Search Your Soul (Remix)

by AstralDelusion (duskgleam)

Summary:

Shane knew what Omega Shock Syndrome was, at least, he knew what the textbook definition was.

He hadn’t realized long term suppressant use could fuck with the symptoms — while initially suppressing them as intended, over time, biology would always win over medical innovation.

He also hadn’t realized the rebound effects could send him into a pseudo-heat.

Notes:

I am still absolutely stunned by the reception of the first two fics in this series. You all are so sweet and ngl it’s really motivated me to keep clickity-clackity along. I don’t think I’ve ever written this many fics in such a short duration.

I don’t even have a chair let alone a desk or wifi at my new place yet so please know I am frantically typing these fics out in one of two scenarios: with my MacBook perched on my bed while sitting cross-legged on the floor, with my thumbs on my phone on the google doc app at random points in the day including outdoors in -10C weather, at work in between patients, and for three hours in bed before going to sleep. This is, yet again, still not the fic I was planning on writing but episode 4 made me spiral and test how fast I can type.

(Also okay that mpreg joke in episode 4 was chef kisses made for me.)

Shane felt sick. The same sort of twisting discomfort low in his stomach he got during the tail end of summer when he restarted his suppressants. But it made no sense, they were only half way through the season and he was always diligent about taking his meds at the same time every day, even across timezones, he had set a specific alarm on his phone for it. But here he was, hunched over the toilet in the master bathroom of his apartment for the third time today, feeling the need to hurl without anything actually left in him to expel.

At first he thought it was something he ate. Although he was so careful with his diet, he had fallen off track a few times in the last month. Maybe this was life’s way of punishing him for it. But he had thrown out all the food that could have potentially gone off and bought new groceries and still felt like he was going to vomit every time he ate something.

There were other symptoms as well. Sleep became his enemy — it was taking him twice as long to fall asleep and it was often plagued with nightmares he couldn’t recall by the time he woke. Consequently, his mood was also terrible; he had come close to snapping at teammates for laughing too loudly and almost hung up on his own mother in the middle of a video call.

He scrunched his brows and really tried to focus, tried to remember when the symptoms started to show up and what happened around the same time.

They had started gradually about two months ago which was around the time he met Rose and…

Oh.

Shane froze. He remembered the stupid joke he made at Hayden at the aquarium. No, it was impossible. There was no way. No. But the symptoms and the timelines matched up. God, how could he be so stupid? “Fuck,” Shane swore quietly at himself as he paced around the apartment. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” There was no way, they had always been so very careful. Shane was hyper vigilant about his pills. There was no way they could have fucked up that badly. There was no way he was preg— he couldn’t even finish the thought, anxiety crawling up his throat. God, he needed to go to the pharmacy. Shane frantically searched up the nearest pharmacy, his shaky fingers mistyping the words several times.

There was one just eight minutes away but they closed in ten. Shane bolted for the door, barely even remembering his hoodie, the anxiety fueling his adrenaline to momentarily push through his discomfort.

He made it to the store in record time, getting through the door with five minutes left on the clock. Shane could see from the corner of his eye the face the teenage cashier made at him. They were probably already starting their end of day procedures and having a customer dash at the last minute probably ruined their chances of going home on time. His appearance probably didn’t help – with his hood pulled up and slouched posture, he must look super sketchy to the staff right now. Dashing in five minutes to close, out of breath and walk-running through the store, he just looked like trouble.

Every second felt like a minute and why were the signs above the aisles so hard to figure out right now? He finally saw the politely worded ‘family planning’ sign and all but ran down the aisle, his sneakers squeaking loudly on the linoleum tile floors. 

But then he encountered his second problem.

Why were there so many different kinds of pregnancy tests?! What the hell was the difference between them?! They all said the same thing but with slightly different wording?

“Attention shoppers, the store will be closing in two minutes. Please bring all final purchases to the fro—”

“Shit,” Shane cursed under his breath. He was running out of time and he did not want anyone to ask him if he needed any help because the last thing he needed was someone to recognize him and this being all over the tabloids by the time he got home. So he grabbed the box that looked the least obnoxious and sped walk-ran to the cashier.

Shane ignored the obvious annoyed look on the cashier’s face, keeping his head down and eyes averted, praying the entire time she was too irritated to look at him and potentially recognize him. He all but flung the $20 bill at her, almost tempted to tell her to keep the change but that would be even weirder to do and make him stand out more. So he forced himself to stay still and wait for her to count out his change. With a half mumbled merci and a plastic bag, Shane rushed out of the store, eager to get back home quickly and unseen.

Finally, once locked in the safety of his own bathroom, Shane ripped open the packaging and quickly read through the instructions. Pee on stick, wait five minutes, little digital display yadda, yadda, yadda. Okay, Shane reassured himself, he could handle that, he could do that.

One flush of the toilet later, Shane set a timer on his phone and finally, finally allowed himself to take a calming breath. This was going to be the longest five minutes of his life.

Five minutes to question his life choices, five minutes until his life potentially really, really got complicated and fucked up. Because what does he do? What does he do if the test is positive? It could only be because of one person, the same person who hadn’t messaged him since the day Shane had panicked so badly he’d bolted out of there in borrowed clothes. Should he tell Rozanov? Should he not tell Rozanov? What should he do about the rest of the season? He needed to play, if he didn’t, medical would be called in and if they found out that would be the end of his career. But playing would be dangerous for the…he couldn’t think of the word right now his brain would explode. What if he…what if he discreetly went to a clinic and had a procedure…but, did he want to do that? Was that what he wanted?

Shane didn’t know what he wanted.

His hand rested on his belly.

Fuck, why did he always have to face impossible choices?

His timer rang, the shrill beeping cutting through the silence.

His chest full of dread, Shane glanced at the innocent white stick lying on a paper towel on the countertop.

Negative.

Shane collapsed on the bathroom floor in relief, tucking his face into his knees. God, he could cry right now. The relief he felt in this moment was palpable. That was one crisis averted. For now, he could at least safely continue to be the Shane Hollander people liked.

But there was still something wrong with him and he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t go to the team doctor about this, while they were bound by Canadian health privacy laws they were legally obligated to disclose anything that could affect his ability to play to the team management. It was written into their contracts and Shane had signed his name on the dotted line. He couldn’t go to a walk-in doctor because that was a random social media post waiting to happen. His own family doctor that he’s seen since he was born still practiced in Ottawa but Shane didn’t have time to make the two hour drive back home anytime soon. Maybe in three weeks when they played against the Centaurs if he was lucky he could sneak away and see her.

God. He was bone-deep exhausted. Between the scare-he-would-not-name just now and his pre-existing symptoms, he felt like he had just been checked into the boards with a concussion.

So far he was able to gather his wits long enough when needed for game night when the persona of Hollander, captain of the Montreal Metros was needed but as soon as the gear came off in the locker room, he always felt he was going to pass out from how nauseated he was. The only thing that always helped with the nausea was ginger ale but he wasn’t sure if that was a placebo effect or not at this point.

His phone vibrated in his pocket.

Shane glanced at his phone, was it—

A message from Rose displayed on the lock screen. Hey! Filming is scheduled to wrap up early tomorrow. Do you want to meet up for dinner?

Disappointment sank in his chest. No, Shane really did not want to meet up for dinner tomorrow. Sorry, he typed a reply, not feeling well, going to stay in and rest up.

Another alert popped up on his phone as Rose replied back, Do you want me to bring something over for you?

No, don’t want to get you sick. Even though Shane was certain whatever was ailing him was not contagious.

Rose sent back one more message, Okay, let me know when you’re feeling better!

Sending back a quick thanks, Shane scrolled further down his messages, hovering over the name that hadn’t messaged him in months. He didn’t know why he kept doing this, scrolling down to the name as if trying to manifest a new message. It never did.

Shane sighed and tossed his phone aside as he walked into his bedroom, uncaring of where it landed.

It would be easier to love Rose Landry.

She was a beta woman, she was the safe choice, the expected choice of the league, the fans, of family and friends alike. It helped that she was easy to talk to and Shane genuinely enjoyed spending time with her. It was so rare for Shane to click so instantly with someone, he had latched onto that connection, confusing it for something more than it was. He found himself opening up to her easily, sharing his secrets with her.

But not all of them. Some of them were locked behind wayward golden curls, a devastating smile and a teasing Russian accent.

It would be easier if he could love Rose Landry.

But he didn’t enjoy it. Touching her sexually. If Shane was honest with himself, he wasn’t sure if he could do it again, in fact, shouldn’t have even done it the first time. It also wouldn’t be fair to her, to hold her but wish for something else, someone else in her place. The morning after they had slept together, to put it mildly, had been a disaster. She had been unapologetic confronting him and Shane hadn’t wanted to hurt her more.

Shane would have understood it completely if she had dropped him like a sack of potatoes and stormed out of his life. Blasted him to the media so badly he needed to move across the ocean to Japan to be unrecognized. But maybe he had looked so pathetic in the morning light she had felt bad for him, instead agreeing to dial back their relationship to ‘just friends’. Honestly, he needed a friend right now so Rose was an absolute blessing. Shane didn’t even mind being asked to keep up appearances while filming was still underway in Montreal as it was good publicity for the movie.

Shane mustered together enough energy to change into his night clothes and flopped onto his bed, curling his arms around one of the decorative pillows. Rozanov had teased him about them the first time he came over but they soothed that little itch to nest he got from time to time. To be honest, he was feeling that urge more frequently recently but that could be due to how generally unwell he’s felt. But he was at the point right now that he was tired of denying himself small comforts so if he wanted to nest in the privacy of his own home, fuck it, he was going to nest. With that thought in mind, Shane gathered his wits and started rearranging the pillows. Tucked under a pillow Shane discovered the clothing he had accidentally taken from Rozanov. Shane had kept them after he bolted, now not knowing what to do with them. Rozanov hadn’t messaged him in months and Shane didn’t know how to start a conversation about it because it meant acknowledging what happened last time. And somehow…they had found their way into his bed. If Shane brought them up to his nose, he swore he could still faintly smell a trace of the alpha’s scent lingering on the fabric. Shane hesitated for a moment, warring with himself before deciding he was too tired to care, he wanted to actually be able to fall asleep for once and the fabric of Rozanov’s shirt was nice and soft which made it very suitable as nesting material.

With his nest finally arranged to his satisfaction, Shane closed his eyes and hoped sleep came easily to him.

An unknown amount of time later, Shane woke up on fire.

Scrambling, he ripped off his shirt and pants, tossing them onto the floor. It felt like he was burning up from the inside out but it wasn’t like being sick with a fever, it felt like—

Heat.

It felt like being in heat.

But that was impossible, he was still on his suppressants, he wasn’t supposed to have a heat till the summer.

But that itch under his skin, the desperate burning need to be touched, the wetness between his legs, they were all tell-tale signs that he was in sudden full blown heat. Shane keened softly, panting as he tried to focus his thoughts. It was difficult, he never had a heat feel like this — the sudden intensity made it difficult to think. This didn’t make any sense. But his body didn’t care, demanding he do something to quell the ache.

Shane frantically shoved his underwear off, pressing two fingers deep inside himself. He groaned in frustration as his fingers just weren’t long enough and the angle wasn’t right. Fuck. Shifting onto his knees, his shoulders on the bed didn’t help either. It felt like he was going insane, no matter how he tried to touch himself, nothing was taking the edge off the heat.

It was clear even in his heat-haze that his body was screaming at him. Screaming that this was not enough. More, he needed more, he was missing something — what was he missing?

Frustration blurred his vision. Shane buried his face into the pillows, wetting the expensive fabric with his tears. His nose caught the faint whiff of something — peppery, warm, alpha. His hand shot out blindly, pulling dark fabric closer to his face.

It was Rozanov’s shirt.

Sudden clarity shocked his brain. Of course, that’s what he was missing.

Ilya, he needed Ilya — why wasn’t Ilya here?

A soft desperate whine escaped Shane’s throat, the quiet of his home suddenly wrong. Shane pushed himself up, staggering to his feet, body swaying as he stumbled a step forward. His phone, where was his phone? He needed to call his alpha.

Stumbling around the room, Shane spotted the device lying innocently on his dresser. He snatched it up with shaking hands, fumbling fingers scrolling down his contact lists until reaching the letter L.

The first call rang and rang until it hit voicemail.

Shane dialed again.

The second call rang once and automatically hit voicemail again.

Shane immediately hit the dial button again.

“Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up,” Shane chanted under his breath, his words slurring together. He didn’t understand, couldn’t understand — why was he not picking up?

Finally the call connected but nothing but silence greeted him. For a split second Shane wondered if he was experiencing a heat hallucination.

Until, a wary “why are you calling” responded to him on the other side of the phone.

“Il—” Shane caught himself at the last moment, forcefully correcting himself. “—Rozanov…I feel…” Shane whined pitifully, unable to articulate the awfulness he felt. It had alleviated a little bit at hearing Rozanov’s voice but it just was not enough.

There was a mumbled conversation on the other side of the phone that Shane couldn’t understand. He faintly heard the sound of a door closing. “Hollander, what is wrong?” Rozanov finally asked him, worry evident in his voice.

“I don’t know, I feel like…” Shane whimpered, gritting his teeth as a pulse of heat ached through his body. “I feel like I’m in heat.”

Silence greeted his words. Shane wondered if the phone line had cut out and glanced at his screen to see the call was still active.

“…And you call me?” Rozanov’s voice was cold, probably the most disinterested Shane had ever heard him. “What about your, uh, girlfriend?” He asked, continuing to sound so dispassionate it made dread curl alongside the heat in his gut. “Maybe you call me by mistake. Should hang up and tell her instead.”

The thought of Rozanov hanging up made Shane panic, immediately blurting out loudly, “No!” Shane breathed harshly for a moment. “I…don’t want to. I want you.” Once he said it out loud, it finally started to click in his mind — it was always Rozanov he wanted.

“Did not think you were cheater, Hollander.” The absolute frigid response from Rozanov carried such quiet disappointment, all of Shane’s instincts started screaming in a way they never had before. His alpha was upset. Fix it, fix it, fixitfixitfixit!

Rozanov didn’t know that Rose and he weren’t together anymore. The accusation felt like being drowned in cold water. It scorched him like the desert sun. It hurt like a thousand needles piercing through his heart. “I’m not!” Shane retorted, sudden indignation clearing the heated haze of his brain. “We’re not together anymore,” he continued, feeling out of breath by the sudden emotional excursion. “We aren’t….compatible. We broke up, just…haven’t made it public yet.”

“Oh.” Rozanov replied softly, “sorry to hear that.”

Shane brushed off his apology, uncaring now that the misunderstanding was cleared up. “Can you come over?” He asked, so close to begging, agreeing to whatever Rozanov wanted if it meant getting the alpha’s hands on his body.

“Hollander, I am not in Montreal.” The reminder was spoken slowly, gentle, almost as if an apology for his earlier harshness.

“Oh.” Shane deflated, tears unbiddingly gathering in the corner of his eyes. Right, Rozanov was in Boston. He wouldn’t be in Montreal right now, that away game was weeks ago. “I knew that.” But he was so desperate for anything, knowing that trying to brave this spontaneous heat on his own wouldn’t work. “Then can we…through the phone…”

He heard Rozanov’s sharp inhale of breath. “…This is terrible idea,” Rozanov said and it was so close to a no that Shane felt the rejection sink into his stomach.

“Please don’t hang up,” Shane pleaded, a soft whine bleeding into the end of his sentence.

Silence descended on the phone line, not even the sound of their breaths echoing through the speaker. For Shane, it was because he had forgotten how to breathe, breath held in anticipation of Rozanov’s reply.

“Fuck Hollander,” Rozanov growled, half in frustration, half in arousal. “You make it so hard to say no.”

“Then don’t say no,” Shane replied, heart hammering in his chest. That hadn’t sounded like a no anymore.

There was a rustling sound on the other side of the call. “Put me on speaker.”

Shane scrambled to obey, placing his phone on the pillow closest to his head. Rozanov’s voice amplified throughout his room when he asked “are you touching yourself?”

He swallowed harshly, throat suddenly dry from the sudden surge in arousal. “I was.” Shane admitted, his hands hovering over his body, waiting for Rozanov’s next words.

“Touch yourself again,” Rozanov commanded. “Stroke yourself slowly. Does it feel good?”

Shane moaned in relief as his own hand curled around his leaking cock, pumping his fist up and down desperately to take some of the edge off.“Yes but it is not enough.” His heat still burned, unsatisfied. “I want you.” Rozanov’s hands always felt better than his own.

“Are you wet right now?” On the other side of the phone, there was the sound of a zipper being undone.

A shiver ran up Shane’s spine. “Y-yes.” Just being asked that made a little bit of slick leak out. His bedsheets were absolutely ruined, no amount of money or laundry would save them.

“Fuck yourself.” If Shane closed his eyes, he could imagine Rozanov right there in the room with him, like that night in Vegas years ago. Watching him, commanding him, teasing him with his gaze but denying him the touch he craved.

Shane easily pressed two fingers back in but just like earlier, found himself completely unsatisfied. With a frustrated noise, Shane added another finger, hoping it would help.

“How many fingers?”

“Three…” Shane mumbled, face red not only from his heat but also out of embarrassment. The call was his suggestion, his initiative, but somehow it felt more flustering verbalizing his actions than he thought it would be.

“Already?” Rozanov sounded equally impressed and amused. “Ah, you are always so impatient.” Rozanov’s voice curled around his ear, the words sinking into his skin. “Always so desperate for it.”

“For you.” It was true, something about Rozanov always left him so desperate, so flushed with pleasure that all he could do was cling on to a thread of his rationality. “Why aren’t you here?” Shane whined, his heat making him forget that he already knew exactly why Rozanov wasn’t here.

“Because Boston is five hour drive from Montreal.” It sounded like if Boston was a closer drive, Rozanov would be half way to Montreal by now. “Use imagination. Didn’t you have toy?” Shane did actually have it with him, stashed at the very, very back corner of his nightstand. He rushed to pull it out of its hiding spot.

“What color is it?”

The question caught Shane off guard, his brain taking an extra moment to process the question. “Are you still hung up about the color?”

“Just want to know.”

“…Black.” Shane finally admitted. It had been the only non-vibrant option available. He had wanted something more discreet than the hot pink monstrosity that was the store’s best seller.

Rozanov chuckled, the sound sending a tingle down Shane’s spine. “Ah, of course, boring colour,” he teased. “Fuck yourself with it.”

Shane’s retort died in his throat as he immediately complied with Rozanov’s words. His hand stroked the dildo once, twice just to coat it with slick before slowly pressing it into his wet hole. “Fuck—!” It was still tight despite using three fingers to prep himself, it was months since he was last fucked. He missed it, the slight burn of the stretch and the fine line of pleasure-pain blurring together.

“Tell me how it feels.” Rozanov’s voice was breathier now, a hint of a moan coating his words.

“It doesn’t feel as good as yours.” While the toy satisfied his abnormal heat’s urge to fuck, he still missed the feeling of another body pressed against his, a warm cock instead of cold silicone thrust into the most intimate part of his body.

“Mr. Flatterer.” Shane could hear the smile in Rozanov’s voice. “Fuck yourself faster with it.”

He tried, but just like before with his fingers, the angle was wrong, his movements too uncoordinated to establish a good rhythm. “It’s not— going deep…enough…!” Shane complained, biting his lip in frustration.

“I know you can come for me.” The absolute certainty in Rozanov’s voice hit as hard as an actual alpha command.

Motivated by the words, Shane reached his other hand down to stroke his cock in time with his thrusts, shifting his hips until he felt the tip of the toy brush against his prostate. Shane gasped, “Rozanov—!!” Come splattered against his stomach, sticky and warm as he stroked himself through his orgasm.

“God, Hollander…” The guttural moan emitting from the speakers meant Rozanov had come as well.

But the burning he felt all over his body still persisted. Despite just coming, his cock was still painfully hard. “Still…feel the heat…”

“Don’t worry, I will take care of you.” The words felt like a kiss on his shoulder. Reminded him of an arm around his waist and the taste of a homemade tuna melt. “Will not leave you disappointed.”

You never do, Shane thought.

A while later — time an absolute blur to Shane at the moment — after Rozanov had coaxed a few more orgasms out of him, his heat finally subsided.

“I miss you.” Shane confessed, the post-heat exhaustion leaving him more honest with himself. The silence from Rozanov had hurt. No texts, no meet ups, not even glancing at him on the ice. Rozanov had ignored him in every possible way for months yet he had been so close the last time Shane had seen him that time at the bar. So close yet so unreachable in that moment and that feeling had left Shane feeling so confusingly hollow.

Rozanov paused for a moment before replying, “that is just your heat talking.”

It’s not, I do mean it. Shane tried to voice his thoughts but all that emitted from his mouth was a soft whine. No, he was starting to understand — it had to be Rozanov, no one else felt right. Not Jennifer, not any of the other girls before her, and not even Rose.

“Go to sleep, sweetheart.” Shane’s hazy mind barely made out the syllables of that last foreign word.

“Don’t go…” Shane mumbled, managing to wrap his uncooperative mouth around the two syllables.

A sigh crackled out of the speakers. There was a moment of silence before Rozanov spoke again. “I will stay until you fall asleep.”

“Then I…won’t fall asleep.” Shane sleepily retorted even though every blink felt harder to muster.

A soft laugh. It sounded nice, Shane thought to himself, he should laugh more. “No, you will,” Rozanov said. “You have afternoon game tomorrow. You need sleep. Or you will be sleepy kitten not angry kitten.”

Shane grumbled quietly, trying his best to fight against the weight of his heavy eyelids. But in the quiet comfort of his room, the sudden heat under his skin abated, it was a battle he was bound to lose. Just as he was about to fall asleep, he swore he heard—

“Good night, Shane.”

Shane woke up the next morning with perfect clarity of what transpired the night before. Even if he hadn’t, the call log on his phone was proof enough that it wasn’t a fevered dream.

But…

Rozanov still didn’t text him.

---

Finally, three weeks later, the away game against the Ottawa Centaurs finally happened. Shane used the excuse of staying with his parents to sneak away from the hotel for the night, already having called ahead two weeks ago to his doctor’s office for an appointment the next morning before they were set to leave the city. After That Night his symptoms had temporarily disappeared for a week. Shane had thought whatever was wrong with his body finally cleared itself up before it returned with the same intensity as before. It was a clear sign that this was something related to his dynamic and he needed to discuss it with his family doctor as he would not be comfortable speaking about it to any other medical professional.

Dr. Sato had been his doctor since he was in diapers, her clinic tucked away in the corner on the third floor of a medical building. Her receptionist had worked there just as long, easily squeezing Shane in for the earliest morning appointment – even arranging with Dr. Sato to open the office half an hour earlier – so he could be in and out with the least amount of fuss.

The years had turned her jet black hair gray with age but it hadn’t changed the sharpness of her mind or the gentle curve of her smile. Said smile was nowhere to be found as she frowned severely at Shane after he explained his symptoms, how long they’d persisted for,the sudden heat-like episode, and he suddenly felt like he was eight years old again, about to be scolded by his mother. “Omega Shock Syndrome.” The words were said with such conviction, Shane didn’t even second guess her. “You’ve recently suffered some sort of trauma that has disrupted your instincts fundamentally which has in turn induced somatic symptoms. General physical discomforts such as fatigue and nausea are common symptoms. In rare situations, hormonal imbalance can trigger a pseudo-heat which is what you experienced.”

Shane remembered vaguely learning about it in his biology/health class years and years ago; Omega Shock Syndrome was the omega equivalent of Alpha Rejection Syndrome, a psychosomatic condition that could occur after a great stressor. 

“What are the treatment options?” Shane asked, his mind not wanting to focus on dissecting what great stressor caused it.

Dr. Sato sighed, already looking like she knew Shane was not going to like her answer. She probably did, after all she had every sprain, strain and broken bone he ever had growing up on record here. “In your case, first and foremost you would need to stop the suppressants. They are doing your body more harm than good at the moment as it’s disrupting your body’s ability to regulate itself.”

She was right, Shane did not like that answer at all.

His feelings must be obvious on his face because she smiled wryly at him, a sympathetic look in her eyes. “Normally, if you weren’t on suppressants I would prescribe them to you as a means of instinct regulation,” she explained, voice gentle and patient as she broke the unfortunate truth. “But since the symptoms are already persisting with the suppressant use then unfortunately it won’t work.” The explanation made logical sense to Shane, it just didn’t make the news any better. “Beyond that it is mostly supportive measures. It’s an instinctual mourning period.”

“Mourning?” Shane asked, trying to focus on something else other than the looming dread of having to stop his suppressants.

“Yes, instinctive, even if not consciously, there is someone your instincts have formed a connection with. Doesn’t necessarily have to be an alpha, could be a beta or another omega although the syndrome most commonly occurs with an alpha or high innate compatibility couples. The incidence rate increases with innate compatibility up to an 100% guaranteed incidence rate amongst fated pairs regardless of dynamics. Most cases are mild and self-limiting to less than two weeks duration. But I suspect you may have high compatibility with the person in question and with your constant suppressant use, it may have prolonged the symptoms.”

Each word out of her mouth made that uncomfortable heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach worse. There really was only one person that could have caused this. Shane knew it, but didn’t want to admit it to himself. Because admitting it to himself meant admitting Rozanov and he had soared so far past casual and nosedived into something life-altering. Denial was so much easier when it didn’t physically make him ill.

“Can it wait till I stop the suppressants in the summer?” Shane asked, internally desperate for her to say yes. He always took a break in the summer when he could seclude himself at the cottage for a scheduled heat and even if the rest of his summer schedule was jam packed with sponsorships because he was never around those people long enough for them to really notice something different about him.

Dr. Sato pursed her lips, taking an extra moment to choose her words. “It may be unwise to wait that long.”

“Is there any alternative?” Shane begged, feeling his heart pound in his chest.

Dr. Sato hesitated.

“Please.”

She sighed. “The only other alternative is dealing with the cause of the condition,” she eventually said after an extended moment of silence. “Reconnecting with whoever caused your instincts to react so strongly in the first place may resolve the symptoms. But as your doctor, Shane, and someone who has watched you grow up, I cannot recommend that if…” She bit her lips, searching for the right words to express herself. “...that relationship was harmful to you,” she finished her sentence slowly, carefully. “Our instincts, after all, do not dictate our lives. At the end of the day, we make our own decisions, our own choices.”

In many ways, Dr. Sato had been like a second mom to him growing up, with the number of times he saw her for one sports injury or another. She was the only medical professional he trusted with the truth about his dynamic, certain she would take it to her grave even without her hippocratic oath ensuring her professionalism. He knew she was speaking from a place of care but it felt like she had given him the choice between dying by lethal injection or winning a lottery.

Once again, Shane found himself at crossroad not knowing what was the right choice to make.

He knew now what choice his heart — he — wanted to make, but wasn’t sure if that choice was still an option anymore. He had screwed everything up but Rozanov had still answered his desperate call that night. That must mean something, right? It meant he still had a chance to fix things.

“Thanks Dr. Sato, I– I’ll think about it,” Shane finally replied as he stood up to leave. There was an upcoming game against Boston, maybe he’d get a chance to talk to Rozanov there. Maybe figure out where they went from here because whatever here was wasn’t going to cut it any longer.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t give you an answer you were hoping for,” she responded as she walked him out to the reception area. They had finished his appointment before the office officially opened which meant the waiting area was still empty of other people and the door remained locked.   “By the way, good game last night, even if it meant watching the Cens lose,” she joked, finally dropping a little bit of her professionalism.

Shane couldn’t help but laugh. Right, she was a Centaurs fan just like he’d been when he was younger. It had been a point of contention with his mother when he was younger, more than once hearing his mother and his doctor bicker hockey stats back and forth during his appointments. “Sorry about that, Dr. Sato. Just doing my job.” Even if he had been so out of it last night he couldn’t remember anything that happened on the ice.

“One day!” She exclaimed, waving her pen at him. “One day in my lifetime I’ll see them win the Cup.”

Shane laughed, “they have to fix their problem at center for that.” The Centaurs defense wasn’t necessarily terrible – they could use a new goalie but their major problem was unable to keep control of the puck during the game.

Dr. Sato groaned. “Any chance of a trade in your future?”

Shane laughed. “Not a chance, you know mom would kill me.”

“She would,” Dr. Sato conceded, far too familiar with the intensity of Yuna Hollander’s love of hockey and the Metros.

(Many years later, Shane gifted her a ticket to his first game as an Ottawa Centaur. Dr. Sato’s unprofessional shriek of delight was hilarious.)

Notes:

I absolutely was going to make Shane DoorDash a pregnancy test but realized this was circa 2016-2017 and that wasn’t a thing yet. So instead he got to do the panicked run to the closest pharmacy and to be honest it was actually a bit fun to write that scene and the subsequent freak out. (Fun for me but not for him but he’s trying okay)

I was debating if Shane and Rose should still be together in this fic but then thought about the infidelity implications and decided no, that’s too messy for everyone (myself included in that) and neither of the boys would be the kind of person to condone that kind of behaviour.

Also Ilya didn’t pick up twice because the first time he thought Shane had called him by accident, the second time because he didn’t want to hear what Shane wanted to talk about because he thought it might be about Rose, and he finally picked up the third time because he actually became worried because they don’t call each other and this was now definitely intentional. (This scene from Ilya's POV is now available via the updated prequel Search Your Soul)

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 3 of Once in Your Life