The hospital room was quiet except for the low hum of machines and the distant murmur of nurses in the hallway. Snow drifted past the window, soft and endless, covering Montreal in white.

Shane stood by the glass with his hands on his hips, staring outside like he was waiting for puck drop in Game Seven.

“I’m fine. I’m calm. Extremely calm,” he muttered.

From the bed, Ilya raised an eyebrow.

“Shane. You have been pacing like nervous dog for twenty minutes.”

“I am not pacing. I’m… managing my emotions.”

“Yes. Is very healthy. Very terrifying to watch.”

A small cry cut through the room.

Both of them froze.

Completely still.

Like the world had just called a timeout.

The nurse stepped closer, smiling gently.

“Are you ready to meet her?”

Shane swallowed hard.

Ilya didn’t answer right away. His jaw tightened, eyes locked forward like he was bracing for impact.

And then you were there.

Wrapped in pale pink. Tiny. Warm. Real.

Shane’s breath broke first.

“Hi, baby…”

Ilya leaned closer, staring at you with the same intensity he used to save for the ice.

“She has your nose,” he said quietly.

“What? No, she doesn’t.”

“Yes, she does.”

“She’s been alive for like thirty seconds, Ilya.”

“And already perfect. Is talent.”

Your tiny hand flexed, brushing against Shane’s finger before curling around it.

He inhaled sharply.

“Oh. Oh my God.”

Ilya let out a soft, shaky laugh.

“Look at you. Big captain. Destroyed by person who cannot even hold own head.”

Shane didn’t even argue. His eyes were wet.

“I didn’t know I could feel something like this.”

“I know,” Ilya said softly. “I just… did not know it would be this big.”

The nurse asked who wanted to hold you first.

For once, there was no rivalry.

Ilya carefully extended his arms, like he was handling fragile glass. When they placed you against his chest, his entire posture shifted.

Straighter. Protective. Certain.

Shane moved closer, resting a gentle hand on your back.

“Hello, маленькая звезда,” Ilya whispered. “We are your papas.”

“And we’re not going anywhere,” Shane added quietly.

Your eyes fluttered open slightly. Dark. Curious.

Ilya exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for years.

“You know something, Hollander?”

“What?”

“I do not care who wins more Cups anymore.”

Shane looked at him skeptically.

“That’s a lie.”

“Okay,” Ilya allowed, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I care little bit. I am still competitive husband. But this… this is better than any championship.”

Shane laughed softly through tears.

“We’re a mess.”

“We are your parents,” Ilya corrected, glancing down at you again. “Poor girl. You are doomed.”

Shane leaned down and kissed your tiny head with reverence.

“She has no idea what family she just joined.”

Ilya looked up at him, eyes softer than anyone outside that room would ever believe.

“She has best one.”

And as you breathed quietly between them, unaware of the history, the headlines, the years they had spent fighting and loving and hiding—

Shane and Ilya understood something with absolute clarity:

They weren’t playing to prove anything anymore.

Now they were playing for you.