Chapter Text
lya yawns, keying in the code to the door and steps aside. He sets his bag down right there. Shane would yell at him when he gets home, but whatever. He turns toward the kitchen, where his boyfriend is sitting in a catatonic state. Ilya jumps, "Christ, Hollander!"
Shane doesn't blink. He's pale as a ghost, staring blankly at the counter. He approaches slowly, "What's wrong? You forget to eat again?"
His boyfriend doesn't say a word. Ilya follows his line of sight, a wrinkled piece of paper. He waves his hand in front of Shane's eyes, "What's this?"
"It's a pregnancy test."
Ilya's eyebrows knit together, "Who's? Hayden again?"
The air in the room is deathly still. Stifling.
"Mine. Ours."
Ilya blinks slowly as a cry comes from the baby monitor. He looks over, but the pillow beside him is empty. His heart squeezes painfully as he remembers. It was like this every morning.
He lays on his back, inhaling sharply. His closed fist lands on his forehead. He keeps waking up, leaving his good dreams only to enter his living nightmare, "Fuck."
A week ago, he drove Shane to the hospital to have their baby. He was in labor for thirty seven hours. He screamed relentlessly. Ilya held his hand, wiped his hair from his eyes, and kissed him on his forehead. Then the baby cried. Shane smiled, looking at his husband. Then he closed his eyes one final time.
They shoved Ilya out of the room as the doctors and nurses began to panic. Three people held the hockey player back as he tried with every ounce of strength to get back inside. He wouldn't go and sit. He fought for just as long as Shane did.
Ilya's ears rang and the world fell silent when the door opened. The doctor looked up at him and told him to sit. He shook his head.
The last four days had all blurred together. Ilya drove home alone with the baby two days ago. He spent five minutes in their driveway. He prayed that Shane would be there waiting for them.
He wasn't.
Hayden and his wife were there the first day. Then Rose on the second. Hayden came by again for a couple hours on the third. They brought more food than Ilya could ever hope to eat on his own.
Here he was on day four. Holding his son who's wrapped in one of Shane's shirt while he warms up the bottle. This wasn't what Shane and Ilya promised each other.
They were supposed to have a life. That's why they got married. Why they decided to have a kid. They were supposed to do this together.
Ilya looks at the clock. It's 4:00 AM.
He doesn't remember if he's turned the lights on since coming home.
The baby begins to fuss. Ilya clears his throat, shushing him gently. It doesn't work. Maxim just cries.
Ilya hadn't felt this helpless in almost a decade. He was alone in Russia. After his father died and his brother started a fight, he realized how powerless he truly was. He's done the same thing he did then, countless times since coming home. He does the same thing now. He reaches for his phone and clicks on Jane's contact. His lip trembles, and he chucks his phone across the wooden floor.
Ilya looks up at the dark ceiling, steadying himself. This was dumb.
He grabs the bottle, taking it to the couch. He cradles Maxim in his arms as he eats. Ilya makes the mistake of glancing at his sons face. He'd avoided it like the plague. Every time his eyes wandered, he'd be struck with anger. Maxim's eyes looked just like Shane's.
Why does he have to be alone again?
Maxim was Shane's idea for a name. Ilya didn't care. Told his husband to name the kid whatever he wanted. Shane wasn't too happy about it, but chose a Russian name anyway. He said Max would be a good nickname. They hadn't decided on whose last name he'd take before... Ilya had signed the birth certificate alone. He didn't remember what he put until the heavy fog lifted a few days later.
Maxim Hollander.
Ilya's family name meant nothing to him. He had no besides his brother, who he hadn't talk to since their father died. After he married Shane, there was no point. He thought he had a new family. On the other hand, the Hollander's were good people. They created Shane. They loved him, they supported him unconditionally. Shane and Ilya were going to do the same for their son. It made sense.
The Hollander's arrive around 10:00 AM. Half an hour before the funeral home director is supposed to meet them. Yuna and David sit on the couch. Ilya watches Maxim in Yuna's lap, unable to meet either of their eyes.
"How are you doing, Rozanov?" David asks.
Ilya shrugs, looking at the chair his husband is supposed to be sitting, "Fine."
Yuna touches Maxim's face before looking at Ilya. Her eyes soften, "We're sorry we didn't come sooner."
The man shifts uncomfortably. He blinks, letting his gaze settle on the floor. He sets his jaw, shaking his head slightly, "It's fine. You lost..." He sniffs.
Ilya lost his husband. They lost their child. If he had it his way, he'd be laying in bed until Shane came home. He's in no place to judge them.
"Still," she says quietly, "You're... you're a part of our family too. You and Max."
"Yeah."
David shares a glance with his wife. The last few days have been hell for them too. They stayed parked for over ten minutes because they wanted one more minute of hoping it would be their son opening that door.
"You look tired," David says, "Do you want to lay down for a bit? We can watch Max until the funeral director gets here."
"No." He's had enough of that bed, "I'm fine. Let's get this over with."
Ilya doesn't engage when they meet with the director. He just slouches in his seat with his arms crossed. They ask him about music. Then the headstone. Then flowers. And he breaks.
"I don't care about fucking songs or fucking flowers. Do whatever they want and stop asking me stupid questions."
The funeral director stiffens, looking at Yuna and David. He responds, "I know this must be incredibly difficult for you. But you were his husband. If he would have these conversations about what he wanted, it would be with you."
Ilya grits his teeth, glaring at the stranger in his home, "He is thirty one years old. We married less than a year ago. We did not talk about this."
They were supposed to have a lifetime to work these things out. And Ilya's here. Alone.
The baby starts fussing and Ilya stands. He doesn't need to be here, "Give. He's tired."
Maxim's familiar weight fills his arms. Ilya bounces him gently as they walk towards the hall. He turns back, sighing, "I know I'm next of kin. You have my permission to do what they want. Just... do what they want."
Ilya brings him to the nursery, shutting the door behind him. He opens the curtains before sitting in the rocking chair. He holds his son close to his chest, leaning his head back as he stares at the ceiling. Maxim settles, cooing lightly as he closes his eyes.
On the other side of that door, Yuna and David were discussing Shane's funeral. It doesn't feel real. His eyes begin to burn as he lets out a strained breath.
All he has to look forward to now is sleep. Where he can forget for just a few hours.
He looks at the top of Maxim's head. His eyes burn, "I don't know what to do. I'm sorry."
About fifteen minutes later there's a knock at the door. Ilya rolls his eyes. It's not Shane.
Yuna stands in the doorway. Ilya stares at the door behind her, "You're good with him," She steps forward, "Shane said you were good with kids. Gotta admit, I had my doubts."
Ilya shrugs, "Yeah," he bites the inside of his lip, "I have niece. She's very sweet."
She smiles slightly, "That's nice. Do you get to see her a lot?"
He raises an eyebrow, "No. I cannot go back to Russia."
Realization sinks in, her lips returning to a straight line. He can't return because he loved her son publicly.
A few moments of silence pass. Tears well up in her eyes as she looks at her grandson. She sniffles, "He looks just like him."
*********************
"You're going to have to quit smoking."
Ilya rolls his eyes, craning his head back to see Shane standing above him, "Here and there won't hurt. I do it outside anyways."
"Nope," Shane grins, "Our kid won't have their father die of lung cancer, I forbid it."
Ilya waves him off, "We'll see."
Shane sits beside him, holding a notebook in his lap. They'd already made the guest list for the wedding ceremony and were working on the reception. Ilya's only requirements are Scott Hunter and Svetlana. Shane puts a few others from the league and they finalize their list.
The watch the sun set over the lake, talking quietly about the food and decorations. Shane had hired a wedding planner but insisted on keeping Ilya involved on every decision.
When the discussion concludes, they listen to the quiet voices of the nature around them. The slight splashing of the water against the shore, the leaves brushing against each other, and the loons calling out to each other. Shane's laid his head on Ilya's lap, the gentle touch of his fingers in his hair relaxing his body.
"Ilya?"
"Yes."
Shane's eyes soften as he asks, "If we weren't pregnant, would you still want to marry me?"
Ilya smiles gently. He leans down and places a kiss on his fiancé's head, "Of course."
Ilya stands outside the funeral home. He takes a long drag from his cigarette. Maxim is inside with Hayden as he hides. Only ten days old and he's at his first funeral. Everyone is crying. Everyone except Ilya.
He doesn't want to be here. He doesn't want to be around people. But he doesn't want to be at home either. He doesn't want to be anywhere.
He doesn't remember the last time he smoked. He's sure he snuck a couple after Shane laid into him. The tobacco and nicotine fill his lungs. It feels more comfortable than oxygen these days.
He lights up a second one, leaning against the wall. He stares at the concrete. Anything to avoid the circus of people inside. He gets about halfway through when he hears footsteps approaching. He doesn't bother to look up.
"Hey, Rozanov."
Ilya frowns, "Hunter."
Scott sighs, leaning against the wall next to him, "Can I bum one off you?"
A month ago, Ilya would've told the old man to fuck off. But he doesn't have the energy for that anymore. He hands him the pack Scott takes it, "I thought you were a health nut."
Scott takes one out, accepting the lighter and lighting it up, "Yeah. I'm a social smoker though."
Ilya shakes his head as the man takes a puff, "This is worst party I've ever been to."
He lets out a small chuckle, "Yeah, same."
They smoke in silent for a few minutes, letting the smell cling to their clothes. Ilya tilts his head back, looking at the sky. Scott eventually asks, "How's the baby?"
Ilya raises an eyebrow, "Good."
"Good. Uh, is he sleeping okay?"
"All he does is sleep."
There's not the slightest hint of emotion in Ilya's voice. All he can think about is how Shane would love this conversation. Or rather find amusement in Hunter asking awkward questions. On a normal day, they'd both get a kick out of it and tease him.
But it's not a normal day. It's a fucking funeral.
"Do you... are you needing anything?"
Ilya frowns, glancing at him from the side. Scott closes his eyes when he catches that look. It was crystal clear. All he needed was laying in a casket, "Right, sorry. Just let us know if that changes."
Us. Kip's not even here and Hunter says "us". Ilya couldn't say that anymore.
Jackie finds them shortly after, letting them know the service is starting. They stomp out their cigarettes and for a split second Ilya thinks of how pissed Shane will be for holding their baby smelling like smoke.
Scott turns to him, taking a breath and sticking out his hand, "Ilya. I am sorry for your loss."
Ilya meets his eyes. He'd heard enough of everyone's "he loved you so much", "you're so strong, I can't imagine," and worst of all, "he's not in pain anymore". Hunter doesn't try to make him feel better. It's too soon to feel better. So Ilya nods and shakes his hand.
He sits next to David and Yuna in the front row, taking Maxim back from them. He's asleep. Ilya wishes he could sleep too.
The minister starts with a prayer. Ilya closes his eyes but doesn't pray. He can't let his guard down, not even for a moment. The second he did, he'd break down.
Once it's over, he feels all the eyes. And he's reminded just how alone he is. Everyone here was Shane's family. His friends. Ilya brought no one into the marriage. His family back in Russia disowned him. He was friendly with his teammates, but they didn't spend time together until Shane began making the plans. He has Svetlana, but she was stuck in a blizzard.
He had Shane. That was the only person he needed.
The only reason anyone was checking in on him was because that's what Shane would have wanted.
When Yuna and David are called to give their eulogy, he lets his eyes unfocus. He thinks of anything else so he doesn't hear their words. He can hear Yuna's cries, he can see the movement of David's hand rubbing her back. He just... he couldn't handle anymore guilt.
They didn't have to say it. They wouldn't say it. But Ilya knows that they think the same thing he does. That if Ilya had never gotten Shane pregnant, they wouldn't be here right now.
And then they return to their seats. David pats Ilya on the shoulder and nods. He hands over Maxim and stands.
Each and every step feels like marching through quicksand. It didn't feel real. None of this feels fucking real.
But eventually he finds himself in front of the podium. He takes out his notecards. His shaking hands are hidden by the large wooden stand. He glances up, but just as quickly his eyes fall. He can play hockey in front of 300,000 people without breaking a sweat. But this makes him want to crawl in a hole and die.
He frowns. The only way to get this over with was to start. So, he starts.
"Five months ago, we met at Hollander and I's wedding. Now we are here." Ilya's eyes stare at the podium. The cards are in front of him, but he doesn't read them. His words are meaningless, as empty as he feels, "You know our story. It was in the media for years. We were rivals. We fell in love. We moved in together. We had baby. He died. And now we are here."
People sniffle. Maxim starts to fuss. Ilya closes his eyes, "I love Shane Hollander. Present tense. I miss him," he swallows the knot in his throat, "And I am sorry he is gone. Thank you for coming."
It wasn't a long speech. It was one he was never supposed to have to write. It was the best he could manage. He steps down, his footsteps heavy as he walks past the closed casket. He takes Maxim back from Yuna and sits. The pastor prays. Ilya doesn't.
Music plays, people stand and move. Yuna and David are the only one's left. They say goodbye to their son while Ilya holds his. He watches their backs, watches them shake and cover their mouths. They hold each other tightly as they walk away. David rubs his wife's back, nodding to Ilya as they walk through the doors.
Ilya sighs, looking at Maxim. The baby looks back at him. Ilya hadn't planned to say goodbye. The body in that casket isn't his husband. His husband was full of life. Whoever that was wasn't Shane.
But he hesitates. He doesn't look away from his son's eyes, "You... want to say goodbye to him?"
Maxim blinks and Ilya snorts, "So fucking stupid. Stupid asking baby who can't talk." He doesn't know it, but he smirks. The closest thing to a smile Maxim's seen from him. And Maxim smiles back.
"You won't remember. Unless you're genius," The baby coos at his words, "I'm genius. Hockey genius. Your dad, not so much..." Ilya's trails off. His frown returns, "I guess he's not stupid. He's smart. So you could be genius."
Maybe the kid has a photographic memory. Maybe in ten years he tells Ilya that he hates him because he didn't let him see his dad. Ilya doesn't know. He should be allowed to be irrational for five minutes.
So there he stands in front of the casket, studying the stained glass. But when he glances at Maxim, he's staring right back at him. He looks away, "Look at your dad, not me."
He doesn't. When Ilya looks back to check, his eyes catch his husbands face. He gulps, but he can't tear them them away. That irrational part of him... it's pesky. His head screams at him. But he can't look away. Maybe, just maybe if he looked long enough... Shane would open his eyes.
Ilya would yell at him. He'd cuss him out in English and Russian. Maybe French too. He'd say it's a horrible joke and would threaten to divorce him. But he wouldn't follow through. Once all his anger was unloaded, Shane would reach up and touch his face. He'd say he was sorry. And they'd go back to normal. Ilya would finally wake up from this horrible nightmare.
If he'd just open his eyes.
"I cannot do this, Hollander." He warns, his eyes filling with tears, "I tried. I cannot stand here talking to ghost. Do not make me do this, Hollander... Shane, please. Please do not make me do this I cannot do this I beg you."
Maxim lets out a cry. Fuck. Fucking baby.
Ilya looks back at the stained glass. It's ugly. Everything's ugly now.
"If you... If I wake up tomorrow and you are beside me... I will forgive you. I won't be angry. You don't have to be scared. Just wake up next to me, please." His voice cracks and he clears his throat. He can't do this here, "Come home, Shane. Please."
************************
Shane blinks his eyes open slowly, smiling softly, "Morning."
"Good morning."
Shane grins as he turns on his back, clicking his tongue. Ilya moves closer, so his head rests on his chest. Shane teases, "Mr. Shane Hollander."
"No, no," Ilya smirks, "Mr. Ilya Rosanov."
Shane chuckles and Ilya sighs, running his fingers through his husbands hair, "I cannot wait for baby to come so we can have proper wedding night."
"Twice wasn't enough for you?"
"No, never enough. Four, maybe. Five for wedding night."
"Fuck you."
Ilya bites his lip with a wide grin. Then he sits up, crawling backwards towards the foot of the bed, "No, I fuck you."
Shane laughs.
A loud cry fills the room. Ilya grimaces into the pillow. The baby keeps crying and he keeps his eyes closed. He remembers Shane's warmth. And the bed is too cold. If he opens his eyes, if he moves... It's over. He didn't have hope. But he couldn't let go. Not now. Not this soon.
So Maxim cries. His father lays there.
It takes thirty minutes for Ilya to work up the courage. And every minute that passes he's reminded with each cry about how much of a failure he is. He can't even get out of bed to help the son Shane died for. He can't do this alone.
The baby screams. Ilya cries into the pillow.
There's nothing else after this. The funeral is over. No more meetings, no more people checking in, no more plans. Not a single one. There's no work, no brand deals, no... there's no husband. Just a baby.
A baby he has no business being with.
He needs to get rid of him. He needs to get him to stop crying.
Ilya finally stands, closing his eyes as nausea rises.
Get rid of the screaming child. Then Ilya can figure out what comes next.
He stumbles into the nursery. He takes a deep breath, lifting him from the crib and holding him close to his chest, "I'm sorry, Maxim, I'm sorry. It's okay, I'm here."
Ilya moves about the room, and the baby begins to settle. He grabs diapers and toys, stuffing them into the $200 diaper bag Shane picked out. Expensive piece of garbage that he never got to use.
He warms up the milk and closes his eyes as Maxim eats, leaning against the counter. Where was he supposed to take him?
Yuna and David didn't need a baby to worry about. They just buried their son.
Rose, Hunter, they're in hotels. Not best for babies.
Fuck.
He packs the formula and bottles, and they walk outside. Past Shane's car which hadn't moved from the driveway.
Hayden and Jackie knew how to deal with babies.
He gets there on memory alone. Shane would be impressed. Ilya had a terrible directional sense and he'd only gone over when Shane dragged him.
But he doesn't hesitate before knocking on the door. So he knocks. Then he rings the doorbell. And knocks again. And again.
Fuck why isn't he answering the door?
It usually takes someone more than thirty seconds to open their door. He's about to ring again when it opens, "Ilya?"
Now he hesitates. He takes a step back, tightening his grip on the car seat, "I..." His lip trembles, but his voice stays even, "C-can you watch Maxim for a bit? Please?"
"Um, sure?" Hayden shakes his head, "Wh-What's going on, Ilya? Is everything okay?"
He hands the car seat over and takes the diaper bag off, "It's okay, I just, I just need break."
"Ilya-"
"I need-" he inhales sharply, looking down at the porch as he steps back, "I need... I need to be a husband now. Not... not father."
Hayden stiffens when he hears his voice crack. He doesn't stop him from walking away. But when he gets to the last step he calls out, "Okay! But... You're still a father, Ilya. Maxim needs you. And he needs you to come back for him."
"I know. I'll come back."
Ilya thinks it's the truth. It might be.
In a blink of an eye, he's back in his own driveway. He should be grateful he made it back alive. There's no baby crying in the backseat. Just him, hunched over the steering wheel staring at his husbands car.
He looks past it, at the front door. He sees Shane running back inside because he forgot his wallet or his water or a million other things. But Ilya knows it's not real. It would never be real again.
His hope had vanished entirely.
He sits in his car for forty minutes. He doesn't do anything. He doesn't cry or scream or curse. He just stares.
What comes next? That was the question he was trying to answer.
Next he got out of his truck. Put the key in the lock and entered the home they built together.
Then he stands in the entryway as the door falls shut behind him. He bites his lip hard, but it doesn't stop the pained whisper of a whimper that escapes him.
No one's here. No one's waiting for him.
He forces himself to take a step. Then another. Each one just as painful as the last. He knows himself well enough to know wherever he lays down, he won't be getting up from for a long time.
So he forces himself into the living room. He grabs the remote for the blinds. He covers himself in darkness, shaking as he sits. He looks at the TV. Or rather what's right next to it.
Pictures. Of Shane and Ilya at their wedding. At the cabin. Their first photoshoot. At the NHL Awards. In New York, in Boston, in Toronto. Shane was everywhere but here.
He glares at them until they become blurry, his breath growing more and more strained as he fails to catch it. As the first falls, he cries out and chucks the remote at that wall, at those pictures, at their life. He misses and the remote clatters to the ground.
Ilya had suffered many injuries throughout his career. A torn rotator cuff and meniscus. More sprains and concussions and broken fingers than he could count. This was worse than all of it combined.
He shouts. Nothing in particular. He just shouts, as if his screaming will alleviate the pain. It doesn't.
He hits the cushions and pillows with every ounce of strength he has. He sobs for the first time since he lost his husband. For the first time since he lost his mother.
He begins to dry heave as the tears leave stains on the canvas fabric and he stops being angry. He's too tired to keep going.
He curls into a ball, letting the grief crush him into the cushions. It's so heavy, it feels as if it will split the couch in two beneath its weight. His chest is tight and his throat raw. Snot drips down his face, mixing with the tears.
Ilya regrets everything. He'd change everything, from the moment they met a decade ago. He'd change how he talked to Shane, how and when he confessed to him. And most importantly, he'd never let Shane get pregnant. He'd get a vasectomy before going into the pro league. Having kids wouldn't even be a discussion.
But he can't. He's powerless.
Everyone he's ever loved leaves him. Anyone he's ever trusted has left him. He should have gotten the hint after his brother decided to hate him. He was supposed to be alone. And Shane was a victim to Ilya's selfishness. He was so stupid, thinking he could have something he was never meant to have.
And now he had a baby. Shane's baby. A baby he can barely look at without breaking down. He can barely even get out of bed, and he was responsible for a completely dependent baby he doesn't...
Ilya presses his forehead deeper into the couch, grimacing. He hadn't been able to admit it yet. It was wrong. It was awful. It was evil.
And Ilya's not evil. He's not cruel. He doesn't want to be like his own father. But he might be worse.
Because in his own way, his father loved Ilya and his brother. Ilya does not love Maxim.
He wants to. He's tried.
Ilya wants to hold his son and see him. He wants to feel fulfilled and grateful for the gift Shane brought him. He should be willing to give his life for this kid, and instead... instead he'd trade him for Shane without a second thought. Even if Shane might hate him for it.
He closes his eyes as his breath begins to steady. He's tired. He's so tired. He wants to see his husband. He wants to talk to him about this.
He cries until his eyes burn and his head pounds. Until his exhaustion finally takes him home.
*************************
Ilya lays on the couch, adjusting every few minutes trying to get comfortable. Shane had banished him there for some reason or another. Actually, not remembering was probably the reason. He had probably forgot to shut a cupboard or put away his shoes, something like that.
He hears movement, then the lights flick on and his husband is rushing over to him. Ilya sits up immediately, "What's wrong?"
Without saying a word, Shane grabs his hand and places it over his stomach. And then Ilya feels it. A tiny little kick.
His eyes widen, smiling up at his husband, "W-wow. Does it hurt?"
"No, I don't think so. It just, uh," Shane lets out a chuckle, "It feels like something's inside me."
Ilya doesn't remove his hand, staring at the belly when the baby kicks again. His smile falls just slightly as he meets his husbands eyes, "It's... It's kind of weird."
"Right?!" Shane laughs, sitting next to him (nearly on top of him), "There's something living inside me right now!"
"It's so weird," Ilya giggles with him, wrapping his arm around his husband's waist, "It should be impossible. It's like a little alien baby."
"Your little alien baby." Shane's smile disappears as he thinks. He turns to Ilya, "We probably shouldn't talk about it like that, right?"
"I mean, it is crazy."
"What I mean is... I'm not supposed to be weirded out. I should feel like, I don't know, paternal or something."
Ilya leans back against the couch. He doesn't respond. Shane continues, staring straight ahead, "This, uh... This got really real. We're having a baby. And that baby's moving inside me right now."
Instead of the wall, Ilya stares at the ceiling. The baby keeps kicking, "Yeah."
Shane's leg begins to bounce, which gently shakes the whole couch, including Ilya, "We can do this, right? I mean, we can have a kid."
It takes a lot of effort to keep his trepidation out of his tone, "Yeah," Ilya nods, placing his hand on Shane's leg to steady it, "But, let's... Let's go shopping tomorrow. For baby."
The sound of the door unlocking pulls him from his dream. Ilya presses himself further into the back of the couch. His legs ache from the curled up position, but he doesn't move.
He's always heard that when people die, there's a moment, right when they wake up, when they forget that their loved one is gone. He hasn't had that yet. He's painfully aware that the person coming through that door isn't Shane.
He doesn't care to look. It can be a burglar for all he cares. Maybe they'd put him out of his damn misery.
"Ilya?" Svetlana's footsteps approach. Her shoes slapping against the wood. Shane would have forced her to take her shoes off.
She startles when she sees him laying still on the couch. She stands over him for a moment, worried. She knows he's not asleep.
"I'm sorry I missed the funeral. My flight got delayed."
Ilya doesn't respond. He didn't want Svetlana. He wants Shane.
She sits next to him, her thigh rubbing against his. She cups his cheek in her hand, "Your eyes are puffy." She thumbs over the trail the tears had left behind, "You look tired."
He stares through her. Her eyes soften as she whispers, "I'm here, Ilya. I'm sorry I'm late."
"I don't care." Svetlana stiffens as her friend's face crumbles, "I only want my husband. I want him. I want him s-so, I just want him."
"Oh baby." She doesn't hesitate, wrapping her arms around him as he cries. She hadn't seen him this distraught since he was twelve years old, "I've got you," She whispers, placing a kiss of his hair, "I've got you."
Svetlana should not be the one holding him. It should be Shane. He wants Shane. And he tells her that through his tears, countless times. But he doesn't move away. He doesn't have the energy.
She holds him, tears burning at her eyes. This is somehow worse than all those years ago. Her friend's childhood wasn't much easier before his mother died. It got harder without her... but at least he had a way out. There was a light at the end of the tunnel.
Ilya had found that light. Lived in it. Now he's lost it.
There's no way out of this one.
He could travel between continents, with or without his son, for the rest of his life. He could sleep with a thousand people, work a hundred jobs. It didn't matter. This kind of heartbreak would never leave him, no matter how far he ran.
She doesn't know what to say. She just apologizes, over and over again. There's nothing else to say. Nothing she can say will make him feel better.
"I'm so sorry."
After about ten minutes of them both quietly crying, she realizes there should be a third person here. Her head whips to the hallway. Reading her mind, Ilya says, "Baby's with Shane's friend."
She sighs, relieved, "Good. I'm gonna get you water, okay? You're probably dehydrated."
She stands and walks into the kitchen. She manages to find a cup in the dishwasher and opens the fridge. There must be fifty Tupperware containers full of food. None of them look like they've been touched.
She throws one of them in the microwave, pouring the water into the cup. It was cleaner than she expected.
Honestly, she doesn't really know what she expected.
She was supposed to be in this house visiting the happy couple and their newborn baby. She had loads of gifts sitting in the doorway.
She grabs the food and cup, bringing them back to her friend. She sets them on the coffee table before pulling it closer and telling him to sit up. He begrudgingly does.
With her eyes adjusted to the darkness now, Svetlana can see just how thin he'd gotten. It took Ilya years to finally bulk up and now...
He drinks the water in one go, his eyes empty. He doesn't move to pick up the fork until Svetlana forces it into his hand.
He eats slowly and she watches.
She'd gotten a text that Shane went into labor. She hadn't gotten a response to her good luck message. So about forty eight hours later, she followed up and asked how it went. How Shane was doing.
When she got a response two days later, she dropped into a chair. Never in a million years would she have expected that. She was angry and called him. Told him that wasn't a funny joke and asked to see Shane and Maxim.
He told her it wasn't a joke and sent her a picture of the baby.
She booked a flight that moment, but a part of her didn't believe him. It didn't really sink in until Ilya sent her the funeral location, date, and time.
"Give me your phone." She holds her hand out. Ilya hands it over to her without fight.
She opens his messages, finding two unread from someone named Hayden asking if he was alright and when he'd be picking up the baby, "Keep eating."
Svetlana takes the phone into the guest room and calls Hayden. She lets him know that Ilya's alright and asks if he can keep Maxim for the night. So he can have a chance to grieve without worrying about being a parent.
Ilya's not stupid. He knows they're talking about him. He doesn't care. About anything. He sets the fork back in the container and lays back down.
There were times when he was younger where he wished to enter a coma and wake up five years in the future. Where his current problems feel small and everything figured itself out.
Now he'd give anything to wake up a year in the past.
Svetlana rejoins him, but she doesn't have the heart to lecture him for not eating.
The nice thing about Svetlana is that she doesn't have to ask what Ilya needs. She just knows.
He stares at the back of the couch. He ignores her when she asks if he wants to watch anything. A stupid question. No, he doesn't want to watch anything. He just wants to be alone.
Svetlana sighs. She wishes she could do something, anything to make this easier for her friend. But there was nothing. She felt powerless, but it doesn't even come close to how powerless Ilya felt.
"How was the funeral?" She asks.
Ilya closes his eyes, "It was a funeral."
She rests back against the chair, her neck craning as she gazes at the ceiling, "How'd Maxim do?"
"He was fine."
"Are you doing okay with him?"
Ilya grumbles, "Sleep, cry, eat, shit. That's all he does. Easy enough."
Honestly, Ilya wasn't much different. He sleeps, he cries, he feeds the baby. And the cycle repeats.
*********************
Ilya sits on the ground, screwing in the doors to the changing table. He hears Shane approach him from behind but doesn't greet him. They'd been arguing again. Yesterday's fight was about Shane trying to stand on the ladder to help paint the nursery. He'd gotten up early to finish the furniture (and avoid another argument about Shane trying to lift the boxes).
Shane gently taps the warm mug against his husbands head, "Here." Ilya takes the coffee and Shane sits beside him, "The chairs should be delivered this afternoon. The rugs come tomorrow."
Ilya nods, setting down the screwdriver and testing the cupboard, "Finally. It's no good for you to be sitting on the floor."
Shane rolls his eyes, letting out a long sigh. Ilya stopped letting him do anything after six months. He couldn't make his own bed or do his own laundry, and it was honestly driving him crazy, "I can't wait until this thing comes out and we can go back to normal."
Ilya glances at him from the side and takes a sip of his coffee. He'd read too many horror stories about male omegas. He wasn't taking any risks when it came to Shane, no matter how crazy it drove him.
When he looks at his husbands lap, he raises an eyebrow. He'd expected coffee or tea, not a can of paint, "Don't tell me you want to do different color?"
"No, don't worry." Shane sticks the can opener and begins to pry it open, "I wanna put our handprints on the wall."
Ilya doesn't humor him, "Why?"
"Because it'll be cute. When he comes home, we'll add his handprint too."
"Very gay." He grins widely.
Shane frowns as the lid pops off, "Just do it asshole."
He hands Ilya the paintbrush, his eyes softening when he sees the love in Ilya's. The Russian man always looked at him like that. Like he was the only person in the world worth seeing. Ilya takes his hand, pressing his lips against it, "Where do you want to put it?"
Shane glances at the wall, "Above the crib?"
Ilya smirks, "You will be upset if it is ugly."
Unfortunately his husband is right. Shane rolls his eyes and looks around. There was about two feet of space between where the floor and where the crib sits. He smiles to himself as he imagines playing with their son on the floor and catching a glimpse of it as he grew.
"Move the crib."
"Yes, sir."
Shane scooches over as Ilya stands and slides the crib a ways down the wall. Ilya looked hot, as always. Of course he hadn't lost any muscle or definition during the pregnancy. Shane was already itching to start going to the gym again, but Ilya would have a fit if he knew Shane was even thinking about it.
Ilya sits with his legs crossed, dipping the paintbrush into the blue paint they'd gotten as a sample. He brushes it onto his husband's hand first before moving to his own. Shane waits for him, watching him carefully.
They place their palms against the wall. Ilya stares at his husband, a teasing glint in his eyes which makes Shane roll his and try to fight a smile unsuccessfully, "Shut up."
"I did not say anything."
They pull their hands off the wall simultaneously. A deathly beat of silent passes as they look at it and Ilya lets out a snort before falling into a fit of giggles, "See? Ugly."
"Fuck you." But Shane grins. And Ilya could never resist kissing that lovely smile.
"Ilya."
Ilya squeezes his eyes tightly closed, turning his head into the pillow. He doesn't want Svetlana. She's not supposed to be waking him up.
"Come, Hayden's here with the baby." She touches his shoulder, "He won't leave without seeing you."
"Fuck off," he grunts.
He just needs to go back to sleep.
"He won't leave the baby with a stranger."
Ilya opens his eyes and sits up, resting his weight against his hands. He glares at her but she doesn't back off, "Come. Pouting doesn't work on me."
She walks out of the room, certain that he will follow. He doesn't even consider it until he hears the familiar cries of his son. He presses his fist against his forehead.
But he stands.
He can't have a repeat of yesterday morning.
He doesn't bother to change or look in the mirror. He won't recognize the person in it anyways.
Hayden paces around the living room, bouncing and shushing Maxim in his arms. He seems relieved when he sees Ilya, "Hey. How are you doing?"
When would people stop asking him that stupid question? His answer wouldn't change, "Fine." Hayden hands him the baby, who Ilya's able to soothe in just a few seconds, "How was he?"
The man grimaces for a second, but chooses to pull the punch, "A bit... fussy. But it was good. We were happy to watch him."
"Yeah. Thank you. Really, I appreciate it."
"Of course." Hayden swallows the knot in his throat, fighting his own wave of grief. If Shane were here, he would have given him shit. That he should be used to fussiness with all the kids he has running around. He misses his friend. His kids miss their Uncle Shane, "Just let us know if you need us to babysit again. We're here for you."
"Thanks."
Ilya takes Maxim to the nursery, sitting with him in the rocking chair while Hayden leaves. He whispers his apologies to his son who naps peacefully in his arms when the front door slams closed. Svetlana enters the nursery only seconds after only to be met with the same glare she was given earlier. She tells him that she's going to pay her respects with Hayden and she'll be back soon. Ilya nods.
He rocks his son gently, looking at the room Shane and him had built together. The paint on the walls, the crib and changing table, the chairs. Together was a bit of an overstatement. But Shane was there, sitting and watching and complaining to Ilya that he could help.
They'd gotten two chairs so they could sit together with their baby. Shane should be next to him, Ilya undressing his husband with his eyes. Shane would sing shitty lullabies while Ilya teased him. They had it all planned out. They had planned for everything.
Except this.
Ilya sniffles as a tear drops on Maxim's head. He takes a deep breath.
Shane was always the planner. Ilya was not, clearly. But he loved Shane's plans for their life together.
He stands and walks to the closet. He grabs the paint can and places it on the changing table. His tears continue to fall but he keeps moving. He slides the crib away from the wall, keeping Maxim cradled close to his chest before sitting on the floor. He places grabs Maxim's hand, smiling slightly as he coos. When the wet paintbrush brushes over his hand, he swears he sees Maxim smile. His grin widens as he looks to his side.
But Shane's not there. Not even his ghost.
Ilya holds Maxim's hand, closing his eyes as he sighs. He forces himself to smile again, "Sorry, Maxim."
He scoots closer to the wall, extending the little arm. His hand completely covers Maxim's as he presses it in the spot between his and Shane's handprints. When he pulls it away, he chuckles.
All three handprints look like shit. Smeared, a bit muddied... It would drive Shane's perfectionism crazy. He'd insist on redoing them all.
But Ilya can't exactly redo Shane's handprint.
So it looks perfect to him.
Ilya wipes Maxim's hand with a baby wipe and returns to the rocking chair. He holds his head against his chest. His heart and soul are heavy. But Maxim's warmth soothes him, just the slightest.
"Your father, he wanted to do that. I thought it was stupid. But," Ilya whispers, "I love him. More than anything. So when he has stupid idea, I do it. Within reason," he adds.
His tears remain in his eyes as he continues, "I... I do not know how to do this without him. But I will do my best. You- you are our love. You're alive because we love each other. So I will love you, until my dying breath."
Ilya dips his head, kissing the top of Maxim's dark hair. He speaks into the soft head quietly, "Someday, I will tell you about him. How brave he is, how much he's sacrificed to bring you into this world, how much he loved you before he even met you.
"Just," he frowns, "Give me time. I don't want you to think love is only pain. So give me time. And I will do my best. I will give you our best."
Maxim coos, snuggling deeper into his chest.
Ilya sighs, looking at the ceiling.
Saying those things out loud didn't bring him a restored hope. He feels just as empty as he has from the moment the doctor told him the news that changed his life forever. He'd still do anything to turn back the clock. He's still sad and listless and uncertain. He still misses his husband.
But until he woke up from this awful nightmare... he cannot let Shane's child suffer. Not now and not ever.
So he'd go through the motions until Shane returns to him. That's all he can do for now.