Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

When you are turned into a programmed environment, routines are key to consolidating a bigger idea. To Shane, everything had to be planned: his 8 hours of sleep, the air-conditioning at exactly 17 degrees when he wakes up, the clothes folded exactly on his bed. He sounded insane, but it was working, and in field hockey, nothing is too perfect, but the functional became nearly essential.

That's practical, he thought to himself as he looked at his schedule for the whole day: for breakfast, go downstairs for a session of abdominal crunches (exactly 35 minutes), have lunch, go to the supermarket, have dinner out with Yuna, have a virtual meeting with his advertising assistant. Maybe he was just exhausted, but the world doesn't stop when you're getting worn out, and Shane really hates that.

His chair creaks subtly as he prepares to start his day at his table. The clock strikes exactly 6:15 a.m. the sound of music in his earbuds keeps his mind from freaking out as the almost silent ticking of his spoon lazily stirs his usual breakfast: whole wheat toast with avocado, buckwheat pancakes with honey and walnuts, ginger tea. Exactly what it looks like, cold, pale, and almost bland, without much smell or taste, but it has been enough since he was 15. The food was everything he was and will be one day. Some might argue that he is obsessively disciplined, maybe even to an extreme, but one does not have much choice when one's appearance and body are one's primary tools for work. Shane does not control his body; rather, it has controlled him for as long as he can remember. His thoughts fly when the music stops in his headphones, and he looks at himself in the bathroom mirror.

He looked pale, dull, and defeated. He doesn't think he's ugly, but he could be much better, and the very best don't waste so much time wondering if they could be the absolute best. He's learned that victimizing yourself in this world only makes you sink deeper into the sea of weakness, and he definitely didn't get this far by being a victim. Yeah, he's better than that. Or at least that's what he forces himself to believe most of the time.

The chilly Ottawa air hits his face as he takes a deep breath after his sit-up session. He's improved significantly over the past six months, and he wonders if it has something to do about Ilya. He agrees that biology is a mess when an omega works so much better when paired up with an alpha. It's outrageous, certainly outdated, and precisely sweet. Shane dislikes sweets; he never eats them. Sugar is carcinogenic, you know? ……… He sniggers to himself. Maybe that's why Ilya says he's boring, and oh my gosh, he's entirely a pit of bored things.

As the day dragged on, he found his mother sitting at the back of a coffee shop with those giant glasses on. Shane sat down in front of her as he watched her struggling with her laptop. "Didn't Dad creep up on you today?"

Yuna precisely looked up from the work in front of her, taking off her glasses as she flashed a characteristic smile. "It's not very polite not to greet your mother, though, you know?" She says as she puts a hand on Shane's cheek, analyzing him in her analytical mother mode. "You're paler than usual, has anything changed with the new suppressants?"

Shane swallowed hard. He didn't really like to worry his own mother about these things. It was stressful for her to deal with the worry that her son might die of poisoning one day, which was practically impossible, but Yuna Hollander was something else. "I'm fine, Mom, seriously..." Shane said as he gently removed his mother's hands from his face. "I just threw up a little yesterday, it's been a while since the last time, just an adverse reaction probably," he says as reaches out and thanks the waiter for the order that Yuna had already placed, exactly what he orders every time. "You know the doctor warned that this could happen."

Yuna huffed to herself as she closed her laptop to focus on her child for a few moments. "Shane, dear, don't try to lie to me, you know when I left," she said in a more serious tone. "Did you take more suppressants because of that game in Montreal?"

Shane bit the inside of tongue as his breathe hitched in his throat, deft fingers finding their way to his knees beneath the table. "I just took more to be sure..." he cut himself of when he saw Yuna's disapproving grimace. "Mom, I know, it's bad for me, but I've got to be okay this year, I can't let anything happen ."

Yuna raised her fingers to her own eyes, keeping quiet for a long moment before looking at him again. "You know very well why we replaced the old suppressants. You nearly died , Shane. What do you think will happen if you take pack after pack of them again?" Her tone was harsh, and she was almost grateful that the place was practically empty.

He looked away, unable even to look at his mother at that moment. He certainly didn't like to remember that fucking clinic... "It won't happen again," he slowly whispered.

"Of course it won't, because neither I nor your father will let you destroy even more of yourself! Shane... My boy, we've already talked about the NHL's new inclusive terms..."

No, Shane looked up, his eyes dull, his throat starting to hurt again. "I already said no. If I can, I'll die as a beta to anybody. You know very well that inclusion and representation are a way to promote the disadvantaged.”

Yuna sighed, nodding her head, not wanting to get into that subject anymore. "Okay, I know your answer, I'll never force you to do anything you don't want to, just remember that your parents are here to support whatever decision you make, huh?" She tried to cheer him up, patting him on the shoulder. "Now, please drink your blueberry smoothie before you pass out in the middle of a coffee shop."

Shane chuckled, relaxing for a moment as he took the cold cup in his hands. "It would make a great story," he teased.

Yuna raised an eyebrow as she opened her laptop again. "Don't even joke about it."

Shane smiled slightly, lifting the drink to his mouth, but the aroma of blueberry quickly reached his nose, making his stomach clench again. He quickly moved it away from his face as grimaced. "Ugh, when did this get so damn sweet?"

Yuna looked at him again, picking up the drink and bringing it to her nose. "It smells normal, just like every other time we've been here. Are you sure everything's okay?"

Shane shrugged. "Maybe my sense of smell is changing."

Yuna looked him over from top to bottom, his expression, his pressed lips, looking like a younger version of herself, she couldn't help but let out a soft little laugh.

Shane looked up again, noticing the laugh, raising an eyebrow. "What's so funny?"

Yuna precisely put her own food aside as she picked up a piece. "Nothing, honey, you just made me remember when I was pregnant with you.”

……. Pregnant?

Pregnant…….

Oh…… oh

The ringing in his ears overwhelmed his senses when these words hit his ears.

No, no, no, he can't, right? RIGHT He took suppressants when he was first introduced to them, and all the doctors warned him that by the age of 25 he was probably infertile, that his womb would be a useless little thing...

He came to his senses when he heard Yuna calling him, his irises trembling as he tried to regain his composure, even if his internal temperature had permanently gone into combustion...

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When Shane got home, he paced back and forth as he opened his cell phone browser, droplets of perspiration soaking his shirt.

He feels his fingers tremble as his legs give way while he kneels on the living room carpet, fingers swiftly clicking on the last link as his eyes rapidly scan the words with little comprehension.

What? Oh my god, his vision was so blurry and his whole hands started shaking

As the vibration of the phone ran through his hand, Shane kicked it away, his legs sending him backward until his back hit the couch, his breathing uneven as he gazed at the phone as if it were radioactive. Then the realization took hold of his mind and his whole body began to sputter, he collapsed onto the floor of the dark room, the only light coming from the screen of his goddamn phone. His breathing, which had been erratic, was now non-existent. His lungs simply didn't have enough oxygen for him to be able to breathe. He let out a sharp moan as his entire system seemed to stop functioning, tears falling unapologetically as he wrapped his arms around his body, curled up in a sad, empty apartment as the realization of his actions ran through his head…….

What has he actually done?