Chapter Text
Ilya knew when he got Anya that she would eventually get a sibling. As much as Shane wanted to fight the allegations, his котенок needed a cat. Over the course of the 6 months they’d been living together, Ilya had fallen more in love with Shane. More in love with his quirks, softer side, and mannerisms. What started as a joke quickly turned into Ilya’s favorite term of endearment; reserved for soft Sundays, special evenings, and the bubble of the cottage.
He’d been looking for a while. Regardless of Shane’s insistence that they didn’t need another animal, especially not in the middle of the season, Ilya filled his spare time scrolling pet adoption sites. It was by chance that on the walk back to their car, he’d heard a squeak next to the dumpster.
Brutally cold in December, Ilya could hardly hear it past the whipping wind, but it was something. Turning to the small alley and bending down, Ilya saw a little black mass run to the far side of the space next to the wall.
He heard Shane approach behind him with their groceries. “Ilya, what’s wrong? It’s gross over here.”
“I heard something,” he adjusted his hat and tried to listen closer even as the tips of his ears froze.
“I hear you getting frostbite. Let’s go h-“ meow.
Shane froze as the small sound came from under the dumpster. His eyes slowly tracked to Ilya and back to the dumpster, already knowing that his day was completely derailed.
“котенок…” Ilya said softly as he crouched down further, “I hear baby cat.”
He couldn’t do much to reach the cat. From what he could see it was tiny, black, and very dirty. His heart stuttered when he realized it was probably also very cold if he was shivering in his thick jacket.
“I have to get it, malysh. He will freeze.”
Shane knew he was right. Even if he didn’t think they needed a cat, he wasn’t heartless. They’d get it, warm it up in the car and drop it off at the shelter on the way home. He could already see the headlines of the alternative. First husbands of hockey leave miniature cat to certain death.
Sighing, he started turning the cart. “I’ll put the groceries in the car, so I have my hands free to help.”
“Thank you, sweetheart. I love you,” Ilya distractedly called after him. He tried to reach back into the gap under the dumpster, but the angle was wrong and his jacket was too thick. He made quiet clicking noises to lure the black puffball towards him, but it was as still as a statue in the far corner. If Ilya had not heard it and seen it move, he would’ve thought it was a large rock.
By the time Shane came back, he was no closer to figuring out how to get the cat and his fingers were turning more red from the cold. He rubbed his hands harshly and breathed into them for a burst of warmth. He could do this. He needed patience.
“Ilya, we’re going to freeze,” Shane noted next to him as he bent down to take in the situation as well. “Is that it? In the back?”
Ilya nodded and took in his surroundings. A plan. He just needed a plan.
Looking around, he didn’t see much. A dirty spot to his right, some poles further down the wall, questionable stains all around the base of the dumpster. One of the wheels looked broken and it was half full, too heavy to roll out of the way. Not any other grates that he could see; the cat was boxed in on one side with him and Shane on the other.
How long had it been here? Was it frozen? Is that why it wasn’t moving?
After being with Shane for so long, some of Ilya’s subconscious ending up being filled with the constant stream of questions that made his lover so anxious. Ilya was better at managing it than Shane. He knew he had to manage it in this instance so that Shane didn’t freeze up.
Shane. Freeze up.
He let out a disbelieving laugh. “Oh, my котенок. What would I do without you?”
Shane gave him a questioning look that turned a bit disgusted as he watched Ilya sit too close to the slimiest stain. “I don’t think you should sit there.”
Ilya stilled and turned just enough so he could see if the cat moved. He glanced at Shane and smiled. It took years for him to work past ‘Rozanov’. Years, heartbreak, confusion and a lot of character development, but finally, he was Ilya. It took just as long for Shane to start reaching for him when he was panicking instead of running in the other direction. His Shane.
Ilya was different than him; outgoing, protective of some things but loose with so much more. Shane was quieter; nervous around new people, taking everything he cared about and curling them close to his chest. If Ilya had the golden-retriever energy that Harris so often accused him of, Shane was undoubtedly a cat.
With his hands still shaking, he sat. He took his extensive knowledge of the man in front of him and waited. Be there, but don’t overwhelm. Be steady. After 5 minutes, Ilya could tell Shane was losing patience.
“Sweetheart, the cat is not trusting. He is scared. We be present,” Ilya trailed off at the last words, hoping Shane wouldn’t put it together.
“Be present?”
When he looked over, Shane’s arms were crossed. Ilya should’ve known better than to repeat those words. They were straight out of Galina’s mouth when she gave him skills to meet Shane where he was and not minimize his own needs.
Ilya nodded and sighed. “Malysh, you are very… catty. I am waiting for him to need me without telling him he needs me.”
Shane was dumbstruck. “Catty” he murmured with a shake of his head.
“I can tell you are cold, Shane. What if you go inside, get some cat food and give me time with him? He is probably very hungry with trash for meals” His voice broke around the sadness of the last sentence. Ilya was hoping this was an okay compromise and would get Shane to forget the comparison. He had to keep his husband in a good mood if he was keeping this cat. And he was keeping this cat.
Shane nodded once and turned towards the store again. He’d never had to look at the cat food too closely. Unless they were getting a one-off item for Anya, they rarely came down this aisle. He typically ordered whole-food, high-end dog food online.
Looking around the aisle, he saw a few smaller bags with orange and brown star shaped food. He picked up a bag and read the back. ‘Corn meal? Cats don’t eat corn,’ he thought to himself. He sighed and started googling brands, ingredients, and most important vitamins.
Shane shook his head and looked around. This was ridiculous. The cat needed food. He was in the cat food aisle. Get some corn-based gravel food and be done with it. Ilya wants it to have food, so it won’t be hungry on the way to the shelter. Long term food decision doesn’t matter. Ilya is not keeping the cat. Buy the cheap bag and donate it when you drop off the cat. Easy.
He tried to run the list of facts and actions through his head three times. Took a deep breath, looked at the shelf again and scoffed.
“Fuck me.” He muttered as he turned towards the prepared food section.
Damn it. His husband was keeping this cat.
15 minutes later, Shane didn’t think Ilya had moved at all. He was still sitting with his arms loose and down, lightly crossed in his lap. The cat, however, was now peaking out from the dumpster, looking at Ilya’s jacket like it couldn’t decide whether to run to it or run from it. It was small. Shane wasn’t sure he had ever seen a cat so young. It could probably fit in the palm of his hand.
He slowed his walk so he didn’t scare it. When it saw him, though, it froze and quickly wobbled back under the dumpster. Shane closed his eyes, hating the decision he knew he had already made. Gently, he lowered himself next to Ilya.
“You do not have to, sweetheart” Ilya whispered, his teeth starting to chatter.
Shane loved him. He wanted to wrap him in blankets and warm him up. Sitting on the ground, trying to lure a cat, Shane had a visceral picture of what he may have acted like as a boy. Instead of responding, he quietly unpacked the bag.
The dish towel, while a little rough, was better than nothing. He laid it on the ground and slid it as close as he could to the dumpster. A measuring cup got set out and filled with a new water bottle. A smaller nested measuring cup got filled with unsalted chicken broth. Lastly, the plastic container of cooked, shredded, unseasoned chicken was opened and a few pieces were put on the corner closest to the dumpster.
“It might be too young for the chicken,” He started lowly, “If he doesn’t eat it, we’ll have to get some imitation cat-milk. It’s called KMR, but they were out of it. There is some at the Pet Valu on the other side of town.”
Ilya looked at the spread in front of him and smiled at Shane. “Malysh,” he said as his eyes shined with gratitude. “You are hero to him.”
As Shane settled, it took another 10 minutes for the cat to come out of the dumpster. Once it did, it looked suspiciously at the towel but slowly moved closer. Its eyes were completely open; based on Shane’s frantic googling he thought that meant at least 3 or 4 weeks old.
“You want to grab him? Or me?” Ilya asked in a low, soothing tone. They’d taken Shane’s car here, but Ilya normally drove. Looking at the cat, Shane could see matted fur, something that looked wet on its left side, and a dead gnat sticking to its eye whiskers.
“You grab him. I’ll drive.”
When it got on the towel, Ilya let it drink some broth and let out another sad meow. He reached swiftly behind it to block its escape route, grabbed it gently around the waist and ignored the pathetic hiss it let out. After he had a good grip on it, Shane dumped out the measuring cups, tossed the loose chicken in the dumpster and used the dish towel to reinforce Ilya’s hold on him.
“He will like this, it is warm probably” Ilya smiled as he got resituated and made a small cat-burrito to cuddle in his jacket. Shane didn’t answer but tilted his head towards the car. They walked quickly, tired of being in the cold and the wind. Wordlessly, Shane started the car, left the parking lot and eventually took a left turn at a light down the road.
Ilya’s smile was slow and feral as he made soft shushing noises to the little furball he had wrapped up. “This is a lot of things you bought for mystery cat,” he hedged towards Shane. When he didn’t get a response, he smiled more, hummed a song to soothe the baby in his hands, and continued. “The shelter was to the right at that last light, котенок.” Still no answer. Still a bigger and bigger smile. “I called Anya’s vet while you were shopping. Apparently, they are already knowing we will be there soon with baby cat. How could they have known, do you think?”
Shane gripped the wheel a little tighter and cleared his throat, but did not dare look at Ilya.
He held the cat closely to him and squeaked at him. When he was met with miniature tired eyes and a small meow he continued, “My котенок is so sweet, just like his new baby.”