Chapter Text
It’s one of those things that no one expected, but no one is surprised, too.
One day, they were rivals, the next day, Hollander is coming out as a Caregiver, with Rozanov as his Little.
The world was shocked for five seconds, than it was in awe.
They were rivals a few days before that and now, they adorably attached to the hip, moving teams for a more Little-friendly one, starting a charity to help them and being the very cute face of the Caregiver-Little’s relationship at hockey.
Easy. Smooth. No fuzz no buzz. A perfect PR move with discreet, controlled pictures and perfectly timed public sightings.
Museums and parks and post practice skating and the zoo and the aquarium.
The perfect painting of a good Daddy and the perfect cherub of a little.
As everything with these two, public life and private life are two very different things.
Not that Shane isn’t a sweet Daddy (Papa, actually) or that Ilya can’t be the most perfect angel of a baby.
The thing is… They have layers. Lots and lots of layers.
And they navigate them as best as they can.
Shane fights his own lack of confidence and need of control. Ilya fights the demons of a hard childhood and the feeling of being a burden.
The thing is, now they are fighting together. On good days and bad days and the days between, they are together.
And that’s one of the bad days. No, not bad. Shane refuses to address anything related to his baby as “bad”. He is not bad, he makes wrong choices. The things he does are not bad, sometimes they are naughty.
Yes, Shane picks his words very, very carefully and enforces these choices with passion to everyone that deals with Little Ilya.
Never bad, lazy, dramatic, loud, stupid, wrong, lacking of. Papa tries really hard to use positive reinforcement, small time-outs and lots of explaining and routine when dealing with his baby.
And today is one of those days where his baby is being… Challenging.
“Ilya, mon chou, please listen to Papa…”
“Nooooo!” The ear piercing wail seems to be his favourite word this morning.
“Mon amour, you’ll make yourself sick with all of this crying. Why so many tears? Talk to me, please.” He’s about to sit on the floor and cry himself.
The morning started wrong. Plane and simple. The godforsaken pull up leaked all over the bed, making the poor baby wake soaked and uncomfortable. This lead to a shameful few minutes of embarrassment crying because Ilya hates pull ups and diapers and anything he deems to babyish (usually, things that are age appropriate and that he needs when in headspace).
It took almost half an hour for Shane to be able to clean and change him. Than he attached himself to his Papa, like a barnacle, refusing to let go for more than a second, leaving Shane to do everything one-handed.
He refused every breakfast choice, every sippy cup and bottle, every applesauce and snack, shrieking like the food was offending his ancestors.
Shane gave up and packed his bag full of choices.
And that lead them to this exact moment, when Ilya finally realized that they are leaving the house and heading to practice.
A practice that he won’t be participating. Him, the captain, can’t go on the ice and play.
This lead to the most heart wrenching wails.
“Ilya, love, listen to Papa.” Shane paces back and forth, patting his (wet again) bum. “Papa needs to go to practice and you’ll come with me. You’ll be with Harris and probably Troy and Luca. You’ll play with them. And cheer for Papa and chirp the rookies. Doesn’t sound fun?”
“NOOOOO!” Ok, this doesn’t even sound like a answer, this is just muscle memory.
“Baby, this is mandatory, Papa needs to go and you can’t stay home, so crying or not, we’ll be going” Shane takes a deep breath. “Do you want me to call Harris and ask him to bring Chiron? Do you want to play with a doggy?”
Ok, Shane is not above bargaining, ok?
“Doggy?” He sniffles, looking at his Papa.
“Yes, doggy. Do you want it?”
“P’ease?”
“Good manners, baby. Thank you.” He sends a quick text to Harris begging him to bring Chiron. Two seconds later, he gets a picture of a clearly little Troy, drinking a bottle, using the dog as a pillow. The thumbs up is all the answer he needs.
“See, mon pettit. Troy is small too, you can play together.”
“’kate?”
“If you are super super good to Harris, yes, Papa will take you to skate after practice. Can you be my little angel today?”
“Yeah.” He nods seriously against his shoulder. “Papa?”
“Yes, baby?” He finally sighs in relief.
“Wet.” His lip wobbles. “Sowwy…”
“Ahn-ahn. No sorries. That’s what pull ups are for. Let’s go get you all clean and dry ok?”
Ilya is quiet and pliant. Too quiet and pliant. He doesn’t fight the change, only asking for one of Shane’s training shirts (“P’ease and t’ank you, Papa.”), finally accepts a sippy cup of watered down juice and a few baby cookies (not an ideal breakfast, but it is what it is), sitting on the floor with his tablet while Papa gets ready.
He goes easily to his car seat, kicking his shoes off and sucking on his pacifier (“soso”, from the Russian word “soska” which took Shane a minute to figure out and now he thinks is adorable).
Shane knows his baby and knows that he doesn’t go from complete meltdown to this quiet, softly sniffling baby.
Something is wrong or bothering him, but he refuses to answer his questions. He’s not down enough to be non-verbal, more in a young toddler, but he’s not able or willing to put his thoughts and feelings into words right now.
And Papa knows that this can be a complete disaster.
“Mon chou, what’s going on that sweet head of yours? Can you tell Papa?”
He looks at the rearview mirror on time to see him shake his head.
“No? Ok, mon amour. Can you say yes or no to Papa?”
“Yeah…” The small whisper almost breaks his heart.
“Thank you, love. You’re very helpful. Are you feeling big feelings?”
Ilya’s depression sometimes leaks into his headspace leaving the baby sad, frustrated and confused. This leads to meltdowns, tantrums, eating refusal, an over tired and clingy baby and a very stressed Papa.
“Yeah…” He sighs.
“That’s ok, baby. Are you sad?”
“Don’t know…”
“Don’t know? Maybe a bit sad?”
“Yeah…”
“Can you tell Papa why?”
“Ahn-ahn” He shakes his head.
“No? Papa did something that upset you?”
“No…”
“Papa said something that made you sad?”
“No…”
“Bad dream?”
“Maybe…” He shrugs.
“Are you icky, mon chou? Your head or your belly?”
“No…” He shakes his head again, “’kate!”
“Yes, baby, you’ll skate, don’t worry.”
“’lya good”
“Yes, Ilya is a very good boy and you’ll be very good to Harris. And Papa will take you skating. Lots of laps.”
“Stick?”
“Yes, you can even score a goal. We’ll ask Hazy, ok?”
“Ok” He sighs and looks at the window. This doesn’t sound promising.
Ilya insists in walking to the locker room. Shane just holds his hand and hoist their bags. The baby carries his loon plushie and his blankie. Shane doesn’t complain when he sees it dragging on the floor.
The locker room sounds quieter than usual, a clear sign that there are more Littles around.
Harris is trying to convince a heartbroken Troy that playing is more fun than practicing, while Hayes tickles a squealing Luca.
Yes, this will be a very interesting practice, Shane muses while changing.
“Look, baby. “ Hayes points. “Ilya is here too, you’ll have so much fun.”
“’LYAAAAAAAAAA!” Luca shrills and runs to him.
Ilya immediately bursts into tears and climbs a half-dressed Shane.
“No!! Home, Papa, home!!” He pleads into his Papa’s neck.
The Caregivers share an oh-oh look.
This will be very interesting indeed.