Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It was much too early to be woken up, Shane thought as he frowned bitterly at his husband. For some god-forsaken reason, Ilya had decided that shaking him desperately by the shoulders at- he checked the clock on the nightstand- four in the morning, was a great idea.

“Ilya…” he groaned, the only protest he could manage at that hour. “What do you want? We have practice later.”

Ilya was smiling. For a second, Shane lost himself, focused on the way the moonlight wrapped around his cheekbones, making him look angelic. He quickly recalibrated.

“I’m not going to fuck you, Hollander. This is important.”

Without another word, Ilya handed him his phone.

Shane blinked rapidly at it before his vision adjusted, and when it did, he stared at the screen.

-begin of chat-

Shane looked at Ilya, incredulous. “Holy shit.”

“I know, is crazy.”

“Wait.” Shane turned his head to his husband, a suspicious look in his eye. “How did you know she texted?”

“Light sleeper. Call her.”

Shane wasn’t too convinced.

“We’ll talk about this later,” he decided. And then, before he could overthink it, Shane pressed the call button.

“Hello, Social Services, this is Linda Harris speaking.”

“Hey, Linda. It’s Shane. Hollander…” He threw a nervous glance at Ilya, who gave him a very unhelpful thumbs-up.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, did I wake you?”

“No, no. I mean- yes, but don’t worry about it. I’m more interested in hearing what you had to say.”

On the other side of the line, Linda sighed. “We’ve been keeping an eye on a family for suspected child abuse for a while, and about three hours ago, the daughter called us.”

Shane tried not to let the fear and hurt he felt for the girl show on his face, but Ilya still got closer. He nudged Shane with his shoulder and motioned to the phone. Shane put it on speaker.

“We managed to get her out of there, but she refused to come with us unless we guaranteed we had someone safe she could stay with, and most foster parents don’t want to take in older kids.”

Ilya spoke before Shane could formulate his answer.

“How old is she? We take her no problem, but we need to get her room ready if she’s coming now.”

Shane almost got whiplash as he turned to face him. Fuck, with every passing day, Shane only loved Ilya Rozanov more.

“She’s sixteen...” She paused. “You don’t have to take her, although I’d be immensely grateful if you did. She would be too.”

Shane got up slowly, still stiff with sleep. “Where is she? We’ll pick her up.”

“Yes, get documents ready so she stays with us,” Ilya added.

“Alright! I’ll send you the location and get her ready to meet you.”

-

The drive to the station was quick and unbearably tense. Shane had hastily thrown some covers on the guest room bed and some towels in the closet, making sure that their new foster would have all the things she’d need for tonight within reach before Ilya physically dragged him to the car and started driving.

Shane had wanted to be the one driving because Ilya always drove at concerning speeds, but he didn’t protest this time. Both he and his husband were aware of his rapid pulse and bouncing leg that wouldn’t have done well in traffic. Besides, driving calmed Ilya down.

Not ten minutes later, Shane almost jumped out of the vehicle the second it was parked, with Ilya following close behind.

They stopped when they reached the door, where Linda was standing in front of a girl who looked to be about 5’5, with tan skin and bruises forming on her face.

Shane was going to be sick.

Ilya stroked his knuckles with his thumb, and Shane squeezed his hand in return. It didn’t feel very comforting when this girl was clearly in pain in front of them, but Shane knew how familiar Ilya was with the sight.

He’d seen it on himself a million times.

“Mr. Hollander, Mr. Rozanov,” Linda said, shaking each of their hands. “Thank you again for coming out here tonight.”

Even with the tension in his chest, that made Ilya snort. “We came out years ago. Now we are here to get, uh...” He threw a questioning gaze at the girl, who hunched her shoulders on instinct.

“Oh, my apologies,” Linda said quickly. “This is Sofía Antonia Dulcinea Amezquita, your new foster!” She then turned to Sofía, who was glaring daggers at her. “Sofía, this is Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov, your foster parents for the moment.”

Sofía looked them up and down with a feigned look of disinterest. Ilya could see the fear in her eyes and didn’t miss the way her jaw was locked shut, like she was trying not to scream, and he recognized that look to a burning degree. His brother had had the same one plastered on his face at his mother’s funeral, and ever since then, Ilya hadn’t had anyone left.

He didn’t want this girl to have the same fate.

Next to him, Shane and Linda were speaking in rapid-fire French.

”D'accord, alors. J'ai la plupart de ses documents prêts, mais je ne sais pas si ça vous tente de rester ici à écrire des millions de signatures.””Okay, so. I have most of her documents at the ready, but I don't know if you guys are willing to sit here for hours writing millions of signatures.”

Shane waved a dismissive hand. ”Ne vous en faites pas. De toute façon, je me réveille habituellement à cinq heures, et Ilya et moi étions vraiment excités de recevoir cette nouvelle. Sofía mérite tout notre temps.”Shane waved a dismissive hand. ”Don't worry about it. I usually wake up at five anyway, and Ilya and I were really excited to receive this news. Sofía deserves all of our time.”

Linda smiled at him before looking over at Ilya and Sofia, who were trying really hard not to look like they were side-eyeing them. ”Je suis contente que vous soyez venus pour elle. Elle a besoin de bonnes personnes en qui elle peut avoir confiance dans sa vie.”Linda smiled at him before looking over at Ilya and Sofia, who were trying really hard not to look like they were side-eyeing them. ”I'm glad you guys showed up for her. She needs good people whom she can trust in her life.”

”Ouai,””Yeah,” Shane agreed. He threw his own glance at Sofía, who didn't look too pleased to be sitting in a random parking lot.

He turned to his husband. “Ilya, will you two go ahead? There's a lot of paperwork.”

Ilya looked at him like he'd eaten an entire raw fish, slowly turned his head in sync with Sofía until they were staring at each other, and dragged his eyes back to Shane's.

“What, you-"

“Please? I'll be fine.”

“Fine, but I'll pick you up after. And no training today.”

“Okay.” He sent Ilya what he hoped was a reassuring smile and let his own shoulders drop when his face lit up.

He'll be fine. They'll be fine. He will sign these documents, and then he and Ilya will officially be fosters.

Hayden was going to explode at the news.

-

Ilya wasn't doing too great.

For one, he was not, in any way, shape or form, the type of person to brush off a night devoid of sleep.

Maybe he shouldn't have stayed up all night playing Clash of Clans on his phone.

For two, he had an emo teenager in his car. What the hell was he supposed to do with that?

Between focusing on the road, not traumatizing his new child, and remembering that he's supposed to make conversation, Ilya wasn't too disappointed in himself when he found he didn't have many hot topics to bring up.

“Are you hungry? I want to stop for food.”

He looked at her in the rearview mirror. She looked torn, like one answer would grant her pain, and the other suffering.

Ilya hated to see her like that.

“You have to be hungry, yes? Don't worry, I am millionaire. We can go to McDonald and I will buy you anything you want.”

He tried to keep his eyes on the road as he said it, but kept a smile on his face, in case Sofía was watching him. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do or to say, and Sofía wasn't going to give him chances. Furthermore, he could only imagine how shitty he would feel if it were him sitting in the back of the car, with bruises caused by his dad growing on his face.

-

The stop at McDonald's didn't last long, and before he knew it, Ilya was shaking his shoes off. Sofía was behind him, munching on her last fries and standing in the doorway.

He raised his eyebrows at her. “Well? You can come in, do not be afraid.” She took a step in and closed the door, but didn't move any further.

“You have тапочкиslippers ready for you over there,” he said, pointing to the shoe rack at Sofía's left. “That is, uh. What is word…”

Ilya hated it when he couldn't remember English words. It made him look stupid and not sorted out. He snapped his fingers a few times.

“Slippers?”

Ilya’s eyes snapped to her face. She looked sheepish, and her accent indicated that she wasn't a native speaker. Still, Ilya's heart warmed.

That had been the first word she'd said all night.

“Yes, that.”

They stared at each other awkwardly until he remembered there were still things Shane had been fretting about before leaving.

‘But- we don't know if she has spare clothes with her, Ilya.’

She didn't. Ilya went upstairs to look for some clothes that sat too tightly on Shane and dropped them on her bed.

When he came back down to get a glass to put on her nightstand, Sofía was still standing by the door, McDonald's wrappings in hand.

“Ah, shit, sorry.” Ilya came over and collected the wrappers. “Your room is upstairs, in front of the stairs. The door is open.”

That finally got her moving. Ilya winced. “I put some of Shane's tiny clothes there for you. After you shower, please come back so I can put cream on your face.”

Damn it, Ilya had never been a nervous ranter. That had always been Shane's job. Why the hell was a teenager making him nervous?

He didn't want to start bawling in the kitchen, so he told himself that it wasn't because he was scared for her. Or worried. Or angry for her, sympathetic, sad, and protective. He wanted her to like him, and he didn't know how to make that happen.

He wanted to hold Sofia's hands in his and tell her that everything would be alright. That he was there, and he understood.

He let himself drop into one of the chairs at the kitchen table.

Shane better be done soon.

With a groan of protest from his tired limbs, Ilya got up and headed for the med kit.

-