks to his coach, citing a family emergency, and hangs up as soon as the coach starts ranting and complaining about Shane's lack of professionalism. He's not particularly interested in what the man has to say.
At midday, he packs what he needs into the duffel bag he uses for short trips during the season.
When the clock strikes two in the afternoon, Shane’s back tenses with a strange pain that originates at the base of his spine and spreads down the front; he doesn't pay much attention to it.
His mother calls him an hour later. Shane explains without going into much detail while he continues to tossing things onto the bed, trying to decide if the Raiders sweatshirt should find its way back to its rightful owner (the answer is no). The pain increases slightly, but it's so sporadic that it fades into the back of his mind.
He practices the words he wants to say to Ilya when he finally manages to convince his mother that nothing serious is wrong, that he has to fix what's happening on his own. Shane repeats his apologies, changes the order, organizes his thoughts, and even writes them down in a small notebook that has been on his nightstand for months but that he has never used.
Hayden floods his phone with messages asking if everything is alright, because apparently the team already knows he's taken an unexpected leave of absence and they're inundating the group chat. Shane responds with brief messages because he has neither the desire nor the inclination to try to explain—again—his decisions; he doesn't have the patience to endure them trying to change his mind.
At eight o'clock that night, the taxi that's going to take him to the airport greets him, and neither of them speaks again for the entire ride. His stomach aches slightly with anxiety, with the fear of rejection, with the possible indifference he might face in Boston.
Shane arrives with plenty of time to spare, finds his boarding gate on one of the many screens throughout the airport, and sighs wearily when he sees the word "delayed" next to his flight. He walks through the endless corridors packed with people carrying suitcases, boxes, and tired faces; he goes through security and takes a few photos with people who recognize him. Shane slings his suitcase over his shoulder, finds the assigned gate, and chooses a spot in one of the corners, where he settles to wait for the time to pass. He shifts constantly in the hard metal chair he's sitting in; the pain in the base of his back increases, and the hard material only makes it worse. He gets up, paces back and forth while sighing, and constantly checks his watch and the screen until the loudspeakers announce that it's time to board.
He gets in line—the seat he bought is in economy because all he cares about is getting to Boston—and waits for everyone to scan their passports and hand over their tickets. Eventually, everyone is on the plane, and the captain's welcoming voice is soon replaced by the flight attendant explaining the safety procedures. Shane fastens his seatbelt and tries—unsuccessfully—to find a comfortable position in the small seat (eventually, he has to loosen it because the pressure on his abdomen becomes almost unbearable). He makes a note on his phone to remind himself to schedule a physical therapy appointment and another to talk to his trainer about how to reduce the muscle injuries that have been bothering him for a couple of months. The flight arrives a few minutes early, but those minutes are lost with people slowly disembarking, immigration procedures, and the hundreds of other people who get in his way. So by the time he gets back into a taxi with a memorized address, the clock already reads 1:30 in the morning.
At one fifty in the morning, he enters the security code, which thankfully Ilya hasn't changed in months.
At two o’clock Shane knocks forcefully on the Ilya's door.
It's two forty in the morning when Shane begins to recite the words he's practiced so much in Montreal.
"I was scared, you know? I was so scared of what was happening because nothing like this had ever happened before, because it wasn't what we were supposed to have agreed on..." The Canadian raises his hand to stop the other man from speaking when he sees him trying to say something. "And it's not because I didn't want to, but because, ugh—" Shane sighs heavily as a new cramp settles in his abdomen —his legs even tremble slightly—. "Because I wanted it too much, whatever you were offering me, I wanted it; the warmth with which you welcomed me was all I longed for, and I was so afraid of losing it that I had no better idea than to run, because the situation couldn't hurt me if I escaped before I had a chance."
Ilya doesn't know what to say; the words have been lost somewhere deep inside him. He can only listen (and worry because with each passing minute Shane seems to be in more pain, and the supposed muscle tear doesn't seem to be one) and try to process it all and find a way to speak. To tell Shane his own worries, his own fears, the ones he's never told anyone.
“And in my desperation, I hurt you, made you feel so bad. All this time, I replayed that day until it robbed me of sleep, until the silence in Montreal became unbearable; until I was brave enough to come and apologize. I understand…” another sigh. “I understand if you can’t or won’t forgive me; I understand if what I did was too much and you don’t want to see me again except at matches, but I couldn’t walk away without apologizing. So this is me saying I am sorr-” It’s impossible for Shane to keep pretending everything is alright. The new cramp is stronger and spreads even further, creating a strange pressure he can’t escape. He leans slightly forward and rubs his abdomen harder.
“Shane,” Ilya takes two steps forward, his hands outstretched, ready to catch the Canadian if he stumbles. Shane shakes his head and regains his composure, though the Russian can see tears welling in the corners of his eyes. “Everything has been a disaster since that day, and it’s not all your fault. I pressured you too, and I made my own words confusing,” because Ilya remembers Las Vegas and his own silence. He knows well the distance he himself has created for years, and he also recognizes that changing the rules of the game and expecting Shane to realize it without further explanation was also cruel of him. “I tried to change our agreement without telling you because I was also afraid of rejection, afraid of losing what we had. That what you had slowly given me would vanish because I’m not someone easy to love. Because that day the answer could only be either you said yes and stayed here, or you left, and then I would know that the illusions and dreams I had weren’t for me.”
Shane slowly approaches, takes Ilya’s cheeks in his hands, and simply caresses the taller man’s cheeks gently.
“You’re not someone difficult to love.” It's a silent confession they both manage to convey without uttering the words. But it's enough for them, enough in those moments when everything feels too new, too fragile. When the conversation has barely begun and there are still so many things left to say, to confess. "I promise, I swear you are not dif-" This time Shane bends slightly forward, his hands releasing Ilya's cheeks and settling on his shoulders, gripping them tighter than expected. The sigh of pain turns into a sharp moan that makes Ilya immediately wrap his arms around him.
“Hey, hey. Shane, breathe; come on, you can do this… inhale, exhale.” Ilya knows a part of him wants to panic, but he knows he has to keep his composure because this is more than just a sore muscle mixed with the anxiety of the moment. “Come on, I think you need to go to the hospital because this kind of pain isn’t normal, even for us hockey players.” He says, unsure of what else to do, and his panic increases when Shane nods several times in agreement with his suggestion—which is unheard of because Ilya has seen the man in his arms refuse to stay on the bench after a collision with the acrylic wall that would have sent other players straight to the doctor—.
“I think it’s my appendix…” Shane starts to say, but soon another wave of pain hits him, and this time it’s different. Shane can’t describe the feeling; it’s just pressure, so much pressure that he’s sure something is going to burst inside him. The pain peaks, his abdomen tightens, and something breaks—they can hear the pop!—. And then something dripping on the floor. Shane briefly separates from Ilya, and they both look down at the floor where a puddle has formed; Ilya looks up and sees Shane's pants turning dark; the liquid is coming from him.
"It's definitely not your appendix."
The trip to the hospital is short; thankfully, there are few cars on the streets. Shane controls his breathing as his hands grip the chair beneath him tightly. Ilya glances at Shane whenever he can and is silently grateful when he sees the building—familiar thanks to all the injuries hockey has caused him—ahead of him. The good thing is that the doctors know they must apply security protocols when dealing with high-profile patients; the bad thing is that upon entering through the ER, the other patients aren't required to keep quiet about what they see there, or about who they see arriving.
Ilya holds Shane by the shoulders, the doors to the ER open with a quiet ‘swish’, and when the nurse behind the central station notices them, she hurries over. Soon Shane is lying on a gurney with the curtains closed, and Ilya is by his side as they wait for the doctor on duty. Minutes that feel like an eternity pass until the fabric curtain opens and the doctor enters, pulling an ultrasound machine with her.
(In Shane's head, the only possibility echoes, but he refuses to say it aloud.)
“Good morning, gentlemen, I’m Dr. Michaels. While I get this ready, could you tell me a little more about the pain you’re experiencing, please?”
“It’s, ugh—it starts in my lower back and extends to the front. It’s a hot pain? It makes all my muscles tense up in a strange way.” The doctor nods as she approaches and carefully palpates the Canadian man’s abdomen. There’s one spot in particular that makes Shane hiss as he tries to move away from her hands.
“How long have you been experiencing this? Is it something that started recently? Has there been anything else? Fluids? Blood?”
“Since last night. I didn’t think much of it because it only appeared when I made a sudden movement. Then it continued throughout the day, but it’s not unusual when you—” another snort of pain. “One of my muscles is torn. It’s a very common injury in my profession, and it’s been bothering me for the last few months.” Shane blushes slightly before answering the following questions. “There wasn’t any blood, but yeah, uh… there was-”
“About an hour ago, uh, Shane was uh dripping?” Ilya picks up the conversation when he sees that Shane can’t find the words (and he can’t either, but he tries to explain the situation as best he can).
“Okay. I’m almost certain that’s what’s happening, but I need to do an ultrasound to confirm the result, okay?” They both nod. “The gel is cold, and please try not to move too much; I know it’s difficult, but I need to see clearly what’s going on in there.” The machine is turned on, the gel sends a shiver down Shane’s spine, and the pressure of the transducer becomes impossible to ignore. The woman watches the screen intently as she spreads the gel all over Shane’s abdomen, muttering a few things to herself, and despite everything, she seems quite calm and even somewhat relieved after spending a few minutes performing the scan. She turns off the machine, hands Shane a tissue to clean off the remaining gel (which Ilya does), and moves away from the examination table to peek behind the curtain to call a nurse.
It’s the same nurse who greeted them at the beginning.
“I need you to call L&D, have them prepare a bed, and be ready for a new patient in a couple of minutes. See if one of the suites is available and make sure to emphasize that they need to activate the hospital's security and privacy protocols. Please keep everything very discreet.”
“I’ll do it.”
The doctor then returned to where they were, Shane trying to cope with the waves of pain and Ilya stroking his hand, trying to soothe him.
“I’m going to be very clear and quick, okay? You’re going to have a baby, in a couple of hours at most.” The doctor blurts out, knowing she doesn’t have much time to explain the situation to them. “A cryptic pregnancy isn’t very common, but it does happen, and it’s happening to you. The baby appears to be full term and in the correct position, the size is good, and I couldn’t see anything alarming, no malformation or anything that would make me think its life is in immediate danger. You’re going to be transferred to the L&D unit, where they’ll check you to see what stage you’re at, but I’m telling you now, I don’t think it will be long. But you still have several options: you can choose a c-section or go with the childbirth path if you want it.” She can see the shock slowly fading from their faces, replaced by a mixture of fear and excitement. “I’ve requested that the hospital’s security and privacy protocols be activated. This means your names won’t appear on routine records, only on necessary documentation. A small team of staff is authorized to enter and interact with you, and they can also choose who is given information about the situation. If you’re able to walk for a couple more meters, I’d prefer you do that until you reach the elevator, which will stop on the general surgery floor. A nurse with a pink badge will be waiting there with a wheelchair, and together you can go up to the appropriate floor. This is because internally, we’ll be handling the situation as if you’re suspected of having appendicitis. I know this is a huge shock and an unexpected situation, so I want to give you as much reassurance as possible.”
“Okay, okay. I can do that, I can do that…” Shane feels panic starting to cloud his thoughts, but before he can spiral into that state, Ilya is there, whispering sweet nothings and slowly making the fear disappear. “Thank you, thank you so much.” Ilya feels just as lost as Shane, but he’s grateful that someone is trying to make all of this less terrifying for both of them.
“Once you’re upstairs, you’ll be examined again, and… look, I know this is a huge surprise and that everything is scary, especially because you’re not prepared. But I need you to think about you, your baby, and nothing else to worry about. Not the outside world, not other people, no one but you. Because there are people working on all your other concerns, so try to stay as calm as possible.”
Soon everything is ready, and Shane has to walk an overwhelming five meters until the elevator doors close and the number indicating the floors increases. On the third floor, the doors open again, and just as he’s been told, a nurse with a pink badge enters with a wheelchair, which Shane sits in as soon as he has the chance. The only thing that can be heard in the small space is Shane trying to ride the contractions without crying out loud. When they reach the fifth floor, the three of them get out and soon move down the corridor to the last door, where only his initials—S.H.—are already placed on a piece of paper on the wall.
“You have several options for changing on the bed, use whatever you prefer. The doctor will be here soon to do more checks so they can decide what to do,” the woman says before leaving.
With Ilya’s help, the Canadian reaches the bed, where there are indeed several options for changing out of the wet clothes he’s still wearing. There’s a light green gown—thankfully not made of paper but of soft fabric—as the first option. Shorts made of a towel-like material and a T-shirt with the hospital logo are the second option. Ilya doesn’t have to ask what Shane wants to wear because he already knows the answer, and in a flash, he’s helping him remove the uncomfortable clothes and put on option number two. Once changed, he sits on the edge of the bed, moaning painfully at the sensation that grips him. Ilya positions himself in front of him for support and strokes the other man’s tense shoulders.
“You’re doing well, moya lyubov. You’re being very brave.”
“I'm terrified Ilya.” Shane confesses, using the name of the man with him for the first time.
"Oh dorogoy, that doesn't take away from how brave you're being. You're facing something completely unexpected, you're enduring pain and discomfort and a lot of other things." Ilya kisses the top of Shane's head, trying to comfort him.
“We couldn't finish our conversation…” the black-haired man complains, earning a shadowy look from Ilya, who is incredulous that Shane is bringing up this topic right at those moments where another situation is much more important.
“Are you serious?” Ilya asks because he can't believe that this is seriously happening.
“I couldn't finish my apology, nor could I ask you if I missed-” again Shane is interrupted by the pain that floods him and this time it is much stronger, much longer.
It is in those moments that the door opens again and a doctor with a friendly smile greets them for the first time (it is not even close to being the last).
“Good evening gentlemen, I'm sorry to interrupt you but it's time for me to review the progress of the situation so we can decide what to do.”
“I just know I want something for the pain, please.”
“Well, I think the epidural is going to become your new best friend.”
The epidural does not become Shane’s new best friend.
It is a little too late for that, because after the exam the doctor —without losing the smile—announces that Shane is eight centimeters dilated and in transition phase. That the only to choices he really have are to continue with the labour or to choose the c-section. Shane does not have to think twice, because some hidden part of him knows he wants to have a little more time, he wants to experience the moment with Ilya, to be able to be comforted by the man and to share the special occasion even if its a little bit different that he thought.
“Breathe, breathe dorogoy. You are amazing, you are so incredible malysh.” Ilya kisses Shane’s face. A lot of tiny little butterfly kisses that are meant to be comforting and loving. Ilya chooses not to think in that moment —he can have a panic attack later, when Shane and their baby are both safe and sound—, chooses to be the man he wants to be with Shane since the very beginning: loving, caring, tender; Shane’s safe place. The Canadian is lying on his side, one hand grasping the riel of the bed and the other one between Ilya’s hands. His breathing is labored and his brow is covered in sweat, he is murmuring something and for a few seconds his eyes opens just to closed almost immediately after.
The time passes, and every minute is a minute closer to the finish line; they are alone in the room, the lights are dim, the curtains are closed and the city outside those walls can’t touch them.
“Ilya, pleaseee” Shane moans. “Please make it stop, it hurts so much. I can’t do it, I can’t, I can’t” he is crying. He is in so much pain and so terrified that he wants to hide, hide under the pillows or behind Ilya, maybe crawl into the man’s chest and live there where the pain can’t touch him, can’t reach for him.
“You can malysh, you are doing it. Just a little bit more oke? And the we have surprise baby with us. I bet baby have your temper, and I want them to have little face stars like yours.” He traces Shane's freckles with his thumb. “Just imagine, little Canadian-Russian terror with big brown eyes and little stars running in the ice. Oh they should be afraid because the best baby is going to be here soon.”
That makes the trick and Shane is back, his eyes are no longer lost in the pain and even a tiny little smile appears on his face.
“I want them to have your eyes, they are so blue and so beautiful and so expressive. And if they have your eyes I won’t be able to say no to them… I want that.” Shane confesses.
“Oh so you want to steal the fun papa from me. Tsk tsk Hollander, you are a criminal.” It seems you’ve already stolen my nights and my heart. He says in his mind.
“And I want them to learn Russian, to speak to you in your language. I want them to be happy and free and fearless like you.” And not like me, not scared or anxious all the time. “I want… I want us to be a family.” He dares to say out loud, Ilya answers in the only possible way, kissing Shane.
“Yes, yes. A family, anything you want. When we are together we will see houses oke? Big patio, safe, in the place you want Mr. Real-estate. I want happiness, and sunshine for our little solnyshko.”
They can’t keep doing plans because the things changes drastically, Shane hand is no longer sandwiched between Ilya’s, but between his legs. He is panting and hissing while trying to find something.
“Ilya, i need to- please call the doctor. Please, please I need to push.”
Ilya has never has never moved as fast as he did in those moments, he pushes a button and in a few seconds the doctor and a pair of nurses are present in the room.
“Let me check you one last time just to be sure it’s time.”
Shane wants to tell him that it is time, that he can feel it. He can feel his baby moving down, making everything burns with white hot pain. He is sure that if he moves from the bed the baby will fall out of him. But Shane says nothing and endures a final check up bitting his lips and crying silently.
“Well, you are right. You are at 10 and ready to push this baby out. Do you want to stay on your side or to pick another position? You can change and move in any moment.”
“Ilya, please…” he makes grabby hands motions towards the Russian. “Can you be in front of me? Can you held me please.” Ilya nods even before Shane can finish his question. He is climbing into the bed and then he is helping Shane moving into all fours. The Canadian wraps his arms around his neck and hides his face in the curve of his neck. Ilya can feel Shane’s breath coming out in puffs.
“Ready? When you feel a contraction I want you to push towards your tights, all the way down. Push until the contraction fades if you can, if you need a moment to breathe take it. We don’t want you to feel lightheaded. I’m warning you since now that the pain will be strong but you can do it; and when I tell you to stop, you stop. You’ll know when you are crowning and it will be intense but don’t panic. Remember this is not a race but a marathon so do not exhaust yourself.” The doctor puts a pad under Shane meanwhile the nurses prepares towels, gauze pads, clamps and other things. “I will not touch you unless necessary, and remember you can change positions if you want and to say anything if you feel anything weird.”
Shane wants to task him what he means by "something weird," given that everything he is feeling is strange, but he doesn’t get the chance.
“Ok, breathe and push. Push, push, push a bit more. You are doing it great. A little more Shane, we want the baby to come down, go… push, push, push.”
The Canadian follows the instructions, he pushes with energy and he can feel the bay coming closer but it is a slow thing. He can feel more fluid coating his thighs, he can feel the pain, the pressure, everything. It is a lot, but he is focused in something a little more important than his own discomfort. So when a new contraction arrives he resumes his pushes.
“You can do it dorogoy. You are doing it.”
It’s been 30 minutes since Shane started pushing, he is now standing up beside the bed; knees bended and his body is slightly squatting. Ilya is being his support and his hands are applying pressure to his hips, keeping them in place.
“One more Shane! I can see the head coming closer.”
Shane pushes, his face is red and he keeps doing it even when the contraction disappears. He is near, he can feel it.
“Come on malysh, one more. We are so close to have baby with us.”
Another wave of pain and another round of pushes, but as soon as Shane bends his body he can feel something different than the pain he has been feeling. The new sensation is fire, is a burning hot sensation that spreads everywhere and he can’t do anything to avoid it —he tries to close his legs but the gentle hands of the doctor stops him from doing that—.
“Oh my… it’s burning. It’s fucking burning!” Shane hisses, he can feel like hi is being ripped apart. It’s too much pain, too much fire. “Please make it stop, please… take the baby out of me, take them out!” He screams as his body pushes even if he tries to avoid doing it.
“Shane I need you to breathe. The head is crowning and what you are feeling is called the ring of fire. I need you to pant ok? Little pushes when I say it. I know it burns but give your body time to accommodate and stretch, I don’t want you to tear… Ok, now give me a little push and pant, pant Shane. The head is almost out and… it’s out!”
Shane knows it, he felt the exact moment. The relieve is almost instantly but only last a few seconds until the pressure is back.
“Bed, I want the bed please.” Ilya and a nurse helps him to move carefully knowing that a part of the baby is out and between his thighs.
“Lay on your side and Ilya please help him holding his leg. Now comes the last part, you already did the difficult one; so just a few more pushes and then you’ll have a baby. Ready?”
Instead of answering, Shane bares down and pushes with all his forces, screaming when he feels the rest of the baby sliding out. He feels like he is on fire because everything stings and burns. He is crying and trying to catch his breath when he hears it, the crying of their baby. Suddenly the nurse is gently moving up the shirt he is wearing an a little weight is resting on his chest. The baby is a bit sticky and covered in blood and other substances, their skin is wrinkled and they look pretty angry, but that little human being is his baby, his perfect baby, his surprise baby; no… their baby. Shane covers the tiny back with his hand and marvels at the size, because his hand shouldn’t be so big.
“It’s five thirty and congratulations guys, you have one beautiful little girl.” Both of them gasps and smiles, they have a daughter! A little princess to love and cherish. “We will give you one hour to have skin to skin time and then because she is a surprise baby we will run tests to make sure she is healthy ok?” For a little moment, Shane and Ilya forgot everything including the fact that until a few hours they didn’t know about her existence. “Now Shane, another push for the placenta and you’ll be as good as possible.”
Shane was too mesmerized watching his baby that he didn’t feel anything. He knew he was crying, his fingers trembling tracing the little nose, feeling the soft skin and memorizing her face. Ilya wasn’t any better, he was crying and whispering words in Russian, he was thanking his mother and life and everything even if he didn’t believe because Shane was not only back in his life, but Shane has also given him a daughter, a possibility of a better life. A family.
“Go with her, when they take her for the tests… please Ilya go with her. She needs her papa to be by her side.” Shane voice is hoarse but full of confidence and determination. “Please make sure she is safe?”
“Yes, absolutely. I’ll be with her all the time.” Ilya really didn’t want to leave his lover, but he also understands Shane’s petition.
“It’s time,” the doctor takes the baby with so much care that Shane is a bit more settle, “I promise we will be as fast as we can and that Papa will not be far. Meanwhile why don’t you talk with Nurse Marissa to choose the people who are authorized to come visit or to have real information about you.” The Canadian nods at the suggestion, feeling better having a task instead of just waiting and overthinking.
Then Ilya, their baby and the doctor disappears through the doors and the soft voice of the nurse is all he can hear.
“Here, take some water you need it.”
A warm smile and a list to make.
Ilya is walking back with his baby in arms, swaddle in a cozy blanket his girl was sleeping comfortably. He is still amazed by everything that has happened in the last few hours. He went from being alone in his apartment, pining over a man who left in a hurry to a father of a princess and having the same man saying ‘I’m sorry I panicked because I love you and I didn’t want to lose you’ at two in the morning. He went from being alone to having a family.
When he got back to the room Shane was now laying in a clean bed, with new clothes and talking with the nurse. As soon as they noticed his presence they stop their talk.
“Well, I have all the names and everything I need to pass along security. I’ll leave you two alone and please do not hesitate to call me or my partner if you need anything… and I mean anything.” The she left.
Ilya walks to the bed and places the baby in Shane’s arms. Shane cradles their girl close to his chest and stares at her in silence.
“Everything is fine. She is a healthy baby who passed her tests with eh… buzzing colors?”
“Flying colors.”
“Da. She weights 3.4 kilos and she is 50 centimeters tall. Such a beautiful princess who cried because the big mean doctor took away the warm towel and dared to put her under harsh light.”
She is sleeping, she is quiet and snuggled into her daddy’s arms.
“I love her so much,” Shane saids suddenly, as if the secrets of the universe were revealed to him. “And I love you much, I couldn't have done this without your help.”
Ilya gasps softly and in a second he is covering Shane’s face with kisses. He can’t believe it, his new reality is hard to grasp but now he is sure it is not drifting away from his hands.
“I love you too so much dorogoy. I love you, and her so much that my heart feels tiny. So tiny with all the feelings I have.” The Russian caresses the baby’s cheek with careful and steady hands, she is so new, so pure; so small and precious. “You were amazing, you were so incredibly strong. You brought her here, to ours and… oh god Shane… malysh English is so hard right now.”
Shane just laughs but his eyes are wet and one of his hands finds its way to Ilya’s. A soft squeeze and the world is quiet once again, Ilya’s mind is nice and his fears step back and he is able to inhale air freely and without that weird pain that constricts his chest often. Maybe it was the uncertainty, the looniness, the memories. But now those things are just in the past, not in his horizon.
“While I was talking with Marissa she asked me about names. I don’t know if you have ever thought about names for your hypothetical kids?”
“Eh, no. I never imagine myself so far?” He doubts about using the word, because the subtext it carries reveals way more than Ilya’s like. “In life. So no, I do not have favorite name for our printséssa. You? I bet you already have a list.”
“Not really. I was so focused on hockey that having a family was no in the table for me until eh… you.” Shane admits with a red face that Ilya finds adorable. “But, I was able to search and I really really like one name, but if you don’t like it it is completely fine, we can keep searching until we find something we both like…”
Ilya kisses the Canadian cheek pulling him out of the little spiral he was falling in.
“Tell me name. I bet I’m going to like it.”
“She looks like a Vera don’t you think?”
“It’s Russian name.”
“Well she is Russian.”
“Vera.” Ilya says the name with reverence, he weights the name, repeats the name in his mind and imagine a future saying it. “Verushka, our little girl. I love it Shane, it’s perfect for her.”
“I like the name because it means all the things I want for her. I have faith that she will have an incredibly happy life, full of love and care and sunshine. I also believe that she has arrive in the right time even if we are a mess, and she is our truth, she is the truth of our life, of our feelings. She is perfect and she is…”
“She is so loved.”
“Yes, absolutely. I never knew I could love someone so fast and so intense, but the moment she was in my chest it was like… so much. And I am terrified, so scared Ilya but also so happy; and I know that the day ahead of us are going to be hard, specially with the league and our teams but she is worth it. Even if didn’t know about her for months and I’m doing my best not to think about the fact that I was playing while pregnant with her, and the fact that I was on the macrobiotic diet and the fact that I did not take care of myself.” Oh, Shane was really panicking.
But Ilya can work with that, he can help a panicking but happy Shane. He can be there for him in every step; Ilya is going to be there by his side.
“I do not care about the league or the team. I want you two with me, I want to have a life, a future with you.”
“I want that too, so please answer me… do you forgive me? For hurting you?”
“You are unbelievable.” Ilya shakes his head incredulous at his lovers words. “But yes, I forgive you because I love you and I also make mistakes. I also hurt you so, do you forgive me too Shanya?”
“Absolutely. But we need to be better ok? We need to talk more, to communicate better because I want everything with you and a future with our daughter.”
“And she deserves nothing more than a happy home.”
“ So…”
“Ah! I have another question, a little late but necessary.” Ilya moves slightly from the bed so he can be face to face with the other man. “Shane Hollander, second best player of the world-”
“Hey!”
“Worst chipper of the league with a weak backhand and beautiful smile, I love you. You are my dream and the man I want to spend my life with, you have given me a daughter and a family and the future I always wanted. And I want to give you the same, I want to give you a safe place, a quiet home, so much love. I want everything with you so… Shane Hollander will you and your lovely face stars marry me?”
“I think we’ve skipped a couple of steps…” Shane laughs but his face has that bright smile that Ilya adores so much. “I will very much like to marry you Ilya Rozanov. I want everything with you, a life and a future.”
In that moment, Vera opens her eyes and makes a little sound —a mewl— so cute that Ilya is turning into goo.
“Well, hello to you too. Oh mon amour you have your papa’s eyes; so blue and pretty.”
“She has my eyes now she needs your little face stars.” Ilya’s voice is sweet and calm. Full of love for his daughter. “So malysh; you heard me, little face stars please.”
“Vera Hollander Rozanov, we love you so much. Thank you for being here.”
“So, how do you want to do it” Shane asks later.
“Do what?”
“Tell the world about her…”
“Oh… I have an idea, it’s very dramatic, very flashy like me. It’s going to be amazing! Trust me?”
“Always. So tell me, do I need to call my agent?”
“Yes.”