Rating:

Not Rated

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories:

M/M, Multi

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, David Hollander & Yuna Hollander & Ilya Rozanov, David Hollander & Shane Hollander & Yuna Hollander, Shane Hollander & Hayden Pike & Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike/Jackie Pike, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau & Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Rose Landry & Ilya Rozanov & Svetlana Vetrova

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Original Children of Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov, Rose Landry, Hayden Pike, Hayden Pike's Children, Jackie Pike, David Hollander, Yuna Hollander, Svetlana Vetrova, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Original Characters

Additional Tags:

Mpreg | Male Pregnancy, Childbirth, Graphic Description, Pregnancy, Pregnant Shane Hollander, Librarian Shane Hollander, Paramedic Ilya Rozanov, Autism Spectrum, Canon Autistic Character, Autistic Shane Hollander, Happy Ending, Family, Love Confessions, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Baby Names, Baby, girl dads hollanov, Fluff and happy ending, Medical Inaccuracies

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-04-14 Words: 34,154 Chapters: 1/1

Dial 911 for a boyfriend and a baby…

Summary

“Sylvia,” Shane murmured, clearly mortified.

“What?” she said innocently. “I’m just saying. And I’m also saying that a certain someone here, hasn’t stopped staring at someone else since they walked in. Their partner has been doing all of the work.” A brow was quirked towards the Russian paramedic.

Ilya nearly dropped his gauze “Da- I mean no, I—” he started, then stopped, flustered.

Shane looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

Cliff snorted under his breath and turned away, suddenly very interested in the supply bag.

Sylvia leaned toward Shane. “Ask for his number,” she whispered loudly enough that it wasn’t a whisper at all. “They’ll be taking me away in T-minus five minutes. You don’t wanna miss your shot kiddo!”

Or Shane is a Librarian and Ilya is a Paramedic. They meet , fall in love, have a baby together . Oh and Shane is Autistic and worries a lot.

Notes

I’m backkkkkk!! This one came to me in a dream. So enjoy and love it as much as I loved writing it!

Find me over on Twitter @Soulsiseditzz :))

The move from Boston to Ottawa had been a pretty easy decision to make. Ilya had been craving a quieter , less dramatic vibe for years now. Russia had been soul destroying, Boston had been his chance to rebuild, find out who he was outside of his family’s strict laws. Turns out who he is craves a smaller city, a calmer environment and a job as a paramedic that didn’t involve climbing thousands of stairs a day. Ottawa was pretty damn perfect. A city disguised as a town, just what the doctor ordered. 

Ilya’s first morning shift in Ambulance 245 started with the low hum of the engine and the faint smell of antiseptic that never quite left the vehicle. Beside him, Cliff Marlow was relaxed in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel, the other tapping idly against a travel mug. He seemed pretty nice, American, but nice. Ilya could deal with that. 

“We just got our first call out, it should be a pretty simple one,” Cliff said, glancing over. “Local library. 67 year old woman, head injury from a fall. Good warm-up for you!” 

Ilya nodded, adjusting his uniform slightly, radio attached to his front pocket. “Da , yes. Simple is what I want. No more hanging limbs. I left those calls back in Boston.” 

The ambulance rolled to a stop outside a cozy brick building with a painted wooden sign that read Maplewood Community Library. It looked more like someone’s home than a workplace, small flower boxes in the windows, a bench out front.

Inside, the smell of paper and dust wrapped around them. A man stood near the front desk, pacing just slightly, hands wringing together in a controlled, repetitive motion. Dark hair, careful posture, sharp eyes that immediately flicked to them.

“Hi- erm, hi,” he said quickly. “You’re the paramedics? She’s back here. Sylvia. She fell, there was so much blood, but I cleaned what I could- should I have done that? I’m sorry if I—”

“It’s okay,” Ilya said gently, stepping closer. “We’ve got it. My name is  Ilya, the shorter one is Cliff.”

“I-I’m Shane,” the man replied, voice softening just a fraction.

Something in Ilya’s chest caught. He wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe it was the way Shane’s eyes lingered, observant and precise, or the way he seemed both anxious and composed at once. Or those damn freckles that Ilya couldn’t seem to stop staring at. Fuck, they were really pretty. 

“Lead the way, Shane,” Cliff said.

They found Sylvia sitting in a chair near a back office, a towel pressed to her forehead. Blood had soaked through slightly, but she was conscious—and judging by the amused glint in her eye, very aware of everything going on. “Oh good,” she said. “The cavalry has arrived. And they’re handsome, too.”

Ilya crouched in front of her, carefully assessing the wound. “Hello, I’m Ilya, this is Cliff. We’ll get you sorted. You might need a few stitches and some head scans, but from what I can see right now, is nothing too serious.”

“Well Ilya, it sounds like I’m in good hands.” Sylvia chuckled warmly. “I’m Sylvia, Sylvia Landry. But you can call me Sylvie boys, I don’t mind.” 

“You got it Sylvie, let’s take a look at that bump of yours.” Cliff said, all charm as Sylvie flirted back shamelessly. Ilya couldn’t help but silently applaud her confidence. 

Behind him, Shane hovered, close enough to watch, but not interfere. Ilya could feel his gaze, steady and focused. When he glanced up briefly, he caught Shane looking at him and not looking away quickly enough. It made his ears warm. Blushing was a rarity for him. Russians did not do that, they don’t get embarrassed, they don’t catch feelings from a simple glance of freckles and honey brown eyes. No. 

Sylvia noticed the tension, because of course she did. By the time they’d cleaned and dressed her wound, she was positively beaming. “You know,” she said casually, looking between them, “I’ve taken worse tumbles and gotten far less attention. You two might just be my new favourite paramedics. I’ve met a lot over the recent years believe me. Though I’ve never seen one catch Shane’s attention before…” 

“Sylvia,” Shane murmured, clearly mortified.

“What?” she said innocently. “I’m just saying. And I’m also saying that a certain someone here, hasn’t stopped staring at someone else since they walked in. Their partner has been doing all of the work.” A brow was quirked towards the Russian paramedic. 

Ilya nearly dropped his gauze “Da- I mean no, I—” he started, then stopped, flustered.

Shane looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

Cliff snorted under his breath and turned away, suddenly very interested in the supply bag.

Sylvia leaned toward Shane. “Ask for his number,” she whispered loudly enough that it wasn’t a whisper at all. “They’ll be taking me away in T-minus five minutes. You don’t wanna miss your shot kiddo.” 

“Sylvia!”

Before Shane could completely shut down, Ilya cleared his throat, heart pounding harder than it should have been.

“Or,” he said, voice a little unsteady but determined, “I could ask you out right now. If that is okay with you of votes?.”

Shane blinked. Once. Twice.

“Yes,” he said softly. “T-That’s okay with me.”

“Good. Game changers diner , is it any good? I have  heard very promising things during my induction.” 

“Erm- yeah. It’s actually owned by some friends of mine. Scott hunter and his boyfriend Kit.” 

Ilya hummed. “So we meet there then? I only have morning shift today, they say is ah- ‘easing me into the job’. Like anything about being a paramedic is easy.” 

“R-right.” Shane stammered nervously. “Yeah, you just decide on a time.”

They agree to meet at seven.

Ilya spent the rest of his shift distracted in a way he hadn’t been in a long time. Every so often, he’d catch himself smiling for no reason, replaying the way Shane had looked at him like he was something worth studying. He’d never been so attracted to someone ever. It was a little terrifying how easily Shane had wormed his way into Ilya’s brain with just a simple glance and stammered conversation. By the time evening came, he’d changed twice before settling on something simple. Casual. Not trying too hard.

Shane was already there when he arrived at the small diner. Sitting neatly, hands folded, posture straight—but the moment he saw Ilya, his face softened into a shy smile. His eyes no longer flickering anxiously around the booths scattered around him. 

“You came,” Shane said. The disbelief in his voice making Ilya’s heart crack in a devastating way. 

“Of course I did,” Ilya replied, smiling back. “I asked you remember? I do not make plans if I do not intend to follow through with them.” 

“R-right, of course. I guess I was just- I’m a little awkward at times, takes me a while to warm up to people. People usually bolt after the first conversation.” 

“Well these people are idiots.” 

That brought a wide grin to Shane’s features. One Ilya wished he could photograph and keep forever. “Your friends, are they working tonight?”

“Erm no, I-I’m kind of glad though. They’re a little over protective of me. Last thing I need is them interrogating the first date I’ve had in years.” Shane admitted. 

“Ah, I see.” Ilya smirked. “Probably for the best then, yes?”

“Definitely.”

Their date went surprisingly easy. They talked about everything—Ottawa, Shane’s work at the library, Ilya’s recent move, Cliff’s terrible jokes. Shane was quieter, but when he spoke, it was thoughtful, precise. And occasionally, unexpectedly funny. It was somewhere between appetizers and the main course that Ilya noticed it. Shane picked up his fork, paused, then carefully wiped it with his napkin. Then again. Two times, exact and deliberate.

Ilya didn’t comment immediately. Just watched.

Shane noticed his gaze though. A flush of embarrassment spreading across his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly, setting the fork down. “I didn’t mean to be weird. I- I just—“

“Hey,” Ilya said gently. “Is okay. You don’t have to apologize.”

Shane hesitated, then exhaled softly. “I’m autistic,” he said, voice quieter now. “Some things… feel wrong if I don’t do them a certain way. The fork being a prime example. S-sometimes things- they just I don’t know, feel… off.”

Ilya nodded, expression steady. “That makes sense. I understand why you wiped the fork. No need to explain to me. Makes perfect sense.” 

Shane blinked. “It does?”

“Yes,” Ilya said simply. “You are making it feel right for you. Same way anybody else would. Just slightly more obvious. Is not a bad thing though.”

Something in Shane’s shoulders relaxed. “I usually don’t tell people right away,” he admitted. “They… react.”

“Well,” Ilya said, leaning forward slightly, “I am not most people, Shane Hollander. You will learn this.” 

Shane smiled then, small, but real. And warmer than anything else in the room. Ilya felt his heart skip at beat. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you.” 

“Is that a good thing?” 

“It’s a really good thing. I don’t find many people I’m comfortable with.” 

Ilya smiled gently. “Must be the Russian charm.”

“More like the European charm. The Russians are more known for their rude attitude.” Shane smirked, teasing him. 

“Was that a tease Mr Hollander?” 

“Maybe…”

“Hmm.” Ilya hummed. “I liked it.”

By the time their dinner together ended , neither of them wanted it to. They awkwardly lingered outside of the diner, the evening air cool and quiet.

“I had a really good time,” Shane said, hands tucked into his coat. A shy look on his features as he struggled to maintain eye contact. Ilya could appreciate the effort. 

“Me too,” Ilya replied. There was a pause. Not awkward, just full. Full in a way that made his skin tingle and heart do flip flops in his chest.

And then, unexpectedly, Shane stepped forward. “I don’t usually do this,” he said softly. And then he kissed him. He kissed Ilya.  It was brief. Gentle. Careful—but certain.

Ilya’s breath caught.

When Shane pulled back, he looked just as surprised as Ilya felt.

“Was that—okay?” Shane asked, a little breathless.

Instead of answering, Ilya smiled—warm and a little stunned.

“Da, erm -yes,” he said. “That was… more than okay.”

Another pause. Ilya debating whether or not he should allow the next words to slip past his lips. “Would you-ah- Do you want to come back to my place?”

Shane hesitated only for a second before nodding. “Yes. I-I actually really would.” It looked like his response had surprised himself as well as Ilya. “I-I mean- shit was that too muc-”

“Shhh, let’s just go.” Ilya chuckled, pulling the spiralling man along the street with him. “I live around the corner, you can leave your car here.”

“Uh-okay. A-are you sure? I don’t want it to y’know, get robbed or anything.”

“Shane, it is Ottawa. The worst thing that will  happen to your boring car is a bit of spray paint and inappropriate English words.” 

Shane let out a startled laugh. “Inappropriate English words?”

“Yes. Like Fuck or Asshole. Though I like the word asshole.”

“Of course you do.” Shane paused mid step. “Hey! My car is not boring! It’s practical.” 

Ilya laughed gleefully, pulling Shane by the hand as he walked away from the diner. “Yes, yes. Whatever you say.”

As they walked side by side into the night, something settled between them, not just attraction, but the beginning of something deeper. Something neither of them had expected to find that morning in the quiet little library Shane spent most of his time at. And neither of them wanted to let it go. It felt too sacred , as cringy as it may seem for them to say out loud. 

Before either of them knows it , they’re racing up the stairs to Ilya’s apartment, bursts of laughter and shrieks echoing around them. Ilya fumbles with the key, heart hammering with anticipation.  The door finally clicks shut behind them with a soft, final sound that seems louder than it should be. For a moment, neither of them moves.

Ilya’s hand is still on the handle. Shane is standing just inside, shoulders slightly hunched, like he’s bracing for something—though whether it’s good or bad, even he doesn’t seem sure.

“Hello,” Ilya says quietly.

Shane nods, eyes flicking up, then down again. “Hey.”

It’s awkward for half a second. Then Ilya steps closer, slow enough to give Shane time to pull back if he wants to. He doesn’t. So Ilya leans in, brushing his lips against Shane’s.

The kiss is tentative at first—testing. Shane’s breath catches, but he leans into it, fingers curling lightly into the front of Ilya’s shirt. The hesitation melts quickly, replaced by something warmer, hungrier. When they part, Shane lets out a shaky breath.

“Sorry,” he says, almost immediately. “I just—”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“I do,” Shane insists, voice tight. “I haven’t… done this. In a while.”

Ilya studies him, expression softening. “Okay.”

Shane swallows. “It’s been over a year. Since my ex. We were together for four years and then—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “I don’t know how to do this anymore. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

There’s a flicker of something like fear behind his words.

Ilya steps closer again, more certain this time, and gently takes Shane’s hand. “Then we go slow,” he says. “We do not do anything you don’t want. At all. You tell me if something is too much, or not enough, or- if anything feels too loud. Okay?”

Shane looks at him properly then, really looks. “What if I want- well,  everything?”

Ilya’s mouth curves slightly. “Then we still go at your pace.”

Shane exhales, tension loosening just a little. “I’ve never wanted anything more,” he admits, almost under his breath. “Fuck, what the hell are you doing to me Ilya Rozanov?” 

That’s all it takes.

They kiss again, deeper this time, less uncertain. Shane presses forward, and Ilya stumbles back a step, then another, until the back of his knees hit the couch and they both go down in a tangle of limbs and quiet laughter.

The laughter fades into something softer. Hands explore, careful but eager, always pausing just long enough to check, to feel for hesitation. There isn’t any, not really. Just nerves that slowly unravel with every reassuring touch, every murmured “Is this okay?”

It is. Shane’s certain of that fact. 

Clothes are shed piece by piece, the room dim and warm around them. What follows is intimate and unhurried, more about closeness than anything else. Shane is tense at first, but Ilya stays steady, patient, grounding him with quiet words and gentle hands until the tension dissolves into something that feels a lot like trust. Each thrust inwards igniting a spark that felt so insane Shane believes he blacked out a fair few times. Nobody had ever made him feel this way before. Ilya was defying each and every expectation. 

“F-fuck Shane.” Ilya panted. “You kill me.”

“Ah! S-shit right there , don’t stop okay? Please don’t stop.” Shane whimpered, hips lifting from the couch as he tried to drag Ilya further in. “Feels so fucking good.”

Ilya groaned in satisfaction, drilling into Shane with a vengeance until the other man came completely untouched. His own release following shortly after. 

“Holy shit.” Shane breathed, chest heaving. “That was—”

“Da, it was.” Ilya sniffed, pressing a firm kiss to Shane’s quivering lips. 

“Does it always feel like that for you?”

“No, it is never that good for me.” 

And much to Ilya’s surprise, he meant it. Shane Hollander has ruined him. 

“Hmm.” Shane hummed, cuddling in closer. 

Later, they fell asleep tangled together on the couch. Neither one of them taking notice of the fact that the leaking condom laying next to them would soon obliterate the peace they’ve formed. 

———————————————————————

Shane wakes to sunlight and the sharp, immediate sense that something is wrong. He blinks, disoriented. The ceiling is unfamiliar. The weight beside him was something he hadn’t felt since Ethan upped and left a year ago. 

Then reality hits him. He has a shift. He bolts upright, heart slamming painfully against his ribs. “No, no, no—”

His phone. Where is his phone?

He scrambles off the couch, nearly tripping over his own jeans, hands shaking as he digs through his pockets. The time on the screen makes his stomach drop.

“I’m late,” he whispers, panic rising fast and hot. “ Holy shit, I’m late, I’m late—”

Everything narrows. The room feels too small, too loud, even in silence. He drags in a breath that doesn’t quite fill his lungs and forces himself to move, routine, steps, one thing at a time. Clothes. Shirt, inside out, fix it. Jeans. Socks don’t match, it doesn't matter. Shoes.

He glances at the couch, at the space where Ilya is sleeping away peacefully , and something twists in his chest. A note. He needs to leave a note.

Shane grabs the nearest scrap of paper he can find and a pen, his handwriting rushed but legible enough.

I had to leave for work. I’m so sorry. Please call me.
He adds his number underneath, hesitates, then underlines it twice. He places it carefully on the arm of the couch, right where Ilya will see it. Then he’s out the door, the panic carrying him forward before he can think too hard about anything else.

As the door shuts behind him, the note shifts slightly and slides down the narrow gap between the cushion and the armrest, disappearing from sight. Too small to be seen. 

Ilya wakes slowly an hour later. For a moment, he just lies there, warm and comfortable, the memory of the night before settling over him like a second blanket. He reaches out instinctively. Hand pausing as he  finds nothing but empty space.

His eyes open.

“Shane?”

No answer.

He sits up, scanning the room. The apartment is quiet, undisturbed. No movement, no sound of the shower, no kettle boiling in the kitchen.

Just… empty.

A small, uneasy feeling starts to build in his chest. He stands, checking the bathroom, the kitchen—nothing.

He comes back to the living room, frowning slightly. There’s no note. No message. No sign that Shane had planned to come back.

The warmth from earlier fades, replaced by something colder. “Oh,” he murmurs, more to himself than anything else.

It settles in quickly after that. The assumption, weighing heavy and familiar. 

Maybe it had been too much. Maybe Shane had woken up and regretted it. Maybe he didn’t want anything beyond what they’d already had.

Ilya exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “Right.”

He straightens the cushions on the couch, a little more forcefully than necessary, as if tidying the space might also tidy the feeling in his chest. By the time he’s getting ready for work later that day, he’s already made up his mind.

Leave it alone.

If Shane wanted something more, he would’ve said so. He would have stayed. Left a number for him to reach out. Ilya grabs his keys, pauses only briefly by the door, then shakes his head and steps out.

Behind him, the apartment is quiet.

And the note remains hidden, just out of sight.

———————————————————————

Shane checks his phone again. And again. And again . It’s religious and exhausting. But he can never switch his brain off for long enough to forget. The screen lights up the same way every time. No missed calls. No new messages. Nothing.He presses the side button, lets the screen go black, then turns it back on almost immediately, like something might have changed in the last three seconds.

It hasn’t.

“Shane.”

He startles slightly at the voice, looking up to find Hayden watching him from across the room, arms folded, expression somewhere between concerned and knowing.

“You’ve checked that thing about twenty times in the last ten minutes,” Hayden says.

“I have not,” Shane replies automatically.

Hayden raises an eyebrow.

“…Okay, maybe like fifteen,” Shane mutters, dropping his gaze back to the phone anyway.

From the kitchen doorway, Jackie leans against the frame, drying her hands on a towel. “You gonna tell us what’s going on, or are we just watching this slow descent into madness?”

Shane hesitates.

His fingers tighten slightly around the phone. “It’s nothing.”

“Mm,” Hayden hums. “It’s never nothing when you’re this twitchy.”

“I am not twitchy.”

“You reorganized my bookshelf alphabetically by author and genre yesterday.”

“That was helpful,” Shane insists.

“It was terrifying.”

Jackie snorts softly. “Shane.”

There’s something in her tone. It was gentler, more grounded. That makes him finally exhale, shoulders dropping a fraction. “It’s just…” He trails off, then shakes his head. “I met someone.”

That gets their full attention immediately.

“Oh?” Jackie says, interest lighting her face. “Okay. Now I need the details.”

Shane shifts in his seat, suddenly aware of how exposed he feels just saying it out loud. “He’s- um. A paramedic. He came into the library last week. Sylvia fell—”

“Your boss Sylvia?” Hayden cuts in.

Shane nods quickly. “Yeah. She tripped on the steps. Cut her head pretty badly.  He was the one who helped her, well him and his partner. He stayed so calm, and knew exactly what to do. I just—” He frowns slightly, trying to find the words. “I noticed him.”

Jackie smiles faintly. “You noticed him.”

Shane huffs. “Yes. And then we talked. A bit. And then Sylvie was her usual cheeky self. Basically embarrassed the hell out of me by telling me IN FRONT of him to ask for his number. He didn’t even give me a chance to come up with some pathetic excuse for her behaviour before he was asking me to go out. So we did. Later obviously , we went for some food and then one thing lead to another —”

“You went home with him,” Hayden says bluntly.

Shane’s ears go red. “Yes.”

There’s a brief pause.

“And?” Jackie prompts, softer now.

Shane stares down at his hands. “And it wasn’t just… that.” He swallows. “I told him things. About me. About—” He gestures vaguely. “How my brain works. The autism. Stuff I don’t usually say to people I’ve just met.”

Jackie and Hayden exchange a quick glance.

“That’s big,” Jackie says gently.

Shane nods, a little too fast. “Yeah. It is. I don’t do that. I don’t—” He cuts himself off, frustration creeping in. “But it just - it felt so damn easy. With him. Not easy like nothing mattered, just like I didn’t have to filter every single thing I said before it came out.”

Hayden’s expression softens. “And now?”

Shane’s grip on his phone tightens again. “And now he hasn’t called.”

Silence settles over the room.

“I left him my number,” Shane continues, words starting to come quicker, sharper. “I wrote it down. I put it right where he’d see it. It’s been three days. If he wanted to call, he would have called.”

“Maybe something happened,” Jackie suggests carefully.

“Or maybe,” Shane says, voice edging toward brittle, “he woke up and realized I was too much.”

“That’s not—” Hayden starts.

“It is,” Shane insists, louder now. “It happens. I talk too fast or too much or I say the wrong thing or I don’t say anything at all and it’s weird and people don’t—” He breaks off, dragging a hand through his hair. “They don’t stick around.”

Jackie moves a little closer, perching on the arm of the chair. “Hey. Look at me.”

He doesn’t, not at first.

“Shane.”

Slowly, reluctantly, he lifts his gaze.

“It’s rare for you to feel that kind of connection,” she says. “You said it yourself. That matters. And it might matter to him too.”

“If it did, he’d call.”

“Not necessarily.”

Shane shakes his head immediately. “No. You don’t have to pity me, you guys. People who are interested call. That’s how it works. There are rules. This is one of them.”

Hayden leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Rules aren’t always that simple.”

“They are,” Shane insists, though there’s less certainty in it now. “Or they’re supposed to be. That’s the point.”

Jackie glances at Hayden, then back at Shane. “What if you went to see him?”

Shane freezes. “What?”

“You said he’s a paramedic, right? You know where he works?”

“I- well, I know the station. The ambulance number is always the same,, but—”

“Then go,” she says simply. “Talk to him.”

“No.” The answer is immediate, firm, almost panicked. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Because that would be a disaster,” Shane says, already shaking his head. “I would walk in, say something wrong, interrupt something important, everyone would look at me, and then I’d forget what I was supposed to say and it would be- just no. No, that’s a terrible idea.”

Hayden tries not to smile. “You’re catastrophizing.”

“I am being realistic.”

“You’re assuming the worst possible outcome.”

“Because it’s the most likely one,” Shane shoots back.

Jackie sighs softly. “Or you’re scared.”

Shane opens his mouth to argue, then closes it again. “…Yeah,” he admits quietly.

The word hangs there, heavy.

“He hasn’t called,” Shane continues, voice smaller now. “And if I go there and he sees me and it’s obvious he doesn’t want anything, then that’s it. Confirmed. Done.” He presses his lips together. “Right now there’s still a possibility that something else happened. That he didn’t get the number or he’s busy or- I don’t know. Just anything but that.”

“And if you don’t go?” Hayden asks.

Shane lets out a shaky breath. “Then I just… wait. And eventually I will stop expecting that call to come through.” He shrugs, but it’s tight, forced. “Which is what I should probably do anyway.”

Jackie reaches out, resting a hand lightly on his arm. “Hey.”

That’s all it takes.

The composure he’s been clinging to cracks.

“I really liked him,” Shane says, voice breaking slightly. “I don’t- this doesn’t just happen for me. Not like that. Not where it’s just… there. And I don’t have to pretend to be less or different or quieter or—” He sucks in a breath that turns uneven. “And now it’s gone. Already.”

“It’s not gone,” Hayden says gently. “Not for sure.” 

“It is if he doesn’t want me,” Shane replies. “And why would he? I’m—” He gestures helplessly at himself. “A lot. People say they’re okay with it, but they’re not. Not really. Not long-term.”

Jackie’s grip tightens slightly, grounding. “You are not ‘too much.’”

Shane shakes his head, eyes stinging. “Maybe not for you two. But for… people like that. People who are so put together and confident. For those types of  people,  it's easier to just have one night and then leave when it comes to me.” 

“That’s not what this was,” Hayden says firmly.

“You don’t know that.”

“And you don’t know that it wasn’t,” Jackie counters.

Shane doesn’t respond.

He just stares at his phone again, like it might finally prove one of them right.

It stays silent.

Hayden shifts closer, nudging his shoulder lightly. “Hey. Whatever happens with this guy… you’re not some temporary thing. Got it? I won’t have you talking about my best friend that way.” 

Shane exhales shakily, not quite believing it, but wanting to.

Jackie squeezes his arm. “And you’re not alone in this. You’ll always have us and the three gremlins sleeping upstairs. We’ve got you.” 

That, at least, he knows is true.

Even if his chest still feels tight, and his thoughts keep circling, and his phone remains stubbornly, painfully quiet.

By the time the next disaster of his life happens, Shane has already decided he’s fine. He’s not, objectively, not even close. But the decision feels solid in his head, which is what matters most to him.

“I’m okay,” he insists, gripping the edge of the desk a little tighter than necessary.

Across from him, Rose looks unconvinced. “You’ve been in the bathroom three times in the last hour.”

“Twice,” Shane corrects automatically.

“That’s not better.”

He exhales slowly, trying to steady the strange, floating sensation in his body. Everything feels slightly off, too bright, too loud, too much. His stomach twists again, a warning. “It’s just a bug,” he says. “Or something I ate. There’s nothing to worry about I promise.” 

“Then go home,” Rose says, softer now. “Seriously. I’ve got this.”

Shane shakes his head immediately. “No. It’s nearly Christmas. It’s always busy this week. You’re already covering for your mom, I’m not leaving you alone on top of that. Sylvie would kill me.” 

“I won’t be alone, I can call—”

“You will,” he cuts in, a little sharper than he means to. He presses his lips together. “Nobody else knows the store like I do - I just… I can manage. I just need to sit down for a minute.”

Rose studies him, worry written all over her face. “Shane—”

“I’m fine,” he repeats.

He isn’t.

Another hour passes. Then another.

The nausea comes in waves, stronger each time, harder to ignore. He tries to stick to routine, to tasks, to something predictable, but his hands are shaking now, and the words on the page in front of him keep blurring.

Focus.

He stands too quickly. The room tilts. “Oh—”

Rose looks up just in time to see him sway. “Shane?”

He opens his mouth to respond, but the words don’t come. The floor feels like it’s moving, his ears ringing faintly. He can hear Rose calling for him in alarm once more—and then everything goes black.

———————————————————————

“—urgh , another one?”

Cliff exhales heavily from the driver’s seat. “If it’s another RTC, I’m clocking out early, I swear.”

In the passenger seat, Ilya drags a hand down his face. “Same.”

The day has been relentless. Twisted metal, flashing lights, the sharp smell of petrol and smoke, one call after another. Too much adrenaline, not enough time to come down from it. One patient hadn’t made it. That’s the one that’s sticking. The one that’s left them a little raw around the edges. 

Ilya leans his head back against the seat, eyes closing briefly. “I’m done, Cliff. Mentally, physically- I is just done.”

“Yeah, well, dispatch doesn’t care whether you’re done or not buddy,” Cliff mutters.

As if on cue, the radio crackles to life.

“Unit 245 , responding medical emergency at local library, Maplewood community, male, mid-twenties, unconscious, possible collapse—”

Ilya groans aloud. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Cliff glances at him. “I take it, Libraries are not your favorite place?”

“Not that one,” Ilya mutters under his breath. “That one is anything but my favourite.” 

His stomach twists unpleasantly. The thought of having to face Shane , of having to deal with the embarrassment of being left behind, was enough to have him practically dry heaving. 

Because he knows , he knows for a fact Shane will be there, no matter what. Then again what if— No, he tells himself immediately. It won’t be him.

It’s a library . A busy one. It could be anyone.

“Alright,” Cliff says, already turning the wheel. “Let’s go.”

As it turns out - It’s him.

The moment Ilya steps inside and sees the small crowd gathered, the familiar layout, the panic on the young woman’s face and Shane, lying pale and still on the floor— everything in him drops.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathes.

Cliff is already moving. “Alright, give us some space! We’re the paramedics.”

Ilya snaps into motion a second later, exhaustion shoved aside by training and instinct. He kneels beside Shane, quickly taking in the details. Pale, clammy skin. Shallow breathing. There’s a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“When did he go down?” Ilya asks, voice steady despite the sudden pounding in his chest.

“A-around five minutes ago,” Rose says quickly. “I-I’m Rose, his bosses daughter. He’s been sick all day, throwing up, dizzy. Fuck, I  told him to go home but he wouldn’t—”

“Okay, alright.” Ilya nods, already reaching for Shane’s wrist, checking his pulse. Fast. Too fast.

“Cliff, can you grab obs?”

“On it.”

Ilya gently tilts Shane’s head, checking airway, breathing. “Shane? Can you hear me?”

No response.

“BP’s likely low,” Cliff says, setting up. “He looks dehydrated as hell.”

“Yeah,” Ilya mutters. “Let’s get a line in if we can.”

He taps lightly at Shane’s cheek. “Shane, come on. Can you talk to me? Open your eyes .”

There’s a flicker. A faint groan. Shane’s eyes flutter open slowly, unfocused at first. “Mm—”

“Hello,” Ilya says, softer now. “Easy. Don’t sit up. You fainted.”

Shane blinks, vision swimming slightly, and then it clears. Recognition hits instantly. His entire body tenses. “Oh God—” He tries to push himself up too quickly, panic flashing across his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t- I didn’t mean—”

“Hey, no, I just said don’t sit up yet—” Ilya steadies him, confused by the reaction. “You’re not well.”

“I know,” Shane says, voice shaky and mortified. “I just- this is- Fuck! O-of course it’s you—”

Ilya frowns. “What?”

Shane swallows hard, eyes already stinging. “I didn’t think you’d want to see me again, I’m sorry, I know I didn’t say the right things—”

“Shane, slow down.” Ilya’s brows knit together. “What are you talking about?”

“You didn’t call,” Shane blurts, like it explains everything.

Ilya stares at him.

“Who didn’t I call?”

Shane’s chest tightens. “Me. I-I left my number. I wrote it down. I put it right there and—” His voice wobbles. “You didn’t call.”

A beat.

“Shane, I do not have your number,” Ilya says slowly.

Shane freezes. “What?”

“You didn’t leave me anything,” Ilya continues, equally confused. “I woke up and you were just gone.”

“No, I didn’t, I didn’t just—” Shane’s breathing picks up, panic shifting direction now. “I left a note. I know I did, I put it on the arm of the couch—” His sentence cuts off abruptly as his face goes green.“Oh shit—”

“Sick bag,” Cliff says immediately, already moving.

Shane barely has time to turn before he’s throwing up again, luckily into the bag Cliff is shoving into his hand, body heaving weakly.

 “Yeah, that tracks,” Cliff mutters. “Severe dehydration, probably. Might be more, but he’s definitely dry.”

Ilya supports Shane through it, one hand steady at his back, the other keeping his hair out of his face. “Easy. I’ve got you.”

Shane coughs weakly, humiliated beyond words. “I’m sorry—”

“Stop apologizing,” Ilya says, more firmly this time. “You’re sick.”

Cliff finishes taking his vitals. “BP’s low. Heart rate’s up. We need to get fluids into him properly.”

“Agreed,” Ilya says. He glances at Shane. “We’re taking you in, okay? They will tell you what is wrong.” 

Shane nods faintly. He doesn’t trust himself to speak.

“Alright,” Cliff says, already grabbing the stretcher. “Let’s move.”

The ambulance ride is a blur for Shane. The flashes of light, the low hum of the engine, the cool sensation of oxygen near his face. But one thing stays constant. Ilya doesn’t leave his side. Even after they transfer him into the hospital, even after nurses take over and start fluids, asking questions, checking everything over. Ilya stays. Arms folded, leaning against the wall at first. Then closer. Then right beside the bed.

Shane notices. Of course he notices. “You don’t have to stay,” he says quietly, voice still rough.

Ilya shakes his head immediately. “Yes. I do.”

Shane frowns slightly. “Why?”

Ilya exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Because something clearly went very wrong somewhere,” he says, accent thick. “And I am not leaving until we figure out what.”

Shane looks at him, uncertainty and fragile hope warring in his expression. “The note,” he says slowly. “It must have- I don’t know. Slipped or something , fell on the floor.”

“Yes, it must have,” Ilya mutters. “Because I would have called.” There’s no hesitation in his voice this time. None at all.

Shane’s chest tightens. “Oh.”

Silence settles between them, but it’s different now. Not empty. Not final. Just… waiting. Waiting for one another to say what they need to. 

Ilya pulls a chair closer, sitting down beside their bed. “So,” he says, softer. “We have deal then? When you’re not actively passing out, we’re going to talk about this properly.”

Despite everything, the nausea, the exhaustion, the lingering panic—

Shane lets out the smallest, shakier breath of relief. “Okay,” he says. “We’ll talk properly once I’m all sorted out.”  And for the first time in weeks, his phone being silent doesn’t feel like the end of everything.

Ilya clocks off early. He makes sure to hand over his radio to his partner when informing him of his decision. Cliff gives him a look, half surprised, half understanding. But he doesn’t argue when Ilya mutters something about paperwork and already being over his hours. They both know it’s not the real reason. But it didn’t matter. 

By the time Ilya gets back to the ward, Shane is sitting up in bed, a blanket pulled loosely around his shoulders, an IV line running into his arm. A bag of fluids hangs beside him, steadily dripping. He looks better. Not well, still pale, still tired—but more present. More there.

Shane glances up as Ilya approaches, visibly relaxing when he sees him. “You came back.”

“Da. I said I would,” Ilya replies simply, pulling the chair closer again and sitting down.

For a moment, neither of them speaks.

It’s not awkward, exactly. Just silent. Like there’s too much to say and no clear place to start.

Shane breaks first. “They said I’m definitely dehydrated,” he says, gesturing slightly to the IV. “And my electrolytes were off. Sodium was also low. That’s why I passed out.”

“Yeah,” Ilya nods. “Makes sense with the vomiting. Your body basically ran out of what it needs to function properly.”

Shane grimaces faintly. “That’s… reassuring.”

“It’s fixable,” Ilya adds quickly. “Fluids, rest. You’ll be alright. Quick, easy.” 

Shane nods, then fidgets slightly with the edge of the blanket. “I’m sorry. About earlier I mean. I didn’t mean to- to panic like that.”

Ilya leans back a little, studying him. “You thought I ignored you. That I did not want you.”

Shane’s gaze drops. “Yeah.”

“And you were just going to… what? Accept that?”

Shane shrugs, but it’s tight, defensive. “It made sense.”

“It didn’t,” Ilya says.

“It did to me,” Shane replies quietly. “People don’t- they don’t usually stick around. They hear the word autism and witness my weird quirks and poof- gone.” 

There’s that same vulnerability from weeks ago, raw, unguarded.

Ilya exhales slowly. “I would have called,” he says again, more firmly this time. “If I had your number, I would have called. I told you I am not other people Hollander, I made this clear.” 

Shane nods faintly. “I believe you…. Now.” 

A small silence follows.

Then, almost cautiously, Ilya says, “I thought you did not want anything more. That it was just a one time thing for you.”

Shane’s head snaps up. “What? Why?”

“You left,” Ilya says. “I see no note. No message. Nothing. I woke up and you were just gone.”

“I had work,” Shane says quickly. “I was late and I panicked. It’s my routine, if I mess it up I can't cope. I didn’t mean to just disappear, I didn’t, I left the note—”

“I know,” Ilya cuts in gently. “We’ve established that the note betrayed us both.”

That pulls a small, surprised huff of laughter out of Shane. It fades quickly, but it’s something.

“I waited,” Shane admits after a moment. “For you to call. I kept checking my phone constantly.” He shakes his head slightly. “My friends noticed. It was… not subtle.”

Ilya smiles faintly. “I would have liked to see that.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Shane mutters, ears going slightly red. “It’s so embarrassing.”

“I don’t think it is embarrassing.” 

Shane glances at him, uncertain. “No?”

“No,” Ilya says. “I think it means you cared.”

Shane swallows. “I did,” he says softly. “I still do.”

The words hang there, heavier than either of them expected.

Ilya shifts forward slightly in his chair, resting his forearms on his knees. “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?” he says. “We met once. One night. And somehow managed to completely mess it up and not stop thinking about each other for six weeks.”

Shane lets out a quiet breath. “That doesn’t sound very logical.”

“No,” Ilya agrees. “But it does sound like something worth paying attention to.”

Shane studies him, searching his face like he’s trying to verify something. “You really… felt that too?”

“Yes,” Ilya says, without hesitation. “I felt it too. I still feel it now. Is why I found it so hard seeing you so sick.”

Something in Shane’s expression shifts—softens, like a knot loosening. “I don’t usually  connect with people like that,” he admits. “It’s hard. There’s too much to process, too many variables. But with you it was just…” He gestures vaguely. “Quieter. Easier. Even when it wasn’t.”

Ilya nods slowly. “Same. You were the perfect addition to the simple life of Ottawa.”

A small, tentative smile tugs at the corner of Shane’s mouth.

“So,” Ilya continues, a hint of teasing creeping into his tone, “is this your way of asking for a second date?”

Shane’s entire face flushes immediately. “I- wait what? N-no, I wasn’t—”

“You weren’t?” Ilya raises an eyebrow.

“I mean- yes of course I want a second date. B-but not like—” Shane groans softly, covering part of his face with his hand. “That came out wrong.”

Ilya chuckles quietly. “Relax. I’m saying yes, by the way.”

Shane lowers his hand, blinking. “You are?”

“Yes, of course I am.”

“Oh.”

Before Shane can recover enough to respond properly, there’s a knock at the door. Both of them look up. A doctor steps inside, offering a polite smile. “Hi, Shane. I’ve got your blood results.” She pauses briefly, glancing at Ilya’s uniform. “Would you prefer to discuss this in private, or—?”

“It’s okay,” Shane says quickly, a little breathless. “He can stay. We know each other. He’s not just- W-we don’t exactly have a label on—” He hesitates, then adds more firmly, “He’s not just a paramedic to me is what I’m trying to say.”

Ilya’s expression shifts slightly at that, something warm flickering there.

The doctor notices, her smile softening. “Alright,” she says. “In that case, we’ll go through everything together.” She steps closer, glancing down at the chart. “So, your bloodwork does confirm dehydration, as we suspected,” she begins. “Your electrolyte imbalance, particularly your sodium levels, was significant enough to explain the syncope episode.” She looks up briefly. “That’s the medical term for fainting.”

Shane nods, trying to focus.

“However,” she continues, tone shifting slightly, “there was something else in your results that we need to discuss.”

Shane’s stomach drops. “Okay…”

The doctor studies him for a moment. “Before I explain, I need to ask, are you aware of your carrier status?”

Shane blinks. “I- Yes. Yeah I’m aware.” 

“And you experience regular cycles? No issues with your fertility? It can happen with carriers more often than not so I just need to ask.” 

He nods again, slower this time. “Yeah. They’re… they’re consistent.”

“Alright.” She glances back at the chart. “Have you noticed any changes recently? Specifically, has your cycle been late at all?”

Shane freezes. The question lands somewhere deep, immediate and disorienting. “I—” His eyes flick instinctively to Ilya, then back to the doctor. “Maybe? A little? But I’ve been pretty sick, so I just thought it was that y’know? Stress and stuff.” 

The doctor nods gently. “That would be a reasonable assumption.”

The room feels very still.

“Shane,” she says carefully, “we ran a full panel, including hormonal markers. Your human chorionic gonadotropin, the HCG levels are elevated.”

There’s a pause.

Shane stares at her. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice thin. “My what?”

“HCG,” she repeats. “It’s a hormone produced during pregnancy. In male carriers, it functions the same way it would in females. It’s released after implantation and rises steadily in early gestation.”

The words don’t seem to land at first. Then—“Oh.” Shane’s entire body goes rigid. Ilya, who is sat beside him, has gone completely still.

The doctor continues, calm and measured. “Given your levels, we estimate that you’re in the early stages , most likely around five to six weeks. We would like to confirm that with an ultrasound within the next few hours, but the bloodwork is quite clear.”

Shane’s breathing becomes shallow. “You’re saying—”

“You’re pregnant,” she says gently.

Silence. Absolute, stunned silence.

Shane’s gaze snaps to Ilya, eyes wide with shock and something bordering on panic. “That’s not- H-how is this happening? I mean- we were safe, right?”

Ilya runs a hand through his hair, equally stunned. “We,  I mean we used protection but ah—”

 It clicks for both of them at the same time. They only used a condom, it could have split. Accidents happen. 

“Oh my God,” Shane whispers.

The doctor gives them a moment before continuing. “Carriers, as you know, have a functional uterus, though anatomically positioned differently. Implantation and gestation proceed similarly, but we monitor more closely due to slight differences in pelvic structure and internal connections. That means ultrasounds are every four to six weeks.” She speaks calmly, clinically, grounding the moment. “Your symptoms, nausea, vomiting, fatigue—are very consistent with early pregnancy, though likely worsened by the dehydration. The sooner we get some more fluids into you the better. We will be back to do the ultrasound before we replace the IV.” 

Shane barely hears her. His hands are shaking slightly. “I didn’t know,” he says, more to himself than anyone else. “I didn’t even think—”

Ilya is staring at him, still processing, but there’s something else there now too, concern, yes, but also something deeper. Something steady.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “Shane…” 

Shane looks at him, overwhelmed. “This is- this is a lot.”

“Yes,” Ilya agrees. “It is.” Shane looked at him with tears in his eyes. “But we’ll figure it out,” .

Shane searches his face. “We?”

Ilya doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah. We.”

And despite the shock, the confusion, the sheer enormity of what they’ve just been told , something about that steadiness keeps Shane from completely unraveling.

The room feels a little too small for Shane’s liking after the doctor leaves. Not physically, nothing has changed, but the weight of everything sitting between them makes the air feel thicker, harder to breathe through. Shane is staring at his hands again.

Ilya recognizes the look immediately. The narrowing focus. The way Shane’s shoulders start to creep upward, tension building with nowhere to go. He makes that look himself when he’s seconds away from a breakdown. 

So he does the only thing he can think of.

He starts talking.

“Soooo,” Ilya says gently, leaning back slightly in his chair, deliberately casual. “You know, I never actually told you why I ended up here. Not properly.” 

Shane blinks, attention catching just enough to shift. “Here… as in Ottawa? Or everything?”

“Da, As in this,” Ilya gestures loosely to his uniform, the hospital, everything. “Paramedic, Boston, Ottawa. Whole life story .”

Shane latches onto it, thankfully. “Oh.”

“It wasn’t always the plan,” Ilya continues. “I grew up in Moscow, Russia. Small city. Not much going on. My family was…” He pauses, searching for the right word. “Complicated.”

Shane’s gaze lifts slightly, more present now.

“My father worked a lot of the time, he was -ah how do you say? A police person?” Shane filled in the gap ‘officer’ “ Da, When he wasn’t working, he was drinking. My mother…” Ilya exhales softly. “She struggled. A lot with her head, her feelings...” He doesn’t rush it. Doesn’t soften it more than necessary either. “When I was twelve,” he says, quieter now, “she died.”

Shane stills completely.

“Suicide.  I was made to say ‘Accident’ for a long time. But it was no accident,” Ilya adds, matter-of-fact, but there’s a tightness under it. “Everything changed after that. It split into before and after her,” he voiced and remained calm. “ My brother was also a bad man, we do not speak. I do not see him, I do not see my niece. The only link I have to Russia now is my best friend, Svetlana.” 

“I’m sorry,” Shane says immediately, voice soft and sincere.

Ilya nods once. “Yes. Me too.”

A small silence settles, but it’s not empty. It’s careful.

“My father dying was the moment where I realized something,” Ilya continues. “That staying miserable doesn’t fix anything. That waiting for things to get better on their own… doesn’t work. I stuck around , bending myself to fit his rules, it did not work and I was so sad… almost as sad as my mother had been. I did not want that.” 

Shane listens intently now, grounded in the rhythm of his voice.

“So when I got the chance, I left,” Ilya says. “Boston. University. Fresh start. No one knew me there, which was… little terrifying, but also kind of freeing.”

“Boston,” Shane repeats faintly. “That’s… far.”

“Yes,” Ilya huffs softly. “Bit of a distance from Russia. Is very good thing.” 

“What did you study?”

“Pre-med, at first,” Ilya says. “Didn’t stick at it . Too… structured. Too removed, too many English words to learn in short period of time.” He shrugs. “Paramedicine made more sense. Immediate. Practical. You show up, you help, you move on. You don’t have time to overthink everything. The words are also easier.. my English has come a long way.” 

Shane nods slowly. “That sounds like a lot.”

“It is,” Ilya says. “Most of the time.” His gaze flicks to Shane, softening slightly. “Not always. At times it brings very good things, people into my world.” 

Shane exhales quietly, some of the tightness in his chest easing just a little more. “I get the overthinking part,” he says after a moment. 

Ilya smiles faintly. “Da, yes, I figured you might.”

Shane shifts slightly in the bed, adjusting the blanket around himself. “For me it’s not even overthinking. It’s just… thinking. Constantly. Everything all at once.” He taps lightly at his temple. “Processing. Sorting. Trying to make things fit into patterns that make sense.”

Ilya nods, listening.

“I didn’t really talk to anyone outside my parents for a long time,” Shane continues. “For so many years it was just me and them. It was easier. Safer. No unexpected consequences or things that could go wrong.”

“That must’ve been isolating.”

“It was,” Shane admits. “But I didn’t really know it at the time. It was just… my normal I guess.” He pauses, then a small, genuine smile appears.

“Then I met Hayden. It was during high school.” 

Ilya leans forward slightly. “Ah. The famous Hayden. I heard lots about him on our date. Made me jealous.”

Shane huffs softly. “Yes. Him. And Jackie. They kind of… adopted me if you want to call it that. Took me under their wing, accepted me and my quirks for what they were.” 

“They sound like good people.”

“They didn’t push too hard,” Shane says. “Which helped. They just… stayed. Consistently. Even when I was difficult. Or quiet. Or didn’t respond the ‘right’ way.”

“You weren’t difficult,” Ilya says gently.

Shane gives him a look. “I absolutely was.”

Ilya shakes his head. “You were processing. I know this without even being there. I see you Shane. I will not have you naming yourself as difficult, this is not what it is.” 

That makes Shane pause. “…Okay,” he concedes quietly. “They helped me try things,” Shane eventually continues. “Gradually. Social stuff. Job applications. Interviews.” He glances around faintly. “The library was their idea. I didn’t think I could do it.”

“And now?”

Shane’s expression softens. “Now I love it.” A beat. “And I’m writing,” he adds, almost shyly.

Ilya’s eyebrows lift. “Writing?”

Shane nods, a little more animated now. “A book. My first one. I’ve been working on it for a while.”

“That’s big news,” Ilya says, genuinely impressed. “What is it about?”

Shane hesitates, then shrugs lightly. “People. Relationships. How different minds connect. Or don’t. How differences can make beauty in a world that’s full of so much .. ugly.” 

Ilya smiles. “Sounds familiar.”

Shane’s lips twitch. “Maybe a little.”

“Do I get to read it?” Ilya asks, tilting his head slightly, a playful edge to his tone.

Shane blinks. “You want to?”

“Obviously.”

A faint blush creeps up Shane’s cheeks. “Then… yes. But it’s not finished. And it’s rough.”

“I do not care.”

Shane glances at him, something soft and tentative in his expression. “You might regret that.”

“I doubt it.” There’s a pause. Then Ilya adds, a little more lightly, “Who knows. I might end up being your muse for the next one.” 

Shane lets out a quiet, surprised laugh. “That’s… dangerously possible.”

“Dangerously?”

“Mhm. Could go straight to your head.”

“Too late,” Ilya grins.

For a moment, just a moment, everything feels almost normal. Then there’s a gentle knock. Both of them look up. The doctor re-enters, followed by an ultrasound technician pushing a small machine.

“Hi again,” the doctor says warmly. “We’re just going to change your IV fluids and, if you’re comfortable, perform an internal ultrasound to confirm gestational age.”

Shane tenses slightly. “Internal? U-Ultrasound?”

The technician nods. “Given how early this is, we’ll need to do a transrectal scan. It gives us the clearest view at this stage.”

The words hit—and Shane’s brain immediately starts racing. Internal. Close. Sensory. Too much. “I—” His breathing starts to pick up again. “I’m sorry. I don’t know if I can—”

“Hey,” Ilya says immediately, leaning closer. “Look at me.”

Shane does, barely.

“You’re okay,” Ilya says, voice low and steady. “No one’s going to do anything without your consent. We go at your pace, yes?”

Shane nods quickly, but his hands are already fidgeting, fingers twisting together.

“Can you tell me what part is the worst? What is making you- fuzzy?” Ilya asks.

“Too many sensations,” Shane says, voice tight. “Unexpected. I can’t predict it. I don’t know how it’ll feel.”

“Okay,” Ilya says. “So we make it predictable.” He turns slightly to the doctor and technician. “Can you talk him through every step before you do it?”

“Of course,” the doctor says immediately.

“No sudden movements,” Ilya adds.

“Absolutely.”

Ilya looks back at Shane. “I’ll stay right here the whole time. You can squeeze my hand, tell me to stop being so annoying , anything. You’re in control.”

Shane swallows hard. “…Okay,” he whispers.

They give him time.

Everything is explained before it happens. From the positioning, to the equipment, what sensations to expect. It’s clinical, yes, but careful. Measured.

Still, it’s overwhelming. Shane’s breathing is uneven as they help him shift, guiding him gently into position, feet placed in the stirrups. “I don’t like this,” he mutters, gripping the sheet.

“I know,” Ilya says softly, moving closer, offering his hand. “You’re doing very well.”

Shane takes it immediately, holding on tight.

The technician continues calmly, “You’ll feel some pressure. I’ll go slowly.”

Shane nods, eyes squeezing shut.

“Hey,” Ilya murmurs. “Stay with me, yes? Focus on me. You’re not alone.”

“I know,” Shane says, voice strained. “I just- need to- holy - focus—”

“On me,” Ilya says. “Just me. Forget everything else.”

Shane clings to that, anchoring himself in Ilya’s voice, the steady warmth of his hand. The procedure begins. There’s discomfort, sharp at first, then dull, unfamiliar. Shane tenses, breath catching.

“You’re okay,” Ilya repeats quietly. “You’re safe.”

It takes a minute. Then another. Slowly, Shane’s breathing starts to even out again.

“Alright,” the technician says gently. “I’m just going to adjust—” She pauses, frowning in concentration before, “There we go.” The screen flickers.

Ilya glances up instinctively. And then he freezes. “Shane,” he says softly.

Shane cracks his eyes open. “What?”

“Look.”

Reluctantly, Shane turns his head. The image is small. Grainy. Hard to interpret at first. But then, he sees it. “Oh.” A tiny shape. Barely more than a flicker.

“That’s the gestational sac,” the technician explains quietly. “And that right there,” she points, “that’s the embryo.”

Shane’s breath catches.

“It measures in at just about six weeks,” the doctor adds. “Exactly where we expected.”

Six weeks. That night. The night that had apparently changed everything… 

Shane’s grip on Ilya’s hand tightens. “That’s…” His voice trembles. “That’s real.”

“Yes,” Ilya says, just as quietly.

He doesn’t look away from the screen. Neither of them does. For a long moment, the room fades. The machines, the hospital, everything else. And it’s just them and their tiny piece of undeniable proof. Something that’s so new. Something  that’s theirs.

Shane blinks rapidly, overwhelmed in an entirely different way now. “I don’t know how to feel.”

“That’s okay,” Ilya says. “You don’t have to figure it out right now.”

Shane nods faintly, eyes still fixed on the screen. “I just—” he swallows. “I didn’t think… this would ever be something that happened to me. I-I’m so in control of everything- this is- this is not in my plans.” 

Ilya squeezes his hand gently. “Life’s unpredictable like that.”

Shane huffs a weak, emotional laugh. “That’s one way of putting it.”

The technician finishes up carefully, giving Shane time before helping him settle back properly. But even once it’s over,  even once the room quiets again,  Shane doesn’t let go of Ilya’s hand. And Ilya doesn’t pull away.

The car ride back from the hospital was quiet in a way that didn’t feel empty, just… careful. Ilya had left shortly after the ultrasound to grab his car from the station, returning just as Shane had finished signing his discharge papers. 

Rain tapped lightly against the windshield as Ilya drove, hands steady on the wheel, eyes flicking now and then toward Shane. Shane sat curled slightly into himself in the passenger seat, arms folded loosely, gaze fixed somewhere beyond the glass. He hadn’t said much since they left the hospital.

Ilya didn’t push.

Every now and then, he’d slow a little over bumps, like the road itself might offend Shane’s current state. It was subtle, instinctive. Protective.

When they finally pulled up, Ilya glanced out at the familiar building and then back at Shane.

“This is it?”

Shane nodded faintly. “Yeah… I live above the library.”

Ilya raised a brow, a small hint of curiosity breaking through his usual composure. “Above the library? Is there space up there?”

“Mhm.”

They stepped out into the cool air, and Ilya moved without asking, hovering close, not quite touching, but ready. Shane didn’t protest.

Inside, the library was dim and quiet, closed for the day. The faint scent of paper and wood polish hung in the air. Shane led the way up a narrow staircase tucked behind the front desk. When the apartment door opened, Ilya paused.

It wasn’t large, but it was warm. Cosy.  Soft lamplight filled the space. Bookshelves lined nearly every wall, some neatly arranged, others stacked with quiet chaos. A worn but well-kept couch sat under the window with a folded blanket draped over the back. Plants, actual thriving plants, rested on the sill and in corners. Everything felt… lived in. Cared for.

It was peaceful.

Ilya let out a quiet breath. “This is… nice.”

Shane shrugged, already moving inside. “It’s small.”

“It’s yours,” Ilya said simply, stepping in and closing the door behind them. “That matters more.”

Shane didn’t respond, but something in his shoulders eased, just a fraction.

Ilya guided him gently toward the couch. “Sit.”

Shane obeyed without argument, lowering himself like his body had suddenly remembered gravity.

“Stay there,” Ilya added, already turning toward the kitchen area. He opened the fridge, pausing briefly in mild surprise. “You weren’t kidding about being stocked.” He speaks remembering Shane muttering about how grateful he is that he restocks the fridge every Sunday morning when he had heard the word rest. 

Shane gave a quiet, distant hum.

Ilya grabbed a ginger ale and scanned for something light. Crackers. Perfect. He brought them over, setting everything down within easy reach before crouching slightly in front of Shane.

“Small sips,” he said. “And try to eat something. Even if it’s just a little.”

Shane nodded, movements slow and automatic as he took the bottle. “Thanks…”

“Numb thanks still count,” Ilya replied lightly to himself.

For a while, the only sound was the faint fizz of the ginger ale and the occasional crack of a biscuit breaking. Shane stared down at his hands, thoughts clearly spiralling somewhere far deeper than the room. Ilya didn’t interrupt. Didn’t try to fill the silence.

Just stayed.

“I can’t believe…” Shane’s voice cut through, thin and almost disbelieving. He blinked, shaking his head slightly. “I can’t believe you got me pregnant on the first try.”

There was a beat.

A very small, fragile moment where the weight of everything hung in the air.  And then Ilya laughed. Not cruelly. Not sharply. Just… genuinely. It slipped out before he could stop it.

Shane blinked, startled, looking up at him.

“I’m sorry,” Ilya said, still smiling, one hand coming up to his face as he tried to contain it. “I’m sorry! It’s just I was not trying! Of  course you worded it like that! Shane, you make it sound as though I purposely baby trapped you!.”

Shane stared at him for a second longer… and then, despite everything, a faint, incredulous huff escaped him. “I’m serious. The wording was a little off , but you know what I meant.” 

“I know,” Ilya said, softer now, but the warmth hadn’t left his expression. “I just, with you? It feels very on brand.”

“On brand?” Shane echoed, brows knitting.

“Yes,” Ilya nodded. “Blunt, straight to the point. No fucks given. I like it.” 

That earned a real reaction, a tiny, reluctant curve at the corner of Shane’s mouth. The tension in the room shifted. Not gone, but it had certainly loosened. Now it was breathable.

Shane leaned back into the couch, exhaling slowly as he took another sip of the ginger ale. “This is insane.”

“It is,” Ilya agreed.

Another pause.

Then, quieter, steadier, “But you’re not in it alone.”

Shane didn’t answer right away. But this time, when the silence settled between them, it felt different.

Less like something closing in. And more like something beginning. Something neither of them were prepared for, but something they knew would work out for the best. 

The weeks that followed didn’t unfold neatly.

They stretched, tangled, overlapped. The days bleeding into each other until time felt less like something Shane was moving through and more like something pressing in on him.

At the library, he functioned because he had to. Routine carried him. He went down early, as always. Turned on the lights. Checked the returns. Sorted, scanned, shelved. The familiar rhythm of it all usually grounded him, but lately, even the smallest disruptions felt sharper. The hum of the overhead lights buzzed louder than he remembered. The soft murmur of patrons grated when it stacked up too quickly. The scent of old paper, usually comforting, turned his stomach on bad mornings.

Some days he had to pause halfway down an aisle, one hand gripping the edge of a shelf while he breathed through a wave of nausea that seemed to come out of nowhere.

At one point, he didn’t make it. He barely got to the back room in time, never mind the bathroom. His  hands shaking, vision blurred at the edges.Afterward, he sat on the floor longer than he meant to, forehead resting against the cool wooden cabinet, trying to will his body back into something manageable.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He didn’t even have to look to know who it was.

Ilya- Hydrate.

A second message followed almost immediately.

Ilya- I’m serious, Shane.

Shane let out a weak, humourless breath before dragging himself up just enough to grab the bottle he’d abandoned earlier.

Shane - You’re annoyingly persistent, he typed back.

The reply came fast.

Ilya- You’re alarmingly bad at taking care of yourself.

It shouldn’t have helped. But because it was Ilya saying it,  it did.

The evenings weren’t much easier.

Shane would get upstairs to the apartment , shut the door behind him, and just… stand there for a while. The apartment still felt safe, still felt like his, but there was something different now. A quiet awareness humming under everything.

He wasn’t alone anymore. That thought didn’t always land gently.

Some nights, he sat on the couch with a blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders, staring at nothing, mind racing faster than he could keep up with. What if he couldn’t handle it? What if the sensory overload got worse? What if he shut down at the wrong moment, when something small needed attention, or something big demanded it? What if he wasn’t built for this?

His hand would drift, almost unconsciously, to his stomach. The surface still flat, still unchanged in any visible way. And he’d feel this strange, disorienting mix of disbelief and responsibility. Sometimes he’d pull his hand away like the thought itself was too much. Other times, he’d leave it there.

His phone would light up again.

Ilya- Have you eaten?

Shane- Define eaten? —  he’d respond.

Ilya- Shane.

Shane- I had crackers.

Ilya - That’s not a meal.

Shane - It’s food.

There would be a pause, long enough that Shane could picture Ilya frowning at his screen.

Ilya- I’m bringing you actual food tomorrow. No arguments.

Shane simply rolled his eyes. But he would never say no.

For Ilya, the weeks were just as relentless, but in a different way. Work demanded precision, attention, long hours that left little room for anything else. Normally, he thrived in that environment. Now, his focus is fractured. Not dangerously so, but noticeably. He’d catch himself checking his phone between calls. Rereading messages. Waiting for responses that didn’t always come quickly, especially during Shane’s shifts.

The first time Shane didn’t reply for hours, Ilya told himself it was nothing.

By the third hour, he was distracted enough that Cliff  had to call his name twice to snap him out of his worry. 

When the message finally came through

Shane- Sorry. Busy.

The relief that hit him was sharper than he expected. It unsettled him a little. Still, he didn’t pull back. If anything, he leaned in. Not in a way that crowded Shane, but in a way that made it clear he was there. Consistent. Reliable.

He learned quickly what helped.

Short messages. Direct questions. No pressure to respond immediately. But there was always something waiting when Shane checked his phone. And when Shane did respond, brief, dry, sometimes bordering on irritable. Ilya found himself smiling anyway. Because it meant he was okay.

By the time they finally meet for their second date , it didn’t feel like starting over. It felt like stepping into something that had been quietly building in the background.

The restaurant was low-lit, calm and thankfully not too crowded. Shane had picked it, which Ilya took as a good sign. Shane still looked tired, though. There were faint shadows under his eyes, and his movements were just a little slower than usual, but he was here. Present.

“That’s new,” Ilya said lightly as they sat, nodding toward the drink Shane had ordered.

“Ginger tea,” Shane replied. “Apparently my body has opinions now. Ginger ale is no longer my go to.” 

“Your body has always had opinions.”

“Not this many.”

Ilya smiled faintly, then studied him for a second longer than usual. “How bad has it been?”

Shane shrugged, gaze dropping to the table. “Manageable.”

Ilya didn’t call him out on it, but something in his expression said he didn’t entirely believe him.

Shane noticed. “It’s not constant,” he added, a little more quietly. “Just… unpredictable.”

Ilya nodded once. “That sounds worse.”

“It is. For me anyway.”

A small, shared understanding passed between them before Shane shifted slightly in his seat, exhaling through his nose. “This is still ridiculous,” he muttered.

Ilya huffed a quiet laugh. “Still stuck on that word?”

“It’s our second date,” Shane said, looking at him flatly. “And we’re discussing prenatal symptoms. What other word is there for it huh?”

“When you put it that way—”

“It sounds like poor life planning.”

“It sounds like life ignored the plan entirely.”

That pulled a faint, reluctant smile from Shane. It was brief, but real enough for Ilya to feel all mushy inside. 

The moment lingered before Ilya’s expression grew more thoughtful. He hesitated, not out of uncertainty, but out of care. “Can I ask you something?” he said.

Shane gave him a look. “You’re going to.”

“Still polite to check.”

A beat. Then, more quietly he added, “Are you sure about this? About -ah, going through with the pregnancy?” 

Shane stilled. Not visibly, at first, but something in him tightened. His fingers curled slightly against the edge of the table, thumb pressing into the wood like he needed something solid. “I wasn’t,” he said after a moment.

Ilya didn’t move. Didn’t interrupt.

Shane swallowed, gaze fixed downward. “At first, I thought…” He exhaled shakily, then tried again. “I thought I couldn’t do it.” The admission came out rougher than he expected. “Not because I didn’t—” He stopped, frustration flickering across his face. “It’s not about wanting or not wanting. It’s just—” His hands moved, restless now, trying to explain something that didn’t fit neatly into words. “My brain doesn’t handle change very well,” he said finally, voice quieter but more precise. “It barely handles small changes. This isn’t small.”

Ilya’s chest tightened, but he stayed silent.

“Everything becomes louder,” Shane continued. “Brighter. Too much. And when that happens, I shut down. I can’t process things properly, I can’t respond the way people expect me to. S-sometimes I can’t respond at all.” He let out a short, strained breath. “And a baby doesn’t exactly wait for you to catch up.”

The vulnerability in that sentence sat heavy between them.

“I kept thinking about all the ways it could go wrong,” Shane admitted. “What if I get overwhelmed and I can’t take care of them properly? What if I miss something important because my brain just… locks up? What if I end up resenting it because I can’t cope?” His jaw tightened slightly, like he hated the thought even as he said it out loud. “I didn’t want to bring a child into that,” he said. “Into something so unstable.”

Ilya’s expression had softened completely now. There was no trace of humour left, just quiet attention. Though his heart was aching hearing Shane call himself unstable. 

“But then…” Shane’s voice shifted, less sharp, more introspective. “I kept circling back to this same thing.” He glanced up briefly, then back down. “We did everything right,” he said. “We were careful. We used protection, hell,  I wasn’t even ovulating! Statistically, this shouldn’t have happened.” A small pause. “And yet it did.” His fingers slowly stilled. “I started thinking… maybe this isn’t just bad timing,” he said. “And maybe  it’s not just something to fix or undo.”

Another breath was sucked into his lungs, deeper this time. “Maybe it’s… intentional. Not in a logical sense of course,  but…” He shook his head slightly. “I don’t know. It just stopped feeling random.”

Ilya watched him, something unspoken building in his chest.

“And once I let myself think about it like that,” Shane continued, quieter now, “it didn’t feel like something being forced on me anymore.” He smiled softly to himself. “It felt more like something that had found its way here anyway.” His hand moved again, this time, resting briefly against his stomach before he seemed to realise what he was doing. He didn’t pull away immediately. “I’m still scared,” he admitted. “That hasn’t changed.”

Then, finally, he looked at Ilya. His gaze was steady, open in a way it hadn’t been before.

“But I don’t think I want to walk away from it.” The words landed with quiet certainty. “I think… this baby is supposed to be here.” A beat. “And I think they’re supposed to be ours.”

Ilya’s composure slipped. Not dramatically or anything like that, but enough. His eyes softened, something deeply emotional surfacing as he looked at Shane like he was seeing him in a new light entirely. For a long moment, he didn’t trust himself to speak. When he did, his voice was lower than usual. “I am really glad you told me that.”

Shane blinked slightly, caught off guard by the weight behind it.

“I wasn’t sure how to ask,” Ilya admitted. “I didn’t want to push you into any decisions you were not ready to make.”

“You didn’t,” Shane said. “You were actually pretty patient, I would have asked a lot sooner than you did..” 

Ilya nodded, swallowing once before letting out a quiet breath. “You know… when I moved to Ottawa, it was supposed to be practical. In fact it was - a practical decision,” he said. “A change of scenery , a calmer work environment . A clean slate to find who I am.” A faint, almost disbelieving smile touched his lips. “But if this is where it leads…” He shook his head slightly. “I think it might be the best decision I have ever made in my life.”

Shane tilted his head. “Because of this situation?”

“Because of what it could become,” Ilya corrected gently. “I’ve wanted a family for a very long time,” he said, more quietly now. “The longing has been aching inside of me since my mother. I want something real. Something that’s mine, not temporary, not conditional.” His gaze met Shane’s again. “And somehow… this feels like the beginning of that.”

Shane didn’t look away this time. “I think i understand what you mean…I’m really glad I met you Ilya. As much as you’re throwing my life into a spiral of unpredictable moments. I happen to really like you.”

Ilya blushed. “Wow. That is a lot of words for you Shane Hollander.”

“Such an asshole.”

“Ah, I like that word.”

“You’re insufferable.” 

———————————————————————

Shane sat in the passenger seat, fingers laced so tightly together they ached. The streetlights blurred past the window, each one marking how much closer he was getting. And how much harder his heart was pounding. “I can still make you turn around,” he muttered. “I can still back out.” 

Ilya glanced over, one hand steady on the wheel. “You won’t.”

Shane huffed softly. “You sound very confident for someone who is about to drop off their boyfriend, who is about to tell his parents he’s pregnant without you there.”

“I am confident,” Ilya said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Because I know you. And I know you will explain that you did not want me to come with you. I am safe from the hate of your parents for now.” 

Shane shifted in his seat, anxiety buzzing under his skin. “That doesn’t make it any less terrifying for me.”

“No,” Ilya agreed. “But it means you’ll do it anyway and you will do it in the right way.” There was a pause as Ilya reached over, gently prying one of Shane’s hands loose and squeezing it. “And,” he added, “in one week, we get to see our baby properly. Not just… what did you call it last time?”

“A blob,” Shane said automatically, though a faint smile appeared.

“A very important blob,” Ilya corrected.

Shane let out a quiet laugh, tension easing just a little. “You’re so weird.”

“You like it.”

“…I do.”

For a moment, the fear softened into something warmer. Excitement flickered beneath the nerves, fragile but real.

“I can’t believe it’s already twelve weeks next week,” Shane said. “It feels like it’s gone so fast and yet so slowly at the same time.”

“That’s because you’ve been throwing up for half of it. Your brain is not remembering very well either, baby brain they say.” 

“Hey.”

Ilya smirked. “You said it yourself the other day. You cannot be offended by your own words Shane.” 

Shane rolled his eyes, but his shoulders relaxed. “It is getting better, though. The brain fog and stuff. I’m managing.” 

“Good,” Ilya said softly. “You deserve a break.”

Another pause settled between them, comfortable this time. “Oh,” Ilya added, “Svetlana’s coming this weekend. I am going to pick her up from airport after this. She will be with me to take you home later.” 

Shane turned to him. “Really?”

“Mhm. I think I will tell her tonight. About you and baby.”

Shane nodded, then looked down at his hands again. “That’s good… I’ve kind of felt bad.”

“Why?”

“You don’t really have anyone else to talk to about this,” Shane admitted. “Not like I do.”

Ilya’s expression softened immediately. He pulled up outside Shane’s parents’ house and put the car in park before turning fully toward him. “Shane, solnyshko ,” he said gently, “I have you. That’s all I need.”

Shane swallowed, emotion catching in his throat. He had no idea what the nickname was, but it melted his heart more and more every time it slipped from Ilya’s lips. 

“Still,” The Russian continued, brushing his thumb lightly over Shane’s knuckles, “it’ll be nice to tell her.”

Shane nodded. “Yeah. Exactly.” 

They sat there for a second longer before Ilya leaned in, pressing a soft, reassuring kiss to Shane’s lips.”You’ve got this,” he murmured. “I will pick you up and introduce myself later, after,  Da?” 

Shane nodded and took a breath. “Okay. Okay… yeah. I got this.”

He climbed out of the car, shutting the door with more confidence than he felt. He waved once before heading up the path and knocking.

The door swung open quickly.

“Shane!” Yuna beamed, immediately pulling him into a hug. Then, just as quickly, she leaned past him, peering toward the street. “Who dropped you off? Did I see a kiss?! Who is it?”

Shane blinked. “Uh—”

“A man?” she continued, eyes wide with excitement. “Since when are there men dropping you off? Who is he? What’s his name? Is he—”

“Mom,” Shane said, overwhelmed but unable to stop a small smile. “His name is Ilya. Ilya Rozanov.” 

“Ilya,” she repeated, delighted. “Oh, I like that already. Who is he?”

“He’s a paramedic,” Shane said, stepping inside. “He’s new in Ottawa. Well not new-new. He’s been here for around five months now.  He’s—” Shane hesitated, then his expression softened in a way that gave him away instantly. “He’s originally from Russia. Moved to Boston for university and then came here after a few years.” 

Yuna’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh! That’s wonderful. And you met… how?”

Shane let out a small breath, nerves easing just a little as he spoke about something safe—something good. “It was at the library,” Shane said. “My boss, you know Sylvia, she had a really bad fall. Hit her head. There was blood and I—” he paused, swallowing. “I panicked and called the ambulance.”

Yuna’s expression immediately shifted to concern. “Oh my goodness…”

“I stayed with her the whole time,” Shane continued, his voice steadier now as he focused on the memory. “Ilya was one of the paramedics who came. He was calm, really calm in fact . He talked me through what they were doing, and made sure I wasn’t panicking too much.” A faint smile tugged at Shane’s lips. “And then,” he added, a little sheepish now, “while they were getting ready to move Sylvia into the ambulance she was teasing me, telling me to get his number and next thing I knew , he asked me out.”

Yuna blinked—then lit up completely. “He did what?”

Shane ducked his head, cheeks flushing. “Yeah.”

“Oh, I love him already,” she said, delighted. “That is straight out of a movie, honey! Oh it’s so sweet!”

Shane laughed softly, the sound warm and genuine now. “He’s really… good, kind. Probably the kindest person I’ve ever met,” Shane said again, more quietly. “He’s patient. He explains things properly, doesn’t rush me, doesn’t make me feel like I’m too much. He just… meets me where I am.”

Yuna reached out, squeezing his arm.

“And he’s funny,” Shane added quickly. “In a really dry way. And he pretends he’s serious all the time but he’s not. And he—” He stopped himself again, flustered. “Sorry.”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Yuna said gently. “I could listen to you talk about him all day. I’m so happy you’ve finally met someone good for you , Shane! You deserve the chance at a happy ending.” 

Shane smiled, small but real. “He makes everything feel… manageable.”

Footsteps approached, and David appeared in the hallway. “What’s all the noise about?”

Yuna turned to him immediately. “Shane has a boyfriend! A paramedic, he’s from Russia! Moved to Boston first before coming here. Oh! and he asked Shane out while loading his boss into an ambulance!”

David raised his eyebrows, then looked at Shane. “Well,” he said with a small smile, “that sounds like quite the introduction.”

“It was,” Shane admitted.

“Come on,” David added. “Let’s eat before your mother explodes from excitement.”

Dinner passed more easily than Shane expected, but the weight in his chest never fully lifted. Every laugh, every question, it all felt like it was building toward something inevitable.

Afterward, Yuna stood and headed toward the kitchen. “Would you like something else to drink, Shane? You barely touched your apple juice.” 

“Um… have you got any ginger ale?” he said.

“Of course.” She returned with a glass, placing it in front of him. Shane picked it up, taking a small, careful sip. Too careful.

Yuna noticed immediately. Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Shane… what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said too quickly.

“Shane.”

His grip tightened around the glass. His pulse roared in his ears. “I—” he started, then stopped.

David’s gaze sharpened slightly, attentive now.

“I’m pregnant,” Shane blurted.

Silence crashed down around them.

Yuna’s hand flew to her mouth. David froze where he stood.

“I’m eleven weeks,” Shane rushed on, words tumbling over each other, panic rising fast. “I found out a while ago, I just - I didn’t know how to tell you and I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner and I know this is a lot and I know it’s probably disappointing and—”

“Shane—” Yuna tried, but he couldn’t stop.

“I know I’m not- like- fuck. T-this wasn’t planned and I know someone like me is going to struggle and I don’t always handle things well and I get overwhelmed and I just—” His voice cracked. “I didn’t want you to think I’ve ruined everything. I know I’m going to mess it up, I just- I-I'm sorry—”

“Shane.”

Yuna’s voice was firmer this time.

He stopped.

She stepped forward quickly, taking the glass from his trembling hands and setting it aside before gripping his shoulders.

“Enough,” she said gently but decisively. “You are not going to stand there and tear yourself apart like that.”

Shane blinked at her, stunned.

“Listen to me,” she said, cupping his face, forcing him to meet her eyes. “You have not disappointed us.”

Tears welled instantly.

“But—”

“No,” she cut in softly. “No ‘but.’ This is a shock, yes. A big one.” Her expression wavered with emotion. “But your baby is not a mistake or a disappointment , Shane. Not if they’re what you want.” 

His breathing hitched.

David stepped closer then, placing a steady, grounding hand on Shane’s shoulder. “You think you’re the only person who’s ever been scared before becoming a parent?” he said gently.

Shane let out a shaky breath. “I just- I don’t know if I can—”

“You can,” David said firmly. “You are no different from any other new parent. No one knows what they’re doing at first. Everyone struggles. Everyone learns.”

Shane stared at him, tears spilling over now.

“You will cope,” David continued. “Because you care. Because you’re already thinking about what’s best for that child.”

Yuna nodded, brushing tears from Shane’s cheeks with her thumbs. “And you won’t be doing it alone.”

Shane’s face crumpled.

“Ilya,” Yuna added softly. “From everything you’ve just told me… he sounds like someone who will stand by you.”

“He will,” Shane whispered.

“Then you have him,” she said. “And you have us.”

That was it.

The dam broke.

Shane let out a choked sob, collapsing into her as relief flooded through him so suddenly it made his knees weak. “I was so scared,” he cried. “I didn’t want you to hate me—”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Yuna murmured, holding him tightly. “Never. Never.”

David wrapped an arm around both of them, steady and warm. And for the first time since finding out, since the fear and doubt and uncertainty had taken root. Shane finally let himself feel something else.

Relief and happiness. 

——————————————————————

As the  airport doors slid open, Ilya barely had enough time to scan the crowd before a familiar voice cut through the noise. “Ilyusha!”

He turned sharply and there she was. “Sveta!.”

She ran straight into him, luckily enough he caught her easily, lifting her slightly off the ground as she wrapped her arms tightly around him. “You took too long,” she accused, her accent thick as she pronounced the English words. 

Since living in Boston together they’d made a deal to talk in Russian when it was only desperately needed. It was the quickest and easiest way for them to learn English correctly. By using it they ensured they were able to hold steady conversations. It worked wonders.

“You live in another country,” he replied dryly, though his grip on her didn’t loosen. “I had a few hours to get here so I took them. Is not my fault your plane landed early. Blame the wind speeds.” 

She pulled back just enough to look at him, hands still gripping his jacket. “You look different.”

“So do you.”

Svetlana narrowed her eyes. “Liar.”

Ilya huffed a quiet laugh. “Come. Before you start a scene.”

“I am the scene,” she shot back, but followed him anyway.

By the time they reached the car, the initial intensity had softened into something warm and familiar. As soon as they were inside, she kicked off her shoes and turned toward him fully.

“Now,” she said. “You are telling me everything.”

“There is a lot,” Ilya warned, starting the engine.

“Good,” she said. “I am ready.”

He pulled out of the airport, quiet for a moment as he gathered his thoughts.

“There is someone,” he said finally. “A man I've met recently.” 

Svetlana’s eyes lit up immediately. “Ah. I knew it.”

“Of course you did.”

“Who is he?”

“His name is Shane.”

Her expression softened at the way he said it. “You like him.”

“Yes.”

“No,” she corrected, pointing at him. “You really like him.”

Ilya didn’t deny it.

“He is… different,” Ilya said carefully. “In a good way. He is honest. Sensitive. He sees the world… very intensely.”

Svetlana listened closely.

“He is autistic,” Ilya added. “So I am careful with how I speak, how I act. But it is not difficult. It just means I pay attention.”

“And you are good at that,” she said quietly.

“I try,” he replied.

She smiled. “So when do I meet him?”

Ilya exhaled slowly.

“Tonight, we’re picking him in soon. But before we do there is - there is more.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “There is always more with you.”

He glanced at her briefly before returning his eyes to the road. “He is pregnant. Eleven weeks.”!

Silence. 

Svetlana gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. “What?”

“He is eleven weeks pregnant. Did I not say it right?”

Her shock lasted all of two seconds before it transformed into pure joy. “Ilya!” she exclaimed, grabbing his arm. “That is amazing!”

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“You are going to be a father,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “Do you understand this?”

“Yes.”

“And you are calm about this?”

“I am not calm,” he admitted. “But I am… certain.”

She studied him, then smiled warmly. “You’re falling in love with him.”

“Yes.”

“And the baby?”

A small pause.

Then, softer, “Da, I  am already head over heels in love with them.”

Svetlana leaned back in her seat, eyes shining. “Wow. Well I cannot wait to meet them.”

Ilya glanced at her, something lighter in his expression now.

“I think you will like him,” he said. 

“I already do,” she replied. “He managed to secure my best friend, he’s got to be very special to achieve such a thing.” 

“Hmm, special is big understatement.” Ilya informed. “He is everything.”

“Urgh, pass me the vomit bowl.” 

The drive over to Shane’s parents house is quiet, but not uncomfortable. Svetlana watches Ilya from the passenger seat in the back now, chin resting lightly against her hand, a knowing look in her eyes.

“You are nervous,” she says.

“I am not,” Ilya replies.

“You are,” she repeats calmly. “Your shoulders are tense. Is to be expected when you’re about to meet the grandparents of your child.” 

He exhales through his nose. “I want them to like me.”

She smiles softly. “They will. You already make their son happy by the sounds of things. That is enough.”

Ilya doesn’t respond straight away, but his grip on the steering wheel loosens just slightly. When they pull up outside Shane’s parents’ house, the porch light is already on.

“I will stay in the car for now,” Svetlana says, unbothered. “I want to observe. Just in case.” 

“That sounds threatening.”

“It is a little,” she admits.

Ilya almost smiles. Before he even has time to step out of the car and prepare.  The front door flies open. A woman rushes out at full speed.

“Mom—!” Shane’s voice calls after her, mortified. “Mom, wait—!”

Ilya blinks.

The woman, Yuna, he assumes, does not slow down. Behind her, Shane appears in the doorway, face already bright red, with David following at a much calmer pace. “Mom, please don’t—!”

Too late.

Yuna reaches the car, practically glowing with excitement. “You must be Ilya!” she says breathlessly the second he opens the door.

Ilya barely has time to process before she’s right there, beaming at him like she’s known him for years.

“Yes- uh, yes, I am,” he replies, momentarily caught off guard.

“Oh, it is so wonderful to meet you,” she gushes. “I have heard so many lovely things about you tonight.”

Ilya blinks again, still catching up. “Thank you,” he manages, a little stiffly.

“And congratulations!” she adds, her voice softening with emotion. “On the baby.”

That right there- that nearly breaks him. His composure slips for half a second, genuine surprise flashing across his face. “Oh,” he says, then quickly recovers, straightening slightly. “Thank you. That- that means a lot to me.” He clears his throat, suddenly aware he’s not alone. “This is-uh, Svetlana. She is a friend from Russia. We moved to Boston together,” he adds, gesturing to the back seat.

Svetlana, who has been watching the entire interaction unfold with undisguised amusement, leans forward slightly with a polite smile. “Hello.”

Yuna’s expression shifts seamlessly into a warm welcome. “Oh, it’s so lovely to meet you too,” she says. “It’s nice to see he has friends visiting from Boston.”

Svetlana nods graciously, clearly entertained but respectful. “Thank you. I am very happy to be here.”

At that point, Shane finally catches up, slipping past his mother and stopping just short of the car. His face is on fire. “I’m so sorry,” he blurts out immediately, words tumbling over each other. “She just- S-she gets a little excited and I told her not to run out and I didn’t think she actually would and—”

“Shane,” Ilya says gently.

Shane stops, blinking at him.

“It is okay.”

That doesn’t stop the embarrassment, but it slows the spiral. “I’m really sorry,” Shane mutters again, quieter this time.

From behind them, David lets out a low chuckle as he approaches. “Don’t mind her,” he says easily. “She’s been waiting all evening.” He steps forward, offering his hand to Ilya. “David. Shane’s father.”

“Ilya,” he replies, shaking it.

“It’s good to meet you,” David says. “And… congratulations.” There’s a sincerity in his tone that lands deeper , steadier, more grounding. It sounded like acceptance. 

“Thank you,” Ilya says again, more firmly this time.

Shane shifts awkwardly beside them before turning to his dad and pulling him into a quick hug.

“Text us when you get home,” David murmurs.

“I will.”

Yuna, not to be left out, immediately pulls Shane into a tight embrace next. “And I will see you next Friday,” she says, pulling back just enough to cup his face, “the ultrasound is at 10am right?.”

Shane freezes slightly. Right. He glances instinctively toward Ilya, anxiety flickering in his eyes, silent, uncertain. Is that okay?

Ilya meets his gaze immediately.

Without hesitation, he reaches for Shane’s hand, threading their fingers together.

“Yes, 10am. We will see you there, Mrs Hollander,” he tells Yuna.

The relief on Shane’s face is instant, soft and almost overwhelming.

“Okay,” he breathes.

Yuna beams. “Call me Yuna , honey! I will see you both then, I won't miss it.”

Eventually, goodbyes are said, again, and again, and again, before they finally manage to get into the car. The moment the doors shut, there’s a brief stillness. Shane stares very intently at his hands. He does not look in the direction of the back seat.

Svetlana watches him for a moment. Understanding flashing across her features as she locks eyes with Ilya. “Well,” she says lightly, “that was dramatic.”

Shane makes a small, strangled noise. “I-I am so sorry,” he mumbles. “She’s not always- well she is always like that but I didn’t think she’d run—”

“I like her,” Svetlana interrupts calmly.

Shane blinks, finally glancing back. “You do?”

“Yes,” she says simply. “She is warm. And very fast. She will keep Ilya on his toes. Is very needed.” 

That pulls a small, reluctant smile from him. “I’m glad,” he says quietly.

“And your father,” she adds, “he is the calm one.”

“Yeah,” Shane nods. “That’s… accurate.”

Ilya starts the car again, a quiet sense of relief settling in his chest as he listens to them. This is going better than he’d hoped.

Slowly, cautiously, Shane begins to speak more. Happily answering Svetlana’s questions, offering small details, his voice gaining steadiness with each exchange. By the time they reach Ilya’s place, the tension has softened into something almost comfortable.

Inside the apartment , the evening becomes quieter.

They help Svetlana bring her things in, Shane hovering slightly at first before gradually relaxing, pointing out where things are, explaining small details about the space. It makes Ilya feel something he can’t quite name. Seeing Shane so comfortable in a space that wasn’t technically his. 

“This is the spare room,” Ilya says, setting her bag down.

“It is perfect,” Svetlana replies, looking around with approval.

Shane lingers in the doorway. “Do you need anything?” he asks.

Svetlana smiles at him, softer now. “No. But thank you.”

There’s a small pause. Then— “I’m really glad you’re here,” Shane admits. “It’s nice to meet someone from Ilya’s life. Outside of Cliff I mean.” 

Her expression warms further. “Me too.”

Ilya watches the exchange quietly, something settling in him. They’re going to get along.

And as the night winds down, with the weight of the day finally lifting, it feels nice. Nice enough that for the first time in weeks both Shane and Ilya manage to catch a full night's sleep. 

———————————————————————

The clinic is chaotic in that particular way all medical buildings seem to be. The mix of soft voices, distant beeping, the faint hum of machines behind closed doors.

Shane sits between Ilya and Yuna, hands clasped tightly in his lap again, thumbs rubbing anxiously over each other. “I feel like I’m going to throw up,” he mutters.

“You won’t,” Ilya says calmly.

“I might.”

“You already did the throwing up part,” Ilya replies dryly.

Shane lets out a small, shaky laugh despite himself.

Yuna reaches over, gently smoothing a hand over his arm. “It’s just an ultrasound, sweetheart. You’ve had all the bloodwork and answered all of the questions. This is the last step for today.” 

“I know,” Shane says quickly. “I know, I just, the last time it didn’t really look like anything and what if something’s wrong now or what if they can’t find it properly and I have to have another one of those internal ones? I can’t do that! Or—”

“Shane.”

Both of them say his name at the same time.

He stops. Ilya takes one of his hands, grounding, steady. Yuna takes the other.

“You are not alone,” Ilya says quietly.

“And everything is going to be alright,” Yuna adds.

Shane nods, swallowing hard. “Okay.”

A nurse appears at the doorway. “Shane Hollander?”

He stands a little too quickly, nerves buzzing through him. Ilya stays close on one side, Yuna on the other as they follow her down the short hallway.

The ultrasound room is dimly lit, the monitor already glowing softly beside the bed. There’s a machine with neatly arranged controls, a tray with gel, paper towels, and a transducer probe resting in its holder.

“Go ahead and lie back,” the sonographer says gently.

Shane climbs onto the bed, heart racing. His shirt is lifted, waistband adjusted slightly, and a paper drape placed for modesty.

“Okay,” she says, squeezing a clear gel onto the probe. “This will feel a little cold.”

It does. Shane flinches slightly as the gel spreads across his lower abdomen, the coolness making him tense.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “Just relax your stomach as best you can.”

Easier said than done. Didn’t anybody explain to her about his sensory issues? The probe presses down, firm but not painful, and the image flickers onto the screen.

At first, it’s just shapes. Shadows.

Shane’s breath catches. Oh god what if she can’t find— “There we go,” the sonographer says softly.

The image sharpens. And suddenly there’s a baby. Not just a blob. A baby. Small, but unmistakably human. A rounded head, a tiny body curled slightly, little limbs visible, moving, twisting.

“Oh my God,” Shane breathes. His entire body goes still.

The sonographer adjusts the angle slightly, pointing gently at the screen. “That’s the head here… spine running down… and those are the little arms.”

The baby shifts. Actually shifts. A small, almost jerky movement.  Shane lets out a strangled sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Ilya’s grip on his hand tightens. Yuna covers her mouth, eyes already shining.

“Would you like to hear the heartbeat?” the sonographer asks.

Shane nods quickly, unable to speak.

There’s a brief adjustment, then, a rapid, rhythmic sound fills the room. 

Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump.

Fast. Strong. Alive.

Ilya breaks first. A sharp inhale , followed shortly by the tears that are running freely down his face before he can stop them. He bows his head slightly, gripping Shane’s hand tighter, overwhelmed.

“S-Shane , sweetheart. That’s—” he tries, voice unsteady. “That is—” He can’t finish.

Shane turns his head toward him, eyes wide and glassy. “That’s our baby.”

Ilya nods, laughing weakly through tears. “Yes.”

Yuna wipes at her cheeks, unable to hold back her own emotion. “That’s my grandchild…”

The sonographer smiles softly, continuing the scan. “I’m just taking some measurements,” she explains. “Crown-rump length… everything looks right on target for around twelve weeks.” She clicks and measures, freezing images briefly on the screen. “Heartbeat is strong… movement is good… development looks exactly where we’d expect.”

Shane exhales shakily, tension he didn’t even realize he was holding finally releasing. “Everything looks healthy?” he asks, voice small.

“Yes,” she reassures him. “Everything looks very good.”

Shane starts crying then. Not panicking. Not overwhelmed in any way. Just… relief. The kind that makes your chest ache.

The scan continues a little longer, angles adjusted, images captured, before she finally leans back. “I can confirm your due date,” she says, typing something into the system. “Based on measurements, you’re looking at sometime before or after, possibly on if you’re lucky. August 6th.”

Yuna lets out a soft, emotional laugh. “A summer baby…”

Shane smiles through tears. “August 6th…”

Ilya squeezes his hand again. “I like that.”

Eventually, the gel is wiped away, and Shane sits up slowly, still a little dazed. He’s handed a few printed images. Small , grainy black and white pictures that somehow mean everything.

He stares at them like they might disappear.

“That’s… them,” he whispers. Ilya pressing a firm kiss to his cheek. “That’s our baby..” 

Outside, the air feels soothing.  A literal breath of fresh air compared to the suffocating air of the clinic.  

Shane walks between them again, clutching the ultrasound photos carefully. “I can’t believe that just happened,” he says. 

“You did very well,” Ilya tells him.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You grew a human. From scratch might I add. It’s very impressive,” Yuna points out. 

Shane huffs a small laugh. It’s as they reach the car that Shane hesitates. “Mom?”

“Yes?”

“I’ve been thinking about something.”

Yuna tilts her head slightly, attentive.

Shane fidgets with the edge of the photo. “The birth.”

Ilya glances at him, listening closely.

“I don’t… I don’t think I want to do it in a hospital,” Shane admits. “It’s too much. Too many people, too many sounds, too much of everything.”

Yuna nods slowly. “Okay…”

“I was thinking maybe…” He swallows. “The cottage.” There’s a brief silence. “The one you and Dad gave me.”

Yuna’s expression softens immediately. “A home birth?” she asks gently.

Shane nods, nerves creeping back in. “It’s quieter there. Familiar. I think I’d cope better.” He risks a glance at Ilya, anxiety flickering again. “I know it’s not like the usual way and it might be more complicated and if you don’t want that then I understand, I just—”

Ilya reaches for his hand again, stopping the spiral before it can build. “I am not surprised,” he says calmly.

Shane blinks. “You’re not?”

“No,” Ilya replies. “You prefer environments you can control. The cottage is safe for you.”

Shane’s shoulders drop slightly.

“We would need proper medical support,” Ilya continues, practical but gentle. “A qualified midwife, emergency plan, everything in place. There is only so much I know as a paramedic.” 

Shane nods quickly. “Of course.”

“But,” Ilya adds, softer now, “I understand why you want it this way.”

Relief floods Shane’s face. “Okay,” he breathes.

Yuna watches the exchange, something warm settling in her expression.

“I think it sounds lovely,” she says. “That cottage is full of good memories for us as a family. It would be a beautiful place to bring your baby into the world.”

Shane looks between them, almost disbelieving. “You’re both really okay with it?”

“We’ll make sure it’s safe,” Ilya says.

“And we’ll support you,” Yuna adds.

Shane’s grip tightens around the ultrasound photos, emotion rising again, but this time it’s lighter. Hopeful. “Okay,” he whispers.

And as they stand there, the date, August 6th, settling into reality, it finally starts to feel real in a new way. Not just something happening to him. But something they’re stepping into. All of them together.

———————————————————————

The kitchen at Yuna and David’s place was already warm with noise before anything even started. The music humming low, bottles clinking, the smell of grilled food and something sweet lingering in the air. People were scattered everywhere: Sylvia perched on a stool with a soft drink in hand, Rose and Jackie arguing about something trivial near the counter, Cliff laughing too loudly at his own joke, and Hayden crouched on the floor with Arthur, Ruby, and Jade, helping them build something vaguely resembling a tower out of coasters.

Shane hovered near the edge of it all, one hand unconsciously resting against the small, rounded curve beneath his shirt.

Sixteen weeks.

It still didn’t feel entirely real, except it did if he’s being completely honest with himself. Especially now. The bump wasn’t something he could ignore anymore, not when certain shirts clung just enough, not when he caught people glancing a second too long. He tugged lightly at the hem of his top, exhaling. “They’re going to notice,” he murmured under his breath.

Ilya, standing beside him with a beer he’d barely touched, leaned in slightly. “Then it is a  good thing we’re about to tell them yes?.”

Shane gave him a look. “Easy for you to say.”

Ilya’s mouth softened into a small smile. “Hey. You’ve handled everything else, all of the hard parts so far. This part? This is a good part.”

Across the room, Yuna caught Shane’s eye and gave a tiny, encouraging nod. David, beside her, lifted his brows like, you ready? 

Svetlana stood near the back, arms folded but smiling knowingly, already watching Shane like she could see right through his nerves.

Shane swallowed, then nodded once.

Ilya set his bottle down with a quiet clink and raised his voice just enough. “Hello? everyone? Can you come in here for a second?”

There was a chorus of groans and curiosity.

“If this is another one of your ‘important announcements’ and it’s just about parking over the neighbours drive—” Cliff started.

“It’s not,” Ilya cut in, amused.

That got them moving.

One by one they drifted into the kitchen, squeezing into the space. Hayden ushered the kids along, Arthur practically bouncing, Ruby dragging Jade by the hand. Sylvia leaned against the counter, Rose crossed her arms expectantly, Jackie tilted her head.

“What’s going on my loves?” Sylvia asked.

Shane suddenly felt every eye land on him. His hand instinctively slid back over his stomach.

They can see it. They definitely can see it.

Ilya glanced at him, just a quick check-in, and Shane gave the smallest nod.

Ilya took a breath. “So… we wanted to get everyone together today because we have got something to tell you.”

“Jesus, just say it,” Jackie laughed. “We already know you’re together by the way.” She added with a teasing wink. 

Shane let out a shaky laugh, then stepped slightly forward. “I’m- um…” His voice caught, and for a second the room felt too quiet.

Hayden’s expression shifted first. Not fully understanding yet, but something clicking.

Shane tried again, softer. “I’m pregnant.”

Silence. A full, stunned, heartbeat-long silence.

“Oh my god.” Rose’s hand flew to her mouth. “That’s why you were so sick!” 

“No way—” Cliff blinked, looking between them.

Sylvia straightened instantly. “Wait, Shane sweetie, are you serious?”

Jackie just stared. “Shut up.”

Hayden didn’t say anything at all. He just moved.In two quick steps, he crossed the kitchen and pulled Shane into a tight, almost crushing hug. “Oh my god, dude.” Hayden said softly, voice breaking this time. “Oh my god, you’re serious—”

Shane laughed weakly against his shoulder. “Yeah, I’m serious.”

Hayden pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes already glassy. “You’re really—?”

“Sixteen weeks,” Shane nodded.

That did it.

Hayden let out a choked laugh and hugged him again, tighter, one hand coming up instinctively to cradle the back of Shane’s head.

“I’m so happy for you,” he said quietly.

Behind them, everything exploded.

“No way!” Cliff was grinning now, running a hand through his hair, rushing over to pat Ilya on that back. “That’s insane! I-in a good way! In a great way—”

Sylvia was already moving closer, eyes wide but warm. “Can I—?” she gestured vaguely toward Shane’s stomach. “I don’t have to.” 

Shane laughed. “Yeah, yeah, you can. Thank you for asking me.”

 Her hand rested gently against the small bump, and her face softened immediately. “Such a gift and to think I’m the one who brought you two together. Me and my silly slips.”

Rose pulled Shane into a quick hug next, shaking her head. “You’ve been hiding this? From me?!”

“I tried,” Shane admitted. “It was getting hard to lie to you. I felt so bad.” 

“I can’t believe I didn’t notice. I’ve had three kids!,” Jackie added, though she was smiling as she stepped in to hug him too. “Honestly, I just thought you were eating better, finally putting on some much needed weight.”

“Wow,” Shane snorted. 

Arthur, who had been staring this entire time, suddenly piped up loudly: “Is it a baby?”

That made everyone laugh.

“Yes,” Shane said, crouching slightly to his level. “It’s a baby.”

Arthur’s eyes went wide. “Is it a boy or a girl? Like me or Ruby and Jade?”

Ruby crossed her arms. “Girls are better.”

“Are not,” Arthur shot back.

“Ah!” Ilya raised a hand, grinning. “Funny you should ask that.”

The room settled again, curiosity rising fast.

Shane glanced at him. “We’re doing it now?”

“Yes,” Ilya said, a little spark of excitement slipping through. “We figured… since we had the gender scan earlier today…”

“Wait, you know?” Sylvia leaned forward.

Yuna slipped out of the room for a second and came back carrying a box. “They don’t , but I do and so does this cake.” 

A white frosted cake. Simple. Unassuming. The kind that held a secret.

“Oh- I think I’m gonna pee a little,” Rose whispered.

“I can’t believe this ,” Jackie said , her voice powering through with full enthusiasm.

Cliff clapped his hands. “Alright, now we’re talking.”

Hayden wiped quickly at his eyes, laughing. “Okay, okay, this is- this is a lot for me and my emotions—”

Shane felt his heart hammering again, but this time it was different. Lighter. Brighter. Ilya reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. “Ready?” he asked.

Shane nodded. “Yeah.”

Yuna handed them the knife.

Everyone leaned in, kids included, Arthur practically on his toes.

“Do it!” Ruby urged.

“Cut it!” Jade added.

“Carefully,” David laughed.

Shane and Ilya shared one quick look, something quiet and full passing between them. Before they cut down through the center.

The knife slid cleanly through. Then cut through the other way. They pulled the slice apart. And there it was. Soft and  unmistakable..

Pink.

For half a second, no one spoke. 

“A GIRL!” Ruby shrieked. Jade immediately joined in, jumping up and down. “I knew it!” Ruby declared, even though she absolutely hadn’t.

Arthur blinked. “A girl?”

Hayden laughed, pulling all three kids into him. “Looks like it, buddy.”

Sylvia let out a delighted laugh. “Oh my, a beautiful little girl!”

Rose clapped a hand over her mouth again, eyes shining. “This is perfect.”

Jackie shook her head, grinning. “You two are in so much trouble. She’s going to have you both wrapped around her little finger.” 

Cliff pointed at Ilya. “You’re definitely in trouble.”

Ilya just smiled, wide and unguarded in a way he rarely let himself be. “Yes,” he said softly. “I think I most definitely am.”

Hayden moved back toward Shane again, resting a hand carefully over the small bump. “A little girl,” he said, almost in awe. “I’m proud of you buddy.” 

Shane nodded, his own eyes starting to sting now. “A little girl.”

Svetlana, who had been quietly watching, stepped forward last. She cupped Shane’s cheek briefly, then pulled him into a hug.

“I’m proud of you,” she murmured. Shane exhaled against her shoulder, finally letting himself feel it fully.

Around them, the room buzzed, kids arguing about names already, adults talking over each other, laughter spilling into every corner.

But in the middle of it, Shane stood with Ilya’s hand still wrapped around his, the weight of the moment settling in the best possible way.

Sixteen weeks. And now everyone finally knew. The countdown to meeting her was on.

———————————————————————

The weeks after the announcement seemed to stretch and fold at the same time. They were slow in the waiting, fast in the changes.

By twenty weeks, Shane couldn’t pretend anymore.

The small curve he used to be able to hide had become something undeniably there, a soft, steady presence beneath his clothes. He adapted in quiet, instinctive ways. Choosing softer fabrics that didn’t cling in the wrong places, adjusting how he moved through the narrow aisles of the library, keeping one hand resting low on his stomach when things felt overwhelming.

Routine helped. Routine always helped.

Same opening time. Same system for returns. Same order for shelving. Even with the changes happening inside his body, Shane held tightly to the things that stayed predictable. It kept the noise in his head manageable, kept the world from tipping too far off balance.

Still, there were moments where it all felt like too much at once. Too many new sensations. Too many unknowns. Too much change.

And yet, there  were still the  good moments too.

The first kick happened on a quiet evening that felt almost too ordinary to hold something so important.

Rain tapped steadily against the windows of Ilya’s apartment , soft and constant. The lights were low, the world outside blurred into something distant and unimportant. Shane was stretched along the sofa, a blanket tucked loosely over his legs, one hand resting absentmindedly over his stomach as he read.

Ilya sat close, shoulder brushing his, the quiet presence grounding in a way Shane had come to rely on.

Shane stilled suddenly. “…wait.”

Ilya looked up immediately. “What? What is wrong?”

Shane frowned slightly, his fingers pressing more firmly against his stomach. “I think—”

A flutter. Stronger.Different from anything he’d felt before. More than distant flutters.  His breath caught. “Oh.”

“What?” Ilya shifted closer, alert now.

Shane’s voice dropped, edged with something fragile and awed. “I think that was her. I think she-she’s kicking Ilya. Really kicking.” 

There it was again, clearer this time. A small, deliberate movement from within. Shane’s entire face changed, eyes widening as the reality of it settled in. “She definitely kicked.”

Ilya froze for half a second. “There was a kick?”

Shane nodded quickly, almost laughing now, overwhelmed. “Yeah! Y-yeah, that’s her—”

Ilya didn’t move right away. For once, he looked uncertain, like he didn’t want to get it wrong. “Can I?” he asked quietly.

Shane took his hand and guided it without hesitation. “Here.”

Ilya’s palm settled against the curve of Shane’s stomach, warm and steady. They waited. Nothing.

Ilya huffed a quiet breath. “Maybe she’s done.”

“Just, wait,” Shane murmured, though his own heart was racing. A few seconds passed. “She’ll do it again, I know it. Come on baby girl.” 

Just as they were about to give up, a distinct, unmistakable kick was felt against Ilya’s hand.

Ilya went completely still. Every bit of focus he had locked onto that single point of contact. “…I felt that,” he said, barely above a whisper.

Shane let out a soft, breathless laugh, emotion catching in his chest. “Yeah. That’s her.”

Another movement followed, lighter this time, like she was shifting rather than kicking.

Ilya’s fingers curled slightly, instinctively protective.

“She’s real,” he said, voice thick, like the words had weight. “I know that sounds stupid but this is different.”

“It’s not stupid,” Shane said gently.

Ilya looked up at him then, eyes bright and unguarded. Shane reached for him, grounding himself as much as offering comfort. “She’s saying hi,” he said.

Ilya swallowed, then leaned forward just enough to rest his forehead briefly against Shane’s.

“Hi,” he murmured, directed entirely at the tiny life beneath his hand. “Hi, Malyshka.. is papa speaking. Do you hear me?” 

Another firm kick.

“Yeah, she hears you papa. Loud and clear.” 

—

By the time Shane reached the third trimester, the physical changes were finally impossible for him to ignore. His balance shifted. His energy dipped faster. The world felt louder on some days, sharper at the edges. Even small disruptions, someone moving a stack of books out of place, a change in schedule, unexpected noise, could make his chest tighten.

He managed though. He always did. But it took more out of him now.

Which was why Rose insisted on covering a few extra shifts as well as some of Sylvia’s shifts at the library. To give Shane a bit of breathing room, even if he wouldn’t have asked for it himself.

“Just sit for five minutes,” she’d told him earlier that afternoon. “You’re allowed.”

“I am sitting,” Shane had replied.

“You’re reorganizing while sitting. That doesn’t count.” 

Still, he’d tried. For about three minutes. Then he was back on his feet.

Rose was behind the desk when it happened. She noticed it before Shane said anything, the way he went still mid-step, one hand bracing against the edge of a shelf, the other pressing low against his stomach. “Shane?” she called, immediately alert.

He didn’t answer right away. His breathing shifted, slower, controlled, like he was trying to understand what was happening before reacting to it. “It’s fine, just tight,” he said finally, voice uncertain. “Everything just tightened.”

Rose was already moving.

“What do you mean tightened?” she asked, stepping closer.

Shane shook his head slightly, wincing faintly. “M-my stomach it just tightened —” His words cut off as the sensation peaked. His muscles pulled taut under his hand, the firmness startling enough to make him freeze completely.

Rose didn’t hesitate. She grabbed the phone. “I’m calling Ilya.”

“Rose, no he’s on shift, don’t—” Shane started, mortified, already aware of the quiet attention drifting their way from nearby visitors.

Too late. She was already dialing. “And Cliff, I’ll call him too,” she added quickly. “Just in case.”

The calls connected almost immediately.

“Ilya, hi! I’m sorry I know you’re working- listen! It’s just that Shane’s having some kind of pain, he says everything’s tightening—no, I don’t know what that means but I don’t like it—” A beat. “Yes, I’ll stay with him.” She hung up, then turned back to Shane, softer now. “They’re on their way.”

Shane dragged a hand over his face. “This is so unnecessary.”

“You’re pregnant,” Rose said flatly. “Nothing is unnecessary.”

The sensation eased after about thirty seconds, leaving behind a strange emptiness and a lingering embarrassment that settled deep in Shane’s chest. “I’m fine,” he muttered. “You’ve embarrassed me for nothing, Rose!” 

“Great,” Rose said. “You can tell them that when they get here.”

It didn’t take long. Paramedics didn’t waste time when it mattered, especially not when it was one of their own. Ilya and Cliff arrived within minutes, both still in uniform, moving with sharp, practiced urgency that didn’t quite match the quiet setting of the library.

A few people stared. Shane wanted the floor to swallow him whole. “I’m fine,” he said immediately as they approached.

“What happened?” Ilya asked, already focused, hands hovering like he didn’t want to startle him.

Before Shane could answer, Rose jumped in. “He said everything tightened, his stomach went hard and he just froze. It eased off just after I ended the call. I’ve been watching nothing else has happened since then.” 

Cliff glanced at Shane, then at Ilya. “Sounds familiar.”

Ilya exhaled slowly, the tension in his posture easing just slightly. “Braxton Hicks,” he said.

Rose blinked. “That’s a real thing?”

“Yes,” both Ilya and Cliff said at the same time.

Shane closed his eyes briefly. “I told you it wasn’t an emergency. So embarrassing.” 

“You don’t get to decide that,” Rose shot back.

Cliff grinned faintly. “I stand by the call.”

Ilya, though, stayed close, his attention still fixed on Shane. “Any pain now?” he asked quietly.

Shane shook his head. “No. It stopped.”

Ilya nodded, one hand briefly settling against Shane’s side, steady, grounding, reassuring. “Okay,” he said. “That is good.”

Shane glanced around at the very obvious audience pretending not to watch. “I hate this,” he muttered under his breath.

Cliff snorted. “Yeah, you’re never living this one down.”

Shane groaned.

Rose, entirely unapologetic, crossed her arms. “Worth it.”

At thirty-three weeks, everything felt so much closer. Close enough to touch. They sat together in the nursery at Ilya’s place, still unfinished, though more complete than before. A cot stood ready near the window. Soft blankets were folded in uneven stacks. A small collection of books already lined one shelf, because Shane insisted she needed them. He sat on the floor, back against the wall, one hand resting over the steady curve of his stomach. Ilya sat beside him, shoulder brushing his as they searched through a book of baby names. 

“Elara,” Shane said quietly. The sound of his voice breaking the silence of the room.

Ilya turned his head. “Elara?”

Shane nodded. “I keep coming back to it.”

Ilya repeated it softly, testing the shape of it. “Elara.”

A small smile followed. “I like that.”

Shane glanced at him, searching. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” Ilya said. “That’s her. I think.”

A pause settled between them.

“And Sylvie,” Shane added, softer.

Ilya didn’t need to ask why. The name honoured the woman who was practically responsible for her very existence.  He nodded once, slower this time. “Elara Sylvie.”

The name fit. Elara Sylvie Hollander-Rozanov. It settled into place like it had always been waiting.

Shane exhaled, something in his chest easing. “That’s her.”

Silence lingered for a moment, comfortable and full. Then Ilya spoke again. “Move in with me.”

Shane stilled.

The words landed heavier than expected.

His fingers curled slightly against his stomach, his mind already racing ahead, new space, different layout, unfamiliar routines, the loss of the systems he had built so carefully in his own flat.

Change. Too much change. Too fast.

“I—” he hesitated, swallowing. “I don’t know if I can.”

Ilya didn’t interrupt.

Shane shook his head slightly, trying to explain. “It’s not- I- I want to. It’s just… everything would be different. I wouldn’t know where things are, or how it works, or—” he exhaled sharply. “I need things to make sense.”

Ilya listened, really listened. Then he nodded. “Okay.”

Shane blinked, caught off guard by how easily that came. “Okay?” he repeated.

Ilya shifted slightly, turning more toward him. “Then we don’t do it that way.”

Shane frowned faintly. “What do you mean?”

“I move in with you.”

That stopped him completely.

“My place,” Ilya continued. “It’s bigger, sure. But yours works. It’s two bedrooms. It’s already yours. Your routines, your systems, everything you need is already there.”

Shane stared at him. “You’d do that? Even though you’ve already started her nursery here? You’re willing to give up all of that effort to move into a tiny above library apartment?” 

“Yes,” Ilya said simply. “We make it work where you’re comfortable.”

The tension in Shane’s chest eased so suddenly it almost made him dizzy. “You’re really sure?”

“I’m sure,” Ilya said. “We’re building a family, not just picking a place to sleep. It needs to feel stable for all of us.”

Shane let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Okay,” he said, this time without hesitation. A small, genuine smile followed, relief clear in it. “Okay. You can move in with me.”

Ilya’s expression softened, something warm and steady settling there. “Good,” he said.

He leaned in, pressing a quiet kiss to Shane’s temple. Around them, the room still wasn’t perfect. But it didn’t need to be. Not anymore.  They had a name. They had a plan.

And a place that already felt like home a few streets over. 

———————————————————————

The cottage felt different in a way Shane had never known before. It was also full in a way it never had been before. Not just with people, but with anticipation. Every creak of the wooden floors, every gust of wind against the windows seemed louder, sharper, like the whole world was holding its breath alongside them.

Shane sat curled into the corner of the wide sofa, one hand resting protectively beneath the heavy curve of his belly. Thirty-nine weeks. The number echoed in his mind like a ticking clock. Any moment now.

From the kitchen came the low murmur of voices, his dad and Ilya, their tones blending with the soft clatter of pots and pans. It should have been comforting. Normal. But Shane’s chest felt tight. His mom noticed, of course. Yuna always noticed. She slipped into the room quietly, carrying a mug of tea that smelled faintly of chamomile and honey. “You’ve gone quiet,” she said gently, setting it down within his reach.

Shane tried to smile, but it didn’t quite land. “Just tired.”

“Hmm.” Yuna sat beside him, close enough that their shoulders touched. “And?”

He hesitated. The truth pressed at his throat, heavy and insistent. “And… scared.”

The word hung between them.

Yuna didn’t react with surprise. She simply nodded, as if he’d said something obvious. “That makes sense.”

Shane let out a shaky breath. His fingers curled tighter against his belly as the baby shifted, a slow, rolling movement that made him wince slightly. “It’s just… it’s happening now. Like, actually happening. We’re here at the cottage and she’ll be born here. She’ll spend her first few weeks of life here.  And everyone keeps saying ‘you’re ready’ but I don’t know if I am.”

“You are,” she said softly.

He shook his head, more forcefully than he meant to. “Mom, it’s going to hurt like hell. I know it is. I’ve read the books, I’ve done the classes, Cassie’s explained it all in detail and—” His voice cracked. “I don’t know if I can do that. I don’t know if I can handle it. Not with how my brain works- it’s too much.” 

Yuna turned toward him fully, her expression steady and warm. She reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead the way she used to when he was little. “Listen to me.”

Shane swallowed hard, eyes stinging.

“You don’t have to be ‘normal’ as you say,  to do this,” she said. “No one is ready for this. Not really. Every person who’s ever given birth has had this moment. Sitting exactly where you are, thinking, ‘I can’t do it.’ Autistic or not.” 

“But they do, do it,” Shane whispered.

“They do,” Yuna agreed. “And so will you.”

He looked down at his belly, at the life he’d carried for months, the life that would soon be in his arms. His daughter. The thought made his chest ache in a completely different way. “I’m just… what if something goes wrong?” he admitted quietly. “What if I panic? What if I can’t—”

Yuna took his hand firmly, grounding him. “Then you won’t be alone.”

Shane looked up.

“I will be right here,” she said, her voice unwavering. “I am not leaving you. Not for a second. Not until that baby girl is here and you’re holding her against your chest.”

Emotion surged up so quickly it caught him off guard. “Mom…”

“And Ilya will be there. God he’s going to be so in awe of you I just know it,” she continued, squeezing his hand. “And Cassie will be there. And your dad will be hovering somewhere, pretending he’s not worried out of his mind.” A small smile tugged at her lips. “You have a whole team of supporters, Shane. You don’t have to carry this part by yourself.”

A tear slipped down his cheek before he could stop it. “It just feels like I do.”

Yuna leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “That’s because it’s your body doing all of the hard work,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean you have to suffer in silence thinking about it. We’ve got you honey.” 

From the kitchen, Ilya’s laugh rang out, low, warm, familiar. It cut through the tension like a lifeline.

Shane let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“He’s terrified too, you know,” Yuna added quietly.

Shane huffed a weak laugh. “He hides it better.”

“Barely,” she said. “I’ve seen the way he watches you. Like if he looks away for one second, he might miss something important.”

That made Shane’s chest tighten again, but this time, it wasn’t fear. It was something softer. Deeper.

“I don’t want to let him down,” Shane admitted.

Yuna’s expression softened even more. “You won’t. Giving birth isn’t about being perfect. It’s about getting through it. However it happens.”

Another slow movement rolled through his belly, stronger this time. Shane inhaled sharply, instinctively tensing.

Yuna’s hand immediately came to rest over his. “Was that one?”

“I don’t know,” he said, a flicker of nerves sparking again. “Maybe. Just a shift… I think.”

They both sat still for a moment, listening, not just with their ears, but with that heightened awareness that had taken over the house. Nothing followed.

Shane exhaled slowly.

“See?” Yuna murmured. “One step at a time.”

He nodded, though his grip on her hand didn’t loosen. “Stay with me?”

She smiled. “Always.”

In the kitchen, Ilya’s voice called out, “Dinner is almost ready!”

Shane glanced toward the sound, then back at his mum. “He’s trying so hard to act normal.”

“Let him,” Yuna said gently. “It helps.”

Shane leaned his head against her shoulder, closing his eyes for a moment. The fear was still there, but it wasn’t suffocating anymore. Not with her beside him. Not with Ilya just a room away. Not with his daughter reminding him, with every small movement, why he was doing this. “You really won’t leave?” he asked quietly.

Yuna pressed her cheek against his hair. “Not until she’s here,” she promised. “And even then… I might stay a little longer.”

That made him smile, small, but real.

Dinner felt almost normal despite the ongoing rage of thoughts hammering within Shane’s head. David insisted on seconds for everyone, claiming it was “fuel for the big event,” while Ilya rolled his eyes but complied, carefully plating Shane’s portion with a quiet attentiveness that didn’t go unnoticed. Yuna kept the conversation light with stories , little memories, anything to keep the tension from settling too heavily over the table.

Shane tried his best to engage. He really did. But every so often, his hand would drift to his belly, his expression going distant as he tracked a movement, a tightening, a question he didn’t voice.

Ilya noticed every time. Their eyes would meet across the table, brief, grounding. I’m here. It passed between them without words.

By the time dishes were cleared and goodnights were exchanged, the cottage had softened into quiet. The kind that feels temporary. Fragile.

The bedroom was dim, lit only by the soft amber glow of a bedside lamp.

Shane moved slower now, easing himself onto the bed with care. His body felt heavy, stretched, unfamiliar in ways that still caught him off guard. Ilya hovered nearby, trying not to hover too obviously.

“Lie down,” Ilya murmured. “I can see your back is bothering you Malysh.” 

“I am lying down,” Shane muttered, adjusting his pillows for the third time.

Ilya huffed a quiet laugh, then leaned down to press a gentle kiss to his temple. “Try to sleep.”

Shane nodded.

It took longer than usual, but eventually, exhaustion pulled him under.

He woke to a certain kind of feeling. 

Nothing sharp. Nothing painful. Just the deep, intense feeling that something may be wrong. For a moment, his brain lagged behind, still caught in sleep. Then he shifted and froze. The sheets were wet. His breath caught, heart stuttering as awareness crashed into him all at once. “Oh,” he whispered.

There was no mistaking it. His waters had broken.

A strange, quiet stillness settled over him for a second, like the world had paused just to let that realisation land.

This is it.

His pulse began to race, thoughts tumbling over each other too fast to catch. He pushed himself upright slowly, one hand bracing against the mattress, the other instinctively cradling the underside of his belly. No pain yet. Just anticipation.

Which somehow felt worse.

“Ilya…” His voice came out softer than he expected, edged with nerves.

No response.

Shane reached out, gently shaking his shoulder. “Ilya. Wake up.”

Ilya surfaced quickly, but not instantly this time. A soft inhale, a shift, then his eyes opened, blinking into the low light. “Mm- W-what’s wrong?”

“My waters broke.”

That finally woke him. 

Fully.

Ilya pushed himself upright immediately, all traces of sleep gone as his training snapped into place. His gaze dropped to the sheets, then back to Shane, already assessing, already alert.

“Okay,” he said, voice steady despite the tension that flickered across his features. “Okay. What time is it?”

“Just after three, I think.”

“Alright.” He swung his legs off the bed, moving quickly but carefully. “Any contractions yet?”

Shane shook his head. “No. Not yet.”

Ilya nodded once, processing. “That’s good. That’s normal. We’ve got time.”

Time.

The word helped. A little.

Ilya grabbed towels, helping Shane shift, keeping everything calm, controlled. The quiet efficiency of it grounded Shane more than anything else could have.

“I think we should wake your parents,” Ilya said after a moment. “And call Cassie, just to—”

“Not yet,” Shane said quickly.

Ilya paused. “Shane—”

“Please.” His voice softened, but there was a firm edge beneath it. “I just… I want a little time. Just us. Before everything starts. Our last hours as just the two of us.” 

A beat of hesitation.

Then Ilya exhaled slowly. “…Okay. But we keep track of everything. The second anything changes, anything, we tell them. Deal?”

“Deal.”

They settled back onto the bed, the air between them charged now, not frantic, but expectant.

Shane’s fingers found Ilya’s, gripping tightly. “I don’t feel ready,” he admitted quietly.

Ilya squeezed his hand. “You don’t have to feel ready. You just have to take it as it comes.”

Shane nodded, though his chest still felt tight. 

There was a stretch of silence. Long enough that Shane almost wondered if maybe it would take hours. Maybe longer. But that was when it hit. A sudden tightening low in his abdomen, unfamiliar and unmistakable. It wasn’t overwhelming, not yet. But it was different. Deeper. Focused. Intentional.“Oh—” His grip on Ilya’s hand tightened sharply. “Wait—”

Ilya was instantly alert, shifting closer. “Contraction?”

Shane nodded quickly, breath catching. “Yeah- holy shit, yeah, I think—”

The sensation built gradually, not the sharp spike he’d feared but a slow, steady pressure that wrapped around his middle and pulled inward.

Still,  it was a lot. Too much sensation all at once.

His shoulders tensed, breath going shallow as his brain struggled to process it—where it started, where it ended, how intense it was supposed to be. “I don’t like it,” he said quickly, voice tight. “I don’t—”

“Hey, look at me.” Ilya’s voice cut through, calm and grounding.

Shane forced his eyes up to meet his.

“Breathe with me,” Ilya said, steady and low. “In- two, three, four—”

Shane dragged in a breath, uneven but there.

“Out- two, three, four, five! Good. Again.”

The structure helped immediately.

Something predictable. Something controlled.

The contraction peaked, not unbearable, but intense enough to make Shane’s fingers curl and his jaw tighten. “It’s- tight,” he managed. “Too tight—”

“I know,” Ilya murmured. “You’re doing exactly right. Keep breathing.”

Shane focused on the numbers, on Ilya’s voice, on the rhythm. And then finally,It eased. Not suddenly, but gradually, the pressure unwinding until it left him breathless and buzzing.

Shane sagged slightly, blinking as the intensity faded. “Oh… okay.”

Ilya studied him carefully. “How was that?”

Shane let out a shaky laugh. “If that’s the start, then I’m in trouble.”

“It was close to thirty seconds,” Ilya said gently. “That’s good. Early labor. Your body’s just beginning.”

Shane nodded, though his senses still felt heightened, like everything was turned up just a little too high. The memory of the sensation lingered, his body replaying it, analyzing it, trying to make sense of something entirely new. “I don’t like how it feels,” he admitted.

“You don’t have to like it,” Ilya said. “You just have to work with it.”

Another stretch of quiet followed. They waited. Ten minutes. Fifteen. No second contraction.

Shane almost started to relax, just slightly. Then another one came. Still manageable. Still spaced. But real. Real enough to prove that this was in fact Labor. Their girl was finally on her way. 

———————————————————————

The next few hours unfolded slowly. Three in the morning to six in the morning seemed like the longest drag of time Shane had ever experienced. 

Early labor. This time, the books felt accurate, at  least in one way. The contractions stayed far apart, giving Shane time to recover between them. Time to breathe. Time to reset.

But each one brought that same sensory intensity. The tightening. The inward pull. The way his body suddenly felt too full of sensation, every nerve lighting up at once. It wasn’t just pain, it was the unpredictability of it, the lack of control, the way it demanded his full attention. “Too much,” he muttered during one, eyes squeezing shut. “It’s too much all at once—”

“I know,” Ilya said softly, dimming the lights further, reducing every bit of input he could. “Focus on me. Just my voice.”

Shane nodded, locking onto him.

“In- two, three, four—” 

The numbers cut through the overload again.

Not perfectly. But enough.

Between contractions, Shane leaned heavily into him, sometimes clinging, sometimes just resting his forehead against Ilya’s shoulder, grounding himself in something steady and familiar.

“You’re doing so well,” Ilya murmured each time.

Shane shook his head weakly. “I don’t feel like I am.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Ilya said. “Because I say you are.”

Time stretched.

Contractions slowly began to edge closer, but still with space. Still early.

Each one is a little stronger than the last. Each one asking just a bit more of him. 

At some point, Shane’s breathing shifted, less something he had to remember, more something his body started to do. “I think it’s getting worse,” he said after one, voice quieter now, more inward.

Ilya checked the time, nodding slightly. “It’s progressing. Slowly. Exactly how it should be.”

Shane swallowed, eyes stinging faintly. “I don’t know how much worse I can handle.”

Ilya cupped his face gently, grounding him again. “You don’t have to handle all of it,” he said. “Just the next one. That’s it.”

Shane nodded, holding onto that.

One at a time.

Outside, the world around them remained dark, but inside the cottage, something steady and irreversible had begun.

Morning came slowly, but not gently.

The soft creak of the hallway floorboards signaled Yuna and David waking, the low murmur of their voices drifting down the short staircase to the kitchen as they moved about, unaware that everything had already shifted hours ago. That down that small set of stairs, the world was very different.

Shane barely registered the sound of them at first. He was braced against the kitchen counter, both hands gripping the edge so tightly his knuckles had gone pale. His forehead rested against his forearm, damp with sweat, breath coming in sharp, uneven pulls. 

“—three, four—good, keep going—” Ilya’s voice was steady, low, right beside him. One hand pressed firmly into the small of Shane’s back, rubbing slow, grounding circles. The other hovered close, ready to catch him if his knees gave out.

“Out- two, three, four, five—”

Shane tried to follow. He really did. But this one. “Ah—!” The sound tore out of him, raw and unfiltered as the contraction peaked hard. His hips rocked instinctively, swaying side to side as his body tried to work through it. “Ilya, fuck it’s- it’s too much—”

“I know,I know ” Ilya said immediately, voice calm but firmer now. “You’re safe. Stay focused on me. Breathe.”

At the top of the hallway, Yuna paused mid-step. “…Did you hear that?” Another sound drifted up. Louder this time.

David didn’t even answer before they were both moving, quick, urgent steps down the stairs. They reached the bottom and entered the kitchen. Pausing as they took in the sight in front of them. 

Shane was clearly mid-contraction, body tense, shaking slightly with the force of it as he leaned into the counter. Ilya was anchored to him, focused, controlled , but there was no missing the intensity of the moment.

“Oh my—” Yuna gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth for half a second before instinct took over and she rushed forward. “Shane! Oh honey, why didn’t you wake me?!”

Shane’s head lifted just enough for him to see her—and something in his expression broke.

“Mom—” His voice cracked, relief and desperation flooding it all at once. “Mom it hurts so bad.” He reached for her blindly.

Yuna was there instantly, taking his hand, the other coming up to cradle the side of his face. “I’m here, sweetheart, I’m here—”

The contraction was still gripping him, his body tight and trembling as he tried to breathe through it. “I can’t—” he choked. “I can’t do this—”

“Yes, you can,” she said firmly, though her own eyes were bright with emotion. “You’re doing it already. Look at me baby boy, just breathe—”

Ilya adjusted slightly, not letting go but making space for Yuna to be closer. “It’s almost done,” he added, voice steady. “You’re right at the peak. Stay with it.”

Shane shook his head weakly, tears slipping free as the sensation overwhelmed him, too intense, too consuming, every nerve firing at once. The pressure was deeper now, heavier, dragging downward in a way that made his entire body feel like it was being pulled apart from the inside. “Make it stop,” he pleaded, voice breaking. “Ilya, please. Please just make it stop—”

Ilya’s expression tightened, just for a second, but his voice never wavered. “I cannot stop it,” he said gently. “But I can help you through it. You’re not alone.”

“Out- two, three, four, five—” Yuna counted with him now, her grip firm and grounding.

And slowly but surely. The contraction began to release.

Shane sagged forward with a shaky sob, his weight dipping enough that Ilya had to steady him quickly.

“I’ve got you,” Ilya murmured, wrapping an arm around him.

For a moment, Shane just clung, breathing hard, disoriented, overwhelmed.

Behind them, David hovered, taking it all in with wide eyes before forcing himself into motion. He stepped closer to Ilya, offering a small, tight smile. “…I’m guessing this isn’t ‘early early’ anymore.”

Ilya let out a quiet breath, shaking his head slightly. “No. Contractions are about three minutes apart now.”

David’s brows lifted. “That fast?”

“For a first labor, Da, it is,” Ilya said. “He’s progressing quickly. Waters broke at three and now we are here, just over four hours in.” 

Another flicker of concern crossed David’s face before he nodded, already shifting into practical mode. “Right. I’ll call Cassie.”

“Yes,” Ilya agreed. “It is time.”

David moved quickly, pulling out his phone as he stepped a little aside, but not far. Close enough to hear, close enough to stay present.

He put it on speaker. It rang once. Twice.

“Cassie speaking.”

“Hi, Cassie, it’s David Hollander, I’m Shane’s father,” he said, voice steady despite the tension threading through it. “We’re at the cottage. I’m assuming you know the address already. Shane’s waters broke around three, and his contractions are now about three minutes apart.”

There was a brief pause, then the shift in the midwife’s tone was immediate. Focused. Alert. “Alright. That sounds like active labor to me. I’m on my way,” she said. “How long are the contractions lasting?”

Ilya leaned closer to the phone slightly, answering clearly. “About sixty to seventy seconds. Strong in intensity. He’s needing full support through them.”

“Any urge to push?” Cassie asked.

“Not yet,” Ilya replied. “Not that he is saying. But the pressure is increasing. He said his hips are aching with it.” 

“Okay. That’s fast progression for a first-time labor,” she said. “You need to monitor him closely. Keep him upright if he can tolerate it, gravity will help. Make sure he’s staying hydrated. And watch for any sudden changes, especially if he starts feeling the need to bear down.”

“Understood,” Ilya said.

There was a brief pause, then Cassie added, “Ilya, you’re hearing all of this right?”

“Yes.”

“You’re a paramedic if I remember correctly?”

“I am.”

“Good,” she said. “If this baby decides not to wait, you may need to assist with delivery. Do you feel comfortable with that?”

Ilya didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Of course.”

Shane, still catching his breath, let out a weak, half-laugh that turned into a shaky exhale. “Great. No pressure.”

Yuna squeezed his hand. “You’re doing brilliantly,” she murmured.

“I’m about twenty minutes out,” Cassie continued. “Maybe less. Keep him calm. Keep talking to him through each contraction.”

“We will,” David said.

The call ended. And almost immediately another contraction hit.

Shane barely had time to brace before it took him. “Oh, no, no—” His body tensed sharply, panic flashing across his face as the intensity surged faster this time. “Ilya! Christ! it’s worse!”

“I know,” Ilya said, already there, hands grounding him. “Lean into me.”

Shane did, almost collapsing into him as the wave built. “I don’t like it!” he gasped, voice rising. “I don’t like it, I don’t like it! ” His breathing went erratic, too fast, too shallow. “I can’t—” Panic edged in fully now. “I can’t do this, I can’t, make it stop, please—”

“Hey, hey, hey” Ilya cupped his face briefly, forcing eye contact. “Shane, listen to me. You are safe. This is your body working exactly how it should.”

“It hurts—!”

“I know it does,” Yuna said, her voice firm but warm as she stroked his arm. “But it’s hurting you with purpose. It’s bringing your baby to you.”

Shane shook his head frantically, overwhelmed. The pain, the pressure, the sheer intensity of sensation crashing over him all at once. It was too loud in his body, too much input, too little control. “I can’t think—” he choked.

“That’s okay,” Ilya said immediately. “You don’t have to think. Just follow my voice.”

He guided Shane’s breathing again, slower this time, more deliberate. “In- two, three, four—”

Shane latched onto it, barely.

“Out- two, three, four, five—”

David hovered nearby, one hand resting gently on Shane’s shoulder now, silent support. Between all three of them, they held him steady through it. Counted him through it. Grounded him through it.

And when it finally eased, Shane sagged completely, his legs giving just enough that Ilya had to catch him fully this time. “Okay,” Ilya said softly. “Okay, we are  moving to the couch.”

Shane didn’t argue. He couldn’t.

They guided him carefully, slowly, easing him down onto the couch with pillows tucked around him for support. Yuna stayed at his side, still holding his hand, brushing his hair back from his damp forehead.

“You’re doing so well,” she whispered.

Shane let out a weak, tearful laugh. “I’m really not.”

“You are,” David said quietly from the other side. “Even if it doesn’t feel like it.”

Ilya crouched in front of him again, steady, present, completely focused.

“Next one,” he said gently, “we do the same thing. Nothing new. Just one at a time.”

Shane nodded, eyes glassy but determined beneath the fear.

One at a time.

Outside, morning had fully arrived.

Inside, everything was building toward something unstoppable.

Time lost its edges after that, measured now only in contractions, in breaths, in the space between one wave and the next.

Shane sat on the edge of the couch, his body angled forward, feet planted firmly on the floor. A blanket was draped over his lap, tucked carefully by Yuna for comfort and modesty, though at this point Shane barely registered it. His world had narrowed to sensation. To pressure. To the relentless rhythm building inside him.

Another contraction surged. “Fuuuck, okay, okay—” he panted, fingers gripping the edge of the cushion so tightly they trembled.

Ilya was right in front of him, one hand braced on Shane’s knee, the other steady at his hip. “Breathe,” he reminded gently. “Same as before. Nothing changes.”

Shane nodded, though it was more instinct than comprehension now. His breathing hitched as the contraction climbed, his body pulling inward, tightening, dragging everything down with an intensity that stole the air from his lungs.

“Hmmm- ah!” The sound broke from him, low and strained.

Yuna stayed close behind, one hand smoothing through his hair, the other resting firm and reassuring against his shoulder. “That’s it, sweetheart… just let it come… you’re doing beautifully…”

Shane shook his head weakly. “Doesn’t feel like it.” he breathed. 

“It doesn’t have to,” Ilya said. “You’re still doing it.”

The contraction peaked, strong, overwhelming, but Shane stayed with it. Breathing. Rocking slightly. Letting his body work. And then it eased. He sagged forward, exhausted, sweat clinging to his skin, his entire body buzzing from the aftershock. “I can’t keep doing that,” he whispered hoarsely.

Ilya’s expression softened, but his voice stayed grounded. “You can. And you are.”

There was barely time to recover. The next one came faster. Stronger. Different. Shane tensed immediately, because this time, something had shifted.

The pressure wasn’t just tightening anymore. It was pushing. Deep. Insistent. Involuntary.

His breath caught sharply. “Oh,” His eyes widened, panic flaring instantly. “Oh my god- holy shit!” He grabbed for Ilya, fingers clutching at his arm. “Ilya—!”

Ilya leaned in immediately. “What is it?”

“I need to—” Shane gasped, shaking his head as the sensation intensified. “I need to push—!”

The words came out laced with fear. With urgency. With confusion. For a split second, everything stilled. Then Ilya nodded, calm, focused, certain. “Okay,” he said, voice steadying instantly. “Okay, that’s good. That means we’re there.”

Shane stared at him, overwhelmed. “I don’t know what to do—”

“I have got you, I have got both of you,” Ilya said firmly. “We have got this. I promise.”

Another surge hit, stronger and Shane let out a strained groan, his body already trying to bear down on its own. “Please, ” he begged, voice breaking. “Please let me push—”

“Hang on,” Ilya said quickly, already moving. Sanitizing his hands with the alcohol gel from the drawer of the coffee table. His hands were gentle but efficient as he helped Shane shift slightly, checking him with practiced precision despite the situation, his focus absolute.

A second passed. Then, Ilya broke into a wide, disbelieving smile. “Shane, baby,”  His voice softened, something almost awed threading through it. “I can feel her.”

Shane blinked, dazed. “W-What?”

“She’s right there,” Ilya said, his grin growing. “You’re fully dilated, ten whole centimetres. And she is  low. Really low.”

For a moment, Shane just stared at him, the words struggling to land through the haze of sensation and adrenaline.

Another contraction hit.

Hard.

His body pushed.

“Ah!” He doubled forward slightly, instinct taking over completely now. “Ow, Ilya!”

“You can push,” Ilya said immediately, voice firm with reassurance. “Listen to your body, you can do it now.”

Across the room, Yuna and David exchanged a look, wide-eyed, nervous, overwhelmed.

This was it.

“Right,” David said suddenly, snapping into action. “Towels. More towels.” He moved quickly, grabbing whatever they had prepared and his phone. “I’m calling Cassie again.”

The line rang as he set things down beside Ilya.

“He’s pushing,” he said the moment it connected. “Fully dilated. Ilya says the baby’s low.”

Cassie’s voice came through, sharp with urgency but controlled. “Good. Very good. I’m close, ten minutes, maybe less. Support the head as it crowns. Don’t rush him, let him follow the urge to push.”

“I’ve got it,” Ilya replied, already in position. “I know what I am doing.” 

Behind Shane, Yuna shifted, sitting fully on the couch and guiding him gently back against her.

“Come here, love,” she murmured. “Let me help you.” She helped him adjust, lifting his legs, encouraging his knees up and back, supporting him as best she could from behind.

Shane barely registered the movement. Another contraction was building. Stronger than anything before. “Oh, oh god—” His breath hitched, panic flickering again as the intensity rose. “It’s coming—”

“I know,” Ilya said, positioning himself, ready. “This is the one you push with. Just like your body’s telling you to, da?.”

Yuna tightened her hold slightly, her voice right by his ear. “You’re safe. We’ve got you.”

The contraction peaked. And this time, Shane pushed. A deep, instinctive effort tore through him, pulling a raw, guttural sound from his chest as his entire body bore down. “Gahhhh!”

The room fell into a kind of stunned silence. No more counting. No more counted breaths. Just Shane. His breathing. His voice. The undeniable force of what his body was doing.

Ilya watched closely, hands ready, eyes focused. “That’s it, good, Shane, that’s exactly it—”

Shane gasped for air as the pressure intensified beyond anything he’d felt before. The pain burning, stretching, and overwhelming in a completely new way. “It hurts !” he cried, tears streaming freely now. “Ilya, it hurts!”

“I know,” Ilya said, steady and unwavering. “But you’re doing it. She’s moving down.”

Behind him, Yuna pressed her cheek briefly to his hair, her own eyes wet but her voice strong. “That’s your baby moving, sweetheart. You’re bringing her here.”

Another push. Another strained cry.

Shane’s fingers clutched desperately at Yuna’s arm, his whole body trembling with effort and sensation.“I can’t —.” he gasped weakly.

“Yes, you can,” Ilya said immediately. “You just did. And you’re going to do it again.”

The contraction began to ease. Shane slumped back slightly, utterly spent, chest heaving. But there was no going back now. Only forward. Only to the next push. And the one after that. Until she was here. Until she was out in the world and safe. 

The next contraction built slower but heavier. Deeper rooted than any of the others had been. 

“Okay, ” Ilya’s voice grounded him immediately, hands steady, eyes focused. “This one, you push when your body tells you. Not all at once, start gently building into it.”

Shane nodded weakly, though tears were already slipping down his face. His body trembled with exhaustion, with adrenaline, with the sheer intensity of everything stacking on top of itself. “I’m so tired.” he whispered.

“I know,” Yuna murmured softly behind him, her arms supporting him, keeping him upright. “But you’re so close, sweetheart. So close.”

The pressure surged.

“Oh—!” Shane’s breath hitched, panic flickering again, this time it was tangled with something else. Something instinctive. Urgent. “It’s coming—”

“Go with it,” Ilya said. “Push.”

Shane bore down, a strained cry ripping from his throat as his body followed through. “Ahhh!”

The sensation was overwhelming, stretching, burning, too much input flooding his senses at once. His brain struggled to separate anything, pain, pressure, movement, it was all just too much.

But he didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

“That’s it! Yes, ” Ilya’s voice sharpened slightly, awe creeping in. “Shane, she’s right there—”

Another push. Longer this time. Stronger.

Ilya’s breath caught. “Holy fucking shit” he whispered, emotion breaking through his practiced calm. “I can see her—”

Shane sobbed, barely able to process the words. “What?”

“She’s crowning,” Ilya said, his voice thick now, eyes fixed. “Shane, she’s got hair—”

Shane choked on a sob.

“Light brown,” Ilya went on, a disbelieving smile breaking across his face. “There’s so much of it—”

Emotion hit Shane all at once, raw and overwhelming. “Oh my god—” he cried.

Behind him, Yuna beamed, her face glowing with pride and awe. “That’s it, my love… that’s it . You’re doing so well, slow down now, listen to Ilya…”

The contraction eased slightly, but the burning didn’t. It lingered. Sharp. Intense. Impossible to ignore. Shane panted, his breathing erratic as his body trembled. “It burns—” he sobbed. “It hurts—”

“I know,” Ilya said gently, his tone shifting—slower, more deliberate. “This is the hardest part. You need to go slow now. Little pushes. Let your body stretch.”

Shane nodded frantically, though tears streamed freely down his face. His senses were overloaded. The heat, the pressure, the stretching, the sound of his own voice echoing too loudly in his ears. “Okay, okay—” he gasped.

Another contraction built. Not as sharp. Yet just as heavy. Demanding.

“Just gentle,” Ilya guided. “Small pushes, pant if you need to.”

Shane tried. He pushed, carefully this time, shorter efforts, broken by shaky breaths. “Ah- ah-” he panted, sobbing through it.

“That’s perfect,” Ilya murmured, his hands steady as he supported, guiding. “You’re doing exactly what you need to.”

The pressure increased again, tight, stretching, almost unbearable.

“I can’t!” Shane cried, trying to pull back instinctively.

“You can,” Yuna said firmly, holding him close. “You’re safe. Let it happen.”

Ilya worked carefully, his movements precise, controlled, helping ease Shane’s body over their daughter’s head.

“Come on, Malishka,” he murmured softly, voice breaking into Russian without thought. “You’re okay… papa’s got you… just a little more…” The mix of languages was soft, instinctive, comforting, even in the intensity. “One more like that,” he said gently to Shane. “You’re so close.”

Shane shook his head weakly, overwhelmed beyond words, but when the next contraction came, his body didn’t give him a choice. He pushed. A strained, broken cry tore from him as the burning peaked, sharp, consuming and then—

Release.

“Oh!” Shane gasped, his whole body jolting slightly as the pressure suddenly shifted.

Ilya caught her head fully in his hands, emotion flooding his expression. “Her head’s out,” he said, breathless.

Shane sagged back slightly with a sob of relief, his head falling against Yuna’s chest as she cradled him tightly.

“You did it,” she whispered, voice thick with emotion. “You did the hard part—”

Behind them, David paced, hands running through his hair, eyes darting between Ilya and Shane, nerves written all over him. “W-what—?” he started.

“Head’s out,” Ilya confirmed, though his focus remained sharp. His expression shifted. Subtle. But immediate. “…Okay, is okay,” he said quietly.

Shane’s head lifted slightly, panic flickering instantly. “What? What is it?”

Ilya didn’t look away from the baby. “There’s - the cord,” he said calmly. “It’s around her neck.”

The words hit like a shockwave.

“No.” Shane’s voice cracked instantly. “No, is she okay? Ilya!”

“Hey, hey—” Ilya’s tone stayed controlled, deliberate. “Listen to me. This happens. I got it. I know how to fix. Just breathe.” 

But Shane was already spiraling, breath coming too fast. “Make sure she’s okay, please, please—”

“I’ve got her,” Ilya said firmly, grounding him. “I’m right here.” His fingers worked quickly but carefully, assessing the cord, tight, but not immovable. “Okay,” he murmured under his breath. “Alright…” He slipped a finger gently beneath it, easing it, creating space. “Almost—” he muttered.

Shane’s whole body trembled, tears falling freely. “Ilya…”

“I’ve got it loose,” Ilya said, louder now, reassuring. “She’s okay. I promise.”

A sob tore from Shane’s chest, relief and fear colliding all at once.

“Okay,” Ilya said, refocusing. “Next contraction, we need a strong push from you. Big as you can manage. We’re getting her out.”

Shane nodded, breath hitching. “Okay, fuck—”

Behind him, Yuna tightened her hold, steady and strong. “You can do this. One more, sweetheart.”

The contraction came. Fast. Powerful.

Shane cried out, every ounce of strength he had left pouring into the push. A hoarse, raw scream ripped from him as his body bore down fully and suddenly—

Everything shifted. Slippery. Warm. Real.

Ilya caught her, hands sure despite the emotion flooding his face. “She’s out!” he called, voice breaking into something brighter. “Shane! Shane,  she’s here—”

But Shane barely heard him. He was already crying, chest heaving as he waited, listened.  For something else. For the sound every parent prays to hear. 

Ilya moved quickly now, instincts taking over. He supported her carefully, clearing her airway with practiced efficiency, checking her mouth, her nose, ensuring nothing obstructed her breathing. “Come on…” he murmured, voice tight despite his control. “Come on , Malishka..” 

No cry.

Shane’s breath hitched sharply. “Why isn’t she crying?”

“Give me a second,” Ilya said, still calm, but faster now. He adjusted her position slightly, rubbing her back firmly, stimulating her. “Come on… breathe…” he urged softly.

A moment passed. Then another. Too long.

Shane shook his head weakly, panic rising again. “Ilya, please—”

“I’ve got her,” Ilya said, though his own voice strained now. He continued stimulating her, firm but careful, checking her tone, her color.

“Come on, baby girl… you can do it…”

And then, there was a splutter, a  sharp intake of breath and finally— A cry. Loud. Clear. Alive.

The room exploded with relief.

“Oh thank god—” David breathed, stopping his pacing completely.

Yuna let out a soft sob of her own, pressing a kiss to Shane’s head. “She’s crying… she’s okay…”

Shane broke completely, sobbing as the sound filled the room. “Oh my god…”

Ilya let out a shaky breath, relief crashing over him, but his hands remained steady as he quickly checked her over. Colour improving, tone strong, breathing steady. “Perfect,” he murmured. “You’re perfect…” He grabbed a towel, quickly but gently drying her, minimizing the wetness before bringing her closer.

Then he reached for the blanket over Shane’s chest, pulling it up, creating a barrier, something soft and dry. He knew. Shane couldn’t handle more sensory input right now.

“Here,” Ilya said softly.

He placed their daughter carefully against Shane’s chest. Warm. Real. Crying.

Shane froze for half a second, then his arms came up instinctively, cradling her, holding her close like he never wanted to let go. “Oh my baby,” he whispered, voice breaking completely. “Hi… hi baby girl. Hi Elara..”

Tears streamed freely down his face as he looked at her, really looked. Their daughter. Finally here.

Ilya watched them, something shifting in his chest, something deep and undeniable. He reached out, brushing a hand gently over Shane’s hair. “I love you,” he said softly.

The words landed gently, but fully.

For the first time.

Shane looked up at him, eyes wide, overwhelmed but filled with something just as strong. “I love you too… oh my god I love you so much.” 

Behind them, Yuna and David stood in quiet awe.  Watching their family grow in real time, something sacred and unrepeatable unfolding right in front of them.

Shane held their daughter close, her cries softening as she settled against him. Safe. Here. Perfect in every single way. 

The front door burst open just as the room was beginning to settle.

“I’m here!”

Cassie’s voice cut through the air, brisk but warm, her presence immediately shifting the atmosphere. She moved quickly into the living room, bag already in hand, eyes taking everything in at once. The positioning, the towels, Shane on the couch, the baby in his arms, Ilya still grounded and steady at his side.

“Oh, you didn’t want to wait for me huh?,” she said, breathless but smiling.

Ilya let out a small, exhausted huff of a laugh. “She did not give us much choice.”

Cassie crouched beside them immediately, her attention going straight to the baby. “Alright, let’s have a look at you, little one…”

Shane instinctively tightened his hold for a second.

Yuna noticed, her arms still wrapped around him from behind. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” she murmured softly. “She’s just checking her over.”

Shane nodded faintly, though his body had started to tremble, fine, constant shakes running through him now that the adrenaline was beginning to ebb.

Everything felt  too much. Too loud. Too bright. Too real. It was a lot to take in at once.  “Ilya…” he whispered, voice small.

“I’m right here,” Ilya said immediately, one hand coming up to cradle the side of his face briefly before returning to steady the baby as Cassie began her checks.

Cassie worked efficiently but gently, listening to the baby’s breathing, checking her heart rate, her color, her reflexes. “Good tone. From what I heard she had a strong cry earlier… nice and pink…” she murmured, mostly to herself, but loud enough for them to hear.

The baby squirmed slightly, letting out a soft, protesting sound.

Shane flinched at the noise, his senses still heightened, raw. His grip tightened again without meaning to.

Yuna adjusted slightly behind him, grounding him, one hand stroking slowly up and down his arm. “Just breathe, love. You’re okay. She’s okay.”

Shane nodded, though his breathing had gone shallow again.

“Alright,” Cassie said after a moment, smiling warmly. “She looks beautiful. Let’s get a quick weight off her.”

Ilya carefully lifted her just enough for Cassie to guide the process, keeping movements minimal, controlled.

“Seven pounds, six ounces,” Cassie announced.

Yuna let out a soft, delighted laugh. “Oh, she’s so perfect…”

“Seven-six…” Shane echoed faintly, like he was trying to anchor himself to something concrete.

“She’s healthy,” Cassie said, meeting his eyes gently. “You did an incredible job.”

Shane blinked, but the words didn’t quite land yet. His body was still catching up.bStill shaking. Still overwhelmed.

A few minutes passed in a blur of quiet adjustments, clean blankets over the baby, soft reassurances, the room gradually settling into something calmer.

That’s when Cassie’s tone shifted slightly.

“Alright, Shane,” she said gently. “Next step, we need you to deliver the placenta.”

The words hit instantly. Shane’s entire body tensed.

“No, no” His head shook weakly, panic rising fast. “No, I can’t- I can’t do that.”

“It’s okay,” Cassie said calmly. “Your body will do most of the work—”

“It hurts down there,” Shane cut in, voice trembling. “I can’t do more, please I-I can’t—” His lower body throbbed now that the intensity of birth had passed. It was a deep, aching soreness layered with sharp sensitivity that made even the thought of doing more unbearable.

“Ilya, tell her please,” he whispered desperately.

Ilya moved immediately, kneeling close, one arm wrapping around him carefully. “Hey. Solynshko. Hey. Look at me.”

Shane’s eyes were glassy, overwhelmed, on the verge of spiraling again. “I’m done, I can’t—”

“You are not starting something new,” Ilya said gently but firmly. “This is the last step. Your body already knows what to do. Just let it happen.”

“It hurts so bad.”

“I know,” Ilya said, pressing his forehead briefly to Shane’s. “I know. But I’ve got you. We all do.”

Yuna tightened her hold slightly, her voice soft but steady at his ear. “Just like before, sweetheart. One step at a time. One breath at a time.”

Cassie stayed calm, guiding without pressure. “You might feel some cramping, similar to a contraction, but usually shorter. When it comes, just give me a nice gentle push.”

Shane shook his head weakly before he eventually nodded anyway. Because what else could he do?

A moment passed. Then—The cramping began.

“Oh- shit,” Shane flinched, his grip tightening instinctively around the baby, though Ilya steadied the both of them immediately.

“That’s it,” Cassie said. “Just a small push when you’re ready.”

Shane cried out softly as he followed the urge, his body trembling with the effort, but it was nothing like before. Shorter. Less intense. Relief finally hit full force. “Oh…” he sagged slightly, exhausted beyond words.

Cassie worked quickly, ensuring everything was intact, professional and thorough. “Placenta’s out,” she confirmed. “All complete and in one piece . Well done Shane.”

Shane barely registered it. He just breathed. It was as though something in him knew they weren’t quite finished.

Cassie’s gaze shifted gently. “You’ve got a small tear on the edge of your rim,” she said carefully. “Nothing major, it won’t need stitches. But I’m going to need to pack it so we can scrunch that blood flow.” 

Shane stiffened immediately. “Wait- no w-what. Won’t that hurt?” he whispered brokenly.

“Is okay,” Ilya said quickly, his voice soft but steady. “Will only hurt a little and It’ll help you heal properly.”

“I don’t want—” Shane’s voice broke. “I can’t handle anymore pain.””

David leaned in, breaking his vow of silence as he  pressed a kiss to his temple. “We’ll get you through it Bud. Just like everything else.”

The next few minutes were… hard.

Hard in a different way. Not the same overwhelming force of labor. But the sharp, focused discomfort, the vulnerability of it, the awareness of every movement.

For Shane, it was almost worse. Too specific. Too precise. Too much sensory input layered over an already overloaded system. He flinched. Tensed. Tried to breathe through it, but it was difficult, his body jerking slightly despite himself. “I’m sorry—” he choked at one point.

“Is okay, You have nothing to be sorry for,” Ilya said immediately, holding him steady, one hand gripping him tightly.

Yuna kept talking softly in his ear, grounding him, anchoring him, guiding him through each second. David remained a calm focus point for Shane to look towards. Forever grateful for his dads silence in moments of chaos. 

“It’s nearly done,” Cassie reassured.

And finally—It was.

“All finished,” she said gently.

Shane didn’t respond right away. He just… went still. Completely still. That’s when it happened. So suddenly nobody in the room had been expecting it. 

He broke.

A quiet, overwhelmed sob escaped him as his shoulders shook, everything crashing down at once, the pain, the adrenaline, the sensory overload, the emotional weight of what had just happened.

“I just- I’m sorry.” he whispered. “I need—”

Ilya leaned closer immediately. “What do you need?”

Shane swallowed hard, looking down at the baby in his arms. “Just- I need a- a few minutes. Just me and her.”

No hesitation.

“Of course,” Ilya said softly.

Yuna pressed one last kiss to his head before carefully easing away. “We’ll be right outside.”

David nodded quietly, guiding Cassie with him as they all stepped out, giving Shane the space he asked for.

The room fell quiet. For the first time since it all began. It was just Shane. Shane and his daughter.

He looked down at her, really looked. Her tiny face, her soft features, the thick , curly wisps of brown hair still damp against her head. The slope of her nose almost identical to Ilya’s own. Her eye shape was his, her mouth was his, the tone of her skin was starting to resemble his. Every single inch of her resembled him or the man he loved. He stared in amazement at the way her small body rose and fell against his chest. “You’re real…” he whispered, voice trembling.

His fingers brushed gently over her back, careful, reverent. “I made you… how crazy is that?” Emotion welled up again,  softer this time. Quieter. Not as overwhelming, just deep. Grounding. “I didn’t think I could do it,” he admitted quietly. “But you… you got me through it, didn’t you?”

The baby shifted slightly, letting out a soft sound.

Shane smiled faintly through his tears. “Hi, my baby girl. Hi, Elara…” he whispered. “That’s your name, beautiful.. Elara Sylvie.” 

And for a few precious moments. The world stayed still.

A few hours later, soft afternoon light filtered through the bedroom curtains, casting everything in a warm, golden haze. Shane lay propped up against the pillows, the exhaustion finally settling properly into his bones. Every part of him ached. Deep, heavy, earned, but it was dulled now, softened by the calm that had followed the storm.

Beside him, Ilya lay on his side, completely absorbed.

Elara rested between them, wrapped snugly in a soft pink blanket, her tiny body impossibly small against the space she’d already filled.

Ilya gently lifted one of her hands, his much larger fingers carefully spreading her tiny ones.

“One…” he murmured, barely above a whisper. “Two… three…” His voice held a kind of quiet wonder Shane had never heard before. “Four… five…” He switched to her other hand, just as careful, just as reverent. “Perfect,” he breathed.

Shane watched him for a long moment. Watched the way his brow softened, the way his movements slowed, like he was afraid of missing something if he went too fast. Watched the way he looked at her. Like she was everything. Something within Shane’s chest tightened. “Ilya?”

Ilya glanced up immediately, though one hand stayed resting lightly against Elara’s stomach. “Yes?”

Shane hesitated. It all felt so much bigger now, in the quiet. More real. “Did you mean it?” he asked softly.

Ilya’s expression shifted slightly. “Sorry? Did I mean what?”

“What you said,” Shane clarified, his voice quieter still. “After she was born.”

The other man paused. Realisation dawned only a few seconds later. “Oh.” Ilya went still for a moment , his gaze dropping briefly to Elara before returning to Shane. There was no hesitation this time. “Da, yes ,” he said softly. “I meant it.”

Shane held his gaze, searching. “You said you loved me.”

“I do.”

The words came easier now, but they weren’t lighter. If anything, they carried more weight, more truth.

Ilya shifted slightly, propping himself up a little more, his free hand coming to rest gently over Shane’s. “I love you very, very much,” he said, his voice thickening just slightly with emotion. “I think I have for a long while. I just…” He huffed a quiet, self-conscious breath. “Did not know how to say it.”

Shane’s fingers curled faintly under his.

Ilya’s gaze softened, something distant flickering behind it for a moment. “My mother.. Irina, she would have loved you, you know that?.”

Shane blinked. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” Ilya said, a small, bittersweet smile forming. “She would’ve thought you were… fascinating.” He let out a quiet breath. “And kind. And stubborn in all the right ways. She would have enjoyed seeing someone keep me on my toes.”

Shane huffed softly at that.

“And she would have been over the moon about her,” Ilya added, glancing down at Elara. “She always wanted a grandchild one day.” His voice dipped slightly, emotion threading through it, but it didn’t break. It settled. “She’d be so happy,” he murmured. “To see this. To see… us.”

Shane swallowed, his chest tightening again. But this time it was in a way that felt grounding.

Ilya looked back at him, eyes steady, open in a way they hadn’t been before. “Shane Hollander… you have changed my life,” he said quietly. “In ways I did not expect to be possible at the ripe age of thirty one. In ways I did not even know I needed.”

Shane’s lips twitched faintly.

“Even with all of your quirks,” Ilya added, a small tease slipping in.

That earned him a proper smile. “Hey,” Shane murmured, a little breathless laugh following it. “My quirks are part of the package.”

“I know,” Ilya said softly. “That’s why I love you.”

The words settled between them, warm, solid, undeniable.

Shane was quiet for a moment. Thinking. Allowing himself to live in the feeling.  Sorting through a way of expressing something that had always been… so complicated. “I love you too,” he said finally.

Ilya stilled slightly.

Shane’s gaze dropped briefly to Elara, then back up again. “I don’t… always understand emotions,” he admitted, his voice thoughtful, careful. “They get… tangled. Or too much. Or not clear.”

Ilya didn’t interrupt. Didn’t rush him.

“But this-” Shane continued, his fingers tightening slightly around Ilya’s. “This isn’t like that.” He shook his head faintly, a small, certain smile forming. “It’s… obvious,” he said. “Like something that just is. I don’t have to figure it out. I don’t have to question it.”

Ilya’s expression softened completely.

“I just know,” Shane finished quietly. “I love you. I love you so much. It used to feel so complicated for me to be with someone, but not with you. You’re my person Ilya.. you’re- you’re my everything. You and her.” 

The brief silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full. Steady.Real.

Elara shifted slightly between them, letting out a soft, sleepy sound, her tiny hand curling instinctively. Both of them glanced down at her at the same time. And then back at each other.

Ilya leaned in just slightly, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to Shane’s forehead.

“I’m really glad you did this for us,” he murmured. “That you gave her to us..” 

Shane let his eyes close for a second, leaning into it. “Me too.” 

Outside, the world carried on as normal. But in that room—Everything had changed.

———————————————————————

The car hummed softly along the quiet road, tyres whispering over damp tarmac as the last stretch of countryside gave way to familiar streets. The cottage was already behind them now. Just a memory of still mornings and slow days and ahead of them waited the apartment above the library, where real life would start again. Reality hitting hard and strong. 

Shane sat in the back seat, arm curled protectively around Elara. She was tucked up nice and safe in her car seat , small and warm. Her tiny breaths steady against the  skin of his hand that was laying against her chest. His fingers splayed like he was afraid she might somehow drift away if he didn’t keep contact. “Ilya…” His voice wavered, softer than he meant it to be.

Ilya glanced at him in the rearview mirror, eyes gentle but attentive. “Yes, love?”

Shane swallowed, blinking hard. “Don’t go back to work yet. Please.” The words came out rushed now, fragile. “I- I really don’t think I’m ready. I thought I was, but I’m not. What if something happens? What if she- what if I—”

“Hey,” Ilya cut in softly, steadying rather than stopping him. “Look at me.”

Shane lifted his eyes to the mirror, and that was all it took for the tears to spill over. “I can’t do this on my own,” he admitted, voice breaking. “I don’t want you gone all day. It’s too long. It’s too quiet and- and everything feels louder when you’re not there.”

Elara stirred slightly at his voice, and he instinctively leaned closer to her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

Ilya slowed the car a little, one hand tightening on the steering wheel. “You are not on your own,” he said calmly. “Not really. I’m still going to be there. Just… not in the room for a few hours a day.” 

Shane shook his head, even though Ilya couldn’t fully see it. “It feels like it.”

“I know it does.”

There was a pause for a few seconds, just the sound of the road and Elara’s quiet breathing. Then Ilya spoke again, more deliberately. “I’m not going back to twenty-four-hour shifts.”

Shane blinked. “What?”

“I told them I wouldn’t.” Ilya’s tone was firm, but warm. “Not until she’s at least six months old. I’ll only be doing twelve-hour shifts. All day time, no night shifts.” 

Shane’s breath caught. “Twelve hours?”

“Yes.” A small smile flickered in the mirror. “In paramedic terms, that’s practically a short day.”

A shaky laugh escaped Shane before he could stop it. He wiped at his face with the sleeve of his jumper. “That’s still… a long time.”

“It is,” Ilya agreed. “But it’s not forever. You’ll blink, and I’ll be back through the door, probably still smelling like antiseptic and bad coffee.”

Shane huffed softly. “You always smell like bad coffee.”

“Occupational hazard.”

The tension in Shane’s shoulders eased, just a fraction. He looked down at Elara again, brushing his thumb gently over her back. “Twelve hours…” he murmured, as if testing the weight of it. “That’s… manageable.”

“It is,” Ilya said. “And you are capable of managing a lot of things Shane. More than you think.”

Shane didn’t answer straight away. His gaze stayed fixed on Elara, watching the rise and fall of her tiny chest. “Yeah I guess. I mean, I’ve been okay,” he said quietly after a moment. “With feeding. Better than I thought I’d be.”

“I know,” Ilya said, pride unmistakable in his voice. “You’ve been incredible.”

Shane’s lips twitched. “It’s just… the diapers.”

Ilya snorted softly. “Yes, I figured.”

“They’re awful,” Shane said, wrinkling his nose. “Everything about them. The smell, the texture, the—” He shuddered. “It’s too much sometimes.”

“Then we work around it,” Ilya said simply. “Gloves. The nice smell stuff - ah! Air freshener yes? I can handle them when I’m home. And when I’m not, take your time. You don’t have to rush through it.”

Shane nodded slowly. That  helped. More than he expected.

They drove in silence for a while after that, the city gradually building around them.

When  Ilya spoke again, it was lighter this time. “You know what else you could do while I’m gone?”

Shane glanced up. “Survive?”

“That too,” Ilya said dryly. “But I was thinking about your book.”

Shane stilled. “Ilya- I-I didn’t even think you’d remember that.” 

“You’ve got the time now,” Ilya continued gently. “You’re on paternity leave for a few months. You say you have been working on it for years, yes? You are very close to finishing. Take the time to finish.”

Shane looked down at Elara again, then out the window, then back to the mirror. “I don’t know if I can focus with a newborn,” he admitted.

“You don’t have to write chapters every day,” Ilya said. “Maybe not even a paragraph. A sentence is okay.  Just… don’t let it disappear again.”

Something shifted in Shane’s expression then, something small, but real. “A sentence,” he repeated.

“Da.”

Shane huffed out a breath, but this time there was the faintest trace of a smile in it. “I could do a sentence.”

“You could finish it,” Ilya said.

Shane was quiet for a moment, letting that settle.

Finish it.

The words felt strange. Big. Almost unreal. But not impossible. He looked down at Elara, who was still fast asleep in her seat, completely unaware of the quiet turning point happening in the back seat. “…I think I want to,” Shane said softly. “Finish it, I mean.”

Ilya’s eyes met his in the mirror again, warm and certain. “I know you do.”

Shane leaned back into the seat, one hand wrapped securely around their daughter’s delicate foot, the other resting lightly over her chest. The road curved, and familiar buildings came into view. Home.

Twelve hours didn’t feel quite as endless anymore. And for the first time in a long while, neither did the future.

———————————————————————-

The first few months didn’t pass in a straight line.

They unfolded in pieces. From the soft mornings and heavy afternoons, to the quiet victories and moments that felt too big for the rooms they happened in. Shane didn’t always notice them while they were happening. But later, when he looked back, they glowed.

For example, Shane hadn’t realized how much he needed their first friend visit until the knock on the door actually came.

He froze in the middle of the living room, Elara tucked against his chest, her cheek pressed just beneath his collarbone. His hand rested over her back, feeling each tiny breath like a reassurance he couldn’t quite let go of.

“Ilya,” he whispered, suddenly unsure. “What if I- what if I drop her or something in front of them?”

“You won’t,” Ilya said gently from the kitchen, drying his hands. “You haven’t dropped her as of yet. I doubt it will happen with Pikes in the room”

“That’s not comforting.”

“It’s statistically very comforting.”

Shane almost smiled. “That’s a big word for you.” 

The knock came again.

Ilya opened the door, and immediately the space filled with familiar warmth.

“Where is she?” Hayden called, already halfway inside.

“Jeez Hayden, where are your manners?,” Jackie added, laughing softly as she followed him in. “How are you Shane? It’s so nice to see you too, Ilya.” She spoke sarcastically towards her husbands back. 

“Priorities,” Ilya said dryly.

Shane stepped forward, suddenly very aware of everything. How small Elara felt, how big this moment was. “She’s over here Hayd, come meet your niece,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

Hayden stopped. Not slowed, actually physically stopped. Like the world had just… paused. All the energy he usually carried seemed to fall away at once, replaced by something careful. Reverent. He approached slowly, eyes fixed on the baby. “Oh my God…dude,” he breathed.

Shane adjusted his hold, instinctively protective. “She’s sleeping. I just fed her before you got here so she’s all milk drunk.”

Hayden leaned in just enough to see her face. And then his expression broke open. His mouth trembled. His eyes filled so quickly it startled Shane. “She’s perfect,” he said, voice cracking completely. “Shane, she’s-she’s so perfect.”

Jackie’s hand came to rest on his back, grounding him, but her own eyes were shining too.

Shane blinked hard, caught off guard by the intensity of it. “Hey, don’t cry. I’ll—” His voice wavered. “I’ll start if you do! I’m still hormonal.”

“I don’t care,” Hayden said, laughing weakly through tears. “This is allowed. This is—” He shook his head, overwhelmed. “You made her.”

Shane let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. Still kinda processing that.”

Hayden looked up at him then, really looked at him. “I’ve never been prouder to be your best friend. You done good man.” 

The words landed hard.

Shane’s chest tightened, his grip on Elara shifting slightly as emotion surged up too fast to stop. “That’s not fair,” he muttered. “You can’t just say things like that without warning.”

“It’s true,” Hayden insisted softly.

There was a long, quiet moment where neither of them spoke. Then Shane nodded, swallowing thickly. “Do you… want to hold her?”

Hayden hesitated, actually hesitated. For maybe the first time in his life. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Shane said, even though his hands tightened instinctively before letting go. “Just support her head.”

“I know how babies work,” Hayden said, already tearing up again as he took her.

“You definitely don’t,” Jackie murmured fondly. “You totally winged it with all three of ours.” 

But he held Elara like he did. Like she mattered. Like she was something rare and irreplaceable.

Jackie leaned in beside him, her voice softer now. “She has your eye shape,” she said to Shane. “Your mouth too.” 

“Poor kid,” Shane replied automatically, but his voice was thick, his smile real.

And for the first time since bringing Elara home, Shane felt something new and wonderful settle deep in his chest.

Pride.

A few days later a rather important moment came around for the pair. Shane was restless the whole morning. He checked Elara’s blanket. Then checked it again. Then adjusted it for no real reason.

“You’re doing it again,” Ilya said, watching him.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Shane exhaled sharply. “It matters.”

Ilya’s expression softened. “I know.”

When the door opened and Sylvia and Rose stepped inside, everything seemed to quiet.

Even Elara.

Shane stepped forward slowly, holding her just a little closer. “Hi,” he said.

Sylvia’s eyes dropped to the baby immediately and her entire expression changed. Her hand came up to her mouth, breath catching. “Oh… oh, sweetheart…”

Shane’s throat tightened. “We- um…” He glanced at Ilya, who gave him a small nod.

“We’d like you to meet someone very special guys… this is Elara. Elara Sylvie.”

Sylvia blinked. “Sylvie?”

“After you,” Ilya said softly. “You are the reason she exists if we are being logical. Your fall triggered fate.” 

There was a beat of silence.

Then Sylvia broke. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just… tears spilling over, quiet and full and immediate “Oh, my loves…” She pulled them both into a careful embrace, one arm around Shane, one around Ilya, mindful of the baby between them. “That’s… that’s the greatest honour,” she whispered. “Thank you. Truly.”

Shane pressed his face briefly into her shoulder, eyes closing. “It felt right,” he murmured.

When Sylvia held Elara, it was with a kind of ease that made Shane’s chest ache in a good way. Like watching something come full circle.

“She’s beautiful,” Sylvia said, rocking her gently. “And so loved already.”

Behind her, Rose was staring. Just… staring. 

Shane noticed after a moment. “What? What’s wrong?”

Rose blinked, then gestured vaguely. “You- okay, I know this sounds obvious, but you like, gave birth.”

Shane raised an eyebrow. “That is, in fact, how she got here, yes.”

“No, but like- I know you,” Rose insisted, stepping closer. “You complain about paper cuts. And then you just casually what, create life?”

Shane let out a startled laugh. “Casually? Rose, it was the least casual experience of my life.”

“I’m just saying,” she went on, clearly in awe. “You’re kind of incredible.”

He snorted, shifting Elara slightly as Sylvia passed her back. “Please don’t start that.”

“I’m serious!”

“I’m tired,” Shane corrected. “There’s a difference.”

But he was smiling. Really smiling.

By seven weeks, Elara had started to feel more… present. Her eyes tracked movement. She made soft little sounds that almost resembled conversation. Sometimes she’d stare at Shane like she was trying to figure him out.

That night, Cliff and Svetlana came for dinner.

Ilya hadn’t said it out loud, but Shane knew he was nervous. Svetlana hadn’t had chance to catch a flight when Elara first arrived and Cliff had been so busy with working overtime. It was a very special moment for Ilya. These were the only people he had close in his life outside of his and Shane’s bubble. They mattered more than anything. 

Shane noticed as he hovered more. Checked things twice. Kept glancing at Elara like he needed to reassure himself she was still there. When the door opened, Svetlana stepped in and immediately softened.

“Oh, Ilyusha,” she said, her voice full of something deep and maternal.

“Hi, Sveta,” he replied, and just that word carried years of history in it.

Shane approached, Elara in his arms. “Do you want to—?”

“Yes,” Svetlana said immediately, then laughed softly at herself. “Sorry. Yes, please.”

When she took Elara, everything about her posture shifted. She held her close, murmuring quietly in Russian, her thumb brushing gently over the baby’s cheek.

Cliff leaned in, grinning. “Well, that’s it. I’m gone. She’s got me.”

“You lasted about three seconds,” Ilya said.

“New record,” Cliff replied.

Then Svetlana reached into her bag. “I brought something,” she said. She pulled out a small teddy bear, soft with age, the fabric worn in places, clearly loved.

Ilya went completely still. “…Sveta, how?.”

“You had this when you were little,” she said gently. “You carried it everywhere. Is one of my clearest memories of our childhood. You left it behind in Boston and I kept forgetting to bring it to you.” 

He took it slowly, like it might disappear. His fingers traced the seams, the faded patches. “It was hers,” he said quietly. “My mother’s. I thought I had lost it. I did not realise I left it in Boston…” 

Svetlana nodded.

The room felt different then. Quieter. Heavier in a way that wasn’t sad , but full. “Can we…?” he asked Shane.

Shane’s expression softened immediately. “Of course.”

Ilya placed the teddy beside Elara, tucking it carefully against her tiny arm. “For you,” he whispered. “It kept me safe. Now is your turn.” His voice broke at the end.

Shane reached for his hand without thinking, squeezing it gently. “I love you,” Shane said under his breath.

Ilya nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

———————————————————————

The first smile didn’t feel real at first. Shane was sitting on the bed, exhausted, hair a mess, wearing the same shirt he’d slept in.

Elara was propped against his knees, blinking up at him. “Good morning,” he murmured, voice rough. “You certainly gave daddy a run for his money last night huh? Papa is also walking around like the walking dead. But it’s okay, you just lay there looking all cute and innocent.” 

She stared at him. Really stared. Then slowly, her mouth curved. Small. Brief. But unmistakable. 

Shane froze. His heart stuttered. “…Ilya,” he whispered. No answer. “Ilya!”

Footsteps, quick. “What-what happened?”

“She smiled,” Shane said, voice shaking now. “Like directly at  me. She smiled.”

Ilya leaned in just as it happened again. Tiny, fleeting, perfect. And something in both of them just… gave way.

Ilya let out a breathless laugh, one hand coming up to cover his mouth. “Oh my- Oh , solynshko.”

Shane’s eyes filled. “Did you see that?”

“I saw it.”

“That was for me,” Shane said, half in disbelief. 

“Yeah,” Ilya said softly. “It was.”

“I can’t believe me grumping about how tired she’s making us is the thing that got her to smile.” 

“Ah.” Ilya snickered. “Definitely my child then. Taking pleasure in others' suffering.” 

“Oh shut up.” 

The first giggle came later and yet, it hit just as hard.

Shane was at his desk, laptop open, notes scattered everywhere. Elara sat beside him, kicking her legs, making soft little noises.

“I’m trying to work,” he told her. “You’re being extremely unhelpful.”

She blinked at him.

“I’m serious baby girl, my editor has given me a  deadline. You can’t keep distracting me with your beautiful eyes and stunning smile. You’re going to bomb my future career in writing.” 

Elara only grinned, tiny baby squeaks leaving her lips as she tried her best to ram her entire first into her drool filled mouth. 

He made a face, ridiculous, exaggerated. Wiping at the drool with the edge of her burping cloth.  There was a pause. Then it happened. 

A sound. Clear and babbled in a way that could only come from a tiny form of human.

Shane turned slowly. “No way.”

He did it again. The same face, possibly even more exaggerated than the last time. 

This time the giggle came quicker. Clearer.

“Oh my God,” he laughed, the sound bubbling out of him. “You think I’m funny. That’s - wow. Your standards are so low.”

She kicked again, delighted.

He leaned closer, softer now. “Do that again. Come on Ellie, do it again.” 

She didn’t. Of course she didn’t.

But it didn’t matter.

He’d heard it. He knew she had done it. He also knew that his sensory overload and misery would forever be a point of amusement for her and her papa. 

But he didn’t mind. They were probably the only people who could get away with it. Shane loved them both in a way he would never love anyone else.

They could laugh all they want, because he knows for a fact he’ll be laughing alongside them. 

The best part about those first few months was that somewhere in the midst of the sleepless nights and adorable firsts, Shane kept writing.

Not perfectly. Not consistently. But persistently.

A sentence while Elara slept on his chest. A paragraph while she rested in her bassinet, one hand always reaching out to touch her. Notes scribbled half-awake, ideas caught before they slipped away.

It was slow. But it was real.

And one evening, he found himself staring at the final page. The cursor blinked. Elara slept nearby, the old teddy tucked against her side.

Shane’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, his chest tight. “I can do this,” he whispered to himself more than anyone.

He thought about everything it had taken to get here. Every false start. Every moment he’d almost given up. Every version of himself that didn’t believe he’d ever finish. And finally…

He typed the last line.

The cursor stopped blinking. It was done.

Shane sat back, staring at the screen, his vision blurring. A quiet, disbelieving laugh left him. “Holy shit…” He wiped his face quickly, not even sure when he’d started crying.

When Ilya came home later, tired but present, Shane was waiting. “I did it,” he said, voice steady despite everything inside him.

Ilya paused, reading his face. “You did what?”

Shane turned the laptop toward him. “I finished it.”

Ilya stepped closer, eyes scanning the page, then lifting slowly.

And the look on his face— It was everything.

No hesitation. No doubt. Just pride. “Of course you did,” he said softly.

Shane let out a shaky breath, a smile breaking through. “Yeah.”

Behind them, Elara stirred, letting out a soft, sleepy sound. Shane glanced over at her, then back at Ilya. Everything felt… full. Not perfect. Not easy.

But full in a way that made all of it worth it.

“You wanted to be the first to read it right?”

Ilya practically beamed sunlight. “Yes, yes. I want to be the first.”

“Well before I send it off to the editors next week, you can read it. Feels only fitting that it be you to lay eyes on it first considering it’s mainly about you.” 

Ilya didn’t read it all at once.

He tried to. He sat down on the edge of the couch, still in his uniform, the faint smell of antiseptic and cold air clinging to him, but after the first few pages, he slowed. Then stopped.

He started again after they had settled down for bed that night. More carefully this time. Shane noticed immediately. “You don’t have to—” he began, hovering near the doorway, arms folded tightly across his chest.

“I want to,” Ilya said, not looking up yet. “I just… I do not want to rush it.”

That quieted him.

Shane shifted his weight, glancing over at Elara asleep in her bassinet, then back to Ilya.

The apartment felt unusually still. No TV. No music. Just the soft rustle of paper and the occasional page turning. Minutes passed. Then longer. Hours, Shane had eventually fallen asleep. Though he was startled awake at one point when Ilya exhaled sharply under his breath, not frustration, but something heavier.

Shane tensed. “Is it bad?”

Ilya looked up immediately. “What? No. No, Shane—” He shook his head, almost startled by the suggestion. “Is just… a lot.”

Shane swallowed. “Oh.”

“I mean that in the best way,” Ilya added gently. “It’s honest.”

That word landed differently.

Shane nodded slowly. “Yeah. I tried not to… soften anything. I wanted the characters to feel authentic.” 

“I can tell.”

Ilya looked back down at the page, his thumb tracing lightly along the margin before he spoke again. “The way you describe things,” he said, quieter now. “The noise. The overwhelm. The way everything stacks until it’s too much…” He hesitated. “I knew some of it. But not like this.”

Shane didn’t answer straight away. “That’s kind of the point,” he said eventually. “It’s not always visible. Even when you’re right there.”

Ilya nodded, absorbing that.

He turned another page. “And this—” he added after a moment, a faint smile pulling at his mouth. “This part I definitely recognize.”

Shane frowned slightly. “What part?”

Ilya glanced up, eyes warmer now. “The part where the main character meets the ridiculously charming paramedic who absolutely sweeps him off his feet.”

Shane blinked. “…He does not sweep him off his feet.”

“Oh, he absolutely does.”

“He trips over a curb and then panics,” Shane corrected.

“Details.”

Despite himself, Shane smiled.

Ilya’s expression softened as he looked back down. “It’s in here,” he said quietly. “Us. Not just the good parts either. The awkward bits. The miscommunication. Figuring it all out.”

Shane shrugged, suddenly self-conscious again. “It wouldn’t feel real if I didn’t include the messy parts.” 

“It does feel real,” Ilya said. “That’s why it works.”

There was a pause. Ilya closed the laptop slowly, resting his hand on top of it like he wasn’t quite ready to let it go yet. “I’m really proud of you,” he said.

Shane looked down, shoulders drawing in slightly. “You’ve said that already.”

“I’m saying it again.”

“…Okay.”

Silence settled again, but this time it was softer. Easier.

Then Ilya tilted his head slightly. “So.”

Shane narrowed his eyes immediately. “So?”

“What are you going to call it?”

Shane blinked.

“Oh.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know yet. I haven’t—”

Ilya waited.

Shane hesitated. Then, very deliberately, he said, “Dial 911 for a boyfriend and a baby.”

There was a beat of silence.

Ilya stared at him. “…You’re joking.”

Shane’s mouth twitched. “Obviously.”

“Wow, Shane Hollander made a joke! I was worried for a second there,” Ilya snorted, leaning back. “That sounds like a very different kind of book.”

“Maybe it would sell well,” Shane said, deadpan.

“Oh, it would absolutely sell,” Ilya replied. “Just not for the reasons you’re going for.”

Shane huffed a quiet laugh, some of the tension finally leaving him. “Yeah, probably not ideal.”

Ilya studied him for a moment, smile softening. “But whatever you call it,” he said, gentler now, “it’s going to matter.”

Shane glanced over at Elara, then back at the laptop. “…It already does,” he admitted.

And this time, when he said it, he believed it.

Late morning came slowly. Soft light filtered through the curtains, pale and warm, settling gently over the bed where all three of them were tangled together beneath the blankets.

Shane had woken first a few minutes ago. He’d seen Elara beginning to fuss in her bassinet so decided it was best to move her in between them. 

Elara was already wide awake. Of course she was.

She lay between them on her back, tiny fists waving in the air, making soft, enthusiastic sounds to absolutely no one in particular.

“Ah,” Shane murmured, voice rough with sleep. “Hi there baby girl. Good morning to you too.”

Her head turned toward his voice immediately. “Ah!” she replied, louder this time, as if answering him.

Shane blinked down at her, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Oh, we’re having a conversation now, are we?”

A quiet groan came from beside him. “Too early,” Ilya mumbled, burying his face deeper into the pillow.

Elara kicked. Hard. Her foot connected with Ilya’s side. He cracked one eye open. “…I’ve been assaulted.”

Shane snorted softly. “She’s just expressing herself.”

“She’s expressing it violently.”

Elara made another bright, bubbling sound, completely unbothered.

Ilya turned his head, looking at her properly now and just like that, the sleepiness faded from his expression, replaced by something softer. “Hello my little one,” he said quietly.

She responded with an excited string of babbles, her whole body wriggling.

Shane shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow so he could see them both better. His hand came to rest lightly on Elara’s stomach, grounding himself in her warmth, her presence. “You’re very chatty today,” he told her.

“Ba—ah—mm!” she insisted.

“I agree,” Ilya said seriously. “Very insightful.”

Shane huffed a quiet laugh.

Elara’s gaze flicked between them, like she was tracking the conversation, trying to follow the rhythm of their voices. Her mouth opened again, another string of soft sounds spilling out.

Shane leaned closer, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “You’re doing so well, you know that?”

She blinked at him. Then smiled. Not fleeting this time. Not accidental. A real smile.One of many they receive each and every day now.  

Ilya let out a quiet breath beside him. “There it is…”

Shane’s chest tightened, warmth flooding through him so quickly it almost ached. “Yeah,” he whispered. “There it is.”

Elara let out a soft, delighted noise, like she knew exactly what she’d done.

Ilya reached over, brushing his fingers gently along her cheek before leaning in to kiss her temple. “We love you,” he murmured.

“Mm-hm,” Shane added, pressing another kiss into her hair. “So much.”

She responded the only way she knew how. By kicking her legs, babbling happily, completely surrounded by warmth and voices and love.

Ilya shifted closer, his arm sliding around Shane’s waist, pulling him in until there was no space left between any of them.

Shane melted into it without hesitation, his free hand finding Ilya’s wrist, holding there.

For a moment, everything stilled.

Just the three of them.

No rushing. No fear. No what-ifs. Just this.

Shane looked down at Elara, then across at Ilya and something settled in him, deep and certain.

All the things he used to worry about. All the ways he thought he might not fit into the world. All the times he believed being different meant being alone. They felt… distant now. Not gone entirely. But quieter. Because here he was. Loved. Understood. Safe.He brushed his thumb lightly over Elara’s tiny hand, watching her curl her fingers instinctively around his. “You know,” he said softly, more to himself than anything, “I didn’t think I’d get this.”

Ilya’s grip on him tightened slightly. “This?”

Shane nodded. “Any of it.”

Ilya leaned his forehead gently against Shane’s. “You were always going to.” 

Shane let out a small breath, eyes stinging, not from sadness this time, but something fuller. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Maybe.”

Elara made another happy sound, like she was adding her own opinion to the conversation.

Shane smiled, pressing a kiss to her tiny hand. Different didn’t mean broken. It didn’t mean unlovable. It didn’t mean you had to miss out. Sometimes it just meant your path looked a little different getting there. But you could still get there. You could still find your person. You could still build something soft and steady and real. A life filled with quiet mornings and laughter and love.

A life that felt like this.

And as Elara babbled between them, wrapped safely in their arms, the future didn’t feel uncertain anymore. It felt hopeful. It felt bright.

It felt like theirs.