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Ilya squeezed some Gatorade into his mouth and hunched forward on the bench, knocking his knee companionably against Bood’s. Their line had just swapped with Shane’s, and his husband was about to take a face-off against Scott Hunter after the Admirals got called for icing. The intense, focused look Shane got when he was preparing for the puck to drop was one of his top five hottest expressions, in Ilya’s opinion, and the only thing that sucked about them playing on the same team now was that he didn’t get to see it up close anymore.
The whistle blew, the ref held out his hand–
–and Shane collapsed on top of the blue dot, his stick clattering across the ice.
“Shane.” Ilya was on his feet before he knew it, flying to Shane’s side as the other players hustled back to their benches. Around him, he could hear concerned murmurs from the crowd and Coach Wiebe calling for the medics, but those sounds were muted. Distorted. The only thing coming through clearly was Shane’s low, agonized moan.
“Ilya - hurts,” Shane choked out. Ilya slid the last few inches between himself and Shane on his knees, tossing his gloves somewhere off to the side so he could yank Shane into his arms the moment he was close enough. Shane’s big brown eyes were glassy with tears and a hint of panic.
“Where does it hurt, zaychik? Tell me,” Ilya said, trying to keep his own fear from turning his voice harsh. He fumbled with the straps on Shane’s helmet, then his own, discarding them both without a care. One less barrier between them.
“My back.” Ilya’s hand dropped to the base of Shane’s spine, pressing fruitlessly against the layers of jersey and pads and compression gear Shane was wearing. Shane moaned again and dropped his face into Ilya’s shoulder, muffling his next words. “Oh, it hurts, Ilya, I don’t understand.”
“The medics will know, yes? Maybe - maybe a slipped disc?” Ilya petted over Shane’s sweaty hair and looked up to see Hunter staring at them with a knowing expression on his face. “What?”
“Is the pain coming in waves?” Hunter asked bizarrely. The medics were approaching from behind him, and Ilya could see stunned yet calculating looks come over their faces as they registered Scott’s question.
“The fuck–”
“Yes,” Shane gasped, turning his face to the side. “Why? Is that bad?”
“Only you, Hollander,” Hunter said. He stared up at the rafters like he was pleading for strength from above, then made a noise that was somehow both a sigh and a chuckle. “Only you would be so devoted to your career that you’d play major league hockey while pregnant. There’s a reason Kip carried our son instead of me, you know?”
Ilya blinked hard. No, that wasn’t - Shane couldn’t be–
A gush of liquid interrupted Ilya’s already unsteady train of thought. He and Shane both looked down to see a yellow-tinged puddle spreading around the black of Shane’s skates.
Fuck. Maybe the dinosaur hadn’t lost all of his marbles just yet.
— — — — —
Someone was hyperventilating nearby. Why weren’t the medics going to their aid, too?
“Shane. Malysh, listen to my breaths and match them, yes? The medics are here. Everything will be fine,” Ilya said before inhaling and exhaling exaggeratedly. Shane forced himself to close his eyes and follow the pattern, to focus solely on Ilya’s chest moving beneath him, and oh. He was the one hyperventilating. Okay.
“Very good, Shane. Now we need you to let go of Ilya,” an unfamiliar voice prompted.
“No,” Shane said, clutching Ilya’s jersey as tight as he could. “No, I need him, I can’t do this without him.”
“Just long enough to get you on the stretcher,” the voice clarified. Shane peered out of Ilya’s shoulder to see a petite white woman crouching near him and a bulkier white man not far behind. The yellow stretcher stood out like a beacon between them. “Ilya can hold your hand on the way to the ambulance, okay? He'll be right by your side.”
Another wave of the awful, all-consuming pain hit as the medics were moving him, and Shane couldn’t hold in a cry. Ilya squeezed his hand in silent comfort, making Shane realize he was no longer wearing his gloves. When had those come off?
It didn’t matter. Shane just wanted this to be over.
The lights of the arena blurred overhead as the medics rolled Shane off the ice and down the tunnel. They stopped outside the equipment room for a moment so they could hand Shane’s skates off to a staffer - who also accepted Ilya’s with a jolt of surprise - then continued on to the waiting ambulance.
“We’re taking him to Civic Campus, if you want to meet us there, Ilya-”
“I will be riding with you,” Ilya said, that stern note in his voice that would normally have Shane dropping to his knees in complete surrender.
“He has to. I’m not going anywhere without him,” Shane agreed frantically. He reached across his chest so he could clamp Ilya’s hand in both of his own. “I won’t - I can’t–”
“Fine, but it’s going to be tight,” the medic warned. Her blond bun flashed under the fluorescent lights as she and her partner loaded Shane’s stretcher into the back of the ambulance. “Sit up by his head and brace yourself.”
Shane felt about two percent better when Ilya settled into place next to him. That comfort was swiftly erased when the next contraction hit.
“Fuck!”
The female medic pulled down Shane’s hockey pants and started to cut open the compression leggings he always wore underneath.
“Your socks and shin guards will have to stay on for now,” she said, looking up at him apologetically. “No room to put them anywhere else. Knees up, please, Shane, so I can examine you.”
As Shane got into position, the bald male medic started peppering him with questions.
“Did you know you were a carrier, Shane?”
“No!”
“Okay. Do you have any idea how far along you might be? You won’t have gotten as big as a cisgender woman would have, even if you were full term. Carrier thing.” The medic flapped a hand as though this were common knowledge. Maybe it was. Maybe Shane shouldn’t have been doodling hockey plays all over his high school biology notes.
“No, I have no - ahh.” Contraction.
“Any unexplained vomiting or nausea? Maybe some chest tenderness?”
“I - yeah, my pads have been bothering me recently, I guess. And maybe - maybe last summer, after we won the Cup? I thought I was hungover–”
“And I teased you for being drunk off two and a half beers, I remember,” Ilya chimed in. “You were sick for days, much longer than hangover would last.”
“So that puts us at maybe ten weeks in June. Puts you in the thirty-some range now,” the medic said. “Allie, what are you seeing?”
“Seven centimeters dilated, Rob,” Allie replied crisply. “Head is down and engaged. No signs of fetal distress, but–”
They pulled up to the hospital before Allie could finish her sentence. She hopped out of the back of the van and started rattling away to the ER staff, leaving Shane to spiral over all the possible outcomes.
But it’s clearly been deformed?
But we’ll still have to report you for child endangerment?
But you’ve done irreparable damage to your defenseless baby by playing a contact sport while expecting? You’ve paralyzed your innocent child in the womb, Shane Hollander-Rozanov, are you proud of your career now?
Shane couldn’t hold back a sob as he was transferred out of the ambulance and rushed into an elevator. Four people in scrubs and Ilya joined him, then they were whooshing up to another floor.
“Please, what’s going to happen now?” he asked. He wasn’t sure anyone could hear him over the quick, overlapping chatter, but one woman - a nurse? - stopped and smiled kindly at him.
“We’re taking you up to the Birthing Unit, Shane,” she said with a soft squeeze of his shoulder. Her tight cornrows were pulled into a neat bun, and her skin was a rich brown. “We’ll get you and - Ilya, was it? - Ilya changed, and then it will probably be go time. Allie said you were at seven centimeters in the ambulance, and ten is when you’ll be ready to deliver.”
“And Ilya gets to stay the whole time?” Ilya had a hand in Shane’s hair where he stood near the head of the gurney, and Shane turned to rub his cheek against Ilya’s inner arm. He would normally be concerned that that action would look childish, but he couldn’t make himself care. Not when the pain was relentless and he couldn’t gather his thoughts properly and Ilya was the only person who could make things better.
“If you want him to stay, he stays. Anyone wants to put up a fuss about it, you tell them to talk to me, Nurse Katherine.” The nurse - Nurse Katherine, apparently - waggled her eyebrows like she was daring someone to test her. Shane huffed out a short laugh.
“You’re going to have to be in a hospital gown, too, Ilya,” she continued. They exited the elevator and moved as a cluster down a long hallway to a large yet somewhat cozy room. There was a window with the curtains drawn, a tan recliner in one corner, and a bathroom directly across from the hospital bed. A long counter with cabinets above and below lined the wall next to the door. “I’m sorry. We’re not known for our fashion here.”
“Does not matter,” Ilya said. His thumb stroked over Shane’s sweaty hairline. “I would be naked in delivery room if it would help Shane.”
Nurse Katherine snorted. “Unfortunately, that wouldn’t be hygienic. Most of us nurses might appreciate the view after a long shift, though.”
“Mine.” Shane’s growl turned into a whine midway through as another contraction hit. Arms locked underneath him and shifted him from the gurney to the bed.
“So noted,” Nurse Katherine said with a teasing salute of her index finger. “I’ll be right back with gowns for you both, okay?”
She darted off for a moment, then returned and helped Shane get out of his gear and into a pale green smock. Ilya was left to his own devices, and Shane let out an actual guffaw when he turned his head and saw his husband bent over and settling his jersey and shoulder pads on the recliner, black compression shorts sticking out of the gap at the back of his own gown.
“This is - the sexiest you’ve ever looked,” Shane said, gasping in the middle of his sentence as yet another contraction tore through him.
“Look will be on every runway next season, da?” Ilya struck a variety of silly poses, clearly trying to distract Shane. The pain was too strong to completely ignore, but Shane appreciated the effort.
“Shane, I’m Paula, your midwife.” A redheaded woman waved from a stool at the foot of the bed. “I’m going to put your feet in the stirrups and then give you another examination, okay?”
Shane nodded and reached for Ilya. Another nurse intercepted them briefly to stick an IV in the crook of Shane’s arm, then stepped back and let Ilya take his place. Ilya squeezed Shane’s hand and brought it to his lips for a reassuring kiss.
“Looks like you’re at nine centimeters now, so you’re really close, Shane,” Paula said, standing up. “Once you’re at ten, you’ll be fully dilated and ready to push.”
The reality of what Shane was about to do hit him just then, and he felt his breathing speed back up. “Fuck. I can’t be having a baby - we don’t have anything ready - I didn’t know–”
“It’s okay, Shane, just breathe,” Paula said firmly as she dropped back onto the stool. “Panic won’t help the baby.”
Shane made a noise that sounded like a terrified goose.
“Zaychik. Breathe with me again.” Ilya rested a hand between Shane’s pecs, a pale imitation of the grounding pressure he loved to feel when Ilya lay directly on top of him. Even Ilya’s breathing didn’t seem as measured as before, but it was still slower than Shane’s. After a few moments of them inhaling and exhaling in unison, Paula gave another round of instructions.
“Ten centimeters. When your next contraction hits, you need to push for me, Shane, okay? The head will come out first, then we’ll pause for a moment so the baby can turn. Sharp pants when that happens, no more long breaths.”
A contraction hit then, and Shane did as he was told. A couple of pants, a squeeze of Ilya's hand on his chest, a strong push, and Shane felt something pass out of his body in a rush.
“Or you can deliver the whole baby at once,” Paula said. She sounded vaguely amused. “Nurse!”
Shane slumped back against the pillows, exhausted. There was a flurry of activity at the foot of the bed and along the counter, but Shane couldn’t make heads or tails of what exactly was going on. The warmth of Ilya’s hand in his was the only thing that felt real.
“The baby. Is it okay?” he asked blearily.
“It’s a girl. Congratulations, Shane, Ilya. You have a daughter,” Nurse Katherine called over her shoulder. Why wasn’t she bringing the baby to them?
Ilya let out an amazed laugh. “Nasha doch’. Blyat.”
“But is she okay?” Shane repeated. He tried to sit up straighter, to see what was happening, but he was just too tired. One of the nurses went bustling out of the room, clearly on a mission. She appeared to be holding something in her arms, but that something was nowhere near the right size to be a baby.
“She’s - well, she’s very small. Only five pounds,” Nurse Katherine began. She turned to face them and leaned back against the countertop. “Probably somewhere between four and six weeks early. She’s going to need a little extra support for a while, so Nurse Val is getting her an incubator.”
Shane’s breath left him in a punch. “Extra support? So she’s hurt. I hurt her.”
“No, Shane. No, you didn’t. You protected her. Even if you didn’t know she was there, you fed her and helped her grow. She made her entrance a little too soon, that’s all, so she’s going to need some extra oxygen and maybe a bit of help feeding. We’ll see how that goes.”
“When can we see her?” Ilya asked, his voice hoarse.
“Nurse Val is bringing her right back here. Once Shane has delivered the placenta - which should be anytime now - and you’ve all had a moment to meet each other, we’ll get you to a private room near the NICU. No one will disturb you there if they’re not on your care team or your list of approved visitors.”
Nurse Katherine took Paula's place on the stool - when did she leave? - and helped Shane put his feet back in the stirrups. She massaged his tummy for a moment, then told him to push gently. Another something squelched out of him.
“Good, Shane. That looks like everything. Rest now, okay?” Nurse Katherine stood up, a silver dish in her hands, and went back to the counter. Shane's vision blurred with tears.
“Ilya, I'm sorry. If I'd known I was pregnant, I would have taken leave, you have to believe me.”
“Oh, Shane. Zaychik, of course I believe you. Even then, anyone can have pre - prem - early baby, yes?”
“Premature,” Shane clarified. “Fuck, she could have real health problems - I had a beer last week–”
Shane's panicked ramblings were interrupted by Nurse Val rolling a clear plastic incubator into the room. There were portholes on three sides that looked large enough for even Shane and Ilya's muscular forearms to fit through.
“Meet your baby girl, daddies!” Nurse Val said brightly. “She's going to have to spend most of her time in here to get strong, but it would actually be really beneficial for you to hold her for an hour or so now, Shane. She’s cleaned up and starting to stabilize, and skin-to-skin contact will only help her improve.”
“It will? Fuck, please - give her to me now, please.” Shane tore at the ties of his gown. Ilya stilled his hands and replaced them with his own, easily loosening the material and pushing it off Shane’s shoulders.
“You can get her yourself, it’s okay! Just flip this door open like this, see, and - whoa.”
Shane snatched the baby - his baby, his itty-bitty daughter - the moment the door was open enough for him to reach her. He settled her so carefully against his chest, not wanting to disturb her any further. Her fuzzy little head fit perfectly against the meat of his pectoral muscle.
“You’re a natural. We’ll cover her with a blanket, too, so we know she’s nice and toasty, but otherwise, you’re all set!” Nurse Val produced a soft pink blanket from one of the cabinets on the opposite side of the room and tucked it gently around the baby, then made for the door. “Press the call button if you need one of us before it’s time for her to go back in the incubator. Until then, we’ll leave you to bond.”
“Thank you,” Ilya called after her. Shane was too focused on the baby to speak.
Dark wisps of hair covered her vulnerable scalp. Her tiny lips were pursed in a lush Cupid’s bow, just like Ilya’s. Her skin was redder than Shane thought might be strictly normal, but if the nurses hadn’t warned them about it, it must not be too serious of a concern.
She was the most wonderful thing Shane had ever seen.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he whispered, tears spilling down his cheeks. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
The baby gurgled and shifted ever so slightly on Shane’s chest. He adjusted his hold to support her neck and diapered bottom better, hating that one of his hands felt like it spanned her entire body.
“Look at her,” Ilya said, floating one finger so lightly over the top of her head that Shane wasn’t sure he was actually touching her. “She might be small, but she is - is - I have no words for it.”
“Me neither,” Shane said. He looked up from the baby to see that Ilya’s eyes were also wet. “They haven’t invented the right words yet, I think.”
“She’s a miracle,” Ilya agreed, bending down to kiss Shane’s forehead. “And so are you. Everything I never thought I could have, you’ve given me.”
A fresh sob burst out of Shane. “Ilya.”
“Is true,” Ilya said with a one-shouldered shrug. “A home, a supportive team, and now this baby. Maybe she was a surprise, but I wouldn’t trade her for anything, Shane.”
“Fuck. I love you so much, you know that?” Shane hoped Ilya could see the sincerity in his eyes. Between the crying and the wave of exhaustion that was starting to slam into him, he was suddenly finding it hard to keep them open.
“Of course I do, zaychik.” Ilya pressed another kiss to Shane’s forehead, then kissed his fingertips and rested them on the baby’s head for a fleeting moment. “Sleep now. I’ll watch over you both.”
“But I might - might drop her,” Shane protested, a massive yawn breaking up the middle of his sentence.
“I won’t let that happen,” Ilya reassured him. He began to hum a simple yet vaguely haunting melody, and the warmth of his baritone soothed the last ragged edge of Shane’s heart.
“‘S that Russian?” Shane asked mushily.
“Da. Moya mama sang it to me when I was young.”
If Ilya explained any further, Shane didn’t hear it. He was already asleep, dreaming of blonde curls and guardian angels.
— — — — —
Ilya knew he would get caught eventually. He’d been able to disguise his fear for the first few days, since there were so many other things to take care of - feeds and diaper changes and monitoring both Shane and their baby for fevers or other signs of distress. Thank God Yuna and David had shown up at the hospital shortly after the birth. Ilya gave immediate permission for them to visit, and the shriek Yuna had let out once she saw that Shane wasn’t grievously injured but sure had a surprise for them was going to live - what was the phrase Harris used? - rent-free in Ilya’s mind for the rest of time.
Once they were over the shock, the elder Hollanders had leaped into action. They tore through Ottawa, collecting Ilya and Shane’s phones and other gear from the arena and clean clothing, toiletries, and chargers from their house. Having something to wear that wasn’t rank compression gear or a flimsy hospital gown really improved both Shane’s and Ilya’s moods. David and Yuna also crated Anya up and took her back to their own home so the boys had one less thing to worry about while they were in the hospital. The poor girl had been howling when her grandparents arrived, concerned that her daddies had been gone for longer than usual. Ilya made a mental note to give her extra treats once they were all home for good.
So yes, the first week of their baby’s life had flown right by, and Ilya hadn’t yet held her. He had barely dared to give her what Nurse Katherine had called a “hand hug,” where he cupped the top of her head in one hand and her doll-sized feet in the other. She was just so little. Ilya felt like the Hulk in comparison, all bulging muscles and thundering footsteps. He was afraid he might hurt her if he tried to cuddle her close.
Shane, on the other hand, barely relaxed unless she was feeding from him or snoozing in his arms. Though he’d technically been discharged three days after giving birth, he and Ilya hadn’t left the hospital for longer than it took to go home, shower, and eat something. The baby’s room in the NICU had a single bed, so they either took turns sleeping or bunked down together with Ilya basically using Shane as a blanket in order for them both to fit on the mattress. Ilya didn’t mind - Shane was much more substantial than their baby, and it was easy to confirm Shane was still recovering well at such close range.
“I have to run to the bathroom. Hold her while I’m gone, Ilya,” Shane said, standing up from the armchair. He started to peel the baby off his chest.
“I - I, uh,” Ilya stuttered from his seat on the edge of the bed, his heart clenching. “Shouldn’t she go back in the incubator, where it’s safe?”
“She’s safe with you.” Shane raised an eyebrow. “Wait. Baby. Have you actually held her yet?”
Ilya scoffed. “Yes. Of course. Except no. No, I haven’t.”
“Ilya,” Shane breathed, half-confused, half-stern. “Why not?”
“Look at her!” Ilya said, gesturing towards the small pink bundle in Shane’s arms. “She’s - she’s fragile, Shane, and I am massive. What if I hurt her? I might not be gentle enough. I can’t set her progress back.”
Ilya felt a soft kiss to the crown of his head and realized tears were spilling down his cheeks.
“You’re going to know exactly what to do once she’s in your arms. I promise, okay?” Shane said. “Take off your shirt.”
“Oh, I see how it really is,” Ilya joked, his voice still thick. He tugged his sweatshirt up and over his head, setting it next to him on the mattress, then scooted back so he could lean comfortably against the wall. “You just want a show.”
“I’ve given you one all week. It’s my turn,” Shane teased back. “You ready? Starship Baby, coming in for landing.”
Shane leaned down and slowly, carefully settled the baby against Ilya’s chest. As Shane’s hands pulled away, Ilya seamlessly put his own in the same places on her body, doing his best not to disrupt her.
She was light as a butterfly. Soft as a kitten. The most astonishing thing Ilya had ever seen.
“Oh, kroshka. Hello. I’m sorry I waited so long to hold you,” Ilya said. He felt a few more tears slip out as her eyelids fluttered, revealing a peep of brown iris. “Papa is here now. He won’t let you go.”
“See? Nothing to it,” Shane said. When Ilya looked up at him, he was crying as well. “I’ll be right back.”
“Zaychik?” Ilya called. “Shirt.”
Shane froze in the doorway and glanced down, confirming that no, he hadn’t redressed before trying to leave the room. “Fuck. Thanks, babe.”
Ilya laughed as Shane snatched the shirt he himself had just discarded and tossed it on, getting stuck halfway in as usual. That little trait would never not be endearing to Ilya.
Time passed weirdly after that, as it always did in the NICU. Shane returned after a few moments, and then somehow it felt like both seconds and hours had occurred at once. The two of them were chatting idly, trying to figure out what to have for dinner, when Nurse Katherine dropped in.
“How are we doing?” At Shane and Ilya’s shared glance and murmurs of pretty good, we think, she nodded and continued, “The baby is making great progress, you two. The doctor wants to keep her here for another week, but if she keeps gaining weight and spending more time out of the incubator without any issues, we should be able to discharge her after that. We will need something from you before then, though.”
“What’s that?” Shane asked.
“A name,” Nurse Katherine replied. “If you want to get her birth registered properly, we need that information. Have you thought of anything yet?”
“No,” Ilya said at the exact same time Shane said “Yes.”
Shane flushed as Ilya turned to shoot him a questioning look. “I mean, I’ve been testing something out in my head. We don’t - we don’t have to keep it, but…I really like it, Ilya. I hope you will, too.”
“Gretzky Hollander-Rozanov is going to be a real pain in the ass when she’s learning to spell, but if your heart is set on it, malysh–”
“Fuck off,” Shane fumed as Nurse Katherine hooted with laughter. “I don’t want to name her Gretzky or Gordie or any other hockey-related name, Ilya. I want to call her Irina.”
Ilya didn’t want to laugh anymore. “What?”
“Irina Katherine Ilyin - Ilyinichna Hollander-Rozanov,” Shane declared, stumbling slightly over the patronymic. Now Nurse Katherine wasn’t laughing, either. “After the two women who were watching over her when she came into the world.”
“Shane. Are you sure?” Ilya asked, his voice husky. “What about Yuna?”
“Did I ever tell you how Mom decided on my name?” Ilya shook his head, and Shane continued, “She and Dad struggled to conceive me, you know that. She says they saw the staff at the fertility clinic so often, they may as well have been family. When the first ultrasound happened and my heart was beating, one nurse - Shane - actually burst into tears before either of my parents did. That's when Mom knew what to call me.”
“So you aren't just naming her for me,” Ilya confirmed.
“No. I would, without hesitation, but no. There's something for both of our families in there, because she's a little bit of both of us. She's going to have your curls,” Shane said, coming to sit next to Ilya on the bed so he could stroke over one of the dark, downy whorls.
“And she's definitely got your eyes,” Ilya said with a smile. “Two pairs of those big brown eyes in my house - how am I supposed to resist those?”
“You'll struggle through,” Shane said wryly. “But you like the name? It won't be too much for you?”
“No. No, it will be nice to hear that name again,” Ilya said, dropping a tender kiss to the baby's head. “Irina. Perfect name for a perfect daughter. I still can't thank you enough, zaychik.”
“You want to thank me for almost giving birth to her five feet away from Scott Hunter. Maybe you need to be admitted next,” Shane teased. Ilya could see shame in the twist of his mouth, but it was no surprise that the panic he had felt that night was going to have long-term effects. Once they were all home and settled, Ilya was going to gently encourage Shane to find his own Dr. Galina to speak with about this experience.
Until then, Ilya used the tools he had. “Would have been good for fossil like him. Fill him with adrenaline, maybe actually make him fast enough to beat you to puck. I know it was all a strategy, malysh.”
Shane looked at Ilya like he didn't know whether to kiss him or kill him. Good. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t. You loooove me,” Ilya sing-songed.
“God knows why,” Shane grumbled. “Give me my baby back.”
“No. Still my turn.” Ilya adjusted Irina over to one side, leaving his left shoulder wide open. “Come here.”
Shane scowled but did as he was told, resting his head in the crook of Ilya's neck with a content sigh. Nurse Katherine murmured something about starting the paperwork and left.
Ilya barely noticed. He had Shane and their daughter - Irina - in his arms. What else mattered?