Chapter Text
The large house in Ottawa was filled with the chaotic, beautiful symphony of childhood. Six months ago the quiet, orderly life Ilya had built with Shane had been turned upside down. Ilya’s nieces Vera and Alena had come to live with them and slowly the girls had started to fill the rooms with constant noise and disarray. Ilya loved it. He loved it more than he’d ever loved the quiet days. He loved watching Vera carefully sound out words in English from the picture books Shane had bought for her. Ilya loved the way little three-year-old Alena’s whole body would wiggle with glee when she saw Ilya in the morning. Most of all, he loved the feeling of safety that now surrounded his nieces, a protective bubble he and Shane had built around them. They were safe. They were loved. But some days, the bubble felt thin. Like it could burst any second.
On one of those days, when Ilya’s old shoulder injury was acting up and a thunderstorm had kept them cooped up inside, a missed nap turned Alena into a tiny, volatile tyrant. Vera, in an impressive display of six-year-old solidarity, had joined her sister’s crusade for more cookies. The tantrum had started as a whine, escalated to a full-throated scream and culminated in both girls throwing their stuffed animals across the living room in a kind of fury only under seven-year-olds can manage.
Ilya had tried everything. The calm voice. The distraction. The offering of a different, healthier snack. But the noise, the overlapping shrieks, the sheer, relentless pressure of it, had clawed at the frayed edges of his patience.
And then, suddenly, it happened. Something inside Ilya snapped like an old rubberband.
“STOP IT! JUST STOP IT RIGHT NOW!” The voice that ripped out of Ilya's throat wasn’t his own. It was louder, harsher, full of a fury that scared him. It was his voice. It was the voice of Grigori Rozanov. The voice that haunted Ilya’s own nightmares.
The effect was instantaneous. The screaming stopped. The house plunged into a shocked, ringing silence. Vera’s eyes went wide with a fear that shattered Ilya’s heart. Alena burst into completely silent tears, like she was suddenly afraid of making any noise.
Shane, who had been on a work call in their office, appeared in the doorway, the look on his face was confused and alarmed. Shane took in the scene: the crying girls, the toys on the floor and Ilya, standing frozen in the middle of it all, his face pale and hands trembling.
“Ilya…?” Shane started softly, but Ilya couldn’t look at him. He could only see the fear on his nieces’ faces. He had put it there. He was a monster. Just like his father.
“I… I can’t.” Ilya whispered in a choked voice, turned and fled the room. He grabbed his keys and was out the door before Shane could say another word.
Ilya didn’t remember driving to David and Yuna’s. He simply found himself on their porch, his body shaking with violent, silent sobs.
Yuna opened the door, her face immediately turning from a smile to a concerned frown.
“Ilya? What is it? What happened?” Ilya collapsed into Yuna’s arms, the words poured out of him like a stream of self-loathing.
“I yelled. I scared them. I was so loud, Yuna. I looked at Vera’s face… she was so scared of me. I’m just like him. I am exactly like my father.”
Suddenly David was there, pulling Ilya inside. He guided Ilya to the couch, where Ilya curled into himself, the shame a physical weight crushing his chest. “I’m a monster. I should never be allowed to be around them. I’m going to hurt them. It’s in my blood.”
Yuna sat beside Ilya and started rubbing his back in slow, soothing circles, while David knelt in front of him, gently forcing Ilya to meet his gaze. “Listen to me.” David said, his voice firm but gentle, like it always was. “You are not your father. Do you hear me? You are not him.”
“But, I sounded just like him!” Ilya wept brokenly. “I was so angry…”
“You sounded like a man at the end of his rope.” David corrected him, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You sounded like a parent who was overwhelmed. Listen now Ilya, I lost my temper with Shane more times than I can count. Don’t get me wrong, Shane was the sweetest boy on earth, but kids, even the sweetest ones, have ways to drive adults insane.”
Ilya stared at David, his tears slowing.
“He’s right.” Yuna added softly. “Every single parent on this planet has lost their cool. It’s not a sign you’re abusive. It’s a sign you’re human. It’s a sign you’re tired and need more support.”
“I think that the most important difference between you and your father is what happens next. Your father would have never felt this guilt, would he?” David asked and Ilya shook his head. “He would have blamed you. He would have yelled more. But here you are, right now, shattered with remorse because you raised your voice. That is not the actions of a monster. That is the actions of a good man who made a mistake when pushed too far.” David put a hand on Ilya’s shoulder. “What you do next is what defines you, in my opinion. You go home. You hug your girls. You apologise. You show them that even papa makes mistakes. You teach them how to fix a mistake. You teach them how to apologise. That’s what a good father would do, I think.”
Ilya knew David was right. David often was. Ilya’s father had never seemed to feel remorse, not even when Irina died. Ilya’s father had never sought comfort. His father had never been afraid of his own anger. Ilya took a shaky breath, then another. He looked from David’s steady, reassuring face to Yuna’s warm, loving eyes. He wasn’t alone.
“Okay.” Ilya whispered, more to himself than anyone else. “Okay.”
Soon he would go home. He would apologise. He would make sure his precious nieces would know how much Papa Ilya loved them.
Yuna pulled Ilya into another hug and this time, Ilya let himself be held. Yuna’s fingers ran soothingly through Ilya’s wild curls. David hummed quietly on his way to make some tea and text Shane, to let him know they had his husband safe and sound.