Chapter Text
Ilya had never expected fatherhood to be this, not when he was a furious, frightened teenager dragging a battered duffel bag through Sheremetyevo Airport, convinced hockey was the only thing he’d ever be allowed to love. Yet here he was, years later, with a life he would have laughed at if someone had tried to predict it. Shane, a stubborn, brilliant center who had become the love of his life, stood at the stove flipping buckwheat pancakes. Their daughter, Tatiana Grace, slept curled in her teddy‑shaped bed like a tiny princess.
His princess for sure .
She had been abandoned as a newborn in Mongolia, wrapped in a heavy blanket and left with nothing but a note scrawled in two languages. The adoption workers had guessed her mother was Mongolian and her father Russian, a combination that had terrified someone enough to give her up.Whoever left her at the temple door tried to shield her from biting colds and winds but she was hypothermic when found . Usually gay couples could not adopt from this area but her chances of survival were small , so she was transferred to a UN program.
He remembered the day they got the call and a video of a tiny baby in an incubator with wires all over and a beanie . Still , quiet but he and Shane both burst into tears of joy at the sight. There was no doubt she was theirs. It was off season and they flew to be by her side, 6 weeks then a transfer to a NICU in Germany when she was stable and three weeks there.
Yuna and David flew out twice as did Aunt Svet and Aunt Rose. The Centaurs sent onesies, and good wishes. Shane and he took turns holding her skin on skin , Shane sang her old Cole Porter and Ilya lullabies in Russian he remembered from his mother.
She was a fighter and he and Shane feel in more and more in love with the peanut in the NICU. They spent almost three months watching her fight , helping her fight Ilya still felt a sting in his chest whenever he thought about it. Tatiana, with her dark brown hair and freckles and coppery skin, looked so much like Shane that strangers often assumed she was his biological child, right up until they saw her bright, impossible blue eyes.
She was the sweetest, most unyielding creature Ilya had ever encountered. She fit into their life as if she had been designed for it. Shane’s need for routines and order didn’t faze her in the slightest. Ilya’s occasional emotional downswings didn’t either. Whenever he retreated into himself, she would plant her feet, stare at Shane until he sighed, and then she would be deposited on their bed with crayons. She would color for hours, producing masterpieces for Papa and, once, a mural across their four‑hundred‑dollar sheets and Ilya’s entire left side before they confiscated the markers.
Some days, watching her,full of piss and vinegar ,Ilya knew the universe was paying him back for every time he’d teased Shane.Tatiana could chirp better than half the rookies on the Centaurs.
“I’m the captain. You daddy just helpers,” she would announce, marching through the living room with her bunny .
“Da Da you make old‑man noises,” she’d inform Shane while climbing onto his lap.
“Aww, Papa you tried! Good job trying!” she’d tell Ilya whenever he attempted to braid her hair.
Her list of picky foods grew longer by the week. She refused anything green, salmon, wheat bread, orange popsicles, rice, beans, turkey, or whole milk. She could recharge to full power after a three‑minute nap. She adored Aunt Rose with a devotion that Ilya pretended didn’t wound him.She sang to herself in French and somehow spoke with a Russian accent that mirrored his own.
And she was perfect. Absolutely, infuriatingly perfect.
They spoiled her, of course they did, but Shane kept her routines and Ilya kept her entertained. Pop Pop and Nana were helpless against her. Their teammates folded like bad poker hand at one bat of those lashes. Her curiosity was enchanting, unless it was aimed directly at him.
This morning, she was still asleep, curled in her teddy bed with one foot sticking out . Shane and Ilya had taken advantage of the rare quiet.They made love several times before Shane got up to start breakfast .Shane moved around the kitchen with purposeful rhythm, whisking batter, humming under his breath.Ilya slipped away with the new Sports Illustrated, seeking ten uninterrupted minutes in the bathroom.
He had just settled, magazine open, when the bathroom door burst inward with the force of a penalty kill.
Tatiana stood there, wearing joggers and a purple puffer jacket zipped to her chin. Her hair stuck out in all directions, and she held one sneaker in her hand.
“Papa,” she announced, marching inside. “Whatcha doing? Are you pooping?”
Ilya choked “Tati , moya lyubov, privacy exists for reason.”
She ignored this entirely, stepping closer and peering at him with intensity. “Papa, you look busy.”
“I am busy,” he muttered, trying to shield both himself and his dignity with the magazine.
She leaned in until her nose nearly touched his knee. “Is it a big poop?Like in my poop book, like elephant poop?”
“Tatiana !” His voice cracked upward. “Why are you awake? Why are you dressed? Why are you in here?”
She shrugged. “I smelled pancakes. Da Da said five more minutes. I say no. I’m ready for day.Da Da said no sass , so I find you. You’re not. I win.”
From the kitchen, Shane called, “Tati, boundaries! Bathroom boundaries!”
She yelled back, “Daddy, Papa’s doing business!”
Ilya dropped his head into his hands. “I will never know peace again.”
Tatiana patted his arm. “It’s okay, Papa. I wait. I brought my shoe.”
She sat cross‑legged on the bathmat, humming, tapping the sneaker against the tile in an uneven rhythm. Ilya stared at the ceiling, wondering how a man who once feared nothing had ended up here, trapped on a toilet while his daughter conducted a interrogation.
Shane appeared in the doorway, spatula in hand, eyebrows raised. “Tatiana Grace.Out. Now.”
She popped to her feet, grabbed the sneaker, and trotted out. “Papa’s doing secret business,” she informed Da Da again, louder this time.
Shane gave Ilya a look that was equal parts sympathy and amusement. “You good?”
“No,” Ilya said. “But I love you.”
Shane nodded. “Pancakes in five.”
Tatiana’s voice echoed from the hallway. “Papa, hurry! I’mcaptain!”
Ilya sighed, defeated and deeply in love. “Coming, captain.”