Work Text:
By the time Irina turned thirteen, Shane had learned three things:
-
She had inherited Ilya’s intensity.
-
She had inherited Shane’s stubbornness.
-
God was punishing them for every chaotic thing they’d ever done in their twenties.
Irina stood in the kitchen of their modern lakeside cottage, arms crossed, wearing an expression that suggested she was about to negotiate a hostage exchange.
“He’s just coming over,” she said for the fourth time. “It’s not a big deal.”
Ilya sat at the island like a general preparing for war.
“What is his full name?” he asked.
“Zac.”
“Zac what.”
“Just Zac.”
Shane rubbed his face. “Sweetheart, he has a last name.”
Irina rolled her eyes so hard Shane briefly feared they might detach. “Zachary Bennett. Happy?”
Ilya nodded once, committing it to memory like a scouting report.
Zac arrived fifteen minutes later.
He was tall in the gangly, still-growing way of thirteen-year-old boys. He wore a collared shirt like he’d Googled “how to impress girlfriend’s parents” and panicked.
Shane opened the door with a bright smile.
“You must be Zac,” he said warmly. “I’m Shane.”
Zac swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
“Oh,” Shane laughed. “Absolutely not. No ‘sir.’ I’m not a substitute teacher.”
Behind him, Ilya stepped into view.
“And I am Ilya,” he said calmly.
Zac visibly stiffened.
Irina shoved past both of them. “Dad, stop standing like that.”
“Like what?” Ilya asked.
“Like you’re about to draft him.”
They settled on the back deck overlooking the lake. The sunset was objectively stunning, which only made the tension more cinematic.
Shane brought out lemonade.
Ilya brought out questions.
“So,” Ilya began, folding his hands on the table. “What are your intentions.”
“Dad!” Irina groaned.
Zac blinked. “Uh.”
Shane kicked Ilya lightly under the table. “He means, what do you guys like to do? Hobbies.”
“Right,” Ilya said smoothly. “Hobbies.”
Zac looked at Irina like she might rescue him.
She did not.
“Um,” he said carefully. “I play guitar?”
Ilya nodded once. “Acoustic or electric.”
“Electric?”
“Amplifier brand.”
“Dad!”
Shane choked on lemonade, trying not to laugh.
Irina flopped dramatically into her chair.
“This is exactly why I didn’t want to do this.”
Shane reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “Hey. We’re just talking.”
Ilya leaned forward slightly. “What are your grades like, Zac.”
“Dad!”
“What? Education is important.”
Zac straightened like he’d been called to the front of class. “Mostly A’s. Some B’s.”
“Which subject is B.”
“Math.”
Ilya’s eyebrow twitched.
“I can improve,” Zac added quickly.
Shane cut in, beaming. “That’s great. Math is overrated anyway.”
Ilya looked personally offended.
At one point, Zac reached for Irina’s hand.
Ilya’s gaze snapped down like a laser-guided missile.
Shane pretended not to see it.
Irina squeezed Zac’s hand deliberately, staring her father down.
Ilya inhaled slowly.
“Physical boundaries,” he began.
“DAD.”
Shane covered his mouth to hide his laughter. “Maybe let’s… not give a seminar.”
They moved inside for dinner.
Shane had cooked—on purpose this time, without burning anything—and the table was set nicely.
Zac complimented the food three separate times.
Shane glowed.
Ilya studied him like he was trying to detect deception.
“So,” Ilya said casually, “what are your long-term plans.”
Zac froze with a fork halfway to his mouth.
“Dad,” Irina warned.
“I am curious.”
“I’m thirteen,” Zac squeaked.
“Exactly,” Ilya replied. “It is never too early to strategize.”
Shane burst out laughing.
Halfway through dinner, Zac relaxed enough to tell a story about accidentally setting off a smoke alarm during a science experiment.
Shane laughed so hard he nearly spilled his drink.
Irina looked pleased.
Ilya did not laugh—but there was the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“Controlled flames,” he said approvingly. “Acceptable.”
Irina blinked. “You approve of arson?”
“It was science,” Ilya corrected.
After dinner, they walked down to the dock.
The lake was calm, the sky streaked with orange and pink.
Irina and Zac sat side by side, talking quietly.
Shane leaned against Ilya.
“You’re scaring him,” Shane murmured.
“I am evaluating him.”
“He’s a child.”
“He is near my child.”
Shane smiled softly. “You’re being protective.”
“Yes.”
“It’s kind of adorable.”
“I am not adorable.”
Shane kissed his cheek. “You absolutely are.”
On the dock, Zac handed Irina a small folded piece of paper.
Ilya went rigid.
Shane grabbed his arm. “Do not tackle him.”
“I am not tackling.”
“You’re calculating wind speed.”
“I am assessing escape routes.”
Irina unfolded the paper and laughed.
She held it up.
It was a badly drawn cartoon of her beating Zac at Mario Kart.
Even Ilya blinked.
“That is… harmless,” he admitted.
Shane grinned. “See? Not a criminal mastermind.”
Eventually, it was time for Zac to leave.
He stood awkwardly near the door.
“Thank you for having me,” he said politely.
Shane clapped him gently on the shoulder. “Anytime.”
Ilya stepped forward.
Zac visibly braced.
Ilya extended his hand.
Zac shook it.
Ilya held it for a beat longer than necessary.
“If you treat her well,” Ilya said evenly, “we will not have problem.”
“Dad!”
Zac nodded frantically. “Yes, sir—I mean—yes.”
Shane ushered him out before things escalated into a formal treaty.
When the door closed, Irina spun around.
“You are impossible,” she declared.
Ilya looked mildly confused. “I was very calm.”
“You interrogated him about amplifier brands!”
“It is important.”
Shane wrapped an arm around both of them.
“He did okay,” Shane said gently.
Irina huffed but leaned into him.
Ilya sighed.
“She is growing up,” he said quietly.
Shane smiled softly. “Yeah.”
Irina rolled her eyes again. “I’m literally still here.”
Ilya pulled her into a hug before she could protest.
“No boy,” he said firmly into her hair, “will ever intimidate me.”
Irina grinned mischievously. “Challenge accepted.”
Shane laughed.
And somewhere in his heart, he knew this was only the beginning of Ilya Rozanov versus Teenage Romance—a rivalry far more terrifying than any he’d faced on the ice.
Three months later, the apocalypse arrived in the form of a text message.
Irina had been in her room, music playing loudly enough to rattle the glass walls of the cottage, when Shane heard the sudden, unmistakable sound of thirteen-year-old devastation.
It wasn’t dramatic crying.
It was worse.
It was silence.
Followed by one very small, very broken:
“Oh.”
Shane found her sitting on her bed, phone limp in her hand, staring at nothing.
He didn’t ask immediately. He just sat down beside her.
After a long minute, she said, very calmly, “He said he thinks we should ‘just be friends.’”
Shane felt something sharp twist in his chest.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” he said gently.
Irina’s face crumpled like paper.
It was the first time her heart had ever broken.
And it shattered loudly.
Downstairs, Ilya was reorganizing the pantry when Shane texted him:
Shane: It happened.
Ilya: What happened.
Shane: Zac.
There was a long pause.
Then:
Ilya: I will handle it.
Shane texted back immediately.
Shane: You will not handle it.
Ilya: I am already handling it.
Shane sighed and went back upstairs.
Irina cried like someone who had never learned how to do it quietly.
Full-body sobs. Ugly, hiccuping breaths. The kind that made Shane want to physically fight the concept of teenage boys.
“He said I’m ‘too intense,’” she choked. “What does that even mean?”
Shane made a face. “It means he’s thirteen and emotionally illiterate.”
That got the faintest watery huff of a laugh.
“You are not too intense,” he said firmly. “You are passionate. There’s a difference.”
She wiped her eyes angrily. “I don’t even care.”
“You absolutely care.”
She burst into tears again.
Shane pulled her into his chest and held her like he used to when she was small enough to fit entirely in his arms.
Up here, he was soft.
Downstairs, Ilya was googling things.
Specifically: “legal consequences of intimidation.”
An hour later, the cottage smelled like popcorn and emotional recovery.
Shane had built a nest of blankets on the couch. Irina was curled up beside him in sweatpants and one of his old hoodies.
They were watching the saddest movie Shane could think of—something with dramatic rain and a tragic love confession that went wrong.
Irina sniffled into a tissue. “He didn’t even say it in person.”
Shane shook his head. “Coward behavior.”
She leaned against him. “Did anyone ever break your heart?”
Shane hesitated.
“Oh yeah,” he said softly. “More than once.”
“Did it feel like this?”
“Worse, sometimes.”
She looked up at him, eyes red. “What did you do?”
“I survived it,” he said simply. “And I learned from it.”
She stared at the TV, thinking.
“Does it ever stop hurting?”
“Yes,” Shane said without hesitation. “I promise.”
In the kitchen, Ilya was on the phone.
“Wyatt,” he said quietly.
On the other end, Wyatt groaned. “Oh no.”
“He hurt her.”
“Zac?”
“Yes.”
Wyatt sighed. “Buddy. He’s thirteen.”
“He is reckless.”
“He’s thirteen.”
Ilya pinched the bridge of his nose. “I do not intend to do anything illegal.”
“That’s… not reassuring.”
“I am merely considering options.”
“Like what?”
“Psychological warfare.”
Wyatt burst out laughing. “You cannot psychologically terrorize a middle schooler.”
“I can glare.”
“You already do that.”
Back in the living room, Irina had cried herself into exhaustion.
Shane brushed her hair back gently.
“You’re allowed to be sad,” he murmured. “It doesn’t make you weak.”
She nodded, eyes half-closed. “I hate him.”
“That’s valid.”
“I don’t really hate him.”
“That’s also valid.”
She sighed. “Do you think I’m too intense?”
Shane cupped her face gently. “You are exactly the right amount of you.”
That made her cry again—but softer this time.
Ilya appeared in the doorway, arms crossed.
He took in the blankets. The popcorn. The red eyes.
His jaw tightened.
Shane looked up at him meaningfully.
Do not.
Ilya approached slowly and sat on Irina’s other side.
She shifted automatically, leaning into him without thinking.
He wrapped an arm around her, stiff at first, then tighter.
“He is foolish,” Ilya said quietly.
Irina sniffed. “You interrogated him about amplifiers.”
“He still should not have broken your heart.”
“It’s not like that,” she mumbled. “We just… didn’t work.”
Ilya’s expression softened.
“You deserve someone who understands you,” he said carefully. “Someone who respects your intensity.”
Shane blinked at him, impressed.
Irina looked up at her dad. “You’re not going to threaten him?”
Ilya considered.
“I am thinking about it,” he admitted.
“Dad.”
“But I will not act.”
Shane reached over and squeezed his hand in quiet gratitude.
Later that night, after Irina had finally fallen asleep between them on the couch, Shane whispered, “You were good.”
“I am always good.”
“You were emotionally available.”
Ilya frowned slightly. “I am capable of this.”
“I know,” Shane said, smiling softly.
Ilya looked down at their daughter’s tear-streaked face.
“She is in pain,” he murmured.
“I know.”
He was quiet for a long time.
“Does it ever get easier?” he asked finally.
Shane thought about scraped knees, ducklings, toddler nemeses, and now first heartbreaks.
“No,” he said honestly. “It just changes.”
Ilya nodded slowly.
Then his eyes narrowed slightly.
“But if he hurts her again—”
Shane pressed a kiss to his temple. “No murder plans.”
Ilya sighed dramatically. “Fine.”
There was a pause.
“I may still glare.”
Shane smiled into the dim light.
“Glare all you want.”
Between them, Irina shifted, breathing steady now.
Her first heartbreak had come and gone like a summer storm.
And though Shane talked about feelings and Ilya mentally drafted revenge strategies, they both knew the same thing:
No one would ever love her more fiercely than they did.