Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Jackie - Relationship

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Original Children of Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike, Hayden Pike's Children, Jackie Pike, Anya | Ilya Rozanov's Dog

Additional Tags:

Domestic Fluff, Post-Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers), Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander Needs a Hug, Soft Ilya Rozanov, Married Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Mpreg | Male Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, Fluff and Humor, 5+1 Things

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-04-05 Completed: 2026-04-07 Words: 11,548 Chapters: 2/2

She knows

Summary

You're strange today," he murmured, petting her slowly.

Behind him, Ilya snorted.

"Last time you made her sleep on the patio because she messed up the couch, and now you're complaining about her behaving well?" he snapped. "You're impossible, Hollander."

Shane didn't answer. He only stared at Anya, who still sat calmly beside him, her tail wagging in the same steady rhythm, her eyes attentive yet soft, a little too intelligent for his liking.

 

Or 5 times when Anya knew first that Shane was pregnant, and 1 time everyone knew.

Chapter 2 → 5 when Anya protected the baby and 1 when baby protected a dog

Notes

I dedicate the entire text to @ilyaslestat on X and her wonderful brain.

Link to the post↓

https://x.com/i/status/2033454786427637906

Chapter 1

1.

Spring arrived quietly, without much announcement, but that day it was already clearly present, in the warmth of the air, in the soft light streaming through the hall windows, and in the smell of melting snow that still lingered in the shadows of the buildings.

Shane only noticed it fleetingly, more as a backdrop than something to focus on, because something had been off since morning.

He woke up with a heavy feeling in his stomach, as if he'd eaten something that shouldn't have been there, and though he tried to ignore it, the nausea returned in waves.

The stomach ache wasn't sharp, but rather dull and persistent, spreading somewhere beneath his ribs. He showered, drank some coffee that tasted strangely overpowering, and briefly considered simply staying home.

He didn't say anything because they had practice today. The season might be coming to an end, but that didn't mean he should slack off.

Practicing with the Centaurs was always something he didn't want to miss without a really good reason. For the first time in a long time, he felt the joy of playing hockey again, feeling like a little kid about to step onto the ice again.

Besides, Ilya would still look at him suspiciously, asking questions that Shane didn't want to hear or answer.

It was easier on the ice, movement definitely helped. Focusing on the puck, on the pace, on not getting knocked off balance, all of it pushed the discomfort to the background.

For most of the practice, he functioned normally, almost forgetting about the morning. Even if a few times he had to stop for a split second longer than usual, turn his head, take a deep breath.

Ilya noticed. Of course he did, but he didn't say anything, just watched, and Shane pretended not to notice.

When they stepped off the ice, exhaustion hit him suddenly and harder than it should have. Not the usual, pleasant tiredness after a good workout, but something heavier, dragging him down. The shower in the locker room helped a little, but not enough.

On the way home, Shane sank deeper into his seat, closing his eyes. The sun streamed through the window, warming his face, but instead of pleasure, it only brought drowsiness and a slight dizziness.

"You look like shit, Hollander," Ilya said without much conviction, more out of habit than malice.

"Thank you, baby, you always know what to say." Shane snorted softly.

"Seriously," Ilya added after a moment, more quietly. "Are you okay, Moyo solnyshko?"

“Yes,” Shane replied automatically, not even opening his eyes. “Just tired.”

Ilya didn’t press the issue, but Hollander knew he wouldn’t escape further inspection.

The house greeted them with a familiar silence, broken only by the clicking of claws on the floor and a sudden, happy bark. Anya bolted from the living room, her entire being a burst of enthusiasm.

She got to Ilya first. She jumped at him, paws landing on his chest, tail lashing against everything within reach, and he laughed, trying to push her away.

“Easy, easy,” he murmured, though he wasn’t really trying to stop her. “You’re going to knock me over.”

Shane watched for a moment, leaning against the doorframe, a hint of a smile on his lips, though exhaustion was already drawing him back to the couch and the silence.

Anya finally dropped to all fours, and then her attention shifted to him.

She approached more slowly, and instead of pounced as usual, she stopped right in front of him and sat down, watching intently. Her tail moved calmly, rhythmically, lightly tapping the floor. Shane raised his eyebrows in surprise and reached out to pet her head.

"Hey," he said quietly.

Anya didn't move immediately. She sat, patient and focused, as if waiting for something. Only after a moment did she lean forward, gently nuzzling her hand.

Shane frowned slightly.

"You're strange today," he murmured, petting her slowly.

Behind him, Ilya snorted.

"Last time you made her sleep on the patio because she messed up the couch, and now you're complaining about her behaving well?" he snapped. "You're impossible, Hollander."

Shane didn't answer. He only stared at Anya, who still sat calmly beside him, her tail wagging in the same steady rhythm, her eyes attentive yet soft, a little too intelligent for his liking.

With a sigh, he petted the dog one last time and went to make himself some mint tea to soothe his stomach. Anya trotted after him unnoticed.

2.

Sunday mornings had their own rhythm, quieter than the rest of the week, as if the world slowed down for a moment just for them. This had been their tradition since long ago, before everything became more complicated, before the season's schedule began to pull them in different directions, before things unfolded that neither of them knew about yet.

That tradition was walks. Regardless of the weather, fatigue, or the result of the last game, they went out together. Sometimes they were silent, sometimes they talked about everything and nothing, and sometimes they argued about things so trivial that after a few minutes, no one remembered how they started.

Before, they had gone out just the two of them because it was easier to talk in the woods than in their living room, but then Anya became part of that ritual.

She was usually pure, uninhibited energy, tugging on the leash, skipping from one side of the path to the other, trying to say hello to everyone she met, and the world was one big place to meet new friends.

Shane complained that she should be better trained, but he never sounded truly serious about it. He liked her this way, she was his girl, his chaotic ball of energy.

The air was cool but soft that day, with that unmistakable spring scent of damp earth and young grass. The sun flickered between the clouds, illuminating sections of the path with a warm glow.

Ilya held the leash loosely, letting Anya go at her own pace, and surprisingly, she didn't pull as hard as usual. She trotted beside his leg, her tail wagging in a calm rhythm, her attention constantly returning to Shane.

Shane noticed this but didn't say anything. There had been a lot of strange things lately. He blamed it on fatigue, the season, or anything that was easier to explain than to find the real cause of his condition.

"Two more matches," he said, lightly kicking a stone in the road. "Then it's over."

"Finally," Ilya murmured. "I need a break from looking at your face every day at the rink."

Which was an obvious lie. If the Russian could, he would carve his beloved husband's face into his forehead so he could look at him every time he looked in the mirror for the rest of his life.

"You would miss me" Shane smiled to himself.

"Not at all," the Russian replied, but there was not a trace of malice in his voice.

They walked on, arm in arm, the conversation flowing lazily, shifting between analysis of recent games and plans for what they would do when it was all over. There was something familiar, stable about it, something that made the world seem simpler.

A couple, a man and a woman, walked in the opposite direction, chatting quietly. As they passed, Shane and Ilya instinctively looked up, exchanging brief, polite smiles.

And then everything changed. Anya stopped suddenly. The leash tightened in Ilya's hand as the dog took a step forward, then another, positioning herself directly in front of Shane. Her body stiffened, her tail lifted slightly, and her ears twitched forward.

"Anya," Ilya began, frowning.

A low, warning sound rose from the dog's throat. A growl.

Shane froze, and the couple in front of them stopped too, clearly surprised. The woman took a half-step back, the man raised a hand in a placating gesture.

"Hey, calm down," he said gently.

Anya didn't move an inch. She stood as if rooted to the spot, her whole body shielding Shane. The growl became louder, more pronounced, completely unbecoming of a dog that had tried to jump into strangers' laps just a few weeks ago.

"What the hell," Shane muttered, surprised.

"Anya, stop it." Ilya tugged lightly on the leash.

She didn't listen. Her gaze was fixed on the strangers, watchful, tense, as if she saw a threat in them that no one else did.

"She never does that," Ilya said, more to himself than to anyone.

"Okay," the woman said, raising her hands. "We can just pass."

The man nodded, and slowly, very slowly, they began to give them a wide berth. Anya followed their every move. Only when they were a few meters away did the growling subside. Her body gradually relaxed, as if someone were slowly releasing a spring.

She took a step back, returning closer to Shane, but didn't turn around immediately. She watched the retreating couple for a moment longer. Then she lifted her head and looked at Shane.

Shane swallowed.

"Okay," he finally said, running a hand through his hair. "That was new.

Ilya didn't answer immediately. He looked at Anya, then at Shane, as if trying to piece together something that still eluded him.

"It's all because of spring," he said slowly. "Maybe we should get her a vet visit?"

Anya moved closer to Shane, almost brushing against his leg. As if making sure she was in her place.

"They must have done something to upset my princess," Ilya murmured softly and narrowed his eyes.

This time, Shane didn't deny it, as his head was starting to pound, and he felt nauseous again. This was a clear signal to go home.

3

Anya had never chosen between them before. She was theirs, equally, without any particular preference, though it was no secret that when she had to, she was drawn more to Ilya.

It was him she sought out when she wanted a cuddle, leaping onto his lap without invitation, ignoring his protests and the weight of her own body. It was him she pawed when he sat on the couch, and it was him she most often fell asleep next to, snuggled up as if she were much smaller than she actually was.

And at night, despite everything Shane said, she ended up in their bed.

"It's a dog, Ilya, not a pillow," Shane murmured as he woke up pressed against the edge of the mattress.

"She has feelings," Ilya replied calmly, stroking Anya's head as if that closed the matter.

And usually that closed the matter, but not now, because everything had been wrong for a week.

It started so innocently that Shane didn't even notice. Anya sat next to him more often, leaned against his legs more often, lifted her head more often when he moved.

Then it stopped being subtle, and the dog followed him everywhere. If Shane got up, Anya got up with him. If he went to the kitchen, she was right behind him. If he sat on the couch, within seconds he felt her weight against him, the warmth of her body pressed against his side.

And Ilya was completely ignored.

"Anya," he said one evening, patting his knee. "Come on."

The dog didn't even lift her head. She lay beside Shane, her muzzle resting on his thigh, her eyes half-closed, her tail wagging lazily as Shane instinctively ran his hand over her back.

"Anya," Ilya repeated, this time more sharply.

Zero reaction, the animal didn't even twitch an ear.

Shane snorted with laughter.

"Wow," he said. "That's new."

Ilya gave him a look that would normally be enough to dismiss the subject.

"What did you do?" the Canadian added after a moment, clearly amused. "Did you break her heart?"

"I didn't do anything, and she's ignoring me," Ilya snapped.

As if to emphasize his point, Anya moved closer to Shane, nuzzling her nose under his hand. Shane raised his eyebrows, far too amused by the situation.

"Maybe she finally realized who's better?" he said innocently.

"You have too much ego, Moyo solnyshko," the blond snorted.

"It's never too late." Hollander shrugged.

Ilya snorted softly, but his gaze held no irritation, only confusion and incomprehension.

"Anya," he said, carefully observing the dog's reaction.

This time, the dog flinched as if hearing her name, but instead of approaching, she merely lifted her head and looked at him for a brief moment. Her tail twitched once, twice, and then she lowered it back to Shane's lap.

Ilya froze, as if he'd been personally told he had to pack up and return to Russia.

"Unbelievable," he muttered.

Shane couldn't help but laugh harder.

"I'm sorry," he said, though he didn't sound sorry at all.

"Shut up," the blond hissed.

"Maybe you should be nicer to her," Shane replied, scratching the dog behind the ears.

"I'm nice to her," the Russian snorted, rubbing his face with his hands.

"Maybe not enough." the brunette continued teasing.

Ilya rolled his eyes, then got up from his spot on the couch and sat on the other side of his husband, wrapping his arm around him.

"This is absurd."

Anya sighed softly, as if completely content with the situation, and shifted slightly, settling even more comfortably against Shane. Her paw rested on his thigh, as if to reassure him she wasn't going anywhere.

Shane looked down at her, then at Ilya, a smile still playing on his lips.

"I think she just has better taste than we thought," he said.

Ilya snorted but didn't reply.

He just looked at them for a moment, at the dog nestled against Shane, at the calm rhythm of her breathing, at the way she never left his side.

And then he frowned slightly, because something about all this still felt off. Unfortunately for him, he couldn't stop thinking about it.

4

This week had been weighing on Shane like a burden he couldn't shake. The fatigue was different than usual. Deeper, more persistent, as if it burrowed under his skin and stayed there, no matter how much sleep he got or how hard he tried to ignore it.

Training wore him down faster, recovery took longer, and each morning began with the same battle, with a body that seemed to have decided to operate on a different basis.

Nausea came in waves, sometimes barely noticeable, sometimes so intense that he had to stop and close his eyes. The stomach ache didn't go away, only fluctuated in intensity, as if reminding himself of itself just when Shane was starting to believe things were getting better.

And yet, he got up every day. He stuck rigidly to his routine, as if it were the only thing keeping everything in check. Training, coming home, the match, eating, showering, sleeping. Repetition was safe, even if it cost him more than he cared to admit.

That evening, he barely crossed the threshold before stumbling into the house as if someone had shoved a several-ton boulder into his path.

"You look like you're about to collapse," Ilya said, but this time there was no amusement in his voice.

He immediately approached his husband and held out his arms to grab the Canadian if necessary. He himself hadn't attended practice this morning because of a slight fever, and the coach had forbidden spreading germs to the rink. The Russian had no choice but to stay home.

"Nothing new." Shane shrugged, kicking off his shoes somewhere by the door.

"Sit down, I'll put some compresses on your muscles," the blond asked, taking the other hockey player's bag to unpack.

"Wait," the barely conscious brunette muttered.

"Shane." His name fell from the Russian's lips like a warning.

He sighed softly, as if the conversation itself were an effort, and leaned against the wall for a moment, closing his eyes. Everything was too loud and too bright.

"Shower first," he muttered. "The rest later."

Ilya opened his mouth to protest, but Anya was faster. She appeared at Shane's side almost immediately, as if waiting for something to go wrong. But instead of her usual enthusiasm, her demeanor was tense, focused.

She began to whine softly. First, she gently nudged his hand with her nose, then his thigh, as if trying to get his attention. Shane flinched slightly, opening his eyes.

"Hey," he said weakly.

The squealing intensified. Anya began licking his hand, then his wrist, then moved lower, caressing his leg as if checking to make sure everything was in place. Her movements were quick, restless, completely different from her usual tenderness.

"What's she doing?" Shane muttered, trying to pull his hand away.

She wouldn't let him, instead stepping between him and the hallway leading to the bathroom, effectively blocking his path. Her tail twitched nervously, and her gaze was stubborn, almost determined.

"She doesn't want you to go to the bathroom," Ilya said slowly, watching all this with a deepening frown.

"Great," Shane grumbled. "Anya, princess, I have to go take a shower."

He took a step to the side, trying to avoid her, but the animal immediately moved away.

"Really?" the former Montreal player snorted.

Another attempt had the same effect.

"Looks like you have personal security." Ilya raised an eyebrow.

"Very funny."

Shane tried again, more forcefully this time, but Anya was faster. She pushed in front of him, then, before he could react, began gently pushing him toward the living room.

"No," he said, though without much conviction. "I want a shower."

The whimpering changed to something more insistent. Anya pushed harder. Shane took a step back, then another.

"Okay, this is weird," he muttered, but he didn't put up much resistance.

A few seconds later, he was sitting on the couch. He didn't even remember giving in.

Anya jumped in beside him immediately, as if she'd been waiting for this. She rolled once, twice, then lay across his thighs, her weight pinning him down.

Shane exhaled with a soft groan.

"I can't breathe," he mumbled.

Anya just sighed, resting her head against his stomach and staying that way. Any attempt to move resulted in her lifting her head and starting to whimper again, licking his hands as if to make sure he wouldn't get up. When he stopped moving, she calmed immediately, her breathing returning to a steady rhythm.

Like a guard making sure no one crosses a designated boundary.

Ilya stood in the doorway for a moment, watching the scene silently. At Shane, who looked too tired to argue, and at Anya, who never took her eyes off him.

"See Malen'kiy kotenok?," he finally said quietly. "Even the dog tells you to rest."

Shane muttered something indistinct, his eyes still closed.

Ilya headed for the kitchen, but paused for a moment, leaning against the counter and running a hand through his hair. As he poured a glass of water, he began to consider their dog's increasingly strange behavior. And the thought of a trip to the vet was becoming increasingly tempting.

Returning to the living room, he handed Shane the glass, and his gaze lingered briefly on Anya. On the way she lay still, her weight pressing Shane against the couch, or the way she raised her head alertly with his every movement.

Ilya narrowed his eyes slightly.

"I think it's time to make an appointment with the vet," he muttered under his breath.

This time, Shane didn't even comment, practically falling asleep on the couch.

5.

The change didn't come suddenly. It wasn't a single moment you could point to and say, "This is where it all started." Rather, it slipped into the days, silently and persistently, until it finally became something impossible to ignore.

Anya became even more obsessed, or rather, her obsession with Shane, now focused on one specific part of his body. His stomach, to be precise.

At first, it was subtle, almost imperceptible. When Shane sat on the couch, she would move closer than usual, pressing her nose into his side, as if searching for a more comfortable spot. When he lay down, she would position herself against him so that at least part of her body was touching him.

Then it stopped being subtle and became overt.

"Okay, what are you doing?" Shane muttered one evening when Anya once again nuzzled his shirt.

The dog didn't respond, for obvious reasons. Instead, she nudged him again, more persistently, as if testing something.

"Seriously," he added, pulling away a little. "This is weird."

Ilya watched from the opposite chair, his arms crossed over his chest and his brow furrowed.

"Maybe something hurts you," he said, scratching his nose.

"Nothing hurts me," the Canadian replied, frowning.

Anya whimpered softly, as if disagreeing with that assessment. Then she brushed her paw against his stomach.

Shane looked down and tried to grab her paw to stop her.

"No, Anya," he threatened.

Anya waited a second and repeated the motion again.

"I think the dog doctor's opinion is against yours," Ilya snorted softly.

"I think your dog's gone crazy," the Canadian said.

"Our dog." The blond replied, reaching for his phone.

Anya ignored them both. Her attention was focused solely on Shane. She nuzzled him again, more gently this time, then licked him through the fabric of his shirt, as if trying to soothe him.

Shane stiffened.

"Okay, I don't like this," he muttered.

"Then move her away." The Russian glanced at the two of them standing.

"I tried."

As if to confirm his words, Shane tried to shift. Anya complied immediately.

After that evening, they thought it was a one-time thing; Shane took extra medication for his stomach problems and went to bed.

However, the dog's strange behavior didn't end. Wherever the hockey player moved, she was there first.

When he stood in the kitchen, she leaned against his legs, occasionally lifting her head and nuzzling his stomach. When he sat at the table, she squeezed between his knees, trying to get closer. When he lay down, which was more often lately, she settled on him without hesitation. Literally on him.

"She's crushing me," Shane said one afternoon, not moving from the couch.

Anya lay across his stomach, heavy and utterly unmoved. At the same time, it was clear she wasn't crushing him completely, and some of her weight was supported by her own paws.

"She's guarding you Moyo solnyshko," Ilya corrected, leaning against the doorframe.

"From what?" Hollander snorted.

"I don't know." Ilya shrugged.

That was the worst part, because they didn't know where the dog's behavior was coming from. Shane tried to brush it off, make jokes, gently push her away, or ignore her, but Anya was stubborn. Unwavering and consistent in a way that was starting to become unsettling.

If he pushed her away, she'd come back, if he got up, she'd follow. If he tried to lie down somewhere else, she'd find him within seconds and do the exact same thing.

"This is an obsession," Shane muttered one morning, running a hand through his hair.

Anya had just rested her head on his stomach once again, completely satisfied with the situation.

"Maybe," Ilya replied, but his voice was quieter than usual.

Rozanov was growing increasingly worried about the whole situation, but he didn't know who he was more worried about. Shane and his mysterious and invisible ailments, or their dog, whose unsteadiness was incredibly strange.

"I swear, if she starts barking at my stomach, I'm moving out." Shane sighed heavily.

Ilya snorted but didn't look away.

"I think it's time to take her to the vet." he asked, glancing at the oblivious dog.

"Do you think that will help?" Shane raised an eyebrow.

The problem was, Ilya didn't even know the answer to that question.

+1

Dinners at Hayden and Jackie's had a certain normality to them that Shane sometimes didn't even notice until he was there. The buzz of conversation, the laughter of the children, the smell of food wafting through the house, it was all simple, down-to-earth, and strangely comforting.

Anya was in her element from the start. The kids immediately grabbed her into the living room, and she didn't protest for a second. She rolled on the carpet, let them tug on her fur, and licked their faces with an enthusiasm that seemed inexhaustible.

Her tail thumped the floor in a rapid rhythm, and each bark was more of an invitation to play than a warning.

"She's impossible,” Shane said with a faint smile, observing this for a moment before sitting down at the table.

“She's perfect,” Ilya corrected him without a hint of hesitation.

Shane snorted, but didn't deny it, instead leaning comfortably against his husband's shoulder, enjoying the kiss placed on his temple.

The conversation at the table flowed easily, jumping from the season to summer plans, from anecdotes from the locker room to stories about Hayden and Jackie's lives.

Shane leaned more comfortably against his husband, trying to ignore the slight tension in his stomach and the tiredness that still lurked on the edges of his consciousness.

It was peaceful and calm. Nothing foreshadowed chaos or strange happenings. Anya didn't even pay attention to them. At least not until then.

The sound of glass hitting glass was faint, barely perceptible amidst the chatter, the brief clink of glasses as Jackie reached for the bottle. But for Anya, it was enough.

Shane heard her claws clattering on the floor before he even saw her. He looked up just as she ran into the dining room, stopping beside him almost immediately.

"Hey, what's up," he began.

He didn't finish, because Anya placed her muzzle on his thigh, heavy and determined, as if to hold him in place. Her breathing was warm, ragged, and her gaze, when she looked up at him, was too focused to be merely attention-seeking.

Shane frowned.

"It's okay," he murmured, more to her than to anyone else at the table, and ran his hand over her head.

She didn't leave, she stayed there, still, as if anchored.

"I thought she was busy," Hayden remarked with a hint of amusement.

"She was," Ilya replied slowly, watching the dog more closely than the rest.

Jackie approached the table with the glasses, placing them one by one in front of each of them.

"I don't know if you drink," she said to Shane with a smile. "But just in case."

Shane opened his mouth to refuse.

“No, Jackie, you know I” He didn’t even get to finish his sentence. A low, distinct sound escaped Anya’s throat.

The conversation at the table fell silent almost immediately. Shane stiffened, feeling the dog’s muscles tense under his hand. Anya wasn’t looking at anyone else. Only at him.

Her gaze moved slowly from his face to the glass in front of him, then back again. The growling grew louder.

“Okay…” Shane said carefully, withdrawing his hand. “What’s going on?”

“Anya,” Ilya said more sharply, but to no avail.

The dog didn’t even flinch.

Her muzzle remained resting on Shane’s thigh, as if guarding him, as if making sure he didn’t do anything he shouldn’t.

“She growls?” Jackie asked incredulously.

“She never growls,” Ilya replied through gritted teeth.

Shane looked at the glass again.

“I don’t drink anyway,” he said, frowning.

Anya didn’t react, and the growling didn’t stop.

“Okay,” Shane muttered, reaching for the glass only to push it further away.

That was enough; the sound stopped almost immediately. Anya relaxed visibly, her body falling heavier against his leg, and her tail twitching once, calmer. As if the threat had been averted.

A silence fell at the table, broken only by the children’s cries coming from the living room.

“What the hell,” Hayden finally said.

Ilya didn’t respond. He just looked at Anya, then at Shane, then back at the glass, which had been pushed aside.

His eyebrows slowly drew together.

“The vet said she was fine,” he murmured quietly.

“Maybe she’s just very particular about my diet.” Shane snorted, trying to diffuse the tension.

No one laughed. Anya looked up at him again, quietly and intently. And stayed exactly where she was.

For a moment, no one spoke. Jackie stared at Anya intently, as if trying to fit something together, to find a missing piece of a puzzle. Her gaze moved slowly to Shane, then back to the dog, and finally settled on Ilya.

“When did this start?” she asked calmly.

“What?” Shane raised his eyebrows, surprised by the question.

“That's,” she repeated, nodding slightly at Anya. “That’s strange behavior.”

Shane opened his mouth but didn’t have time to respond.

“About four weeks ago,” Ilya said without hesitation. “First, she stopped attacking him when we greeted him,” he continued, looking at Jackie. “Instead, she sat and watched. Then she started keeping an eye on him. On walks, at home. She growls at strangers, which never happened before.”

Jackie listened intently, not interrupting.

“She ignores me,” Ilya added with obvious irritation. “Completely, as if I ceased to exist.”

“That’s true,” Shane interjected, a hint of amusement in his voice. “You’ve been demoted.”

Ilya gave him a quick glance, but then returned to the topic.

“She won’t let him get up when he’s tired. She pushes him onto the couch. She lies on him so he can’t move. She’s obsessed with his belly.” He hesitated for a second. “And today this.”

He pointed to the glass.

“Have you been to the vet?” Hayden asked, looking at the dog.

Shane nodded, running his fingers through the dog's soft fur.

Jackie was silent for a moment, processing everything she'd heard. Then she looked back at Shane.

"And when did the nausea start?"

"What nausea?" Shane frowned.

"You said you weren't feeling well before," she replied calmly. "Since when?"

Shane opened his mouth to dismiss the question, but something in her gaze made him pause.

"I don't know," he finally said, slower. "A few weeks ago. Maybe three, four?"

The silence at the table grew. Jackie nodded, as if that only confirmed something she'd already suspected.

"So, around the same time," she said.

"So?" Shane looked at her, clearly confused.

"And the dog started acting strange right when your symptoms started."

"Okay, but what does that have to do with anything?" Shane snorted softly, shaking his head.

Jackie didn't answer immediately. Her gaze lingered briefly on Anya, who was still glued to Shane, calm now, but alert, as if ready to react at any moment.

Then she returned to him.

"Dogs sometimes sense things faster than we do," she said cautiously. "Changes in ours bodies, scent, or even hormones."

"Great. So what, I'm sick and my dog knows first?" Shane raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not saying you're sick," Jackie replied.

"So what are you saying?"

She hesitated for a split second. Ilya stopped moving, his hazel - blue eyes intently following Jackie. His mind raced with every possible illness that matched Shane's symptoms.

"I'm just saying," she began slowly, "That it looks like she's trying to protect you."

Shane glanced at Anya, then back at Jackie.

"From what?" the Canadian asked, running his fingers through his hair.

This time, Jackie didn't answer immediately. She looked at Hayden, as if searching for confirmation, or perhaps the courage to speak out loud. Then back at Shane.

"I don't know," she finally said, though her tone suggested something entirely different.

Anya shifted slightly, her muzzle moving higher on Shane's thigh, as if wanting to be even closer.

Hayden leaned back in his chair, twirling his glass in his hand as if he'd just thought of something funny.

"You know what," he said with a slight smile, "She's acting a bit like our neighbor's dog when Jackie was pregnant with Amber."

The effect was immediate. Ilya choked on his wine so violently that he recoiled from the table, coughing and gasping for breath.

"What?" he trailed off, choking on his breath.

Shane instinctively leaned toward him, patting him on the back several times.

“Hayden, fuck,” he muttered. “Deep breaths, Ilyusha.”

Ilya waved his hand, still coughing, his eyes slightly glazed over.

“I-” he began, but paused again, trying to calm himself.

Hayden raised his eyebrows, clearly amused.

“What?” he asked innocently. “I’m just saying.”

“It’s not funny,” Ilya finally managed, reaching for a napkin.

“It kind of is,” Pike replied, setting down his glass.

“It’s not.” Shane snorted softly, still patting his husband once more for reassurance before pulling away. “You’re being dramatic,” he added, glancing at the blond.

“I’m not being dramatic,” Ilya snapped, but he didn’t look at Hayden again.

A silence fell over the table, heavier this time. Jackie wasn’t smiling like her husband.

Her gaze slowly shifted from her husband to Shane, then to Anya, who was still lying calmly beside him, as if nothing had changed.

Jackie frowned slightly.

"It's..." she began, but stopped.

"What?" Shane looked at her questioningly.

She didn't answer immediately. She looked at the dog for a moment longer, at the way her body was positioned, as if she were shielding Shane, as if she were watching over him even now, when nothing was happening. Then she returned her gaze to his face.

"It's not exactly the same," she said slowly.

"But similar." Hayden snorted softly.

Jackie sighed, as if reluctantly admitting he was right.

"A little," she finally muttered.

Shane gave a short laugh, shaking his head.

"Okay, no," he said. "No."

"What, no?" Hayden asked.

"It's-" Shane gestured between himself and Anya. “It has nothing to do with this.”

Ilya remained silent, no longer looking at anyone at the table.
He only looked at Shane, and then slowly, very slowly, his gaze moved lower. To Shane’s hand resting on Anya’s back. To the way the dog hadn’t moved an inch. To everything that had happened in the past few weeks.

His jaw tightened slightly.

“That’s stupid,” Shane said, more to himself than to anyone. “Just a coincidence.”

No one interrupted him. Anya shifted quietly, her tail twitching once and then calming down again.

“Just to be sure,” Jackie finally said, calmly but with a distinct emphasis, “You should take a test.”

Shane looked at her as if she’d just suggested something completely absurd.

“No,” he replied immediately.

“It’s free-”

“I know, Jackie, but it doesn’t make sense.” he interrupted her, shaking his head. "That's not possible."

"Shane"

"It's not," he repeated, more firmly, as if the repetition alone would make it true.

"Okay, okay. We're just saying." Hayden raised his hands slightly in surrender.

"And I'm just saying that it doesn't make sense."

By the end of dinner, he'd returned to it several more times, each time with more certainty, as if building a wall around himself. Each time, no one tried to convince him. But no one said he was right either.

The next morning, Shane stood in the pharmacy, staring at the shelf.

"This is idiotic," he muttered under his breath.

Then he reached for one test, then a second, and a third. Just in case one brand was faulty.

The cashier didn't even try to hide her gaze as he laid them all out on the counter.

"Receipt?" she asked neutrally.

"Yes," he replied automatically, not meeting her eyes.

A few minutes later, he was returning home with a bag full of small, plastic proofs that this was all complete nonsense. He repeated this to himself the entire way, then in the living room and the bathroom.

It couldn't be true, and he would prove it to them all. Before he knew it, he'd made more of them than he'd planned.

The first, of course, for good measure, the second because maybe the first one was faulty. The third, because that happens. The fourth, the fifth, the sixth. He stopped counting at the eighth.

The bathroom smelled of Ilya's favorite lavender candle, and the Canadian's hands began to shake slightly as he placed each test on the counter, lining them up like something he didn't quite want to see.

"It's nothing," he said quietly to his reflection. "It's nothing."

He set the alarm for five minutes. The clicking sound seemed louder than it should have been. For a second, he stood there, staring at the row of plastic devices. Then he turned and left. He didn't close the door completely. As if to make sure they were still there.

He paced around the living room. From the couch to the window, then back from the window to the kitchen. He shoved his hands in his pockets, then out, ran his fingers through his hair, clenched his fists, then unclenched them again. Every movement was nervous, not entirely controlled.

Time passed slower than usual, too slow. Far too slow. He hadn't even heard Ilya enter the room.

"Shane," he said quietly.

Shane didn't answer immediately. He stood by the window, looking down, but he couldn't really see anything.

"I set the alarm," he muttered after a moment, as if that explained everything.

"How long?" Ilya stepped closer.

"Five minutes."

"That's not what I'm asking."

"I know." Shane snorted quietly, without a trace of amusement.

"How many tests?" Ilya asked again.

"Enough." The Canadian replied, irritated.

Ilya sighed quietly, not trying to press on. Instead, he took another step forward and simply embraced Shane from behind, wrapping his arms around his torso, pulling him closer.

Shane stiffened for a second, then let go. He leaned his weight against him, as if he'd been waiting for this. Ilya pressed his face against his temple, brushing it with a short kiss.

"Hey," he murmured. "Easy,everything will be fine da?."

"That's stupid," Shane said quietly.

"Maybe." Another kiss, this time at his hairline. "But we'll check and we'll know. It doesn't cost us anything."

"There's no need to check." Shane closed his eyes.

Ilya didn't respond. His hands moved slowly up Shane's sides, soothingly, familiarly, as he had done hundreds of times before.

"I'm here, Moyo solnyshko," he said, simply. "I will always be."

Shane exhaled slowly, as if only now realizing he'd been holding his breath.

The minutes dragged on, and the alarm hadn't yet rung. The main perpetrator was at the crime scene. Anya didn't leave Shane's side.

She paced the living room with him, stopping when he stopped, starting when he started. Her presence was constant, almost tangible, as if glued to his side by an invisible thread. When the alarm finally beeped, short and sharp, she lifted her head immediately.

Shane stiffened.

"I don't know if I want to go check," he muttered, more to himself than to anyone.

Ilya didn't let go of him immediately, as if giving him another second or two to back off, to say, "Never mind."

"Come on," the blond said quietly, and they walked together.

Anya, of course, followed. When Shane pushed open the bathroom door, the dog slipped inside right behind them, but didn't try to get any closer. She sat in the doorway, calm and alert, as if she knew exactly where she belonged.

Shane stopped at the counter.

The tests lay where he'd left them, lined up in a row, inconspicuous. For a moment, no one moved.

"I can't be positive," Shane said quietly, almost in a whisper.

He slowly reached out, his fingers trembling slightly as he reached for the first test and slowly turned it over. For a split second, he didn't understand what he was looking at. Then he did, and the world seemed to tilt.

"I-", He stopped.

He gripped the counter with his other hand, as if suddenly needing support.

"Shane," Ilya said, the tension evident in his voice. He immediately reached out to grab his husband's waist.

Shane didn't respond, just stared at the test.

Two lines.

"That's-" he began, but the words wouldn't come out.

Ilya tightened his grip on his hips and pulled him to his chest to make sure Hollander didn't fall over.

“Give me,” he said quietly.

Shane didn't even protest when Ilya took the test from his hand.

“Fuck,” he said instinctively as he looked at the test result.

As if that one word could change anything.

Shane shook his head slightly, as if trying to regain his composure.

“This is one,” he said quickly. “Maybe faulty. Maybe-”

He didn't finish, he was already reaching for another and turning it over. Another, and then another. Shane's movements became faster and faster, more erratic, as if he was trying to find just one that was different, that would contradict everything.

He didn't find one, they were all the same. Two lines. Every single test was positive. A silence fell, one you could cut with a knife. None of them moved.

Shane leaned against the counter with both hands, staring at the row of tests as if it were some joke someone was about to explain.

“That's impossible,” he finally said, quietly.

Ilya didn't answer immediately. He stood behind him, looking at the same thing, but his gaze was different, as if his brain was trying to catch up with what he was seeing.

After a few minutes, the Russian burst out laughing. Then again, louder, as if he couldn't believe it was actually happening.

"Oh my God," he gasped, rubbing his face with his hand. "Oh my God."

Shane looked at him, still stunned.

"Are you laughing?" he asked, his voice flat, detached.

"No," Ilya shook his head, but a smile still spread across his lips, wild and disbelieving at the same time. "I just…"

And something in his expression suddenly changed; the laughter didn't disappear completely, but receded into the background, giving way to something warmer, softer.

He cupped Shane's face with both hands and kissed him. Without hesitation, firmly, confidently, as if it were the only thing that made sense in that moment.

Shane stiffened for a second. Then he kissed her back, though his mind still looked as if it hadn't caught up with reality.

"This is really happening," Ilya murmured softly, resting his forehead against his.

"I think so." Shane exhaled slowly.

In the bathroom doorway, Anya stirred slightly, her tail thumping the floor once.

For a moment, they stood in the same position, as if each of them was afraid that if they moved, something would fall apart.

Finally, Rozanov was the first to step away. He looked at the tests again, as if to reassure them that they were really there, that nothing had changed in those few seconds.

They hadn't changed, two lines were on all eight plastic sticks. Ilya exhaled, shaking his head in slight disbelief, then suddenly turned toward the door.

Anya sat exactly where she had been, calm, her gaze shifting between them without a trace of anxiety. Ilya snorted quietly under his breath.

"You," he said, approaching her.

He crouched down in front of her, reaching out to pet her head. Anya immediately moved closer, her tail wagging faster, but without the chaotic enthusiasm that usually accompanied her.

"You knew it huh?" he murmured, running his hand along the back of her neck. “You knew it first.”

Anya blinked slowly, pressing her nose into his palm.

Ilya laughed softly, shaking his head.

“Good girl,” he added, scratching her behind the ear. “Really good.”

Shane leaned back against the counter, still a little pale, still a little distant, watching the scene with a mixture of disbelief and something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Ilya leaned even closer to the dog, as if telling her something very important.

“So,” he said more quietly, with a hint of a smile. “Do you want to be a big sister?”

Anya twitched her tail, faster this time, and lifted her head slightly, as if the answer were obvious.

Shane snorted softly.

“I guess she doesn’t have much choice in the matter,” he muttered.

Ilya snorted, returning his gaze to Anya.

“You’ll get your reward, princess,” he said, nodding slightly at Shane. “A spa day for my little girl.”

“Don’t spoil her too much, Ilya,” Shane grumbled automatically, but without conviction.

Anya stood slowly and approached him, as if drawn to that single sentence. She stopped right in front of him, then, just like that first day, sat down and looked at him intently. Her tail swished calmly.

Shane looked down at her.

“Don’t even start,” he murmured.

Anya just tilted her head slightly, panting contentedly, completely innocent of the chaos she had caused in the Canadian’s head.

Shane exhaled slowly, running his hand over his face, and then, without much thought, lowered it to Anya’s head, petting her slowly.

“Good girl,” he said softly.

And Anya basked in the sweet attention, as she deserved. She finally completed a very important task.

Chapter 2: My Baby

Chapter Summary

Or 5 times Anya protected the Baby and 1 when baby protected the dog.

Chapter Notes

Many of you asked for a part two, so here I am. If you see any mistakes, please let me know in the comments as English is not my first language 🤍✨

Let me know what you think too!

1.

Misha was born on January 8th, on a bright, frosty morning, when the world outside was blanketed in fresh snow and the air had that specific, crystalline winter chill. He came into the world with a quiet, almost shy cry and a mass of pale, almost invisible curls that curled softly against his head.

He was small, so incredibly small. Shane simply stared for a long moment, as if he couldn't quite believe it had actually happened. As if he couldn't believe he had their little son in his arms. They spent a week under observation, and then they were released.

Shane was given clear, almost strict, instructions to rest, to avoid overexerting himself, to allow his body to recover from the birth. This didn't entirely sit well with the Canadian. He had trouble sitting still, but he tried to follow the instructions.

But Ilya, on the other hand, felt like a fish in water. He took care of everything with a precision that left no room for argument. Food arrived before Shane could even say he was hungry. Water was always within reach. Misha was never left unattended, not even for a second.

Their idyll lasted for the next few weeks, but a month later, their home was no longer silent. The centaurs practically took over the entire living room, sprawled across the couches, armchairs, and floor, loud, playful, bringing with them the familiar chaos of the locker room.

Shane sat on the couch, leaning back comfortably, though still a bit warily, as if his body reminded him of the past weeks with every movement. He spoke to Harris, half-listening, half-watching. He glanced at his husband out of the corner of his eye to make sure he was in sight.

Ilya stood nearby, holding Misha in his arms. The baby slept peacefully, nestled against his chest, small hands clenched into loose fists, breathing even and quiet.

"He's ridiculously small," Evans noted.

"Were you bigger?" Wyatt asked.

"I was definitely cuter." One of the newbies was hit over the head with a newspaper for this comment, and laughter spread throughout the room.

Ilya just snorted quietly, running his hand gently over his son's back, as if checking if he was still asleep.

"Want to hold him?" he asked after a moment, looking at Troy.

"Really?" Troy hesitated for a split second.

"Don't drop him," Ilya replied calmly.

Troy stepped closer, holding out his hands carefully, almost too carefully, as if afraid of doing something wrong. Ilya handed Misha over to him with a firm hand, making sure his head was properly supported.

"Okay," Troy muttered, looking down with obvious concentration. "Okay, I can handle this."

He hadn't even managed to sit down properly on the nearest couch before a low, warning sound emerged from Anya's throat.

The conversation died down almost immediately. Anya stood a few steps away, her body tense, her gaze fixed on Troy with an intensity that left no room for doubt.

"Oh no," Shane muttered under his breath, straightening slightly.

"Anya," Ilya said more sharply, observing the dog's behavior.

The dog didn't look away, the growl becoming more pronounced. Troy stiffened, wondering what could have caused such a reaction in the dog.

"I," he began, not moving. "I didn't do anything."

"I know," Ilya replied, already moving closer.

Anya took a step forward, that was enough to make the man holding the child abandon the challenge.

"Okay, okay," Troy said quickly, rising and handing the child back to Ilya. "I won't risk my life."

Ilya scooped Misha up immediately, calming him with a reflexive wave of his hand. The growling stopped, and Anya took a half-step back, but she didn't move away.

Her gaze remained fixed on Troy, watchful and persistent. As if she were still waiting for some strange move from him.

"Okay," Boodram said. "That was a little scary."

"She never did that before," Luca added.

"Now she does it," Shane sighed quietly, rubbing his face with his hand.

Ilya looked at the dog, then at the child in his arms, then back at Troy, who had taken an extra step back for safety.

"Don't worry, Troy, she was protective of Shane at first, and now she's moved on to Misha," he finally said quietly.

Anya finally sat down at the table, where she patiently waited for some scraps to fall, but she didn't take her eyes off Troy for a second.

2.

Misha was a quiet baby.

At least during the day. He looked intently at the world, as if trying to understand it piece by piece, his blue-hazel eyes following every movement and sound. He rarely cried without reason, calmed down easily, and fell asleep snuggled against the chest of one of his parents.

He was quite easygoing for a two-month-old. But nights were different, they were difficult, and it was hard to even pinpoint why.

There was no single reason it could pinpoint. His diaper was clean, his belly full. The temperature was just right, and lullabies were sung softly, sometimes by Shane, sometimes by Ilya.

Nothing helped. Misha cried quietly, almost silently, as if he didn't understand what was wrong. His small body tensed, his hands clenched into fists, and his breathing became ragged. And when he finally fell asleep, it was shallow and brief, a few moments of peace before it all began again.

Shane walked him around the room, rocking him in his arms, exhaustion settling into his shoulders and neck.

"Hey little bear," he whispered, pressing his cheek to his head. "Everything's okay, baby."

Everything wasn't okay at all, and Anya felt it too. Every time Misha started to stir, she lifted her head. When he cried, she got up. She paced restlessly in the hallway, her claws tapping softly on the floor, her breathing quickening as if she couldn't find her place.

One night, Shane, too tired to think about anything more than a few hours of sleep, and didn't close the nursery door all the way. He left it ajar and didn't notice Anya slipping in. The dog entered silently, her movements cautious, almost soft, as if instinctively knowing this wasn't the place for noise. She walked over to the crib and lay down next to it, positioning herself so she could see through the bars.

At first, she watched as if waiting for something. When Misha started to stir, she only lifted her head at first. When the crying began, that soft, anxious sound, she slowly rose.

She approached and gently pushed her nose between the bars, then, very carefully, licked his small hand.

Misha stopped crying for a moment, as if surprised. Anya did it again. When that wasn't enough, and the little one began to squirm again, she rose slightly onto her hind legs, resting her front paws on the crib. She nudged the little one with her nose, once, then twice, gently, as if trying to get his attention.

The crying subsided, his breathing slowed, and his little hands slowly relaxed. Misha fell asleep peacefully and slept practically the entire night.

Anya stayed until morning, where she slipped out of the room at dawn, knowing that one of her owners would soon be up and taking her for a walk.

At first, Shane and Ilya didn't notice. The nights were too blurry, full of interrupted sleep and half-conscious movements. If Misha fell asleep faster, they took it for luck. If he slept longer, they took it for a miracle.

They didn't ask questions, they were too tired. But one night, everything changed. Ilya woke up suddenly, for no apparent reason. The silence was different than usual.

He frowned, lying still for a moment, trying to understand what had woken him. Then he realized he couldn't hear Misha. Not even the slightest whimper was coming from the nursery.

He rose slowly, trying not to wake Shane, and stepped into the hallway. The nursery door was ajar. He pushed it open gently and stopped at the threshold.

Anya lay by the crib. Her head was tucked between the slats, carefully positioned, as if she'd found the only possible position that didn't cause pain. Her breathing was calm and deep.

And Misha slept peacefully. His small hand was clenched in the fur between her ears, fingers tangled softly, as if it were the most natural place in the world.

Ilya didn't move, standing in the doorway, trying to understand what he was seeing. Something in his chest tightened strangely.

Anya didn't even lift her head, she opened her eyes for a moment, then closed them again, letting out a contented sigh.

Ilya leaned lightly against the doorframe, his gaze never leaving them.

"Unbelievable," he murmured softly.

Strong arms wrapped around his waist, and a small kiss was placed on the side of his neck.

"She sleeps like this every night?" Shane asked quietly.

"Apparently so, at least now we know why Misha sleeps so peacefully." The Russian snorted softly.

Hollander muttered something quietly under his breath, resting his forehead on his husband's shoulder. He might have been an early riser, but it was definitely too early for him.

"Come on, let's go back to bed," he murmured sleepily.

3.

The playground had become their daily stop.

Not far from the house, surrounded by a low fence and a few trees that provided a bit of shade on warmer days. Colorful structures creaked softly with every movement, sand was everywhere, and the laughter of children mingled with the calls of their parents.

Misha adored it. His blond hair, now more vibrant than before, caught the light as he ran, a little unsteadily, even a little too fast for his short legs, from one attraction to the next.

He loved the swing the most. He laughed loudly when Shane or Ilya gently pushed him, his small hands gripping the chains tightly, and his eyes sparkling with pure joy. The slide was next best. He climbed it with a tenacity he'd clearly inherited from one of them, then slid down, landing in the sand with a triumphant cry.

Anya was by his side the whole time. She never left his side, like a shadow that had learned to move at its own pace. If Misha walked, she walked. If he stopped, she sat down beside him. If he fell, she was there first, before anyone could react.

After all that daily play, her fur had long since worn off. Sand stuck to it everywhere, tangling in her fur, lingering on her paws and belly, but Anya didn't seem to notice. Or perhaps it simply didn't matter to her.

Misha didn't care either, he clung to her every time. His little fingers curled in her fur as he tried to stand on uneven ground, as he moved toward something new, something that caught his eye.

Sometimes he swayed as he did so, pulling her slightly behind him, but Anya always matched his pace, as if knowing it was her responsibility.

"I'll have to bathe her again," Shane muttered, leaning against the fence and watching them.

"We can always take her to the groomer ." Ilya snorted softly.

"It's expensive, Ilya, you know that," Shane replied, rubbing his face with his hands.

"So what? We can afford it, Moya solnyshko." Rozanov shrugged.

They watched Misha head towards the plastic structure, which to him was like a vast jungle, tunnels, bridges, steps, everything on his scale. The little one had so many things to discover, which fascinated him every time.

Anya was right next to him, letting herself be gently tugged by her collar by her tiny hand.

As Misha approached one of the tunnels, one of the other children, an older one, running too fast and not looking ahead, headed straight for them.

It happened in a split second, Misha didn't even notice, but Anya did, and she reacted immediately. She stood between him and the approaching child, her body tense and unwavering. She didn't growl this time, but her stance was clear enough.

She became a barrier behind which the unaware Misha hid. The child slowed abruptly, stopping a step too close, but still avoiding Misha.

"Watch out!" Ilya called, already moving towards the chaos. Shane wasn't far behind him.

Misha blinked, as if registering the change for the first time, looked at Anya, then at the older child, and then, quite naturally, gripped her fur even tighter. This signaled her willingness to continue.

Anya didn't move immediately. She stood for a moment longer, assuring herself that everything was alright, that the danger had passed. Only then did she relax and take a half-step back, returning to her usual position.

Shane exhaled slowly, approaching Misha, nodding to the other mother that everything was fine.

"I think we're done playing for today," they muttered, looking at the restless one-year-old.

"We're definitely going home," Ilya finished quietly, putting Anya on a leash.

As if on cue, the dog looked at the blond and gently wagged her tail, earning a scratch on her ear.

4.

The teddy bear disappeared somewhere between one room and the next one.

It was small, soft, a little worn around the edges from constant squeezing and pulling, with a slightly crooked ear that Misha loved to knead between his fingers. Svetlana had brought it from Russia with a smile and the comment that every child should have their own teddy bear.

Misha took this very seriously, and the teddy bear accompanied him everywhere. While he ate, while he played, while he fell asleep. Tucked under his arm, pulled by his paw, sometimes held only by a piece of fabric, but always present. It was part of his world in a way that seemed obvious and undeniable.

And now it was gone, because it had disappeared.

"Where is it?" Shane muttered, looking under the couch for the third time, as if the teddy bear would reappear only because he had checked more carefully.

"Didn't he leave it in the laundry basket?" Ilya asked from across the living room, pushing aside the cushions.

Shane shook his head silently, beginning to search behind the plants in the corner of the living room.

It was no use, the toy was gone. Misha sat in the middle of the rug, his face red from crying, his eyes glassy, and his hands clenched helplessly in the air, as if he were still trying to grab something that wasn't there anymore.

"Teddy bear..." he repeated between quiet sobs.

Shane's heart clenched painfully.

"Hey, we'll find him," he said, crouching down beside him. "He's definitely here somewhere."

Misha shook his head violently, as if it were the worst possible lie.

"No…" His voice broke completely.

Anya appeared at his side immediately. She had already been restless, pacing the room whenever Misha started crying, but now her behavior became more intense. She squealed softly, almost constantly, her tail twitching nervously, and her eyes darted between Misha and Shane.

She moved closer and began licking Misha's cheeks, gently, quickly, trying to wipe away the tears, as if she knew they were the problem.

"Hey," Shane murmured, pushing her away slightly. "Easy."

Anya didn't stop, she squealed softly, then suddenly pulled away and ran from the room.

"What's she doing?" Rozanov asked, adjusting the blanket on the couch.

Anya returned a few seconds later, a toy in her mouth. It was one of hers, a worn-out pink elephant that she had received six months after Rozanov adopted her.

She threw the toy in front of Misha as if it were the solution, as if it would fix everything.The boy didn't even look at it.

"Teddy bear..." he repeated, even more quietly.

Anya froze for a second, then squealed again and ran. She brought back a second toy, then a third.

She brought each one back with the same determination, arranging them in a small pile in front of the boy, as if trying to create something good enough to replace what had disappeared.

Nothing worked, Misha continued to cry. Anya began to whimper. Softly, long, almost pitifully, as if she were on the verge of tears herself. She circled him, unsure what else to do, her movements becoming increasingly erratic.

"We have to find that stuffed toy, because we're about to have a real funeral concert here," Ilya muttered, pausing for a moment.

Shane nodded slightly, not taking his eyes off her son.

"I know. I'll call Mom, maybe it stayed with them,” he said, and went to the kitchen to get the phone.

Anya slowly approached and sat down next to the child, this time unhurriedly. She didn't bring anything new, didn't try to distract him from his sadness.

Instead, she laid her head on his lap. Misha shuddered again, and then his hands, which had been clenching helplessly before, slowly fell. One of them tangled in the fur between Anya's ears.

Anya didn't move an inch. Her breathing slowed, evened out, as if trying to convey that peace to him. The crying didn't stop immediately, but it changed, becoming quieter and less desperate.

"We'll find him," Shane said again, more quietly this time, dialing Yuna's number.

Misha didn't answer, but he didn't remove his hand from Anya. And she stayed exactly where she was.

5.

Misha really was a good child. Curious, sometimes stubborn, but generally a good listener. He understood more than first met the eye, even if he wasn't always willing to act on it.

“We don’t draw on the walls,” Shane had said calmly, crouching down next to him earlier that day. “Only on paper, da?”

“Da*” Misha repeated, nodding solemnly.

And then he did something he shouldn’t have anyway. Colorful lines streaked across the light-colored living room wall, a little shaky and smudged, but definitely there. Evidence of a crime in several shades of crayon.

Now he stood in the corner as punishment. His head bowed slightly, his nose wrinkling every few seconds. His shoulders were tense, his hands clenched into small fists, as if trying to hold back more tears.

Shane leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, trying to look serious.

“You know why you’re standing here,” he said calmly.

Misha nodded without looking up.

"The wall…” he muttered softly, fiddling with his fingers.

“Yes, Papa and I told you to draw on the cards,” the Canadian reminded him.

Ilya stood a little back, watching silently, though his gaze was less stern.

“Two more minutes, Moyo solnyshko,” he added after a moment.

Time dragged on slowly. Misha sniffed again, then again, his lower lip quivering slightly, but he didn’t cry aloud. He stood there bravely, as if knowing this was part of something he couldn’t avoid.

Finally, Shane sighed softly.

“Okay,” he said. “That’s enough.”

Misha didn’t need a repeat. He turned immediately and practically ran across the room, straight to Anya.

The dog was already waiting for him. The little blond boy flung his entire small body into her, wrapping his arms around her neck, burying his face in her fur. His breathing was still ragged, a quiet sob still lurking somewhere deep within.

"Hey," Shane murmured, taking a step toward him.

Anya reacted immediately. A low growl rose from her throat, short and warning. A clear signal, telling the elder to stop.

Shane stopped mid-step.

"Really?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Anya didn't look away. She pulled Misha closer, her body positioned between him and Shane like a shield. Her tail was still, her gaze focused, watchful.

Misha didn't even notice. He was still nestled in her fur, his small hands clasped tightly between her ears. Anya began to lick his cheek, slowly, patiently, collecting the remnants of the tears that still fell.

"Okay," Shane murmured, raising his hands in surrender. "I understand."

“I think you have a restraining order.” Ilya snorted softly from behind him, then tried to approach the dog, but with the same result.

“As you can see, baby, the order applies to you too.” Shane leaned contentedly against the doorframe, watching them for a moment.

Anya calmed down along with Misha, her movements slow, as if knowing exactly that the little one needed peace and quiet now. The little one stopped sniffling, his breathing gradually evened out, and the tension in his shoulders vanished.

Only then did Anya look up at Shane for a moment. She stopped growling, but she didn't move an inch away. Shane sighed softly, knowing they wouldn't win this fight.

“Okay, okay,” he murmured. “You win.”

“She aways win.” Ilya smiled to himself.

Anya flicked her tail once, then she ran after the little one into the garden.

+1.

It started with silence. The kind that only comes when something is very, very wrong.

Shane returned from the home gym and stopped in the doorway of the living room, where something was amiss. His gaze fell on their couch, or rather, on what was left of it.

The fabric was torn in several places, the stuffing spilling out like snow scattered across the floor, and claw marks trailed along the back and seat, leaving no doubt as to the perpetrator.

“Oh my God,” he said softly.

Ilya appeared behind him a second later.

“What?” he asked, looking in the direction his husband was looking.

Anya sat a few steps away. Her ears were lowered, her body tense, as if she knew exactly what she had done. Her tail was still, and her gaze darted between them cautiously, watchfully.

“Anya,” Ilya said sharply. “What is that?” he added, taking a step forward.

The dog twitched slightly, looking down at the floor.

“That was our couch.” Shane ran his hand over his face.

“It was,” Ilya repeated, sighing heavily.

Anya took a half-step back.

“No,” Shane said, gesturing to the damage. “No, absolutely not, you’re coming back here, young lady.”

The dog visibly cowered, her paws skimming the floor as if searching for a place to disappear.

"What have you done?" The Canadian took a step closer, gesturing toward the couch. "This isn't a toy!"

Anya squealed softly. She stayed there, absorbing the impact, but her body tensed, ready to react and flee.

"This isn't okay," Ilya added. "You understand, you're not a puppy anymore, princess."

"No!" A small voice cut through the air.

They both turned at once. Misha stood a few steps away, his small hands clenched into fists, his face serious in a way that belied his age.

He took a step forward and stood between them and Anya. His small body seemed to be trying to appear larger than it was.

"Anya good!" he said, a little too loudly, a little shakily.

“Misha?" Shane blinked slowly, his eyes uncomprehending.

“No!” he repeated, turning slightly now, as if to shield the dog with his own body. “Anya okay!”

Behind him, Anya froze, pressing her nose into the toddler’s back when she noticed him shaking.

Ilya exhaled slowly.

“Misha,” he said more calmly. “She ruined the couch.”

“No!” the little blond boy replied immediately.

“No?” Shane raised his eyebrows.

“No!” Misha shook his head vigorously. “Anya not bad!”

A brief silence fell, no one dared move. Shane glanced at Ilya, and then they both looked at the little blond boy, who stood between them like a last line of defense.

“She…” Shane trailed off, running a hand through his hair. “She just ate half the couch.”

The child shook his head violently, denying the accusation. Ilya snorted softly, unable to contain himself.

"That's not helping," Shane muttered.

Misha didn't move an inch, his shoulders tense, but he didn't back down. Behind him, Anya slowly lowered her head, her body relaxing a bit, as if Misha's presence was enough protection for her.

Shane sighed heavily.

"Okay," he finally said, more quietly. "Okay."

Ilya nodded.

"We're not shouting," he added more calmly.

Misha watched them for another second, as if to make sure they were serious. Only then did he turn to Anya and he immediately crouched down and hugged her tightly around the neck.

"Okay," he murmured to her. "Okay Anya."

The dog snuggled into him without hesitation.

Shane looked again at the couch and the damage, and after a moment, he exhaled.

"We'll buy a new one," he finally said.

"Made of dog-proof material." Ilya snorted softly.

"And babys-proof too," the black-haired man added.

Misha wasn't listening. He was too busy cuddling Anya. And stroking her brown fur. The dog didn't complain, on the contrary, she was strutting under the toddler's attention and under the fact that she'd gotten away with destroying the couch.