Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Shane gently pushes open the door to their daughters’ room, wincing at the way the hinges creak ever so slightly. He’s been meaning to fix that for a while now, but hasn’t had the time. Thankfully the goal of this visit is to wake them up, but Shane has always prided himself on waking them softly and without a lot of fuss.
He feels it speaks volumes to how their day is going to go.
And today is gearing up to be a very special day that he wants to be sure goes according to plan.
He clicks off the white noise machine that is plugged in across the room and goes to wake up the child closest to him.
“Good morning sweet pea.” Shane whispers warmly, sitting on the edge of his eldest daughter’s bed. He places his hand over the cartoon picture of Bluey that’s on the back of her nightgown and rubs gentle circles into her back.
She rouses only a little to blink up at Shane. Her dark brown eyes, full of sleep, zero in on him. She groans and lets her cheek collide with the pillow again. Her even darker brown curls are in a messy heap at the top of her head, being held together by a loose pink scrunchie and a prayer.
Definitely a post bath, nighttime special by Ilya for sure. He’s gotten pretty good at doing hair over the last few years, but sometimes a messy bun is the only option.
The girls inherited Shane’s thick, dark hair and freckles, but their eldest somehow also got Ilya’s curls. The youngest- soon-to-be middle child- did not. She is Shane’s mini all the way from the top of her head down to her toes.
As if Ilya personally cloned Shane’s genetics and spit her right out. However, it’s hilarious how different they are. Their youngest has Ilya’s wild child personality while their eldest acts exactly like her dad.
At her tiny age, she’s got a pretty good handle on herself as well as everyone else. She’s always worrying about others and has proven time and time again that she’s a very determined go-getter. The true big sister of the family.
Then there is the baby. The forever cuddle bug, unkempt princess, mischievous troublemaker, and comedic relief. Ilya’s mini.
She may look like Shane, but she’s all Ilya on the inside.
“Do I have to get up?” The eldest grumbles. “It’s summer time daddy. We sleep longer in summer.”
“Of course you can get up on your own terms…but I thought you’d like to join me in eating your favorite breakfast this morning.”
The little girl slowly lifts her head, turning to look at her father with an impish grin. “Is it waffles?” She asks.
“I don’t know…” he says, playing coy. “You have to come find out.” He shrugs, a teasing grin tugging at his lips.
Her face brightens at the obvious avoidance to the answer and her eyes blink wide open, “Can we have strawberries too?”
“Of course we can.” Shane smirks, “It’s Papa’s favorite, and right now Papa can have anything his heart desires.”
“It’s mines too.” She smiles, turning over onto her butt in bed.
Shane glances over at his other daughter’s bed, smiling at the sleeping toddler, “Should we wake Mila together or-”
“No, I can do it!” She says eagerly, already scooting to the end of her bed.
“Alright, baby.” Shane stands with a smile, kisses her head, then starts toward the door. “You wake your sister and I’ll get started on the waffles. Deal?”
“Deal.” She nods, throwing the covers off her lap in a hurry.
Shane goes to leave the room, but then remembers he had something else to tell her.
“Oh, Tasha,” he says quietly, getting her attention.
“Yes, daddy?” She blinks up at him, stopping mid tiptoe to her sister.
“When you and Mila come upstairs, be very gentle with Papa. Okay? His belly is hurting him a lot this morning.”
Natasha plants both feet on the ground this time, her hands flying to her mouth with a tiny gasp.
“Is the baby coming?” She asks excitedly.
He nods, “It might be, yeah,” then giggles, twisting the doorknob absently in his hand. “So, be extra gentle and soft with Papa, okay?”
“Okay!” She nods vigorously. “Is it coming today?”
Shane is turning to exit, when her follow up question stops him, “It could, but we have to be patient like we were with Mila. Remember?”
Tasha’s shoulders immediately slump toward the ground, while her head tips back, followed by an exaggerated groan. And in this very moment, Shane can’t help but see so much of Ilya in her little expression, that it gives him goosebumps.
“But it took sooo long!” She whines. Shane is pretty surprised she actually remembers anything sabout Mila’s birth, given she was only two at the time.
“I know, but we have to be patient and help him stay comfortable. Do you think you can do that for Papa?”
Tasha nods, “Yes, Daddy!”
“That’s my girl.” He winks, then gestures to Mila. “Now wake up your sister and come join us upstairs please.”
Tasha half sprints, half skips to Mila’s bedside. Shane hovers just outside the door, wanting to see if Tasha has finally mastered the art of gently waking someone up.
When it comes to him and Ilya, she has no idea what gentle means. Usually, it’s throwing herself on top of them WWE style and shaking their shoulders half off their bodies, or Kool-Aid Man-ing it through the bedroom door.
Shane’s taken one too many knees to the face some mornings. Granted that’s when she was younger, but still- her limbs can pack a hearty punch. She puts most hockey players to shame.
Ilya keeps saying they should put her in wrestling, but Shane always puts a hard stop to that. No way would he actively put his baby girl in a position to get hurt for sport. Of course it’s expected in Hockey, but Shane would rather it be the occasional elbow to the face on accident than get twisted into a pretzel and put into a headlock on purpose.
Ilya tried to argue that intentional defense was safer than getting checked into the boards, but Shane didn’t want to hear it. He’d rather they have safe, play fighting at home with people he trusts and cushy pillows, than on hard mats with other people he doesn’t know.
Ever since Ilya got pregnant with their third though, she’s gotten a lot better about rough housing with him.
Ilya of course has always been an instigator at best, not wanting to treat their daughters any differently than if they were boys. However, it’s harder to rough house with a baby strapped to his middle, so ‘fake’ wrestling has been on the back burner for months. The girls miss getting to play rough with Ilya, but they also seem to enjoy the soft activities with him too.
He’s been playing a lot of tea party and Barbies these last few months, but Shane knows he secretly enjoys it more than being rough with them. All Ilya needs is a good plot and he’ll run with it.
Shane listens at the door as Tasha sweetly greets her little sister.
“Mimi…it’s time to wake up.” She says in a whispered, tiny voice. “Daddy is making us waffles with strawberries. We have to go before Papa eats it all.”
Shane smothers a laugh with his hand before it has a chance to sneak out- since being pregnant, Ilya’s turned into quite the eating machine. He’s calmed down some over the past month as his stomach lost real estate inside him, but prior to that, he was not shy about eating.
“Mila, come on- get up!” She begs out of frustration. Shane isn’t surprised that Tasha’s first attempt didn’t work. One thing about Mila is that she could sleep through an atomic bomb. Fireworks cower at the sight of her. She could have a metal pot clanged over her head and still wake up three days later wondering why her ears are ringing.
It’s a curse on school days, but a blessing during the summer. Shane doesn’t mind the extra quiet time they get when she chooses to sleep in cause once she’s awake, she’s a non-stop terror. A little Tasmanian devil disguised as a sweet little girl.
However, today is one of those days where Shane knows the importance of waking up early. He wants Mila to have one more day of getting to be the baby before becoming a big sister.
Tasha’s been looking forward to the baby’s arrival, but Mila’s been a little on edge lately, knowing that the dynamic they’ve established over the last three years is about to change forever. Or at least Shane is aware of this…Mila not so much. But she knows things are changing and she’s reacting exactly how all the parent blogs said she would.
Some days she’s just as excited as Tasha to meet the new baby, but other days she clings to Ilya like he might disappear and acts more like a baby than she is, so he has no choice but to treat her as such.
They share a very special bond, the way Natasha and Shane do. Kindred spirits, Yuna calls them. Like each girl carries too much of the other inside them. Obviously, Ilya feels a strong connection with all his children, as does Shane, but there is no denying who their girls take directly after.
“And daddy said that Papa might be having the baby today, so we really have to hurry. Isn’t that exciting!?” Tasha adds.
A small, drawn-out groan from Mila makes Tasha giggle. “Come on Mimi. Daddy wants us to get up.”
“Go way.” Mila mumbles.
“Milaaa.” Tasha drawls, with a heavy sigh. “We have to get up.”
“No. Go way, Asha!” Mila raises her sleepy, irritated toddler voice at her sister.
“Fine. I’m gonna eat all the strawberries with Papa by myself then and leave none of them for you!”
“…Good.” Mila says, which Shane knows is Ilya’s ‘I don’t give a fuck what you do’ attitude all the way.
Tasha gives another heavier, melodramatic sigh before giving up. Shane hurries away from the door, not wanting to give away that he was spying and takes to the stairs quickly.
He’s in the kitchen before he even hears the bedroom door open all the way and laughs to himself. Never a dull moment in this house.
Before getting started on breakfast, he wanders over to the den where his husband is lounging lazily on the couch.
Ilya has been up since five dealing with irregular contractions and a little bit of back pain. He’s currently forty weeks and three days pregnant. The longest he’s ever stayed pregnant with either of their children thus far.
Natasha was born at almost thirty-seven weeks when Ilya’s water broke prematurely. Her birth was a little traumatizing to say the least. He delivered naturally after laboring for almost two days, all for Tasha to end up in the NICU for a month due to respiratory problems. She was a little thing- barely six pounds. Cute as ever and stole everyone’s hearts- even the NICU nurses.
They claimed to have never seen a more beautiful baby in their lives.
Mila was a menace from the start. No surprise there. Her birth was one Ilya would never forget.
He started laboring around thirty-eight weeks but carried her to thirty-nine before it turned into anything even remotely productive. He curb walked with her, he ate spicy food, he stood on his damn head, he took warm baths, he even exercised in more ways than one- multiple times a day in hopes it would help bring on true labor, but nothing really worked.
She was born a healthy nine pounds, ten ounces when it finally did happen.
It was truly a miserable time for all, but especially Ilya.
He’d been sent home from the hospital twice because he wasn’t progressing enough to stay. Until the night she was born and Ilya couldn’t hold her in long enough to get back to the hospital. He ended up delivering her in their shower and Shane had to call an ambulance to bring them in.
Everything was textbook and everyone was fine, but he couldn’t believe it happened.
So, with their third- Ilya decided on having a home birth that would be on his own terms for once. Because he was given a July due date, he decided to give birth at the cottage, with his family around him and a midwife. No bells and whistles, just comfort and peace.
Shane almost vetoed the idea, saying it might not be the safest option, to which Ilya replied- “Oh, well then you can have this one then.”
Shane quickly changed his mind. Whatever Ilya wanted, Ilya was going to get. He’d have to live with it and make do.
When they began planning out their family, they decided Ilya would be better suited mentally and physically to carry their babies.
At first, that came as a shock to Ilya, that Shane would even consider his brain to be more stable while pregnant given his history with depression, but in terms of accepting his body changing- Ilya was better off.
He was right in the end. Ilya loves being pregnant and in Shane’s opinion, is very good at it.
They tried getting pregnant the old-fashioned way, but neither of them really enjoyed switching up the dynamic. Ilya couldn’t get into being a bottom, despite only needing to for baby making purposes and decided they’d go the ‘turkey baster’ method before seeking out fertility intervention- should they need it.
It only took two tries before Natasha was conceived and only one with Mila. Unfortunately, with this baby, they did have to seek out a little help. They tried for a whole year, but Ilya just couldn’t get pregnant on his own. He bottomed once more just to be able to say it wasn’t from a lack of trying, but still no baby.
He ultimately went on hormones for a few months while being monitored monthly and within that time they were able to conceive, no problem.
They decided early on to keep the baby’s sex a surprise until birth, so the anticipation surrounding this baby’s arrival has been overwhelming to say the least.
“How are you two doing in here?” Shane asks, peeking around the corner at his pregnant husband, who has been lying on the couch since he slowly waddled himself out there this morning.
He’s reclined, with a pillow shoved under the arch of his back for support. His left hand is wedged between his back and the pillow, while his other rests unmoving atop his large belly.
Shane can make out a bit of movement happening within the taut dome that Ilya appears to be expertly ignoring. Shane loves catching a glimpse of their baby’s movements inside Ilya, maybe even more than feeling them sometimes. Despite this being their third baby, it’s still wild to know Ilya is growing another life inside his body- especially one they created together.
The miracle of life never ceases to amaze the former hockey player.
Ilya lulls his head in his husband’s direction, offering up a dull smile as his hand does a lap around his belly.
“We are just fine, moya lyubov.” He replies lazily, giving the bump a gentle pat. “Baby is still too comfy to make a move.”
Shane can tell he must be in quite a bit of pain this morning. His complexion is paler than usual, and his eyes are drooping heavily, as if he hasn’t slept in days. Which could actually be the reason for that, but it still worries him to see Ilya so drained this early on. If he is in labor, he’s gonna need to find his strength- especially since he won’t be receiving any medication to help ease the pain.
Five years ago, pregnancy treated him much differently. He was a touch younger, but also still playing hockey, so his body was in tip top shape. Well, as tip top as it could be for Ilya, that is.
Now, at thirty-six, things are a little harder for him. His back is permanently fucked from both hockey and carrying two babies within two years of each other. Now a third, that he’s pretty sure is already bigger than Mila was when she was born. Thankfully he had a small break while trying to get pregnant, so it’s been three years, but the body doesn’t really forget.
Shane loves the fact that Ilya’s hips are wider from giving birth, but Ilya isn’t a fan of how badly they ache while he’s pregnant.
“How far apart are they now?”
“Still twenty minutes and lasting…” He snags his phone, which is lying beside his leg and glances at the bright screen. “Thirty seconds.”
“Good.” Shane smiles. “Do you want some tea or water?”
Ilya seems to think about the offer before shaking his head, “Mm, no.” He shoots Shane with a crooked half smile, “Thank you, sweetheart, but no.”
“You need to hydrate.” Shane reminds him. “It’s gonna help with your contractions.”
Ilya gives him a little nod that he understands, “I know, I know.” He rubs gently at his belly, “Later, yes?”
Shane hesitates to accept his request but does so anyway. He knows it’s because Ilya is tired of peeing every five seconds, but it’s important he keep his water intake up, especially if he’s going into labor.
“Sure, later. Holler for me if you decide you want something, okay? The girls should be up soon. I’m only going to be right here making breakfast.” He points toward the kitchen.
“Mhm.” Ilya nods, turning his attention back to the TV.
Somewhere over Ilya’s shoulder Shane calls back to him, “And stop sitting like that. It’s not good for the baby’s position…or your back!” With no response, Shane adds, “Are you listening to me?”
Ilya rolls his eyes with a light snore, “Okay, yes-I hear you, loud and clear. But give me break, huh? Is hard to get comfortable like this. Is only position that feels good right now.” He frowns, cradling his belly in his hands. He smirks with a snicker when the baby visibly rolls from left to right, distorting the shape of his belly for a moment.
“Lying down isn’t more comfortable for you?”
“Shane, breathing isn’t comfortable.” The pregnant man snips.
Shane lets out a quiet, despairing sigh. He wishes there were more he could do to take the discomfort away, but giving birth feels like the only option left at this point in the game.
He realizes pestering him is the least helpful thing he could possibly do right now and decides to leave him be unless he wants or needs something. Ilya surprisingly is pretty good at not playing the martyr while pregnant.
He’s usually very upfront and vocal about what he wants or about letting Shane know when he’s in pain. He thankfully rarely keeps it to himself, which is helpful, but sometimes in moments such as this, Ilya slips into expressing his feelings through actions rather than words.
Still, Shane is used to reading between the lines. Living with two little girls with big, overwhelming emotions has made him pretty good at decoding needs that can’t quite be articulated. And right now, he leans on that instinct, watching quietly, waiting for what Ilya is struggling to put into words. Labor is a tense waiting game, but Shane tries his best to make sure it’s not as unbearable as it can be for his husband.
Thankfully, he seems to be okay for now. But Shane knows to keep an eye out for the signs of when Ilya’s in too much pain to think clearly. It’s usually a combination of going alarmingly silent and reverting back to only speaking Russian. So far, he’s only gotten a little quieter since yesterday, but English is still at the forefront of his mind.
They have time.
A moment later, only one pair of little feet can be heard coming up the stairs. By the weight of her steps, he’s convinced Tasha was unsuccessful in getting Mila up.
Shane busies himself with taking out everything he needs for the waffles and side eyes Tasha as she curiously enters the kitchen. He can’t help but smile at his daughter's curious, little scrunched up expression. Ilya says he makes the same adorable face when confused, but he doesn’t believe him. He’s positive that his ugly mug could never compare to the soft, sweet features of this little angel.
Shane stifles another laugh at the sight of her. Her hair is still the same ratty mess from earlier but has since moved to hanging off the side of her head. He watches silently as she shuffles past the island, skating effortlessly across the floor on her pink, fuzzy socks.
He waits a second longer before pointing to the den where the person she’s actively looking for is currently sitting.
“Morning Papa!” Natasha greets him as she gallops down the three steps into the den, disappearing past the half wall. Shane knows that one day he’ll be able to see her over the ledge, but for now she’s still too small and the thought makes his heart clench.
“Mm, good morning, solnyshko…by the looks of your hairs, you slept good, yes?”
“Yeah.” She says cheerfully. “Daddy said the baby is coming today, do you know when?”
“Oh, he said that did he?” Ilya asks, “He knows something I don’t, huh?” He raises his voice enough for Shane to realize he’s indirectly talking to him. Shane rolls his eyes with a smirk as he listens without bothering to entertain the comment.
“Yeah, he said you have a tummy ache and that means the baby is coming.”
“Ah, I guess is like tummy ache, yes. But is very different kind of tummy ache.”
“Why?” She asks and Shane can practically hear the tilt of her head in her curious tone of voice.
“Why is it different?”
“Yeah.”
Ilya hesitates a moment, most likely thinking of how to explain what labor feels like to a five-year-old.
“Hmm, well…it’s not my belly that hurts…like when you eat too much ice cream or something.” He giggles, which gets a tiny chuckle out of his daughter. “Is actually where the baby is growing that hurts me. Remember where the baby grows is called the uterus?”
“A uta-huh?” She questions and Ilya belts out a laugh cause once again she’s most definitely making that face he claims Shane makes when he’s puzzled by something. He doesn’t have to be there to see the way her brow knits together and her freckled nose scrunches up. She’s probably squinting at him the way Shane does too, which he has to admit is absolutely too grown up of an expression for a little girl.
Okay, maybe they do share the same expressive nature, but her face is much cuter than his by far- he’ll die on that hill.
“A uterus.” He says through his laughter, and even Shane has to admit the word sounds funny in his accent.
“Is baby’s temporary home. It was your home and also Mila’s home and now this baby’s home.” He pats his belly. “Is where you have been feeling the baby’s kicks.”
“Oh…but then how come the baby is inside your tummy then if it doesn’t grow there?”
“I know, is very confusing for little heads to understand.” He taps a finger lightly against her forehead, “The baby does grow in Papa’s tummy, but inside the uterus.”
There is a pause before she squeaks out, “Huh?” which causes Ilya to snort out another laugh.
“Oy, is easier to feel, I think. Come, put your hand here on my belly.” He instructs her. “No, here.”
“There?”
“Yes. Now push your fingers down…What does that feel like?”
“Nothing. It’s squishy.”
“Ah, okay. That is because is my stomach where food goes. No baby. Now move it here…you feel that? Is different, yes?”
“It’s not squishy anymore. It’s hard.”
“Da, that is where the baby is. The uterus grows around the baby and holds it until is ready to come out. Is why my tummy is so big, huh?”
“It’s big because the baby can come out now?”
“Exactly, the baby is plenty big enough to come out. So now we wait until they are ready. Like when Mila was in my belly and we waited for her, do you remember? You were very small, about Mila’s age.”
“Ugh,” She groans, “Daddy said that too…but what time will this baby come out? Mila tooked her time!”
“Mm,” he clicks his tongue in thought, “I wonder…maybe the baby will write a letter saying what time it will come and mail it to us. When it arrives, I will let you know, huh?”
Shane can’t contain his smile as his husband jokes with their daughter. He’s always been a silly person around children, but getting to see it up close with their own is truly a dream.
“Papa!” She erupts into laughter. “The baby can’t do that!”
“Whoa, it can’t?” Ilya questions playfully, however his tone sounds serious. “This is first time I am hearing about this. Are you sure, why can’t they?”
“The baby doesn’t know how to write yet!”
“Oh, yes- I think you are right about this. Papa is too tired and forgot.”
“You’re being very silly.” She teases lightheartedly.
“Maybe.” He says with a smile in his voice.
“But to answer the question, it may come today or it could come tomorrow…I don’t know, sweetheart. We wait as long as we need to. Baby is in control, okay?”
“How come daddy said your tummy hurt then if you don’t know if the baby will come today?”
“Ah because it is hurting, but only a little bit. Papa is okay, I promise.”
“But the baby is hurting you?”
“No, the baby is not hurting me, sweetheart. The baby and I are working together. Is something called labor. I have these pains a bunch of times and they get harder and stronger and when the baby has had enough- it comes out.” He says simply.
Shane from the other room says, “For the record, I didn’t say the baby was coming today. I said it could, honey.”
“Do you understand now?” Ilya asks her gently. “Is okay if you don’t. Is big topic for you.”
“Hmm…” Tasha hums, “I guess.”
“Oh- wait, perfect timing. Give me your hand again…you feel how hard Papa’s belly is getting?” He asks her, breathlessly.
“Yeah…wait, the baby is coming right now?” She panics.
“Ah, no, not yet,” He chuckles, exhaling a labored breath. “But this is a-” He exhales again over a slight pause, “A contraction…My uterus is like giving baby very tight hug.”
“It’s hugging the baby?” She asks, surprised. “Why does it do that?”
Shane is mildly impressed with Ilya’s ability to talk through the pain, which is another sign that it’s not as bad as it could be yet. As soon as he can no longer talk through the contractions, he’ll know it’s really happening.
“Is over now, see how much softer my belly is?”
“That’s weird!” She exclaims, but she sounds more amazed than freaking out.
“Yes, I suppose it is.” He continues to laugh at her astonishment.
He goes on to explain how he times the contractions on his phone and that when the contractions are closer together that means they are closer to meeting the baby. Shane assumes he’s showing her the app he uses and how it works because she keeps asking what things mean and he explains in as much detail as he can where she can still understand.
“Can I press the button when it happens again?”
“Of course you can. I will let you know when, moya lyubov. Right now, Papa needs the bathroom…” He calls his husband’s name with urgency. “Shane, a little help?”
“Oop, coming. Hold on just a second.”
“Not very much time to play with! Waffles can wait- my bladder cannot- please hurry up!” He replies, sounding a bit panicked.
Shane places down the bowl and the whisk he’d been using and rushes down into the den. Ilya’s attempting to sit himself up, but he can’t seem to get out of his own way. Tasha is also attempting to help, but Ilya is practically dead weight to her tiny hands.
“This damn belly.” He mutters in Russian.
“You’re like a turtle that rolled on its back, Papa.” Tasha notes with a chuckle. “Too heavy!”
“Oh, yes. Thank you, Tasha. Is so wonderful of you to tease your poor Papa.” Ilya raises an eyebrow at her, making her laugh harder.
“Come on, let’s get you up before you have an accident on the couch.” Shane smiles, extending his hands out to him, readying his stance to help pull him to his feet. Ilya goes to take his husband’s hands but pauses when Shane says, “Again.” With a smug little grin.
Ilya glares up at him through his eyelashes and his mouth instinctually opens around an insult but he knows better than to curse with their daughter right beside him. So, he settles for sticking his tongue out at Shane and allowing the other man to heave him up.
Ilya’s cheeks puff out around a hard breath and he grunts when he’s finally on his feet.
“Oh no, I don’t think I’m making it.” He hisses, slipping a hand under his heavy belly, pressing the other firmly into his back. He waddles in the direction of the bathroom and takes the short steps out of the den, one at a time. He’s visibly focusing on not peeing his pants, but Shane’s almost certain he’s right about not making it with how slow he’s shuffling across the room.
Tasha is covering her mouth, trying not to giggle, but is failing epically.
“I hear you laughing at me, Tashka! …Stop it.” He hears Ilya holler from the hallway.
Shane lets out his own unstoppable giggle and extends a hand out to his daughter.
“Come on, I need help in the kitchen.” He winks and she’s more than happy to oblige her father.
_
“By some miracle, I made it! No accidents. Papa gets gold star now.” Ilya emerges from the hallway, waddling back into the kitchen with one hand on his back, the other raised in a triumphant fist.
“Good job, Papa!” Tasha cheers, waving her child safety knife in the air.
“Natasha!” Shane’s hand shoots out to grab his daughter’s wrist to stabilize the knife. He knows it can’t do any real damage, but they’ve been working on treating it like a real kitchen tool to get the point across for when it comes time to transition.
“Baby, the blade stays on the board. Remember?” He redirects the tool down to the cutting board and guides her hand with his own to cut a thin-ish slice of strawberry.
“Oh,” She giggles, turning her attention back to the task at hand. “Sorry, daddy. I forgot.”
“It’s okay, baby. You’re doing a great job, just try to stay focused on what you’re doing. It’s how we avoid accidents, right?” He teaches, pressing a kiss to the side of her head.
“Right!” She nods, the bun on her crown bobbing forward.
Shane already went ahead and fixed her hair, so it wasn’t getting in her face and tied her tiny apron- courtesy of Grandpa David- around her waist. Across the chest is reads, Pop-Pop’s Sous Chef.
Tasha has loved to cook ever since she could walk. Just this past Christmas, she upgraded from being the ‘ingredient dumper’ to an ‘ingredient prepper’, when her grandparents bought her a kid-safe knife and chopper set.
She primarily loves to cook with her grandfather, but they try to let her help in the kitchen as much as possible, so she can hone her skills.
Shane has been doing a lot of work himself in terms of taming his anxiety about her working around the stove and the oven. She’s so smart and such a fast learner, but she’s also five and he wants her to be a kid for as long as she can be.
Putting too much stress and unnecessary expectations to be perfect on a five-year-old is the opposite of how they want to parent. Of course they have instituted plenty of discipline into her routine, but needing to be perfect at everything is not expected of her ever. Mila’s only three, but they are practicing the same methods with her as well.
Ilya makes his way slowly around the island until he’s standing beside his daughter, leaning into the granite on his forearms. He takes a peek at her cutting board and waits for her to notice him looking.
“Hi, papa.” She smiles, carefully setting her knife down the way Shane taught her.
“Hi.” He smiles back, resting his chin in his palm as he watches her dreamily. “What’re you doing?” his voice hushed.
“I’m cutting the strawberries. See!” She lets out a squee, proudly showing him the pile of fruit she has cut up on her board. None of the pieces are the same size, some are a little smushed and he’s pretty sure she’s been tasting a few, but she’s completed the task nonetheless.
“Mm, do you think I could have a bite?” He bats his eyelashes at her. Tasha glances over her shoulder at Shane who is absolutely pretending to ignore them and then turns back to her Papa.
“Sure.” She nods with a whisper and feeds him a piece of smushed berry.
“Mmm, so good.” He hums around the tart fruit in his mouth. He straightens out a little and points at the curve of his belly, his eyebrows raised in silent question, as if to say, ‘One for the baby?’
They both check to see this time if Shane is watching and find his back is still turned to them.
“Quick.” She giggles, picking up a hunk of fruit and pushing it into his mouth again. He munches on it and gives her a thumbs up.
“If you two keep eating the fruit, we won’t have any to go with the waffles.” Shane tuts.
Tasha’s eyes grow wide at the sound of her other father’s voice- Ilya’s quickly matches hers.
He playfully gasps, covering his mouth, “Oh no, we’ve been caught!”
“You got us in trouble! No more, Papa! Go away!” She reprimands with a hand on her hip, shooing him with the other.
Ilya laughs at her little stern expression and straightens himself out, grunting at the tension it causes in his lower back. He massages himself, and winces at the pain in his hips. The baby is making a very eager descent toward the exit it seems.
Shane spins on his heel the second he hears the groan and sizes up his husband.
“You okay?”
“Is just my back, Shane, do not worry.” He waves him off. “I think I should sit down again.”
Shane agrees, worry evident on his face, “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. I’ll bring you the heating pad when I finish up here.”
“Thank you, my love.” He nods, as he waddles back toward the den.
Tasha climbs down off her stool in a hurry, “I’ll get it for you, Papa! I know right where it is.” She says, already halfway to her parent’s bedroom.
Ilya turns at the top of the steps, rubbing a hand over his belly. “She is very excited for the baby to come, huh?” The corner of his mouth turning up in a thoughtful smile.
“Very.” Shane chuckles softly, pouring the first waffle onto the hot iron and closing the lid.
Ilya palms the side of his belly where the baby is nudging him, “A gde moya ozornitsa?” And where is my little mischief-maker, he asks Shane, looking around the room for his other daughter.
“She’s still sleeping. Natasha couldn’t get her up, but I’ll grab her before we eat.” Shane assures him.
Ilya shrugs a free hand in the air, scratching at the back of his neck with the other, “I can go get-”
“You will go sit your butt on that couch.” Shane turns, pointing toward the den. “Go sit. I’m serious.”
“I’m not going to break, Shane.”
“I don’t care. I will get Mila up, go sit and relax.”
Before Ilya can argue his case, Tasha runs into the room with the oversized heating pad in her arms. The cord trailing noisily against the floor behind her, chaotically checking everything in its path.
“Here you go, Papa!”
“Oh, thank you lyubimaya.” He says, accepting the device from her.
Ilya sits on the couch with the heat on his back until breakfast is ready. Mila eventually comes upstairs, most likely having smelled the sweet aroma of vanilla wafting through the cottage, and finds Ilya immediately.
She curls up against his side, using his belly as a pillow for her sleepy head. Ilya absentmindedly runs his fingers through her hair, lulling her back to sleep in no time at all.
When Shane comes to help Ilya off the couch, he frowns at the sleeping toddler in his lap.
“She needs to wake up, babe. If you keep playing with her hair like that, she’s gonna stay asleep.”
He hushes his husband in a soft voice, “Shhh. She’s fine where she is.” He coos, smoothing back the thick hair covering her forehead with his hand.
As much as Mila still wants to be Ilya’s baby, Ilya wants her to stay his baby. He’s unexpectedly felt guilty a lot during this pregnancy, wondering most nights if they made a mistake having a third. He never had these feelings while pregnant with Mila. It could be that Tasha was super excited to become a big sister and couldn’t wait to help her dads and now Mila is just the complete opposite. Everything was fine, why did they have to go and change it?
4 Months Ago…
“...I’ve been told it sucks to be the middle child, Shane! She’s always going to feel left out!” A rather overly excited Ilya exclaimed, pacing their bedroom like a mad man. He had his hands fisted in his curls, his bare feet running a path in their plush carpet.
Shane carefully took off his glasses and laid them on the bed beside his leg, “How? She’s still our daughter- it’s not like we’re going to forget about her!”
Ilya stopped at the end of their bed with a groan and pulled his hands down his face.
“Is not the point! Tasha is big sister, yes?” He said, continuing before Shane had a chance to respond, “She does so much and we pour so much time into her life and Mila is still the baby. She gets lots of attention for being the youngest. Now we have new baby coming and she’s not the baby anymore. S-she’s too young to start anything, at least Tasha has ballet and we-”
“Ilya, honey- Stop!” Shane interrupted his husband’s rambling, closing his book and resting it beside his glasses. “You’re getting all worked up over this. Think of your blood pressure- of the baby.”
“That’s the problem- I can’t stop thinking about this baby, Shane.” He took hold of his five-month bump in his hands. “It is all I can think about anymore.”
The pregnant man threw his hands in the air out of frustration, “I’m having very hard time here. We made a mistake. We should have just stayed family of four!”
Shane shuffled out of bed, approaching the emotional man with his hands up, “Okay, I get what you’re saying, but Mila is not going to be left out, babe. We just have to shift the dynamic a bit. Of course she’s not going to be the baby anymore, but she wasn’t going to be a baby forever anyway.”
“Oh, no?” Ilya flashed him a sardonic look, “Well to me she was. Tasha and Mila will always be my babies, Shane!”
“Okay, so then why can’t this baby also be your baby?”
That seemed to make Ilya pause in thought before replying, “It just doesn’t feel the same. I don’t ever want Milashka to feel forgotten.”
“She won’t. We’ll make sure of that, okay?”
“But what if-”
“Ilya, baby,” Shane took his hands and guided him to take a seat at the end of the bed. “We’re growing our family again. This was a decision we made as a family. It’s not like this baby was an accident and look, Mila is still so young yet and we don’t know how she’s going to react when there is a real baby in front of her. We can only hope she’s as happy as Tasha was to have a younger sibling. Let’s not automatically think the worst of this, okay?”
“O-okay.” Ilya pouts. “I’m sorry...I think,” He gestured vaguely to his body. “Is the hormones. I feel very, um...stuck with my emotions.” His voice shook as he spoke.
Shane’s expression softened. He tucked a curl behind Ilya’s ear, then brushed his thumb along his jaw, “You don’t have to apologize, Ilya. I know this pregnancy has been a lot from the start. I think you’re just feeling very sentimental right now and maybe even a little empathetic towards the girls. But we’re gonna have another baby...another life to make memories with. I promise you everything is going to be just fine. All these worries are going to be for nothing.”
Ilya placed a hand over his belly, “I hope you’re right, Shane...” he said, leaning his forehead against his husband’s.
Shane smirked, closing his eyes, “I know I’m right.”
The corner of Ilya’s mouth turned up at the cocky reply, “Ah, of course you do.”.
When breakfast is over, the girls immediately want to go outside to play. Shane asks them to wait until he has cleaned up from breakfast, so he can go out with them. He doesn’t like letting them into the yard alone at their small age knowing there is nothing stopping either of them from running straight to the water’s edge.
They have the girls enrolled in swim lessons twice a month, but they aren’t exactly strong swimmers yet. Tasha thinks she’s gotten the hang of it, but when compared to Hayden and Jackie’s kids, she’s still pretty rough on her own.
They came to stay at the cottage, with the kids, for a few days a little over a week ago. The kids had a blast getting to hang out, but Shane could tell Tasha was a little down by time they left.
Even though Natasha picks things up quickly, she’s still leagues behind the older girls. It frustrates her more than she lets on. Developmentally, it’s completely expected, but Natasha isn’t particularly gentle with herself when she loses a game or can’t match their patience during activities.
It’s not hard to figure out where she got that trait from.
Shane does his best to remind her that she will get better with time, that growing into things is all a part of getting older, but she wants to be better now. He’s pretty sure it’s because she idolizes the twins and wants so badly to be just like them, but hates the gap between where they are and where she is.
She’s technically closer in age to Amber, though even Jackie has pointed out that Natasha is already outpacing her in most areas of learning- a very quiet nod to the “gifted” label teachers like to use on advanced students. Or how Shane likes to put it- a slippery slope to developing crushing academic anxiety.
So, it’s no surprise to either of them that she’s hard on herself when she doesn’t grasp something right away.
Shane isn’t worried. Tasha’s moment will come and honestly probably sooner rather than later, but he has no interest in rushing it. Just like with her cooking skills, he wants her to grow into it naturally, to improve with practice, at her own pace. Not by someone breathing down her neck, telling her to do better.
“I will go with them now and you join us after.” Ilya shrugs, popping a grape into his mouth before helping Mila out of her booster seat. He places her down with a grunt, and holds his back with a wince as he straightens out.
Shane hesitates with a stack of plates in his hands, “Uh, no. You’re supposed to be resting, remember? They can wait a few minutes for me to finish cleaning.”
Ilya, in Russian, replies, “My ass is getting sore from sitting down. I need to move my body. Just let me do this, please?”
Shane once again hesitates to agree, then nods with approval, “Fine…just don’t be running around like a lunatic. You could trip and get hurt.” He says, taking the dishes to the sink.
“Ah, me, run like this?” He laughs, gesturing to the giant belly attached to his waist. “Not a chance.” He shakes his head. “Going to plant my butt in that chair right there.” He points somewhere in the yard.
“Go out now, Papa?” Mila asks, rushing to the slider off the den with her sister right behind her.
With a hard exhale, he rests a hand atop his belly and winces at the strong movement happening within. Definitely a result of the five pounds of Nutella he ate with his waffles just now.
“Yes, we go out now, bozhya korovka moya.” My little lady bug. He motions with his hand for them to get a head start. Ilya waddles his way to the stairs leading to the den and stalls just before them. He watches his daughters run around the yard, screaming and laughing together- having the time of their lives doing absolutely nothing at all. Ah, to be young again with their level of imagination.
Ilya swallows hard, dropping his eyes to his belly and cups the heavy mass in his hands. He whispers something in Russian, a bit too hushed for Shane to hear from his place across the room.
“Everything okay over there?” Shane asks, before turning to the sink to start rinsing off the plates.
“Yes, is fine.” He nods, “...Just…” He worries his bottom lip between his teeth.
“Just what?” He asks, not taking his eyes off the task at hand.
“…I think we might have a baby tonight.” The apprehension evident in his voice.
Not wanting to draw attention to Ilya’s uneasiness, Shane says with a smile, “I think so too.”
Ilya nods again, staring down at his belly in hopes of catching a glimpse of the baby’s movements. They’ve been a bit harsh lately, due to lack of space, but a wonderful sign that it’s thriving yet despite its size.
“Get out there, baby. The girls are waiting for you.” Shane pulls him out of the shadows at just the right moment. Ilya glances up at him, and Shane winks, motioning for him to run along.
Ilya takes a final deep breath before escaping outside.
Shane finds his way there once he’s finished cleaning, the slider screeching slightly as he pulls it closed behind him, and his heart melts at the sight waiting for him.
Ilya has somehow managed to get himself all the way down onto the grass, stretched out in the sun like a cat, which is definitely going to be a problem for later. But for now, he looks relaxed and content with one arm draped over his eyes to block out the sunlight, the other flat out beside him on the grass.
His tank is rucked up to his chest, exposing his full, round belly to the warm sun. The baby is most definitely enjoying the warmth as much as its Papa is.
The girls are hovering around him, giggling and mischievously whispering to one another. Either up to no good, or something entirely too cute for words. Shane would bet on it being the latter.
A small pile of wildflowers lays between them over Ilya’s lap and one by one they carefully place them onto the tight curve of his belly. Some stems are tucked into the tight waistband of his shorts, but a majority of the teeny flowers are resting on his skin.
Shane leans against the doorframe, watching the girls discuss where to place the flowers and even getting Ilya’s input on a few. There is something so soft and beautiful about getting to watch them bond with their father this way, but also their unborn sibling.
The eldest of the two, taps a finger against her chin, furrowing her little brow in thought.
“Hmm…” Natasha tilts her head, studying their work with an intense seriousness. “I think it needs more dandy-lions. We need to pick more!” She exclaims.
“I get thems, Asha,” Mila declares, already scrambling to her feet. She unfortunately uses Ilya’s belly as leverage to push herself up.
Half of their carefully placed flowers go scattering at his sides and the pregnant man’s hand flies down over his stomach a second too late and lets out a sharp grunt. His whole body tenses on instinct and what little strength he has left in his midsection braces against the sudden impact.
For a beat, he just breathes through it, but then he can’t help but laugh. It’s soft and a little breathless, fonder than anything else, because Mila is already darting off across the grass, completely oblivious to the chaos she’s left behind.
“Oof- Gentle, solnyshko,” he calls after her, voice warm despite the beginning signs of a contraction starting. “Baby’s home is not trampoline, da?”
Tasha gasps, immediately trying to fix the flowers. “Mila ruined it!”
“No, no,” Ilya shakes his head, smoothing a hand over his tightening belly, still trying to catch his breath. “We fix together. Is okay, Tashka. Look, see?” Ilya says, trying to replace the flowers that fell at his sides.
His eyes flick briefly toward Shane as soon as he’s in view. The pregnant man seems amused, if not a little exasperated, but glowing all the same. He focuses back on Natasha as she carefully starts rebuilding their tiny floral masterpiece.
“Having fun?” Shane asks, hovering above them now.
Ilya squints up at him with a smile, palming the underside of his large belly. “Da, we’re very busy here,” he says.
Shane huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he crouches down beside them, brushing a stray petal off Ilya’s shoulder. “I can see that.”
Ilya exhales slowly through his nose, “Yes, so if you’re going to help, sit down. If not- go away.” he says, voice steady, despite clearly battling the contraction rolling through his middle. Shane can tell it’s a pretty good one by the way his belly is all tensed up.
“And how’s the baby liking this exactly?” He questions.
“It likes the attention.” He replies, gently rubbing the bottom of his belly.
“Oh, yeah? Even that sucker punch to the face it just took?” Shane snorts, finding Mila across the yard, gathering as many dandelions as her little hands can hold.
Ilya’s lips twitch into a fond smile, breaking apart when he laughs. “I think so, yes.”
Mila comes running back over, and drops to the ground beside her father. Natasha is quick to shield Ilya’s belly from a second hit and scowls at her sister.
“Careful, Mimi!” Tasha warns, “You’re gonna squish the baby and ruin the flowers again!”
“I won’t,” comes the offended, sad reply with a tiny pout to follow. “I’m jus’ twying to help.”
Ilya wraps an arm around Mila’s bottom and pulls her close, “And you are, malyshka, but we need to be gentle with papa’s belly, huh?” Ilya tells her. “Baby does not like to be pushed around.”
She nods, lowering her chin with a defeated sigh. “I sowy, Papa.”
“Is okay, Milusya, is okay.” Ilya coos, rubbing her back. “Let’s help Tashka rebuild, da?”
“Does the baby like the flowers?” Tasha asks, arranging the bright yellow dandelions in a circle over his bump.
“Mm,” he hums, voice warm and drowsy. “I think so, is very lucky. Has best decorators.”
Another flower gets added. Then another and then Tasha starts twisting the ends of the flowers around each other, creating a crown shape over the highest point of his bump. Her tongue pokes out in concentration as she focuses on making the flower crown stay put.
“It’s too hard.” Natasha whines, when all the work she did comes undone by accident.
Shane shifts around to sit beside her and reaches for the stems, “Let’s try again, baby. I think it needs to go like this.” He says, showing her how to do it.
Jackie and Shane had spent an afternoon a few weeks ago helping the girls make flower crowns, so at this point, he feels like a damn professional.
He works another stem carefully into place, fingers slow and mindful of the small hands hovering nearby, ready to ‘help.’
“Like this,” he instructs, angling it just right. “You twist, then tuck. See? Keeps it from falling apart.”
“How come it didn’t work when I twisted them like that?”
“It needed to be tighter, that’s all. You’re doing so well. The baby is loving it.” Shane says, turning the project back over to her.
“The baby kicks when they like it, right?” She asks, moving the crown into place.
“Absolutely.” Shane tells her before pressing a kiss to the side of her head. He then plays with the braid resting against her back that Ilya most likely twisted her hair into after breakfast.
“Me too, dada?” Mila asks, presenting him with a…well, he’s not sure what it is, but yeah, it’s great!
“Of course, baby. It looks so good, put it right here!” Shane says, pointing to the open space inside the flower crown.
Ilya shifts his hips a bit, breath catching for just a fraction of a second. It was so subtle that if Shane wasn’t paying attention, he might’ve missed it. His eyes close a second later, and his fingers curl around the lawn beneath him. He holds on for nearly a minute before relaxing again.
Tasha looks up with concern on her face. “Is your tummy hugging the baby again?”
Ilya exhales slowly through parted lips, his other hand bracing against the bottom of his belly again. “Da, but is okay now.” He nods once.
Shane can tell he’s growing more uncomfortable by the second in this position and decides he needs to step in because Ilya can never tell his babies no if they are having fun.
“Hey,” he says softly, curiosity lacing his voice as he catches the girls’ attention. “How about we put our swimsuits on and go down to the water, hm?”
“YEAH!” Both girls excitedly scream and rush for the house before Shane can even blink once.
“Oh my god. Definitely no more sugar today.” He laughs, and turns to Ilya who is currently slowly turning onto his side toward Shane. He’s supporting the weight of his belly in his hand, gently letting it flop onto the grass beside him. He tucks an arm under his head as a pillow, then drapes his other over his middle.
“Mm, thank you for that, moya lyubov,” He grunts, closing his eyes, “last contraction was kind of bad.”
“I could tell...can I get you anything, do you wanna get up?”
“Ah, no.” He sighs, “Just want to lie here for a bit.”
“Okay, sweetheart. I’m gonna get them dressed and then we’ll be back out if you think of anything.” He says, gingerly rubbing the side of Ilya’s belly, feeling the baby push against his hand.
“Okay...bring my phone when you return please?”
“Will do.” Shane leans down and kisses Ilya’s cheek before getting up to head into the house. The girls will most likely tear their room apart looking for their suits that are currently hanging up in the laundry room if he doesn’t hurry.
Ilya went inside to lie down after Shane came back out with the girls. He was even more uncomfortable than how Shane left him by time he returned and the ground was not helping his situation one bit.
He felt bad for not sticking around to join them in the water, but he just couldn’t do it and Shane couldn’t blame him.
Once the girls were finally done with swimming, an hour later, Shane brought them inside and set them up at the table for lunch.
“I’m rewey hungry.” Mila tells him for the third time since taking her place at the table.
Calmly, Shane says, “I know, baby. I’m working on it right now. We have to be, what?” he prompts, hoping his lessons on manners have finally started to stick.
“Patient!” Natasha answers.
He nods proudly. “Patient, that’s right. Can we work on being patient together while Daddy finishes making lunch for everyone?”
“Yes, Daddy,” Mila replies, focused on stacking three magnetic learning blocks together, only to watch them topple onto the placemat in front of her.
“Where’s Papa at?” Natasha asks, noticing Ilya isn’t in any of his usual spots around the house and most importantly not sitting at the table with them like he normally does for lunch time.
“Probably taking a nap in bed, sweetheart. He’s very tired. We have to let him rest so he has enough energy for when the baby decides to come.”
“Oh, right. That’s a good idea, daddy.” She nods, watching as Shane meticulously arranges triangle-cut sandwiches, carrot sticks, and peeled mandarin oranges onto blue plastic plates. He carries them over to the table, setting one in front of each girl.
Both plates look pretty much the same, aside from the fact that Tasha’s sandwiches still have the crusts on. Mila’s very much do not. If she spotted even a speck of brown on her white bread, all hell would break loose.
And as much as he detests the stuff, Tasha gets ranch with her carrot sticks, while Mila gets hummus instead.
Shane loves that neither of his girls are particularly picky eaters, they just have very specific feelings on how their food should be eaten. Mila, especially, surprises them daily with the things she’s willing to put away, but bread crusts remain her Achilles’ heel.
“Did you make some for you, daddy?” Tasha asks, coating her carrot stick in far too much ranch for one bite.
“Yeah, daddy,” Mila talks past the food in her mouth, “Wheres is your samich?” she asks, before copying her sister’s dipping technique.
“I’m not hungry yet. It’s okay. Eat up.” Shane smiles at her. It’s not a lie. He’s got a little too much on his mind at the moment to think about eating anything. Seeing Ilya in pain earlier reminded him of both Tasha and Mila’s births and how intense they were.
Shane still isn’t sold on the whole giving birth at the cottage thing, but he continues to respect and support his husband’s decision regardless of how he feels. He knows it’s the only way Ilya will be comfortable enough to find peace during it and after two difficult deliveries, he deserves a peaceful one.
He’s just struggling to visualize it all, to fully wrap his head around the fact that if things go south, the only medical support they’ll have is his trusted midwife and her assistant.
Granted, she’s wonderful- Shane has zero complaints about her. She’s always calm, very experienced and incredibly skilled at her craft, but that still isn’t enough to ease the anxiety that creeps in whenever Shane envisions an emergency unfolding in front of them.
He knows it takes roughly thirty-minutes to get to the nearest hospital from the cottage and to him that’s way too far.
Everything about Mila’s birth had been textbook despite how it all went down, so Shane knows Ilya can do this. It’s just the fear of being so far away from help that refuses to leave him alone.
For weeks leading up to Ilya’s due date, Shane could barely sleep. He obsessed over every tiny detail of the birth plan, mapping out potentially faster routes to nearby hospitals and memorizing them as if he’d be the one driving the ambulance.
He also researched sanitation practices endlessly and sent himself spiraling into a full nesting frenzy, trying to get the house clean enough while still having two small children tearing through it behind him.
It’s a wonder he doesn’t have an ulcer the size of a dinner plate from all the stress he brought on himself these last few months.
Meanwhile, Ilya is cool as a cucumber, seemingly without a worry in the world. Uncomfortable and a little grouchy, sure, but otherwise completely ready to do this.
Shane did catch a flicker of apprehension in his voice earlier when he mentioned they might have a baby by tonight, but who wouldn’t be nervous about giving birth again? Shane has no idea how Ilya did it twice already and still willingly chose to do it again. Especially having witnessed Ilya unexpectedly give birth, unassisted, in their bedroom’s ensuite.
In Shane’s eyes, Ilya’s one of the strongest people he knows.
3 Years Ago…
This was the second time in two days that he was getting sent home by the on-call obstetrician in the emergency department, claiming he was nowhere near ready to be admitted yet. His OB was on vacation, so the office kept telling him to go straight to emergency where they would check him and see if it was time to be admitted.
Even with his obvious cries of pain every six or seven minutes, from contractions that were stretching into nearly a minute or more each time, they still wouldn’t take him.
Shane tried to get someone else to come see him, but the ED was slammed with ‘more emergent’ patients than Ilya. He just about wanted to drive his fist through a wall at hearing them say that.
So, they drove home-again. Shane knew in his gut that it wasn’t right. Ilya needed to be there- this baby was clearly on her way but no one would take them seriously.
The OB said he was only five centimeters dilated the first time they went, water still intact and contractions too far apart to do anything with- her words exactly. The second time around, she didn’t even offer to check him, saying he was still most likely where he was yesterday. Shane could have strangled her.
Ilya was in the back seat of their car now, moaning through the latest contraction and it was ripping Shane’s heart apart.
“Do you want to try a different hospital?” Shane asked.
In Russian, he replied, “No, please go home. I can’t sit in another waiting room just to be sent home.”
Ilya moaned all the way to their house, where Shane helped him out of the car and into the bedroom. He wanted to lie down and see if some rest would help.
Shane went into the kitchen to put on some tea for him, and called his mom to give her an update. She was watching Natasha for them, since they thought this was gonna be it.
“Are you fucking kidding me? They wouldn’t take him again?!”
“No, and they wouldn’t listen when Ilya kept telling them the pressure is getting worse.”
“Oh, Shane. That poor baby. Do you boys need anything?”
“He’s resting right now. Thinks it might help. He’s been up all night, and couldn’t sit still this morning. He’s more than ready to have her, mom, I don’t know what the hell their problem is.”
“I would have requested-”
“Mom, if you think for a second that I didn’t try to get someone else-”
He was interrupted by Ilya’s pained cry from their bedroom.
“SHANE!” He hollered.
“Oh- I gotta go, mom. Ilya needs me.”
“Okay, give him my best.”
“Will do.” He said before hanging up the phone. He dropped his cell on the counter and rushed for their bedroom. Upon entry, Shane discovered that Ilya wasn’t in bed anymore but the light in the bathroom was on.
He rushed in to find Ilya stripping his clothes, and turning the shower on.
“Baby? You, okay?” He asked, quickly jumping in to help with getting his pants off from around his ankles.
The heavily pregnant man shook his head. “Ah, God…I need the shower, I can’t– blyat!” The cry ripped from his throat as another relentless contraction tore through him. His body folded in on itself as much as his swollen belly would allow, while trembling hands braced hard against the tops of his knees. Shane moved to steady him, using his shoulder as a crutch against Ilya’s chest to keep him upright.
Shane held his groaning husband through the worst of it, supporting him as the pain rolled on.
“What can I do?” Shane asked desperately, rubbing a hand over his back. “Please, baby, let me help you.”
“Ahh- Shane, I can’t do this anymore!” Ilya cried, protectively wrapping one arm beneath his belly. “I need her out. She has to come out,” he growled through gritted teeth.
He reached shakily for the shower door and shoved it open, climbing inside with his husband’s help.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Shane gulped, guiding him beneath the hot, steady spray of the showerhead.
Ilya planted both hands against the wall opposite the stream, head hanging low as the water beat against his aching lower back. He stood like that for what felt like hours, but was only a tense thirty minutes before the water started turning lukewarm.
He shifted restlessly on his feet, rocking his hips through each wave of pain while continuously begging Shane to keep the steady counter-pressure against his hips.
“I have to sit.” Ilya winced, rubbing the underside of his low, tender belly. Shane helped guide him out of the shower and onto the open toilet seat. Not even bothering to towel off, he sat down.
“This right here, okay?”
Ilya nodded, with a breathless sigh. He kept his hands cupped under his bump, lifting the weight in his hands.
Shane swallowed hard, peering up into his husbands’ glassy eyes. He could tell Ilya was scared, but he’d never actually utter the words aloud.
“What can I do for you? How can I make this easier?”
“Stay with me.” Ilya’s voice shook as he replied in Russian. “Don’t go anywhere. Stay.”
“Wouldn’t think of it.” Shane assured him with a little crooked smile.
He knelt down in front of his husband, keeping his hands on him at all times. He rubbed his thumbs into the insides of Ilya’s knees, keeping firm pressure.
Ilya stared down at his belly with a grimace, carefully feeling around as the baby protested the beginning of another contraction. “She’s so heavy,” he hissed, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth.
His face twisted with pain, and one hand dropped quickly over Shane’s where it rested against his knee.
“Fu–this–” Ilya gasped, squeezing his eyes shut. “Fuck–fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck–ow, Shane, ow, fuck!” His voice rose with the panic of the intense pain as it built up.
He grabbed Shane’s shoulder with his other hand, gripping tightly while still clutching Shane’s hand at his knee, holding on for dear life.
Shane rubbed the outer part of his thigh, nodding up at him, “Good, baby. Little more...but remember to breathe through it- in and out. You’re holding your breath, Ilya and that’s not-”
“Shut up!” Ilya snapped, face flushed deep red. “You have no idea what this feels like!” he shouted, switching into Russian in his frustration. “Oh god, Shane–I can’t do this,” he cried, the panic breaking through the pain.
He pulled his hand free from Shane’s and reached around to his back instead, pressing hard as another wave crested. His lower spine arched sharply, and he sank forward toward the edge of the toilet seat, breath shaking as he tried to ride it out.
“You have to do something, please!” the Russian begged, panic solely in the forefront now as fresh tears streamed down his face. “Ahh, Shane, please!” he wailed, head tipping back as another wave hit.
Shane shot up immediately, hands fisted in his hair. “Okay, okay–I-I–fuck! Okay.” He fanned his hands out. “I’m gonna get you some fresh clothes and we’ll go to a different hospital, alright? Like I said we should do earlier–”
“N-no!” Ilya gasped sharply. “Shane, please, you don’t understand– I need to get her out!” He gestured a stiff hand down at his crotch.
“I do understand, Ilya, but we have to–”
“No, Shane. Now. I have to get her out NOW!”
Shane blinked at him. “Ilya...W-what do you–”
“Oh, god, Shane… she’s coming out now! No hospital, no time.”
Shane froze for half a second, eyes widening. “Like– right now?” He pointed at the ground.
“DA!” Ilya shouted, pushing himself up from the toilet in a rush of urgency.
He moved as quickly as he could manage, hobbling back toward the shower and climbing in again, bracing himself as another bout of pain overtook him.
“Holy– fuck, me. J-just hold on!” Shane exclaimed, frantically waving his hands in Ilya’s direction. “Don’t do anything until I get back!”
Ilya groaned as he rested back into the corner of the shower wall, “Fuck, where are you going?!” He called after him.
“Just wait!” Shane hollered, running at record speeds to go grab his phone off the kitchen counter.
“Fuck– fuck, fuck. This isn’t happening!” He scrambled to dial 911, slipping the phone between his ear and shoulder.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“Y-yeah, uh, hi. My husband is about to give birth to our daughter in our shower! I need an ambulance here A.S.A.P.! The fastest one you can send- please I don’t know how to deliver a baby.”
“Okay sir, how far along is your-”
Shane rushed back into the bathroom just in time to see Ilya lowering himself into a squat. The sight made his heart leap into his throat.
From the sounds coming out of him, Shane knew he was already pushing.
“Oh my god, just send the damn ambulance!” Shane shouted into the phone, trying desperately to get their address right as he rattled it off. The phone slipped from where it had been pinned between his shoulder and ear into his trembling hand.
He tossed it onto the bathroom counter, at least remembering to switch it to speaker first, then yanked a pile of towels from the rack beside the shower– far more than they could possibly need, but panic had immediately overtaken his ability to think.
“Oh my god, oh my god,” Shane repeated under his breath as he climbed into the shower beside him. He dropped to his knees, soaking his pant legs in the process, but he couldn’t have cared less. All that mattered right now was Ilya and whether the ambulance would arrive before the baby did.
He shoved dry towels beneath Ilya’s feet and knees, trying to make the slick floor a little safer, terrified that one wrong move would send him slipping. Ilya getting hurt was the last thing they needed right now.
The laboring man was already mid-push again, face red and scrunched up tight.
“Fuck!” he cried out, finally letting the push go.
“How do you know it’s time to push?” Shane asked, voice laced with fear.
Ilya shook his head, too overwhelmed to argue properly. “Shane, please. I’ve had baby before- I think I know what this fucking feels like!”
A low groan tore from his throat as he tucked his chin to his chest. “So–” He grunted hard, bearing down. “Much pressure.”
The words came out strained and broken as he pushed again.
He reached out blindly, grabbing onto Shane’s shoulders with both hands, gripping so hard the muscles there twitched.
Shane winced and tried desperately to hide how badly it hurt by keeping face. Ilya was in way more pain than he could ever imagine. He could deal with a little deep tissue massage right now.
He grabbed the underside of Ilya’s arms and held him steady.
“Good job, baby. You’re doing so good,” Shane encouraged softly, rubbing his hands up and down the sides of Ilya’s arms.
But Ilya barely seemed to register the praise anymore. He pushed silently whenever the urge overtook him, too consumed by the intensity of the pain to answer.
Words had abandoned him completely now. Primal sounds being the only way Ilya could regain control of his body. They were low groans and shaky breaths and he could only communicate what he needed from Shane through desperate eye contact and instinctive movements of his body.
Ilya dropped forward onto his knees, hands flat on the towel below him. He widened his hips as much as his body would allow while he continued to bear down.
Shane shifted quickly to give him more room, but Ilya immediately reached for him again, fingers catching desperately at his arm, unwilling to let him get too far away.
“No!” He yelped.
“Keep breathing, Ilya. I’m right here. I’m just gonna look to make sure everything’s alright,” Shane said, trying to sound calmer than he felt as he moved carefully behind him to see what exactly they were dealing with.
His heart hammered violently in his chest.
He prayed that when he looked behind him, he’d see the curve of a head instead of tiny feet. Prayed Ilya’s body knew what it was doing to get this baby out safely. Prayed these desperate pushes weren’t for nothing.
Prayed they really were about to meet their baby and for Ilya’s sake, that it would happen sooner rather than later.
What he did see was… well, nothing.
“What do you see?” Ilya grunted, glancing over his shoulder at his husband.
“Um… nothing yet. Do you feel like she’s–”
“AHH!” Ilya screamed, his head dropping between his shoulders. His back arched up as his body curled around the weight of his rigid belly, pushing hard, almost involuntarily.
Then, suddenly, his water broke. Fluid splashed across the towels and against the wall behind him, the sheer force of it making Shane jerk back in surprise.
“Oh shit,” Shane blurted, flinching at the sudden explosion. “Feel a little better after that?”
Ilya could only shake his head, panting hard enough to shake. “Fuck… she’s coming down. I can f-feel her–ARGH!”
He bore down again, a bit raw and desperate, and this time Shane saw it– the first unmistakable sign that the baby was finally beginning to crown.
Ilya mumbled something in Russian under his breath, and for a moment, Shane thought that Ilya might be praying.
He watched in awe as every push brought their daughter a little closer to being born.
“You’ll be happy to know she’s got super dark hair, just like Tasha,” Shane said, letting out a shaky, tearful laugh as he rubbed firm circles into Ilya’s lower back.
A breathy little chuckle escaped Ilya despite everything, the sound breaking apart into exhausted panting after another hard push.
“Spasibo… spasibo,” he whispered over and over, the Russian words soft with gratitude despite the pain.
He always loved the fact that their first daughter looked like Shane. It was one of his favorite things in the whole wide world to look into her eyes and catch glimpses of the man he loved staring back at him in every tiny feature they shared. So, to maybe have another baby look like him was a dream come true.
“Ah, ah, ah, oh god.” Ilya cried out, “Argh, Shane!” He screamed, gripping onto the other man’s leg. “Fuck, fuck-FUCK!” He screeched as her head came through.
“Oh my god, Ilya,” Shane sobbed, “She’s right there! You’re almost there!” He cheered.
As if on cue, Shane could hear the sirens of the ambulance blaring down the street, getting louder by the second as it grew closer to their house.
“Oh, thank god,” he choked out, a broken sob slipping through the words as relief and fear collided all at once. Finally help was arriving.
“Baby, I have to go make sure the door is open for the paramedics, okay? Don’t push until I’m back!” Shane told him, already moving. “Pant! Pant!” He chanted on his way out.
Ilya nodded, waving him off weakly.
He bolted out of the bathroom and into the foyer, yanking the front door open just in time to see the paramedics coming up the walk at a hurried pace.
“Is there someone having a baby here?” The male paramedic asked.
“Yes, oh my god. Hurry, please!” Shane shouted, voice cracking. “Her head is out– please! He’s about to give birth!” He pleaded with them to move faster, ushering them into the house.
That was all it took for them to pick up speed.
The male paramedic was tall, carrying a heavy duffel over his shoulder and the shorter, female paramedic had additional equipment in her hands. Both brushed past Shane in the doorway without hesitation.
“Down the hall, to your left!” Shane called after them, closing the door.
Ilya’s voice cut through the hallway, pained and utterly desperate. Another cry followed it, then another, each one more urgent than the last, making it painfully clear exactly how close this baby was to being born.
The second they stepped foot in the bathroom, with Shane on their heel, Ilya was panting, lifting their daughter out from between his legs. He brought the infant up into his arms and held her tightly against his chest.
“Oh, malysh… oh, malysh,” he whispered hoarsely, nuzzling her against his cheek as he rubbed a firm hand over her back.
“Oh my god.” Shane gasped, slapping a hand over his mouth.
She wasn’t crying. Why wasn’t she crying?
“Please, do something.” Ilya swallowed hard as he slumped back against the shower wall, covered in the evidence of their daughter’s birth. Entirely too spent to remain upright for much longer.
The female paramedic swooped in and immediately took the baby from his shaking hands. Within seconds of working on her, a piercing cry filled the room and both fathers broke into relieved tears.
Ilya let his head fall back against the tile, tears slipping down his face as the last of the tension finally began to drain out of his body. Their daughter’s cries were exactly what they needed after the chaotic events of the evening.
The paramedics worked quickly and efficiently after that. They clamped and cut the cord, checked the baby over, then carefully prepared Ilya for transport. Within moments, he was guided onto the stretcher, still shaken from the birth but holding on as best he could.
And then, they placed her back into his arms where he instinctively curled around her, holding her close to his heart. As soon as he looked down at her sweet face, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. She was all he wanted to look at.
Shane stood close, his whole body visibly trembling from the insane adrenaline rush of it all. He’d never been so afraid of losing so much so quickly in his life.