Archive of Our Own

Tuesday, May 14th, 2047 - Ottawa, ON. 

When Shane crept down the hall to wake Nadia up, he had a feeling in his gut that something was wrong. 

Nothing on the surface was wrong— it was an ordinary Tuesday, spring was starting to introduce itself to the world once more, and Ilya and he had a really, really fantastic night together. This sense of dread was completely unfounded. 

Yet here he was, his hand tentatively hovering over the doorknob to Nadia’s bedroom. 

Come on, Shane. 

He lowered his hand onto the cold metal, twisting the handle and pushing the door open. 

In the middle of the room was Nadia, covered in blood. A knife lay loose beside her, her throat slashed open horizontally. 

Telepathically, his daughter spoke to him. Shane could hear her voice ring clearly through the panic and devastation crowding his senses. 

Your fault.

Shane awoke with a startle, looking around the room anxiously before his mind caught up that it was just a dream. He choked on a relieved breath, coughing loudly into his elbow. It was then he noticed the tears streaming down his face, and the clattering of pans from downstairs. 

Inhale. 

Nadia is safe. Shane would be the first to know if she wasn’t. 

His eyes drifted towards the recent photo of the girl they had hung up in their bedroom. He let the sight of her sixteen (almost seventeen!) year old smile comfort him. 

Exhale. 

These dreams weren’t common, though they had been growing in their frequency over the last couple of weeks. Rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes, Shane realized why. 

It was nearing summer. Nearly three years since the beginning of the end. Nearly three years since Shane missed all of the warning signs. Nearly three years since Nadia began to slip away. 

Shane quickly rushed to the bathroom, expelling the contents of his stomach. 

~

If anyone noticed Shane’s tired demeanour, they didn’t mention it. 

Ilya was mildly worried over the fact that he was up before Shane, but Shane dismissed him with a claim about a late night. That stroked Ilya’s ego, who responded with a grin and a slap on the ass. Shane’s laugh was genuine, though he had to fight to keep it from sounding too forced. He felt like he was always two seconds away from being found out. 

Found out about what? That you failed your daughter?

Shane didn’t eat breakfast that morning. 

~

Driving Nadia to rehearsal was one of Shane’s favourite things to do. 

The girl was almost always talkative, jumping from one topic to another, telling Shane about her annoying castmates, the troubles with blocking and choreography, and anything else that crossed her beautiful, creative mind. 

Today, the chatter seemed a little lackluster. 

“So yeah, I think it’ll end up being fine, it’s just annoying, you know?” Shane hummed, turning left onto a different road.

“I imagine. It’s hard choreo, especially when you’re giving a monologue.” Nadia nodded, looking out the window as they drove. The car fell into a quiet lull. Shane glanced at his daughter, offering a small smile. 

“Are you feeling okay, kiddo? You’re usually more chatty.”

Nadia shrugged. “Just tired,” she dismissed quietly. 

“Okay. Maybe you should go to bed a little earlier tonight.”

“Maybe.”

Shane tried to ignore the tightness in his stomach. 

Thursday, May 16th, 2047 - Ottawa, ON. 

Things didn’t really seem to be getting better. 

Nadia seemed even more quiet than she had on Tuesday, though it wasn’t quite wrong. Just off; off in a way that seemed only noticeable to Shane. 

It was driving him crazy. 

Luka and Megan were over for dinner, something that happened at least twice a week. The two were talking about their coming house renovations, which is something that Shane ordinarily would be entirely invested in. Between his questions and conversations, Shane kept an eye on Nadia. 

The sixteen year old girl was nodding along, seemingly following the conversation. Something that Shane was struggling to do, despite leading most of the conversation himself. He was half focused on seeming normal (normal for himself anyway), and how Nadia was eating. 

And she was eating, but it was sparse. Less than she usually ate. She’s slipping away. 

Nadia laughed, the sound loud and unapologetic. The sound soothed something deep inside Shane’s psyche. She’s okay. She’s alive and breathing. 

Dinner was over by the time Shane realized he hadn’t eaten a thing.

Sunday, May 19th, 2047 - Ottawa, ON. 

Nadia was exhausted. 

She had been sleeping fine enough— not waking up through the night or laying awake until the wee hours of the morning. Still, she found herself exhausted. It was a simple fix, really. Just get more sleep. 

That was the solution Nadia had landed on that particular Sunday afternoon as she sat at her desk, cutting squares of fabric for her newest creative project. 

A knock on her door startled her out of her revolutionary problem solving. She slipped, nicking the side of her finger with the blade of her shears. 

“Shit,” she cursed, dropping the scissors and reaching for a tissue. “Come in!”

The door swung open much quicker than Nadia had anticipated, revealing Shane. He had a panicked look in his eyes, only exacerbated as he zoned his focus on the blood currently staining the Kleenex Nadia had grabbed. 

“What happened?” Her father demanded, crossing the room in three strides. Nadia let out a quiet, tired laugh, tilting her head as she looked at her dad. 

“Nothing, just slipped,” she replied honestly. Shane nodded, taking her finger and applying more pressure to the cut. Nadia watched, a sick sense of satisfaction bubbling in her gut as she watched the blood seep into the white cotton. 

Inhale. 

It is just blood, she assured herself gently. I have other ways of feeling. Lots of things make me feel. I don’t need to be in pain. 

Exhale. 

Shane was analyzing her carefully. Nadia met his gaze. The retired hockey player took her other hand in his free one, squeezing it gently. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, an undecipherable edge in his voice. 

Nadia nodded, looking Shane up and down subtly. 

Are you? Was left unspoken.

Monday, May 20th, 2047 - Ottawa, ON. 

Sliding Shane his mug of coffee, Ilya instantly knew something was wrong. 

It had been almost a full week of Ilya waking up before his husband, and about the same length of time where Shane had stopped eating. 

Stopped was strong; he was eating, it was just less than normal. It was almost as if eating was a distraction from a spiral. Shane was stuck in his own head. It was like he was mentally gone. 

Ilya didn’t really know what to do. Nadia seemed to be doing okay, if a little tired, but Ilya knew she would come to them when she was ready. She’s been going to them more and more since her near attempt almost three years ago.

Oh. 

Looking at his husband, who was staring into the fresh coffee in front of him with an absent expression on his face, Ilya realized what the issue was. 

Shane struggled with anniversaries. He struggled even more with Nadia’s depression. Ilya knew he had been seeing a therapist in the aftermath of Nadia’s breakdown, but had since ceased their appointments as Nadia began to heal.

Maybe Ilya shouldn’t have let him off the hook so easily. 

“Moya lyubov?” He called softly. The man looked up, meeting Ilya’s gaze. The Russian took a moment to analyze his husband; noting the hazy look in his eyes. It wasn’t like when he was blissfully floating after an intense orgasm— it was almost as if he was haunted. 

Ilya did not like it one bit. 

“Shane?” He tried again, gentling his tone even further. Shane blinked, clearing a miniscule amount of the haze in his eyes. Ilya set his own cup down, crossing the kitchen to his husband. He gently cupped Shane’s face in his hands, giving a small, approving hum as Shane relaxed into him, letting Ilya hold the weight of his head. 

“Shane,” he murmured, pressing his lips to his forehead. “I think you are dissociated.”

A small, nearly inaudible whine. Ilya shushed him. “Is okay, malysh. I can keep you safe. Get you out of your anxiety, yes?”

Shane shook his head. Ilya frowned, brows furrowed. “Can’t,” he whispered. Ilya hummed his understanding. 

“We can,” he assured quietly. “Slow, deep breaths, yes?”

Shane’s breath was shaky. So was his next one. And the one after. Ilya gracefully did not mention it. 

~

Shane nor Ilya mentioned the episode earlier in the day. 

Shane had insisted on driving Nadia to and from school, filling the middle of the day with absurd chores that Ilya knew better than to interrupt. But really, who needed to organize the shoe rack by colour?

Ilya knew that Shane ate lunch, given that he made it for him, and sat with the retired hockey prodigy until the plate was clean. Any indication that something was wrong was gone, other than the odd tasks. Shane ate and chatted with Ilya with ease, laughing where appropriate and playing with Anya after lunch. None of the anxiety from earlier in the day lingered. During dinner, Nadia seemed a little quiet, which put Shane slightly on edge, but nothing seemed wrong, per se. 

Maybe it was a fluke? 

Thursday, May 23rd, 2047 - Ottawa, ON.  

Nadia peeled her eyelashes apart, barely registering the gunk crusting her eyelids shut. Immediately, the weight on her chest made itself apparent. A void opened itself between the blood vessels in her heart and swallowed every discernable feeling that wasn’t grief. 

Earlier in the week (month?), it occurred to Nadia that something was wrong. It felt like she was in a foggy forest, traversing the landscape in bare feet and stumbling over every root in the ground. It felt like every tree rotted where it stood. It felt like Nadia was degrading into the ground. Like her toes were becoming dirt. Then her shins, then her thighs. Worms were eating her stomach. Was she even standing anymore? How could she differentiate herself from the earth?

So this nothingness didn’t really shock her. She didn’t know why it came around or why it lingered the way it did. She didn’t know where to put this weight. Nadia supposed she didn’t know much of anything at all. 

At sixteen years old, Nadia had much assumed that she would be past this. 

Logically, she knew (what is knowing anyways?) that depression was an illness that festered with irrationality. That it twisted every sense of reason in the brain and turned it into an ugly truth. 

Knowing and feeling were two different things. 

So when the early sun shining through the peek in her curtains resembled the pattern of the scars on her thighs and worked to convince her to relapse, she didn’t try very hard to disagree. 

The long dormant itch to tear her skin open persisted in her body, pushing Nadia up and out of bed. Her legs felt more like flag poles in the wind, unstable and weak. Every step was arduous. Her body felt like it was weighed down by thick layers of mold. 

The floorboard by her bathroom creaked under her weight. Slowly, Nadia pushed the door open, entering the room sluggishly. The small window provided light from outside. The sixteen year old tried not to take offence to the light. She met her gaze in the mirror. 

Brown eyes bored into her blank expression, meticulously cataloguing every freckle, every mole, every limp, blonde curl on her head. Nausea swam in her stomach. The teen looked down in the sink, taking slow, laboured breaths. Itchiness pressed against her thighs, against the scars that were two years healed. 

“Fuck,” she gasped into the empty room. 

~

Ilya hummed cheerfully along to the song playing, flipping the bacon in the frying pan. The hiss and cracks of the cooking meat introduced itself to the soundscape. On the kitchen island sat a large plate with eggs, bacon, toast, and fruit. Shane stood nearby, chopping melon, strawberries, and apples into neat slices. 

“Are you going to wake the beast or should I?” Ilya asked into the quiet domesticity of the room. 

Shane snorted, arranging the strawberries delicately on the plate. 

“I can go. You finish up the eggs, yeah?” 

Ilya smiled, glancing at Shane and blowing him a kiss. “You’re the best, Hollander. Doing all the hard work for me.”

“Yeah, yeah. Finish cooking, Rozanov.” The two exchanged fond smiles as Shane turned and walked towards the staircase, disappearing up the steps. 

Once upstairs, Shane made his way down the hall, rapping his knuckles against Nadia’s bedroom door. 

“Nadia? Time to get up, honey.”

Silence. Shane huffed fondly, knocking again. 

“Nadia, baby?”

“Come in.”

Shane opened the door, looking around the room. Light flooded in from the stained glass window, painting colourful refractions across the floor. Clothes and accessories were strewn over furniture, and art supplies covered the desk. It was an organized mess; something uniquely Nadia. 

However, the bed was empty. 

Nadia peeked her head out from the bathroom door, a mascara wand in hand. Shane’s shoulders dropped half an inch. He hadn’t even noticed he was tense. 

“There you are. Breakfast is ready, kiddo,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest and smiling fondly. Nadia nodded, resting her head on the doorframe. 

“Okay,” she replied, voice soft. Shane tilted his head. 

“How did you sleep?” He asked gently, taking in her messy hair. He ignored the urge to go up to her and pin it in place. 

Nadia shrugged, looking around her room. She let out a soft breath, glancing down at the mascara wand in her hand. Shane followed her gaze. 

“Fine, I guess,” she responded after a minute. “I’ve gotta finish getting ready so…”

Shane nodded slowly, lifting his hands up in understanding. “Okay. We need to leave in about twenty minutes.”

Nadia made a noise of acknowledgement, stepping back into the bathroom and closing the door. 

Shane exhaled through his nose, smiling to himself as he made his way back down the steps to the living room. 

Ilya looked up from where he was finishing plating breakfast, smiling warmly. 

“Is she coming down?” He asked softly, tilting his head and sliding one of the plates in front of Nadia’s favourite barstool. Beside it, he left her medication. Shane nodded, approaching his husband and pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

“She’s just finishing her makeup,” he replied, wrapping an arm around Ilya’s waist. Ilya nodded. 

“Ah. No concealer though, yes? I like her freckles too much.” Shane huffed a laugh, pressing his face into Ilya’s neck. 

“She didn’t have any concealer on. Don’t worry.”

Ilya narrowed his eyes playfully. “Is a very real worry. I do not get to see one of my baby’s freckles, I die. Would be tragic.”

Shane snorted, pinching Ilya’s side. “You’re so dramatic.”

Ilya turned his head, pressing a kiss to Shane’s temple. “No, I am a conscious man. I know my weaknesses.” Shane smiled, pressing a kiss to Ilya’s pulse point. 

“Have you taken Anya out yet?” He asked, rubbing Ilya’s waist slowly. Ilya nodded, holding Shane’s wrists loosely. 

“Mhm. I’ll take her for a walk while you drive Nadia to school.”

Shane hummed, pulling Ilya flush against his front. “Actually, I think we should both drop her off today. She seems a little tired.”

Ilya tilted his head, looking over at his husband. “How so?”

Shane opened his mouth to respond, interrupted by Nadia’s footsteps coming down the stairs. Shane looked at Ilya apologetically, stepping back from him and turning to the fridge. “Good morning, baby,” he greeted as Nadia made it to the bottom of the stairs. 

Nadia looked up, approaching the kitchen island and slipping onto her stool. “Hi, dad. Hi, papa.” Ilya’s smile was warm. He walked around to his daughter, hugging her securely from behind, arms around her shoulders. 

“Good morning, docha. How did you sleep?” The question was punctuated with a kiss to a pile of blonde curls. Nadia shrugged, taking an apple slice from the plate and biting it quietly. She then took her pill, chasing it with a sip of water. 

“Fine.”

‘Fine, huh?” Ilya raised a brow, absentmindedly running his fingers through Nadia’s curls. His finger caught on a knot, tugging on the girl’s hair. Nadia hissed, shoulders jumping to her ears as she ducked away from Ilya’s touch. 

“Ow! Leave it, papa, Jesus Christ!” She snapped, as Ilya’s hands went up in defense as Nadia scowled at her father. Shane clicked his tongue subconsciously, shaking his head. 

“Hey, woah. Take a breath, kiddo. Papa was just asking you a question.”

“Whatever. Can we go now? I’m going to be late,” the sixteen year old dismissed, pushing herself away from the kitchen island and slipping off her stool hastily. Ilya and Shane physically moved out of her way. 

“No, hey. Let’s talk about this,” Ilya tried, stepping behind Nadia as she tried to flee the kitchen to the front entry way. 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she snapped, turning on her heel and looking at her parents. Shane’s eyes softened as they landed on Nadia. She looked beautiful; brown eyes framed by a pink, glittery eyeshadow and mascaraed lashes. Glitter adorned her cheekbones, illuminating her freckled skin. Her curls were loose around her shoulders, looking just a little less vibrant than they usually do. That, paired with her behaviour and the exhaustion in her eyes gave Shane pause. 

“Nadia,” the retired hockey player soothed, lifting his hands placatingly. “Let’s all take a deep breath.”

Ilya and Shane both inhaled deeply, pleased when Nadia reluctantly obliged. The three of them exhaled simultaneously, Nadia’s shoulders falling. 

“Sorry,” the teenager mumbled, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. Ilya glanced at Shane before looking back at Nadia. He carefully assessed her. 

“It’s okay, malyshka. How can we help you?” Nadia was quiet, breaths slow and uneven. Shane tilted his head, concern evident on his face. 

“Hey,” he murmured after a moment, stepping closer to his daughter. Nadia looked up at him, eyes brimming with exhausted tears. Shane held his hand out in offering. Nadia’s gaze flicked to it. 

She didn’t reach out. 

“I don’t know,” came the whispered reply. Ilya nodded. 

“That’s okay. Let’s get you back to the couch, yeah?” He offered. Nadia shook her head minutely. 

“No. I’ve got a test today,” she argued faintly. Shane studied her for a long moment. 

“Okay,” he finally agreed. “Papa and I will drive you, then pick you up after lunch, okay?” Ilya bit back his protest. Shane typically knew what was best. Besides, arguing with Nadia would not get them anywhere. They learned that the hard way. Ilya exhaled slowly, giving a slow nod. 

Nadia blinked. She nodded slightly before looking around the room. “Yeah. Sure.” Shane nodded again, offering a small smile. 

“Go get your schoolbag. We’ll meet you in the car.” Nadia nodded once before turning and swiftly leaving the room. Shane turned to Ilya, brows furrowed in worry. 

“Has she been taking her meds?”

Ilya nodded, taking Shane’s hands and pulling his husband closer to him. “Yes. Every morning with breakfast. You just picked up her refill,” he reminded gently. Shane exhaled slowly, squeezing Ilya’s hands. 

“She’s been on this dose for about eight months. Do you think we should talk to her psychiatrist? Maybe up her prescription?” Ilya bit the inside of his cheek, tilting his head. 

“Maybe,” he contemplated quietly. “But she could just be having a bad day. She is a teenager after all. Dima and Luka were no strangers to being frustrated with us.”

Shane’s lips were arched in a frown. “They both struggle with emotional regulation,” he protested quietly. “And this has been happening for like six weeks. She hasn’t been herself.”

“More so than most,” Ilya agreed. “But it is not uncommon for teenagers to lash out. If she were throwing things at us, I would be more worried. She’s a teenager, Shane. There’s lots happening in her life we don’t know about.”

Shane huffed a small laugh, rubbing his hands together anxiously. “What if she’s going through a depressive episode?” He asked quietly. Ilya considered his words. 

“Then we use her safety plan. She’s got so much support, Shane. We know the signs. Our girl will be okay.” He assured gently. Shane nodded minutely. 

“I don’t want to be so overbearing. I’d hate it if she feels like we don’t trust her,” he fussed. Ilya considered his words, brows furrowed in thought. 

“She probably will think that,” he replied. Shane’s frown deepened. 

“But,” Ilya continued, gently smoothing his hand down Shane’s arm. “That is because she is mentally ill. And we can manage and treat it, but we cannot cure it. There will always be a part of her that thinks with depression first. You cannot control these things, my love.”

Shane exhaled slowly, resting his head against Ilya’s shoulder. The Russian pressed a gentle kiss to his husband’s temple, gently running his fingers through his hair. 

“We are okay,” he murmured. “Nadia is okay. She’ll be okay.”

Shane exhaled slowly, holding Ilya’s hips and pulling him flush against himself. Ilya pressed gentle kisses to Shane’s head and temple, trailing his lips down his face. 

Shane tried to ignore the lingering worry brewing in the pit of his stomach. 

~

The Hollander-Rozanov car pulled in front of Nadia’s high school nearing 8:30 in the morning. Putting the car in park, Shane turned in his seat to look at his daughter. 

“I’ll see you at noon, okay?” The teenager nodded, adjusting her hold on her backpack. 

“‘Kay,” Nadia agreed, glancing at the building before looking down at the handle as she hesitated. Ilya watched her for a moment, side-eyeing Shane subtly as they waited. 

“Papa?” The girl whispered. Ilya turned in his seat to look at his girl. “Yes, baby?” he responded gently. Nadia took a shaky breath. 

“I’m sorry for snapping earlier.” With that, she swiftly pushed the door open and slipped out of the car, closing it before Shane or Ilya processed what she had said. 

Ilya blinked, turning to Shane and blowing a raspberry. “Sweet girl,” he murmured, turning to watch her walk into the building. Shane gave a small nod, eyes fixed on Nadia’s disappearing form. 

“The sweetest,” he agreed quietly, desperation welling in his stomach; desire to help his daughter. 

~

Nadia walked into the noisy building, immediately suppressing a wince. She weaved through the sea of people in the hallway to her locker, turning the dial and unlocking the door. 

“Nadia!” The sixteen year old turned at the familiar voice, a smile tugging at her lips against her will. 

“Margot, hi,” she greeted softly, reaching for her best friend’s hand as the girl approached, squeezing it in greeting. Margot grinned, swinging their joined hands back and forth. The other girl was lovely; a red top matched with blue jeans and a black belt adorned her form. Her feet were fixed with the same pair of black Mary-Janes that Nadia had recognized years before. She wore her brown hair in a messy updo, framed with a pair of large silver glasses balanced on her nose. 

Nadia loved her so much. 

“Did you finish that math assignment? I had to ask my mom for help like, six times just to get through the first page.” Nadia blinked, glancing at her backpack. She tilted her head, still securely holding Margot’s hand. 

“Yeah,” she lied, exhaustion sitting heavily against her chest. “Dad’s really good at explaining functions, thank god.”

Margot groaned, leaning into Nadia’s taller frame. “Lucky. You’d think having an engineer for a mom would do me good, but she honestly can’t explain anything coherently to save her life.”

Nadia forced a laugh, blinking away the sudden headache threatening to overwhelm her vision. “Yeah, he’s great,” she answered, more life in her voice than she felt. 

“One of these days you’ll let me actually meet him and your Papa,” Margot teased, letting go of Nadia’s hand to gather the blonde girl’s books from her locker. “C’mon, Goldilocks, let’s get to the cafeteria. I’m dying for some cookies.” With that, Margot took off down the hall, leaving Nadia no choice but to follow. As she walked through the crowd, the teenager realized she had never felt more lonely. 

~

The first period of the day was law, which Nadia didn’t particularly feel strongly about. It was a straightforward elective, and she did enjoy learning more about government policies. 

Today, she couldn’t stop thinking about the persistent ache in her thighs. 

This morning, she managed to swallow her grief and leave her body alone. Give it refuge from the scratch of a blade. It was hard, but those urges ebbed and flowed like fog, and Nadia found it easier to ignore them now as opposed to when she first started hearing them. 

Their persistence was no less irritating.

The bell rang, signalling the end of the lesson. Hastily, the classroom moved, students bursting out into the hallway. Nadia was one of them, books held tightly in her arms as she turned down the hall to her locker. Upon opening it, the blonde pushed her books onto the shelf, exchanging them for her calculator and pen. 

Taking a deep breath to quell the nerves building in her stomach for her exam, Nadia reached for her phone. She had a couple of messages, all from various family members. 

From: Dad <3

Hey, kiddo. Good luck on your test. Papa and I will meet you at the front entrance, okay? I love you lots.

She forced herself to thumbs up the message in acknowledgement, blinking away the sudden tears that welled in her eyes. She checked the next message. 

From: Papa <3

Anya is very insistent on catching you. Ya teybya lyublyu, my little ladybug. 

Attached was a video of the pup chasing a barely visible ladybug through the garden. In the background, Nadia could hear Shane scolding Anya for trampling a tulip bush while Ilya laughed. 

The corners of Nadia’s lips tugged upwards in amusement, a small huff leaving her nose. She hearted the video, clicking her phone off and slipping it back into her bag before closing her locker and making her way down to her math classroom. 

~

The minute Shane’s phone buzzed, he pulled himself away from Ilya’s embrace, reaching for the device. 

“Shane,” Ilya chastised in exasperation, rubbing his side from where Shane had elbowed him in his haste to get away from their cuddle. Captured by his phone, Shane muttered an apology, shoulders deflating when he realized it was only a reaction to his message. He blew a raspberry, running a hand through his hair. Ilya sat up, placing a hand on his husband’s back. 

“Shane,” he repeated gently, rubbing his back in soothing strokes. “What’s wrong, solnyshko?”

Shane dropped his phone onto the table with a clatter, giving Ilya an incredulous look. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong is that our daughter looks like she hasn’t slept in days, despite both of us knowing she slept almost thirteen hours last night. What’s wrong is that our daughter feels like she can’t talk to us about anything.” Ilya nodded slightly, taking one of Shane’s shaking hands into his own steady palm. 

“Shane, I think you are maybe jumping to conclusions,” Ilya replied. Shane scoffed, standing up and pulling from Ilya’s grasp.

“Something is wrong, Ilya! Why aren’t you worried about it?”

“I hear you,” he started softly. “I do. I am worried. But pushing will not do anything helpful. You know this from the last time I had one of my own episodes. I exploded. Nadia will do the same.”

“Yeah, well I’d rather push and have her be mad at me than dead on the bathroom floor after swallowing a bottle of pills,” he snapped. Ilya stiffened as realization immediately dawned on Shane. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. “Ilya, I’m sorry— that wasn’t fair. I don’t— I’m sorry.” Slowly, Ilya exhaled, readjusting himself on the couch. 

“Apology accepted,” he responded after a long minute, keeping steady eye contact with Shane. The dark haired man shifted uncomfortably under Ilya’s watchful gaze. He cleared his throat, looking away as tears gathered in his eyes. 

“Shane,” Ilya whispered, holding his hand out, expression softening. Shane shook his head, clearing his throat once more. 

“I need space,” he managed to gasp, turning away from his husband, swiftly exiting the room and disappearing down the hall. Ilya heard the master bedroom door close with a click, enveloping the house in silence. 

Ilya ran a hand down his face, wondering where everything went so wrong. 

~

Nadia bid goodbye to Margot right at the beginning of lunch, turning the girl’s invitation to wait for her dads with her down. Maybe one day the idea of Margot meeting her family won’t wring out her stomach with nausea like a wet towel. 

So there she stood, alone at the curb by the front entrance, waiting quietly for her parents to pull up in their SUV. Much to her Papa’s faux chagrin, Nadia always thought Dad’s preference for safe and reliable cars was endearing. 

The rumble of tires on the pavement pulled Nadia’s gaze from her feet to the car in front of her. She waited for the car to come to a complete stop before she pulled the backdoor open and climbed into her seat. The door clicked shut, and Nadia finally looked up. 

Shane was in the driver’s seat, clearly aiming for nonchalance, but failing to conceal his worry and simmering frustration. Ilya, in the passenger seat, wasn’t even attempting to hide his concern. Nadia swallowed thickly. 

“Hi, ladybug,” Ilya greeted softly, offering a warm, worried smile. Nadia nodded in acknowledgement. 

“Hi, Papa. Hi, Dad,” she responded quietly, glancing at Shane. Shane took a deep breath before turning in his seat and smiling at Nadia, not-so-subtly looking her up and down. 

“Hi, baby. Your test went okay?” The sixteen-year-old nodded, buckling her seatbelt. She opened her mouth to say something else before closing it. Shane furrowed his brows, twisting a little further in his seat. 

“Nadia. What’s wrong?” Nadia felt panic well in her throat. She didn’t actually hurt herself this morning, but what if Shane knew she was close? What if, somehow, he knew about the rot consuming the perimeter of her stomach? Fuck, she was sick of hurting people. 

“Nothing, dad,” she answered, much more subdued than she intended. Ilya looked between the two warily, clearing his throat quietly. Shane’s frustration seemed to grow. 

“I don’t buy that, kiddo. You don’t need to lie to us,” he responded, raising a brow. Nadia bit the inside of her cheek, shoulders tense. A car behind them honked, presumably another parent picking up their kid. Shane waved an apology, shifting the car into drive and pulling out of the drop off zone. Nadia kept her gaze fixed out the window, watching the world pass as they drove. 

“Well?” Shane asked, glancing at the teenager through the rearview mirror. Ilya gave him a warning look. 

“Shane,” he uttered, glancing between his husband and his daughter, brows pinched with worry. Nadia narrowed her eyes slightly, unable to help the well of defense that brewed in her chest. It was the only tangible feeling in the abyss of her heart. 

“No,” Shane snapped, looking both ways through the intersection. “Nadia, we cannot help you if we don’t know what’s happening.”

That ticked the girl off. Nadia blinked once, dispelling the urge to blow up. Anger was something. Something other than despair. She refused to let it consume her. Therapy helped a lot. 

“I don’t need help,” she muttered to the glass, blinking away the sudden rush of tears that pressed against her eyelids. 

“What was that?” Shane asked, tone much harsher than he likely intended for it to be. That didn’t lessen the impact. 

“My loves—” Ilya started, holding up a placating hand. 

“I don’t need your fucking help!”

Okay, maybe therapy hasn’t helped enough. 

“I don’t fucking need your help, so just lay off, okay?! You’ve done enough meddling, I feel like I can’t fucking breathe around you, dad! Give me some fucking space!”

“Space?” Shane scoffed, rolling to a stop at a red light. He looked back at his daughter. “Heaven forbid I worry about you! Do you know how much sleep I lose every night because I’m scared you’ll cut yourself again?! Do you understand that your actions affect other people? I won’t let you drift away from me—” At that, Nadia opened the door and jumped out of the car, breaking into a run down the road. 

“Nadia!” She could hear Shane and Ilya shout from behind her amidst the honking of car horns. She ignored all of the noise, guilt swallowing her into its unforgiving darkness. Each slam of her feet against the pavement paired with the racing of her heart, creating a cacophony that was almost enough to distract her from the gut-wrenching regret in her stomach. Wind whipped her face, drying the tears as quickly as they fell. 

Nadia ran faster. 

~

Shane knew immediately he had fucked up. Hastily, he pulled the car into a parking lot, throwing it into park, and climbing out like it was on fire. Ilya followed suit, pulling out his phone and calling someone Shane didn’t care to ask about. The retired Metros player broke into a sprint in the direction his daughter ran, thinking very little of anything else. Behind him, he could hear Ilya shouting for him to stop, to think things through, but for once, Shane did not lead with his head. 

Shane followed the rhythmic thump of his feet on the pavement. 

His heart racing in his chest. 

Was Nadia okay?

Wind stinging his eyes, blurring his vision (or were those tears?). 

Car horns blaring, they wouldn’t be honking if they knew, he thought bitterly. 

Bitter, the only taste in his repertoire aside from self-loathing (why would you fucking push?)

Weak knees thud into May grass. When had he fallen?

God, Nadia better be safe.

Vision spinning and looping and which way is up?

Breath, lost somewhere along the road. Fuck. 

Fuck, why couldn’t he breathe?

Please, let me know if she’s safe.

Oh, fuck, he really couldn’t breathe. 

Nadia was the last thought on Shane’s mind when his world went dark. 

~

Upon reaching a park bench, Nadia collapsed against it, gripping her chest and doubling over, trying to catch her breath. All experience with breath control was rendered obsolete by her remorse. 

Fuck her for snapping at her dad. All he wanted was to help. 

He shouldn’t make it about himself, she thought for a bitter, fleeting moment. 

Isn’t it about him? Isn’t it about us all?

Fuck, okay, maybe therapy really was working. 

Panting ceasing, Nadia sat up and placed a hand on her stomach, encouraging her diaphragm to open with slow, intentional breaths. With a clearer head, Nadia realized just how big of a mistake she had made, running away like that. 

“Fuck,” she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. God, all Shane wanted was an explanation. And maybe Nadia was the problem because she couldn’t give him one. Not even the measly ‘I don’t know’ that was the truth. She really had a one way ticket to hell. 

Deep breath. Reframe. 

Logically, Nadia knew she was not beyond help. Last time she thought that, help came and she was a better person for it. It was just so fucking hard to accept it sometimes. Especially when these episodes came out of nowhere. 

It was frustrating, to feel your mind betray you. To feel fungus grow over your lungs even though you had just planted fresh flowers. To embrace the rotting muscle that insisted itself upon you. It was frustrating to see the mold spread onto everyone you loved. 

Depression, Nadia had discussed with her therapist, is a greedy illness. It takes until there’s no joy left. Until everything is a barren wasteland of rotten carcasses and decaying bones. 

Nadia was never alone in this wasteland. She often felt like she was, but she wasn’t. Not with a father like Ilya, who grew up in the midst of dead trees. Who understood intimately what it felt like to be reclaimed by the viscous mud. 

Not with a father like Shane, who devoted himself so entirely to his children. Who stepped into the rotting forest without a second thought, just so Nadia didn’t have to sit in it alone. Who sat unflinching in the face of an ugly, ugly illness, just so Nadia wasn’t by herself. Who devoted countless hours into researching how to help her get better. 

Fuck, Nadia loved him so much. He was entitled to his worry. She wouldn’t even know what to do if it were one of her kids suffering. 

That was enough to get Nadia off the bench. She wiped her face quickly, taking a moment to push her long blonde curls out of her face. Rolling her shoulders back, she took off in a light jog the same way she came. 

~

Ilya had never been more grateful that he was an athlete than he was at this moment. 

The instant Shane took off running down the road, Ilya rushed a brief explanation to Yuna before hanging up the phone and running after him. In his retirement, Ilya definitely was not as fit as he used to be, but cardio was good for his heart, and so he kept at it. 

Evidently, not as much as Shane. 

As Ilya ran across the road, he waved apologies to cars, wondering what the fuck was wrong with his husband. 

He had known something had been going on for at least a week or so, but this was entirely out of character. Shane was rarely impulsive— especially not when there was a risk of danger. 

Not when it came to their children. 

Ilya watched Shane about four hundred metres ahead of him, collapse to his knees in the park. His heart dropped to his feet. 

Somehow, Ilya runs faster, feet pounding against the ground. 

“Shane!” In his periphery, Ilya could see some pedestrians react to his voice, taking in the scene, and spotting Shane. Ilya collapsed next to Shane, immediately moving his husband’s head to his lap and smoothing his hair back from his face. The man’s breaths were steady, if a little quick.

Through the blood rushing in his ears, Ilya could hear one of the bystanders calling 9-1-1. He took a shaky breath, tenderly smoothing his thumb over his cheek. 

“Shane?” He murmured, voice shakier than he intended. “Shane, please.” Slowly, Shane stirred, coming back to consciousness. Ilya let out a heavy breath of relief, barely registering the tears rolling down his cheeks. 

“Shane? Can you hear me?”

“Ilya?” Fuck, Ilya wanted to sob in relief. He nodded, pushing down against Shane’s chest as he tried to sit up. 

“Right here, my love. Don’t move. There’s an ambulance on the way, okay? Just to get you checked out.” At that, Shane’s breath hitched. He managed a small nod. 

“Nadia?” He asked, voice raspy. A kind stranger handed Ilya an unopened water bottle. Ilya thanked them quietly, carefully lifting Shane’s head and helping him sip. Once the man had some water in him, Ilya laid him back down. 

“Nadia is okay,” he assured, voice filled with so much conviction, Shane couldn’t doubt him if he tried. “She ran off into the park. Probably to her favourite picnic spot. She’ll just need time to cool down.” Shane managed a nod. 

“She’s so mad at me.”

Ilya bit the inside of his cheek, gently running his fingers through Shane’s hair. “Drink some more water,” he urged. Shane narrowed his eyes, but obliged. 

Several minutes later, an ambulance was rolling up next to the couple, and two paramedics hopped out. One of them introduced herself, crouching down next to Shane and hooking him up to a blood pressure monitor. 

“Have you ever collapsed like this before?” She asked after completing a standard concussion check. Shane shook his head right as Ilya nodded. 

“No.”

“Yes.”

Shane furrowed his brows, looking up at Ilya from where he was resting against his shoulder. 

“What?”

Ilya ran his hand through Shane’s hair, exhaling slowly. “Once. When you were not eating. Right after we had Luka. You were working out on an empty stomach and you fainted.” Shane fell quiet, looking at the grass. The paramedic looked between the two of them, nodding slightly. 

“Okay, Shane. When was the last time you ate?” Ilya looked at his husband expectantly. Shane stubbornly kept his mouth shut. 

“Dad?” A frightened voice came from across the field. Shane looked up, eyes landing on Nadia. His shoulders slumped in relief after seeing her uninjured. The sixteen year old ran over to them, immediately dropping to her knees next to Shane. Her hands fluttered uselessly, wanting to touch but unsure if she was allowed. 

“What happened?” She demanded. “Papa, what happened?”

Shane sat up straighter, reaching for Nadia’s hands. “I just had a fall, baby. It’s okay, nothing is wrong—”

“Your father collapsed,” Ilya interrupted. “Went unconscious.”

“What?” Nadia asked in a shocked whisper, tears welling in her eyes. “Daddy, what?”

Shane glared at Ilya, gathering Nadia into his arms, ignoring the paramedics grumbling of messing around with her equipment. Shane held Nadia on his lap, arms tightly around her back. The teenager trembled in his embrace, trying and failing to hold back her tears. 

“Nadia, baby, I’m okay,” he whispered, pressing kisses to her hairline. “I did faint. But it’s nothing to worry about.” Ilya raised his eyebrows. 

“Shane. Is not nothing.”

Nadia let out a breathy, panicked sob. “Daddy, please tell me— what’s wrong?”

Shane rocked Nadia back and forth gently, holding Ilya’s gaze for a long moment. Ilya’s expression was one entirely of concern and grief. Shane swallowed around the lump in his throat. He gently smoothed his palm over Nadia’s curls. 

“This is not your fault,” he stated firmly, causing the sixteen year old to look up in confusion. Her eyes were brimming with tears, makeup already trickling down her face. Shane pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to her forehead. 

“I’m sorry for being overbearing. I am. I get… anxious. I get really anxious, especially around this time of year. Because of what happened when you were fourteen. The start of summer always reminds me of how close I was to losing you and—” Shane cut himself off with a choked cry. He looked down quickly. “I need help, baby. More help than you or Papa can give me. This… anxiety affects everything in my life. I can’t let it do that anymore.” Ilya nodded, his own eyes misty. He shifted closer to his husband and daughter, wrapping one arm around Shane’s back. Shane leaned into him, exhaling slowly. 

Nadia’s bottom lip trembled. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice breaking. “Daddy, I’m really sorry.” Shane shushed her, guiding Nadia’s head back to his shoulder. She went easily, sobs tumbling out of her throat. 

“You have nothing, nothing, to be sorry for, Nadia,” Shane murmured. Ilya cleared his throat, his free hand cradling the back of Nadia’s head. 

“That is not true, ladybug. You owe us an apology for running like this. You could’ve gotten hurt. You know better.” Nadia nodded quickly against Shane’s shoulder, still trembling with her sobs. 

“I do, I’m sorry!” Shane bit his lip, pressing a kiss to her forehead. His gaze met Ilya’s, who nodded assuringly at his husband. 

“You are forgiven. Is all in the past now, docha. You are okay.”

Nadia sniffled, rubbing her eyes furiously with her fists, forehead still resting on Shane’s shoulder. 

“I think I’m going through a depressive episode,” she confessed in a hushed whisper. Shane gave a small nod. 

“Okay, baby,” he whispered, still rocking the teenager back and forth slowly. He pressed another kiss to her temple. “Thank you for telling us. We’ll get you the help you need, okay?” 

Nadia lifted her head, brown eyes teary and red. Shane thought she was the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. 

“We’ll get you help too, okay?”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Shane nodded. “Okay.”

Wednesday, June 12th, 2047 - Ottawa, ON. 

The wood of the back deck was always warm this time of year, especially in the afternoon. The sun shone just right, warming the wood and making it pleasant to walk on barefoot. 

Shane sometimes forgot how much he loved the sun. 

He loved the warmth that persisted even in the snow. He loved the way it made Ilya’s eyes sparkle. He loved the way it brightened every freckle on Luka’s face. He loved the way it tanned Dimitri’s skin. He loved the way it made Nadia’s curls look like spun gold. 

Shane loved the sun. 

A loud bark interrupted his admiration, followed by three similarly bright laughs. 

Luka, Dimitri, and Nadia were running around the backyard before dinner, jumping around Anya like much younger children. If Shane had to guess, he would say they were playing some game of peek-a-boo. 

Soft, bare footsteps crossed the deck behind Shane. He wasn’t surprised when strong, warm arms wrapped around his waist. 

“Would you like to start the grill, or should I?” Shane leaned back into Ilya, holding onto the railing of the porch with his hands. He considered it for a moment. 

“Could you?” He asked after a moment, eyes fixed on his three little ones playing. Ilya hummed, pressing a kiss to Shane’s shoulder. 

“Da.” Shane smiled. 

“Could you put on two burgers for me?” A pause. Then, a series of kisses were pressed to Shane’s neck, with a final, firm kiss being pressed to his pulse point. 

“Of course. I’m proud of you,” Ilya whispered. Shane smiled, listening to Luka’s taunts and Nadia’s loud laugh. He didn’t answer Ilya verbally, instead leaning further into him and letting Ilya hold his weight for a moment. 

Everything would be okay.