Chapter Text
A few days later, Shane was reading the big fat book Ilya had given her about pregnancy. She told herself it was because she was bored and didn’t have much else to read, but there were other options. She’d bargained for a TV, after all. Yet she chose to read the book when Ilya wasn’t looking, as if it had no value to her… interesting to say the least.
It was a hard choice, really. Because Ilya was out of the house playing a game against the Admirals that night, televised for anyone, including Shane, to watch.
Shane still loved hockey. That didn’t change, and probably would never change, no matter what anyone did or said. So ideally, he’d be watching it.
But Shane could watch hockey anytime. It didn’t matter if Ilya saw him watching hockey. Sometimes the pair purposely watched the sport together, having nice conversations about it that Shane was glad Ilya could match.
Shane couldn’t read the ‘boring’ baby book around Ilya, though, not unless he wanted to give Ilya the idea he cared about the baby or something.
There was a chart in the book, comparing the baby to fruits, so women could picture what was growing inside of them better. Shane looked at the 2-month fruit to discover it was a cherry, then looked at the three-month fruit to see it was a lemon. That was a big difference, but based on how far along she was, the baby had to be somewhere in the middle of the two fruits.
Was the baby really that small? She knew what the book was telling her, but it felt a bit crazy. A human the size of a fruit was hard to believe, even if it was just a fact of life, more than ever now that it was inside her.
She had a small bump, but she didn’t know why. She could fit those fruits in her without bloating, yet the body did what it wanted to and put the baby on display for everyone who saw her. She kind of hated that.
Other than a fruit, Shane had the sonogram photos to see better with, too. Something she let Ilya tuck away and tried not to think about, even if she was always hyper aware they were always in reach.
She looked over at the nightstand and then at the door. It was getting kind of late, Ilya should have been home by now, and she was trying to starve off her anger until she could take it out on Ilya.
She really should put the book away before he comes home. Instead, she risked even more by opening the drawer and pulling out the sonogram photos.
She shuffled through them, trying to see things better. It was a little blob. A peanut. A cherry or lemon, if the book was right. But it was also a baby somehow…
Shane didn’t know how long she was looking at them, but when she heard loud footsteps on the stairs, she quickly put them away and threw her book across the room, where she could claim she had no idea how it ended up there later.
She only looked guilty for a second, just to make sure that Ilya didn’t notice something was wrong. When he tried to act casual, that’s when she let that anger come to fruition.
“Hello, my pretty babydoll,” He greeted her, smiling at her.
“Ilya,” She sat up more. “What the fuck?”
Ilya’s smile drained. “What?”
“You’re late!” She chastised. “You were supposed to come right home after the game tonight!”
That’s what Ilya had promised her, and she took his word seriously.
“What? Come on, how do you even know when the game ended? You’re not watching it!”
“I was!” She lied. “It’s been over for way longer than it takes me to turn off the TV. Longer than it takes you to drive home, too!”
Ilya looked at her sideways. “You really watched the game?”
“Yes.” Shane kept up the lie.
Shane wasn’t sure if Ilya bought it or not, but he didn’t fight her further. He had no proof either way, and she was already angry with him. He made the smart choice to stay quiet about it.
“Come on, don’t be mad, was not that late.”
Ilya tried to come over to the bed and hug her, like that could fix everything, but before he even laid a hand on her, she noticed he smelled like smoke. She shoved him back, even angrier.
“Really, Ilya?” She exclaimed. “You were smoking too?”
“I-”
“What were you doing? Did you go out to some bar or club? Did you drink too?!”
“No!” Ilya defended himself. “I didn’t do any of that.”
Shane scoffed, crossing her arms. “I remember the first time you went out, with that girl all over you…”
“Oh, this again? I thought we were over that!”
“Ilya, did you really smoke tonight?” She asked him, not understanding the audacity. “I’m pregnant!”
“I wasn’t anywhere near you or the baby! And-and since when do you care about the baby?!”
“Since when do you not care about the baby?!” She shot back.
Touché.
Shane knew he didn’t actually do anything dangerous, but he needed to quit. Doing it at any time was bad enough for her. She was furious. She had every right to be. Just because she didn’t care much about her baby didn’t mean she wanted it to get hurt or-
Did she just say her baby?
Oh fuck. She did, didn’t she?! That wasn’t good. He was not only brainwashing her, but making her so angry that it slipped through.
If it were possible, she was even angrier, all for something that was in her head.
“You’re quitting,” Shane demanded. There was no room for an argument. She was taking her power to a whole new level.
He could be in charge of everything else if he so pleased, right now, she was having none of this.
“I-” Ilya almost thought to argue. But he was smarter than that, and the look in her eyes said she might just kill him if he wasn’t careful. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yes, okay, I quit,” He put his hands up in surrender.
“Good.”
She was still pissed. He was still late. It wasn’t like she had a phone where he could call her to tell her there was a change of plans. It wasn’t like he didn’t promise her. It wasn’t like he even had a good reason to- despite not asking for one.
“You are still mad,” He commented, her attitude not changing despite his agreement.
“No shit.” She seethed.
“You missed me?”
“No!” She told him. How dare he make this about him! “I didn’t-”
Her face was blushing despite her anger, and the way she stuttered made Ilya question how honest she was being with him and herself. She’d lied before, she’d lie again. Especially if she thought it’d help her survive here.
Shane looked away from Ilya with a huff. “You never even said sorry…”
Her voice was so soft and cute, but he swore he heard it crack a bit. His eyes followed her, even as she turned her head, and he swore he saw a bit of shine in her eyes.
“Baby…”
“Don’t ‘baby’ me,” Shane said, angry at herself again, this time for being an idiot and crying over it. She was just so hormonal, and she hated how out of her control the night felt. Not in a way where she was worshipped, but more like forgotten.
“I am very, very sorry,” He told her sincerely, sitting next to her on the bed.
“Really?” Shane had an attitude still.
“Really,” Ilya promised. “Was my bad, I am bad husband, and I will do better in the future.”
Ilya pulled her in closer, and she couldn’t even protest without risking her voice cracking. She stayed stiff in his hold, showing she wasn’t ready to forgive just yet.
“What can I do to make it up to you?” He asked her.
“Nothing…”
“Nothing?” Ilya was shocked. “That cannot be true.”
“It is,” She told him. “You’re not a good husband, you’re right.”
“All because I am late?”
Shane turned her head to give him a deathly glare, sure in heart and mind that being late was one of the biggest offenses of his life. He knew he’d done far worse in life, to her even, but clearly what mattered was that he was late.
He supposed she had a right to be upset. It wasn’t a competition where she could only be mad when it was worse than usual. If she felt that way, she felt that way. It wasn’t his job to argue it.
She was right. He had promised her he’d come home right after. It didn’t matter why he stayed behind; it mattered that he let her know he was hearing her and that her feelings were valid. He was working on that ever since they spoke about the doctor, and clearly, he wasn’t doing a good job today.
She was so hormonal, it wasn’t her fault. If anything, it was his fault for getting her pregnant. He could be the punching bag if it made her happy again.
“You’re right, was very bad of me… I’m so sorry, солнечный свет.” He told her as he squeezed a bit, hoping to bring her comfort.
She grimaced, shooing him away from her ear, though instead. “... your breath still smells like smoke.”
The smell was bad on a normal day, but today it made her wanna barf. Probably the baby’s doing. The baby didn’t like that her dad smoked either.
Shane swiped at her tears furiously. She was sure she didn’t seem all that threatening with tears running down her eyes in a mini skirt. But maybe being his girl was still more powerful than being defiant. It’d been that way so far, so…
“I will brush teeth, okay?” He told her. “I will brush teeth, and then I will grab the lotion on my way out, and how about I give you nice massage as sorry?”
“A massage?” Shane’s face didn’t budge, but she engaged with a response, so hopefully it was a good idea.
“Yes,” Ilya kissed the top of her head, where she wouldn’t smell his breath directly. “Or anything else you want.”
Shane didn’t even know what she wanted. She wanted a husband who came home on time, and didn’t smoke, and who didn’t make her cry like an idiot.
She knew he could be that for her.
Why couldn’t he have been that tonight? Why couldn’t he be like that all the time? Was that unfair to ask? Was she being a brat? Would it ever get less complicated or confusing? She hoped.
She supposed a massage couldn’t hurt. The pregnancy made her body ache. Especially her feet, starting to swell and always pushed into a kitten heel.
She sniffed, sure he was as tired of hearing her cry as she was of it.
“I guess a massage would be nice.”
“Then it’s yours,” He told her, kissing her head again, unable to help himself. “I would do anything to make it up to you. I never want you sad, my love.”
Shane suddenly felt a little guilty for the frown she still wore.
He stood up, placing her back down on the bed and standing in front of her for a second, grabbing her hand and kissing it, like a prince.
“I would grovel at your feet just to be worthy of моя принцесса.”
Shane felt an electric current go down her body, light but still pulsing. The ways he could make her feel had no bounds. Whether it was very bad or very good, he could always control her emotions better than he could control her.
Was that normal for people who kidnap you? Or was this something rare? Something different that only they shared?
Ilya brushed his teeth, happy he took a shower after the game at the rink, and came back to bed with the lotion in hand. It was technically a body butter, but Ilya didn’t know the difference. He just knew he bought it for Shane from the ladies' section.
The huge tub of vanilla shea body butter was placed down where he could reach it from where he kneeled at the bottom of the bed. She laid out before him like she was giving him this opportunity- and her body- as a gift.
He’d try to push his luck and ask to make love to her if his rib wasn’t bothering him so much. Maybe it was for the best.
He was more than content here at her feet. He meant what he told her. She was precious to him, everything he needed to heal himself and have a life again. She was so special, like nobody else ever was. Someone he could see himself actually loving.
He’d rub her feet any day. He’d do anything for her, so how hard was this task? Not hard at all.
Ilya imagined a day where he’d come home from practice, and she’d rub his feet, but despite how lovingly domestic the image was, she deserved this, too. Maybe they could rub each other's feet one day.
That was maybe even more domestic than his original thought. He couldn’t help but picture it. Shane on one end of the couch, Ilya on the other, lying foot to head. The baby monitor would be nearby, and the TV would be lightly playing for background noise. They’d rub each other's feet and hear about each other’s day, or at least the parts they didn’t spend glued to each other.
That’d be nice. He wanted that. A lot.
Maybe this was the first step to that.
Shane seemed content to lie there and let him rub her feet, light little moans falling out of her mouth over it, making his dick stir. Still, he chose to ignore it for more reasons than his ribs.
His focus needed to be on her and whatever made her happy again. He needed to not just say he’d be better, but prove it; anyway he could that she asked him to. What he really needed to do was call it what it was and commit to it. He needed to grovel.