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    Summary

    “You need your papa. Is no use pretending you don’t when we both know it. It has been weeks.”

    Shane doesn’t unhelpfully point out that they’ve gone a lot longer than weeks before. It’s different now, since Ilya took all the reins. They’ve both gotten used to doing it more often.

    “Not right now. Not—“ Shane’s voice breaks off, “You’re hurt.”

    He isn’t really, at least not as bad as he could be. He’ll have some nasty bruises for a while, but that’s par for the course with their jobs. Shane knows this, logically, but it’s like his brain can’t get the message to the rest of his body, still tight with tension. Stuck in the same place he’d been when he’d seen Ilya unmoving out on the ice.

    (or: ilya knows best, shane just needs a reminder of that sometimes.)

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