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Shane had never given it much thought, becoming a parent. Not that he didn’t want to be one, it’s just…it was more like it was always somehow included in a future plan, even though that plan had morphed over the years. He thinks about how, at one point in his life, he thought his future was something that was supposed to be typical, that it had a specific definition of normalcy that was just right at his fingertips but always out of reach—a suburban home with a wife and two kids and a hockey career.
He knows how much he was supposed to want that and never did. Even when his friends, like Hayden, would playfully tease him about when he was going to get some pretty girl knocked up and start the family portrait process. And then…further down the line, it became more and more clear about what he actually wanted and…he just thought, maybe, a family wasn’t something for people like him.
But he couldn't have been more wrong. Just because the idea of family didn’t match how so many others would define it, didn’t mean he couldn’t have it. After all, he already had so many types of found families—in Hayden and Jackie and their kids, in his hockey teams—first with Montreal (at the far beginning, at least, for many years) and then with Ottawa, and with Ilya. Always with Ilya—as rivals, as a pair, as boyfriends, as part of his soul reaching out to the other’s. With Anya, and eventually—
“Dadddy,” The drawn out crying instantly snaps Shane out of his thoughts and he turns to look around the corner of the kitchen island as their two and half year old son, Rowan, wanders into the room.
“Whoa, hey,” Shane crouches and picks him up, setting him on the counter, “What happened?”
He left him with Anya in the living room, working on a puzzle and came to get coffee. He was still within eyesight, right over the top of the couch, and yet—there are big fat tears sitting heavily on Rowan’s eyelashes, turning his brown eyes amber. Shane quickly assesses him and doesn’t automatically see anything wrong.
“An-ya took piece,” Rowan tries to explain the rest in garbled words and hiccuped crying and Shane’s eyebrows draw together, attempting to figure out how they got to point C from A and B. He gathers that…it seems like Anya took a puzzle piece and when Rowan stood to get it back, he tripped over one of her legs and went down.
Shane breathes out through his nose, gently shushing him, running his hands down his arms and—there, ah. He sees it. A small cut on his elbow. It’s not that big, barely breaking the skin, practically a brush burn. He’s probably more scared from falling down suddenly than anything else.
“Want papa.” Rowan sniffles, his voice a choked whine.
He totally gets that Rowan wants Ilya—when Shane’s feeling poorly he also wants his husband. He brushes his fingers through his mop of curls, slightly darker than Ilya’s but the ringlets are the same shape, “Papa is in the shower, Ro. Why don’t we get you a cool band-aid, okay?”
And that seems to be the wrong thing to say.
Shane’s heard all about terrible twos (and threes and fours) from Hayden and Jackie but…babysitting another person’s children is far different than handling your own. The waterworks start all over again, except now there are loud sobs that Shane somehow has to maneuver through. Rowan comes by his emotions honestly, and he and Ilya have always encouraged their son to feel however he needs to, that there’s no shame in shedding tears or being sad. It doesn’t always stop Shane from sometimes feeling helpless.
He has these moments where he realizes that it’s a lot to make sense of, but just like anything that’s challenging, it just makes Shane that more invested in figuring it out.
He tugs Ro into his chest, and tries to recall what band-aids they have with characters on them while he strokes his hair. He thinks there’s still some Snoopy left?
“What is going on?” Ilya’s voice is soft and concerned as he enters the kitchen, in a pair of sweats and a white t-shirt that’s slightly damp around the collar from his curls being wet. He steps to Shane’s side, his one hand sliding along his spine while the other touches Rowan’s cheek when he leans back.
“Big tears,” He murmurs, “What happened, malen'kiy zhuchok?”
Shane can’t stop himself from smiling as Rowan reaches for Ilya, lower lip wobbling in slight dramatics. That Russian term of endearment has Rowan sniffling and Ilya picks him up from the counter, holding him against his chest. It means bug, or rather, little beetle and it fits Ro easily—someone who so loves being outside, in the dirt, learning things and discovering how the world works around him.
It makes Shane want to kiss Ilya as he soothes their son.
“Puzzle disaster with Anya,” Shane supplies with raised eyebrows, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. “I think he just has a carpet burn on his elbow.”
Ilya hums, a small sound of amusement coming from his throat as he rubs the back of Rowan’s neck. He then picks up his right arm, and then his left, inspecting the carpet burn. He presses his lips to his forearm and blows a raspberry, tears automatically interrupted with a slight giggle instead.
“Ah, there you are.” He smiles, “C’mon, let’s get band-aid from daddy.”
Shane smiles, moving to the cabinet under the sink for the first-aid kit. He sets it on the counter, opening up the lid and sifting through the gauze, antiseptic and cotton balls for the band-aids. Ilya sets Rowan back down on the counter, fixing his shirt, brushing some of his curls off of his face.
Out of all the versions of Ilya that Shane loves, he thinks this has to be one of his favorites—seeing him as a father. He’s always been great with kids but…there’s something about watching him with their own, the way his eyes light up, the brightness to smile, the utter radiance that surrounds his entire body. Like he was made to do this. Like he’s healing parts of himself by being the dad he never had.
“Which one do you want?” Ilya asks, sifting through the band-aids. As suspected, Rowan picks a Snoopy one and Ilya positions it on the part of his elbow that’s a little red. He then kisses the spot.
“Daddy too.” He holds up his elbow to Shane.
Shane smirks, pressing a kiss to it, “Good as new.”
Ilya smiles, lifting Rowan off the counter and setting him back down on the floor. He ruffles his curls right before he takes off in a run towards the living room. Shane calls after him to slow down but, if he’s learned anything, it’s that Ro won’t be deterred when he’s got his eyes set on something. Which apparently is hugging Anya around the neck and plopping down on the floor to finish the puzzle he started.
Ilya closes the first-aid kit, “You want kiss too?”
“Oh you just handing them out?” Shane teases, wrapping his fingers around his husband’s t-shirt and tugging him close.
“No, but for you I can make exception.” Their noses bump, smiles on both of their mouths before Ilya draws him into a kiss.