Work Text:
Shane drops the kids off at theirs on Monday at 3:30pm.
Perhaps in true Hollander fashion, it takes him one hour and fifteen minutes to properly drop them off. Partially because he lets Yuna make him tea and partially because he goes over every bit of the kid’s schedules for the week (“Alina has soccer practise on Wednesday”, “Nikolai cannot miss his swim class Thursday morning, it’s important!”), reminds her of Niko’s schedule and how important it is that he has set regular mealtimes (as if she doesn’t know), plus a very, very in-depth conversation about screentime.
“Shane,” Yuna says, her voice soft and firm in the way she has perfected over the years. His hands curl around his mug. “You know I have raised a whole child before, right? And you turned out pretty okay.”
Shane ducks his head, a grin tugging on the corner of his mouth. Yuna’s hand moves across the table and wraps around his. She squeezes it twice, one for reassurance and one for good luck.
She knows he’s terrified of leaving the kids for so long. Because he’s Shane, and he has meticulously planned every day of their lives and had back-up plans for the back-up plans. And also because he spent far too long going down rabbit holes of research for infant death.
“They’ll be okay, Shane.”
“I know,” he breathes. “I know. I’m leaving them with you, aren’t I?”
She gives his hand a third squeeze, just because.
Despite his insistence that everything was fine, it still took Shane twenty minutes to properly say goodbye to them. He hugs them tight, tells them to be good, reminds Alina that her soccer kit is in her bag and that she has to eat what grandma cooks her. He gives Nikolai three kisses on the head and then Alina tugs his jacket so he has to give her another kiss to make it even and reminds them both that he loves them so, so, so much.
By the time his car pulls out of the drive, Yuna has Niko on her hip, Alina waving after an empty road, and the complete confidence that the next week is going to be just fine.
To her credit, the first day is completely fine. The kids wake up fairly late, eat the breakfast she makes them. Alina scribbles in a colouring book while asking Yuna what her favourite ocean animal is, Niko spends the morning building towers, knocking them down and pulling on Alina’s shirt to get her to play with him. He struggles when Yuna puts him down for his morning nap, whining and reaching for his blocks, and she has to laugh at it.
“Your daddy was the same whenever I tried to get him down,” she murmurs. That stops his squirming, his eyes widening when he hears the word ‘daddy’. Yuna smiles and keeps rubbing circles onto his back. “Oh yeah. Used to cry and push me because I wouldn’t let him keep running around.” Nikolai babbles and, despite his earlier fussing, leans more heavily onto her shoulder.
Something tugs at her heart, something unexpected. If she closed her eyes, the weight in her arms could be Shane. Down to the rhythmic thumping against his tiny back. Don’t get her wrong, she wouldn’t trade the Shane she has now for the world. Open, free, owning his dream and surrounded by more love than he’ll ever know what to do with. She’s so proud of the man he’s become it kills her. But she’ll admit iy; the silence in the house still unsettles her.
If she could have one more night of wrestling Shane into his pyjamas and carrying that crying, overtired little boy up for a nap, she would take it in a heartbeat.
“Don’t tell me you torment your Daddy like this, do you?” There’s a small murmur against her neck as his breathing evens out, and Yuna is surprised she asked. “Of course you do.”
Small issues aside, the day keeps going well. After lunch, Yuna takes them to the playground downtown. Alina runs straight to the climbing frame while Yuna takes Nikolai to the sandbox. There, she can watch him digging and make sure he doesn’t put sand in his mouth, while also keeping an eye on Alina. The kid is just as bad as her Papa sometimes; she runs up the slide, hangs off the edge by her fingertips, jumps from lengths that definitely should not be jumped from and gets up laughing. Yuna’s heart jumps every time and she has to wonder how Shane and Ilya manage it. Keeping her eye on Shane was more than challenging, even between her and David.
Two of them? It’s a wonder Shane hasn’t gone grey yet.
She waits until they’re fully tired out to bundle them into the car. Niko makes it five steps before asking to be carried, and Alina wraps her hand around Yuna’s and presses into her side.
They eat the curry Yuna made for dinner with little complaint, they watch cartoons with only one fight over what to watch.
After Alina goes to bed, Yuna opens a bottle of white wine and takes a moment to congratulate herself. This grandparenting thing was a lot easier than she thought it would be.
She is proven wrong at 5:27am the next day. The creak of her door wakes her up, followed by two small hands on her shoulder.
“Grandma?”
“I’m here, honey.” She rubs her eyes as they open. Alina stands beside her bed, her hair escaping her braid, her little chest heaving and tear tracks on her face. Her face is pale, the same greyish pallour Shane used to get when-
“Oh, darling.”
“I puked in the bathroom!” Then she dissolves into tears.
Yuna is up immediately and scooping the little girl against her chest. Sheets rustle beside her and suddenly David is sitting up too, his arm coming around hers and resting on Alina’s shoulders.
“We got an emergency?” Yuna nods and before she can get another word in, he kisses her hair and pushes the sheets back. “I’ll clean up the bathroom. You get her down.”
Damn it, she loves that man.
Yuna carries her sobbing grandbaby into the en suite and switches the light on. Alina grumbles, one fist coming up to rub her eye. Yuna can see the puke stains on her top now, the sticky remains around her mouth. She wets a washcloth and wipes at her mouth, only to wince at the warmth radiating off her. She handled enough of Shane’s fevers over the years to know one.
“Okay baby,” she whispers as she finishes cleaning up her face. “Let’s get you into some fresh jammies, okay?”
“I want Daddy and Papa!” she sobs.
“I know sweetheart. But they’re in bed right now.” She smooths Alina’s hair away from her crumpling face, her little chin wobbling the exact way Shane’s used to. They are T-minus 10 seconds from a meltdown if Yuna doesn’t come up with something.
David appears in the doorway, like the saviour he is, her filled water bottle in one hand and what looks like a fresh t-shirt thrown over his arm.
“Okay, bathroom’s all cleaned up.” He lowers himself to Alina’s height. She’s still sobbing, her breath coming in sharp, rapid hitches even when David puts his hand on her back. “Hey kiddo. I know your daddy probably packed another pair of PJs for you. But… I found this and thought you might want it instead.”
He hands Yuna the water bottle and unravels the shirt on his arm. Despite everything, Yuna has to smile. It’s Shane’s old, old Junior Hockey League t-shirt from when he first started. It’s spent years tucked away in the back of his drawer; he didn’t take it when he moved out. He probably hasn’t worn it since he was what, 11 or 12?
“You want it?” David asks softly.
Alina nods, half-leaning on Yuna.
Once they’ve got her cleaned and rinsed her mouth and wrapped in Shane’s old t-shirt, Alina can barely keep her eyes open. Yuna lifts her onto her hip, grunting a little against the weight of a 6-year-old. She’s still spry, but not as much as she used to be. David’s hand is on her shoulders to keep her steady, his other cupping Alina’s elbow.
“We’re in for a fun night,” he sighs as they settle Alina in their bed. Yuna wonders if he’s remembering the same thing she is; a sick Shane wedged between them, wriggling and tossing in a fruitless attempt to get comfortable. Even now, the way Alina curls into a ball, it could be 1998 right now.
Yuna lets out a slow breath and settles herself back down. Alina whimpers and reaches out until her fingers wrap around Yuna’s hand. She squeezes back, softly, carefully, the way she learned how to do it with Shane.
“Taking shifts then?” she asks.
The alarm goes off at 7:30, just like it does every morning. Yuna dozed off about half an hour ago. Alina’s temperature has risen a little during the night, the roots of her hair now damp. She wakes up when Yuna tries to get out of bed, brown eyes bleary and crusted with sleep.
Breakfast is difficult. She doesn’t even try with the table and instead lets Alina curl up on the couch, blanket wrapped around her shoulders while she picks at watered-down oatmeal. Which, of course, means that Niko sees her and demands to sit on the couch too, pulling at her blanket and jumping on top of her with all the enthusiasm a one-year-old can manage. This makes Yuna’s attempt to make her take some medicine significantly harder.
“Alina,” she says firmly while David carries Niko off to the table again. The kid whines at being pulled away from his sister, although it’s made better when David makes dinosaur noises for him. “Alina, sweetie, you have to take it.”
“No!” The gir rolls onto her side and presses her face into the back of the couch. Yuna takes a slow breath, in for ten, out for ten. If she hadn’t been in this exact situation two decades ago, she may well be losing it.
“Shane. Come here, baby.” Her voice is firm as she grabs Shane by his arm, shifting him carefully from the couch to her knees. Shane tries weakly to push her away, a high-pitched whine punctuating his attempts. If he were more himself, he would maybe keep it in more, prove that he’s not a baby anymore. As it stands, he has a 38 degree fever.
Rather than fighting back, Yuna lets him exhaust himself, waits until the last of his energy is spent and his head is pressed against her shoulder. Little tears fall onto her collarbone, and Yuna knows it’s not a tantrum. Her boy doesn’t cry, not if he can help it.
“I don’t like it.”
“I know it tastes bad, sweetheart,” she says.
It’s an ongoing thing with Shane, where certain tastes and textures will send him into a panic. The school and his pediatrician just keep waving her off and saying he’s just particular. Yuna is less certain.
“I know it tastes bad,” she says again. “But you have to take it if you want to get better.” Shane’s response is a quiet ‘hmph’. She runs her fingers through his hair, and in return he winds the string of her top around his finger, small breaths hiccuping against her chest. A small smile tugs on her lips, an idea unfurls in her mind. “Do you want to go to hockey on Saturday?”
He nods so quickly she worries she’ll have to grab the bowl again.
“Then you need to take it.” With the efficiency of someone who has done this 100 times, Yuna measures out the medicine one-handed and holds it out to Shane. Brown eyes peek up at her, still wet with tears but trusting. If a little annoyed that she’s won. “Come on. The sooner you do it the sooner it’s over.”
So Shane takes it. He takes it with a grimace and a whine, and wraps his arm around her until the shudder passes.
But he’s taken it, so Yuna can put it away until the inevitable next battle in a few hours.
“Alina.” Her tone is much the same, firm and unmoving, her hand resting above Alina’s stomach. The girl whimpers and shakes her head. “Alina Hollander-Rozanov. You can either spend all week on this couch and I can explain to your daddy when he comes home why you’re still sick. Or you can take the medicine now. Your choice.”
There’s a quiet scratching sound as she turns around, dark hair falling in front of her face. Somewhere in that jumble there’s a hairtie, probably in danger of becoming a permanent feature.
“Do you want me to braid your hair again?” Alina nods. “Okay. First, you have to take the medicine, okay? Big breath, you can do it.”
She looks at the bottle in Yuna’s hand, her blanket held tight in both hands as she weighs up her options. She recoils from it on instinct, as if Yuna’s holding something poisonous and she can tell, if only for a minute, that she’s considering pressing her face into the cushion and starting the damn dance all over again.
Instead, she nods, and Yuna tries not to sigh too audibly.
“Okay. Here we go, kiddo.”
She coughs and splutters while taking it, but Yuna retires the tough act and kisses her head and tells her she’s done such a good job.
“Can you braid my hair now?” she asks weakly.
“Of course I can. Then we’ll call your dad and papa, okay?”
Calling Shane is delayed by Alina throwing up again, this time from drinking her water too fast. Yuna works quickly, wiping her mouth and getting her a fresh blanket while David rinses out the bowl and refills her water. Niko watches from his playpen, one chubby hand reaching out as he calls for “Lina!”.
Just before Yuna steps into the hall, she sees Alina reach back and call his name, and the tiny toddler laugh fills the air.
Shane picks up on the third ring.
“Hey Mom.”
“Hey, honey. How’s the beach?”
“It’s amazing,” he sighs. “We just came back from breakfast and we’re heading out in a bit. How are my little terrors doing?”
“Well that’s what I was calling you about.” She feels Shane tense on the other end of the line. “They’re fine, Shane. It’s just Alina. She’s come down with something.”
“Come down with something?” There’s an edge to his voice now, hard and blunt in a way that makes Yuna regret calling him. But he would want to know, and she promised Alina. “Come down with what?”
“Breathe, Shane,” she says. “It’s just a bug. She’s got a temperature and she can’t really keep food down right now. She took some medicine about twenty minutes ago.”
“Oh my god- can I talk to her?”
“Of course. One second.” Switching to FaceTime, she re-enters the kitchen to find David on the couch with her, rubbing circles into her back. “Alina. Guess who’s on the phone for you-”
“Daddy!” She reaches out with both arms, her voice as full as it can be when she’s this tired. Yuna deposits the phone carefully into her hands and positions herself on the arm of the couch. Shane’s face fills the screen, the hotel room behind him. “Daddy!”
“Oh, baby girl, what’s wrong with you?”
“I puked in Grandma’s toilet!”
From there, Yuna sits back and lets Shane go into full parent-mode. He asks her all manner of questions, tells her he misses her so much. It only gets worse when Ilya emerges from the bathroom, and Shane fills him in on everything. Ilya asks every question Shane just asked, this time punctuated with Russian nicknames.
“Okay, do you think you can pass the phone back to grandma for a second, Bean?” Shane eventually asks her. Alina frowns and shakes her head. “Just for a little minute, okay? I promise I’ll come back and say goodbye to you.” Her lower lip pokes out, eyes beginning to fill with tears. “Alina, it’s grandma’s phone, you have to give it to her.”
Somehow, that gets through to her, and she relinqushes it with a pout.
“Thank you for calling us.” Yuna steps back into the hallway again, closing the door softly behind her..
“She’ll be okay, Shane,” she tells him.
“And if she’s not-”
“Getting better in 48 hours then we’ll go to the doctor, yes.” Shane nods, his fingers tapping against the wood of the dressing table. Ilya’s hand is on his back, and he says something Yuna can’t quite make out. Their eyes meet, and for a few seconds, they do that unspoken-communication thing they love to do.
“Mom, maybe we should come back early,” Shane says. “If she’s sick, she might need us.”
“No. You two have fun and enjoy your vacation. We’ve got everything under control here.”
“But Mom-”
“Don’t ‘but Mom’ me,” she tells him. “Look, you two only get two weeks off a year. You deserve a vacation. Alina just has a stomach bug. She’ll be okay.”
Shane goes quiet then. Half of Ilya’s face appears in the camera, his arm wrapping around Shane’s. He murmurs something to him, blue eyes wide, and despite the uncertainty on both their faces, Shane nods.
“Okay. Just hand us back so we can say goodbye to her, and we’ll Facetime her again tonight, okay?”
“Okay, sweetheart.”
“And Mom, one more thing,” Shane asks. “Are you still using the big white bowl to catch puke in?”
“Of course I am,” she says. “It’s not broke, so I’m not fixing it.”
Shane laughs at that.
They spend another twenty minutes on the phone talking to Alina. Shane takes special care to remind her to be good for them.
“And if Grandma tells you to do something then you do it okay, Bean?” he tells her. “She knows what’s best for you. I don’t want to come back in a week and hear that you were arguing with her when she was making you feel better.”
“Okay Daddy,” she says tiredly.
“She’s been a very good girl for me,” Yuna adds, deciding to hold the medicine anecdote until Shane comes back. She runs her fingers over Alina’s hair.
Alina nods half-heartedly, her eyes already falling closed.
With a knowing smile, Yuna carefully pulls the phone out of Alina’s hand and David pulls the blanket over her.
“Thank you for taking care of her, Mom.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Yuna says. “We’ve got her. Meanwhile there is a little boy stuck in a playpen over there who has been waiting very patiently but if I don’t give him this phone in the next thirty seconds he might start screaming-”
“Nikolai!” Ilya calls out. “Where’s my baby?”
And little Niko lets out the biggest, loudest, most excitement-filled “PAPA!” any toddler has let out. Alina sleeps right through it.
Maybe it’s because she’s done it before, maybe it’s because they’ve become used to thinking on their feet, but building a routine around Alina’s illness is easier than they thought it owuld be. They’ve very quickly delegated responsibilities; whenever Alina pukes, David takes the bowl, rinses it out and refills her water if needed, often while balancing Niko on his hip. Meanwhile, Yuna helps her rinse out her mouth, dries her tears, and gets her settled back on the couch.
David prepares three different dinners while Yuna refreshes the cold cloth on the back of Alina’s neck and wakes Niko from his nap. David gets him settled in the highchair and gets him eating mashed potato and salmon while Yuna stays on the couch and coaxes Alina to eat some soup, persisting gently when she shakes her head just the way she used to with Shane.
It takes almost a full hour, but at least she’s eaten something.
When she sits down at the kitchen table, the kids half-watching a cartoon in the living room, David sets a plate of food and glass of water in front of her.
“We have nothing stronger?” she jokes. He huffs a laugh and strokes her hair.
“Not til the kids are asleep.” She turns around, but his hand is on her shoulder. “I’ve got them. You eat.”
“I love you,” she sighs.
Alina’s retching cuts the conversation short.
That night, they don’t bother with her bed. They just about convince her to change her shirt, because there’s vomit stains down the front of it. She stubbornly refuses, tears pooling in her brown eyes and little fists bunching up the fabric, until David carries her to Shane’s old bedroom, his voice low so he doesn’t wake Niko in the crib. Meanwhile, Yuna throws the old shirt, as well as the duvet cover and pillow she was using, into the machine and makes a note to deal with it first thing tomorrow.
When David deposits Alina in their bed, sound asleep and swamped in an old Ottawa Centaurs t-shirt Shane got for his 9th birthday, a knot forms in her throat.
She runs her finger along Alina’s knuckles.
“What are you thinking about?” David asks.
So many things.
“How we were right to get him that Centaurs shirt in the end,” she says. “The way it all worked out.”
David kisses her head, and after a second’s hesitation, presses a kiss to Alina as well.
The next day begins with a run to the bathroom. It’s more bile than anything else; she hardly has anything in her to throw up. Just as they did the day before, David sets her up with a pillow and blanket before getting Niko from his crib.
While she’s at the stove making breakfast, a small patter of bare feet on tile gets Yuna’s attention.
“You okay, sweetie?”
“Grandma,” she begins. She’s ditched the blanket and carries her stuffed monkey around, his paw in her mouth. “Can I still go to soccer today?”
“Oh baby.” Turning the stove off again, she crosses the room and bends down to meet her. Her cheeks are still flushed, her temperature not rising but not improving either. She was up three times last night and poor thing looks it. “I’m sorry honey, but you have to miss soccer today.”
“No!” she whines.
Maybe Yuna should have expected this.
Shane wasn’t in bed. Her kid, who had just violently thrown up his meagre dinner and had a 38-degree fever and needed to be carried everywhere the past day, was not in bed.
Instead, he was standing at his drawers in his Superman pyjamas, half-heartedly pulling out his hockey jersey.
Worst of all, he didn’t even look surprised when Yuna closed the door. Just looked up at her with those big brown eyes of his. Big brown eyes that were right now, bleary and struggling to focus on her.
“Sweetie, what are you doing?”
“Getting m’hockey stuff.” It came out as a soft murmur, and Yuna repressed a sigh. She walked over to where Shane was and gently closed the drawer, persisting when he began shaking his head and tugging at the jersey.
“We’re not going to hockey today.”
“Yeah I am,” he replied. He pulled the drawer, grunting a little when it didn’t budge.
Yuna inhaled slowly. Of course Shane would remember that he has hockey tonight, despite him being sick as a dog for the past 48 hours. And of course, he would decide that he was definitely going, illness be damned.
“Shane. Look at me, Shane.” He refused to, eyes trained stubbornly on his jersey sleeve. “You’re sick. You can’t play hockey when you’re sick.”
“Yeah I can.”
“You’ll make yourself worse baby.”
“No I won’t!” he whined. Tears pooled in his eyes and Yuna saw they were on course for a meltdown.
He had his heart set on this. Something Yuna had learned early about her son is that when he has his heart set on something, it doesn’t budge.
Tough love it is, then.
“Okay, sweetie, I’ll make you a deal. I’m going to go to the end of the hall. And if you can walk over to me without tripping or falling or stumbling, we can go to hockey. Deal?”
Shane looked up through his fringe. He needed a haircut, but that’s for another day. He pouted at her, then nodded, small shoulders already straightening.
As promised, Yuna walked to the end of the hall and called out to Shane that she was ready. There was a moment where nothing happens, then he poked his head outside his room and began his march towards her.
Four steps in and he stumbled. Two more and he started rubbing his eye. After another ten seconds, he wobbled, and Yuna rushed towards him before he can do any real damage.
He let out a low whine as she scooped him up, trying to weakly wiggle out of her grasp. True to form, he didn’t stop as she carried him to his room and sits down on the bed with him.
“No hockey today, Shane. I’m going to call the coach and tell him you’re sick.”
“Noooo!” he cries. Yuna sighed, runs her hand through his hair and feels the heat coming off his skin. Her heart hurt, because underneath it all, he was upset. Shane came alive on the ice in a way he never does anywhere else. When those tears ran down his cheeks, yes, it’s because he wasn’t getting his way and because he felt terrible and was exhausted, but Yuna knew there’s something else there too.
She let him cry until there was a wet patch on her shirt, until he ran out of anger and mumbles “I want to play hockey” into her shoulder. She rubbed his back and kissed his hair and pulled the bucket close by in case he made himself puke.
“I know, sweetheart, I’m sorry.”
That episode really should have prepared her for when Alina appears in the hallway hours later, actually in her soccer kit. Kudos to her.
Yuna knew she should’ve kept her on the couch.
“Where do you think you’re going, sweetheart?”
“Soccer.” She tries to hide her cough in her sleeve and resumes her attempt to pull her hair into a haphazard ponytail. “Can you do my hair, please?”
“Your dads raised you with such good manners,” she mutters. Then she steps toward her and crouches to her level. Her cheeks are still flushed, the tiredness evident on her face. She shifts from one foot to the other, rubs her eye absentmindedly. Yuna reckons if they did drive to her soccer practise, she’d fall asleep in the car.
“Sorry, sweetie. I told you, no soccer today.”
“But I have to go,” she says. She stomps her little sock-clad foot against the linoleum in a way that definitely would’ve got her a reminder about manners under normal circumstances.
“It’s okay to miss one week, Alina.”
She shakes her head, her eyebrows knitted together the way Shane always used to when he was upset.
Decades apart and yet here she is, back in the same place.
“Okay sweetie, tell me this. Does your dad make you eat before soccer?”
“Papa does.”
“Okay, what does Papa make you?” She goes quiet for a bit, her jaw set as she thinks.
“Sandwich.”
“Okay. And you need to eat the sandwich so you have energy to run around, yeah?” Alina nods again. Her fingers have found their way to her mouth. Her eyes move involuntarily to Yuna’s knee as if she’s debating sitting there. “So you’re telling me if I made you a chicken sandwich now, you could eat it without throwing up?”
That catches her. Her brown eyes widen, and her skin turns a shade paler just at the thought of food. A small whimper escapes her, and Yuna feels a stab of guilt.
When she nods, it’s half-hearted, and Yuna does pull her onto her knee.
“I’m sorry kid,” she says again. “I’m going to call your coach and let her know you’re sick-” She’s interrupted by a high-pitched whine. “And that you’ll be back next week, okay?”
She rests her head on Yuna’s shoulder with a small huff. She needs some more medicine soon, given how warm she is, but that can wait.
“I want to go now,” she mumbles. Because she’s Shane’s kid, and her granddaughter. She runs around a soccer pitch with the same ferocity Shane skates with. Because Shane managed to create a little female clone of himself and gave her to Yuna for a week.
Oh, her heart cannot take it.
When Shane FaceTimes that evening, she makes sure to tell him about the soccer episode. Alina is lying on the couch, blanket draped over her and another washcloth on her neck. Yuna says there’s someone on the phone for her, and the kid goes from miserable to delighted in seconds flat.
“Hey, pretty girl.”
“Daddy!” she gasps. “You going out?”
“Yeah, me and Papa are going to get dinner.” They’re both dressed up to go out, Ilya in the bathroom putting the finishing touches on his hair. “I heard you tried to run away to soccer, naughty girl.”
“Not naughty,” she mumbles.
“Wonder who she got it from,” Yuna says, loud enough for Shane to hear. It goes straight over Alina’s head, and gets a laugh out of Ilya.
“Daddy, I’m watching your game!”
“Oh yeah?” Shane asks. “Which one?”
“All Star,” she says. “Florida.” She smiles into her blanket. “The one where Papa gives you a big kiss.”
“Oh, like this?” Ilya asks, and then he plants a huge, wet kiss on Shane’s cheek. Shane’s laugh bursts through the speaker, muffled by static and matched by Alina’s giggles.
“You’re the worst,” Shane mumbles. “Alina, Papa’s annoying me, so I’m not taking him to dinner anymore.”
“You wound me, Hollander. Alina, tell him that’s bad.”
“Daddy that’s bad.”
While her boys talk to Alina on the screen, Yuna’s eyes move up to the TV on the wall. They’re at the exact moment Ilya passes the puck to Shane, and the whole crowd roars when Shane shoots it to the back of the net.
The Ilya on the TV does indeed, plant a huge kiss on the side of Shane’s helmet. She looks at Alina, and watches her whole face light up at it.
After that day, the worst finally seems to be over. Alina still sleeps in their bed, and Yuna wakes up to find her temperature has gone down significantly. She manages to keep her breakfast down and, aside from falling asleep on the couch around 10am, she’s much more alert than normal.
Sure, getting her to take medicine remains an uphill battle and she still coughs like she’s hacking up a lung, but her eyes have more of a spark in them this time around.
When dinner comes around, she drags herself to the table rather than the couch and eats half the plate. Which is a step up from yesterday and while they have a bit of a scare, she manages to keep it down again.
She’s still lethargic, still falls asleep before her usual bedtime, in Shane’s old t-shirt. But when David carries her upstairs, she’s significantly more peaceful than she was before.
Yuna wakes up the next morning when her alarm goes off. Alina is starfished across the bed, one arm flung over Yuna’s chest, one foot pressed into David’s stomach.
(Shane used to sleep like that too. He’d take up the entire bed if he could)
Most importantly, the flush in her cheeks is gone, her breathing is deep and even. Yuna shares a small smile with David over the top of her head and the two let out a breath they’d been holding since… well, since early Tuesday morning.
A few days later, Shane’s car is pulling into the drive. Alina doesn’t notice at first, too busy trying to best David at soccer, but when she does, she drops everything and barrels towards the car before Shane can even park it, a loud “Daddy! Papa!” filling the afternoon air.
Shane gets out of the car mere seconds before she reaches it. He catches her with one arm and lifts her up into the air, little legs dangling as he kisses her cheek.
“Oh I missed you, Princess,” he tells her.
“I missed you too, Daddy.” She taps his cheek. “Dad, I got to wear your t-shirts.”
“You did?” He scrunches his face in confusion. “But-but I’m wearing my t-shirt.” He tugs on the white shirt he has on. “You’re telling me you wore this? You stole my t-shirts?”
“No!” she giggles. “Your like, your old, old t-shirt. Grandpa found it.”
“Oh he did, did he?” Alina nods, her eyes bright and dimples indenting in her cheeks. With the way Shane smiles at her now, she could well be looking in a mirror.
“Oh no, this cannot be right,” Ilya says as he comes around the car. “We must be at the wrong house. I left a little baby here. Who is this big girl I’m seeing now?”
“Papa!” she shrieks, and Shane grins and hands her over to Ilya while he goes over to where Niko is running towards him.
“Hi baby,” he coos. Niko reaches both hands up and winds them around Shane’s neck. Shane lifts him up and presses him against his side before pressing kisses to his dark hair. “Oh, I missed you so much, big boy.”
With the kids having had their own reunion, Yuna climbs off her chair, her book abandoned on the table. Shane pulls her into a one-handed hug, still expertly balancing Niko on his hip.
“Thank you so much for taking them,” he says again. “Especially with Princess over there.” He nods in the direction of Alina, who is currently bouncing up and down because Ilya told her they brought her presents. Hard to believe this was the same girl who cried into her shoulder because she was too sick to go to soccer.
“It was nothing, Shane. Really.” She looks over at Alina and finds her dragging Ilya towards the grass so he can play with her. Shane’s expression is so soft, so peaceful. His eyes are actually shining as he watches them.
“I know she can be a bit of a handful when she’s sick,” he says quietly.
“Well, I had a lot of practice at that,” she replies. Shane’s smile tells her he knows exactly what she means, and that he knows she wouldn’t have them any other way.