Valentine's Day - 1. Mended Heart

Though he'd been worried about oversleeping and getting woken up rudely by the woman who had taken him in as one of her own children, Tyson had barely slept a wink all night. It wasn't due to an unfamiliar setting, with starchy sheets, constant noise and a nurse shining something in his eyes every hour like clockwork. Nor was it Chad's annoying snoring or the sounds of footsteps creeping to the communal bathroom in the hall outside. He was excited - and terrified. Apprehensive was the correct word, he decided.

The digital clock on his bedside seemed to go backwards. Tyson was sure that five o'clock had gone by twice, and somehow, he'd missed the whole day, and it was now Thursday. It was rare to be in the house on a weeknight. Though he knew what today represented, it still felt strange not to feel free to sleep in until one of the boys demanded he get up. Since half a year ago, Tyson spent the weekends with his new family and weeknights boarding at Oakfield. But not today!

Vladimir would be dead to the world right now. It was nice to spend an extra evening with him, even if he didn't stay up too late due to his strict medication schedule - not that Tyson was allowed up past ten on a school night anyway. Whatever. It was still the best bedtime he ever had. Besides, as much as Tyson would have liked to be alone with Vlady, Mama - Masha - rarely let them be out of sight for long if she knew nobody else was with them. It was a bit of fun to be found in sneaking kisses when her back was turned, but it was irritating not to be able to connect the way he wanted.

"Hands where I can see them, boys," Mama warned them when they'd managed to fit together lying down on the couch with the television playing, Vlady wrapped around Tyson as the big spoon. They'd been embarrassed enough in front of Vlady's brothers to sneak away to the room Vlady shared with Dmitry, sitting together alone on the bottom bunk bed when the Siberian woman opened the door on her way past. It was annoying. But Tyson understood why. He'd agreed to the rules when she offered to take him in, understanding the relationship he'd formed with her son.

A gentle knocking on the door roused Tyson from his doze, and he sat up. "Yeah?" He whispered.

Mama opened his door, trying not to let the worn wood whine and minimise noise. "Good morning, you. Let's get to work."

Tyson didn't get out of bed eagerly for much, but this was an exception. As he'd learned from the four Tchaikovsky boys, he didn't bother to put on a shirt or even pants over his boxer shorts. Since nobody chose his clothes from dawn until dusk, he preferred to remain barefoot, undressed and unkempt as much as he could get away with. The kitchen was small, but it was warm and cosy. Mama looked much softer without the makeup to harshen her features, a black dressing gown draped over her and her raven-coloured hair in a simple ponytail. In the overhead lighting of the kitchen, he could even see her aged freckles.

"Piroshkis take a lot of time and effort. If you're not going to see it through, then we can both hightail it back to bed right now," Mama warned him, her eyes peering at him as if challenging him to give up.

"I'm not backing down. How hard can it be to follow a recipe?" Tyson shrugged it off.

"How--? Recip-- no!" She turned her back on him in disgust but then peeked back with a playful grin. "Piroshkis aren't so difficult - but my son deserves better than just following a recipe. Don't you think?"

Tyson had no idea what she was talking about. "So what makes them special?"

She approached and put her hands on his brown shoulders. Despite the coolness of her fingers, it made the fourteen-year-old feel so warm. "You do! Because you love him."

Tyson flushed. He did. He really, really did. So, so much, oh god. "I don't know how to measure love in a recipe!"

"I'll show you," Mama winked.

She led Tyson to the centre island; she'd already laid out his ingredients. There were packages of all-purpose flour, sugar, baking powder, salt, milk, eggs and a stick of butter. On the other side, he spied blueberries, sugar, flour, cinnamon and lemon zest next to a second bowl. She was right, he thought suddenly. This was going to be a lot more involved than he expected. So much to potentially get wrong. The thought began to gnaw at him. What if he made the worst piroshkis in the world, and Vlady hated them? The fear of spoiling not only his surprise but Vlady's favourite treat was distressing!

"Come on, the sun's chasing us. If you want to have this done before the boys get up, we don't have time to waste," Mama tapped her hands on the counter to get his attention. "First, we'll make the dough," she explained, showing him the ingredients he would mix in a large bowl. "Then, we'll let it rest for about 30 minutes while we make the filling." She pointed to a second bowl filled with blueberries, sugar, flour, cinnamon, and lemon zest. "Get cracking, моя звезда."

That was her nickname for him. Translated, it meant "my star." It filled him with renewed determination. How could he fail when Mama had his back? She always supported him, no matter what, even when her support was frustrating and he wished she'd back off. Tyson followed her directions as she guided him, mixing the dry ingredients with the wet to form the dough, then carefully mixing the blueberries with the other ingredients until they were evenly coated.

"Is this good?" He asked her.

"I think you're a natural. Now that I know what you can do in the kitchen when you put your mind to it, I think you can start helping me more often," she decided, eyes twinkling with pride. "Now, we'll divide the dough into equal pieces and roll them into circles. Then, we'll fill them with the blueberry mixture and roll them up." She did the first one, showing him how to work the dough, making it smooth and elastic.

As they worked side by side, their shoulders brushing occasionally, Tyson couldn't have been having a better time. Beyond the initial panic of ruining everything, Mama hadn't given him the opportunity to be nervous. He didn't do a terrific job of rolling the dough, but she was always there to show him how to fix it. He laughed as she told him stories of her greatest triumphs and most tragic failures in the kitchen, setting fire to her satay and making a stew that even the neighbourhood dogs turned their noses up at. Once finished, Tyson placed the piroshkis on a baking sheet and brushed them with egg wash.

"Now comes the hardest part," she teased him. "Waiting for them to bake."

Tyson grinned, rinsing his flour-caked hands in the sink. "I think I can manage it."

"I know you can," she said, squeezing his shoulder. "You can manage anything."

"Thank you for teaching me!" Tyson flung himself at her with an appreciative hug. "And for letting me stay here last night so I could do this."

Mama kissed the top of his head, warmly wrapping her arms around him. "It was a beautiful idea. Plus, how could I say no to you?" She tapped him on the back. "Now, you have the opportunity to have the first shower. I think you should take it."

Tyson pulled away and frowned. "What if Vlady wakes up first? I want to surprise him."

The pale-skinned woman laughed. "My Vlad? Not on your life. If he's ever up before I drag him out of bed, I'll buy you your weight in Milo."

She was right, of course. Tyson had washed and shampooed his short, black curls with first shower privilege, dressed for his school day and packed his homework into his schoolbag before just as the oven timer went off. None of the other kids had so much as moved, as predicted. Alarms began to go off at seven-thirty, but Mama knew as well as Tyson did that the snooze buttons were being hit. Thus, the daily rampage down the hallway began. But Vladimir's day was going to start differently!

A large plate in hand, with three blueberry-stuffed piroshkis that he'd put his heart into, Tyson let himself into the room shared by the two older teenagers. Vladimir had already managed to go back to sleep, and Tyson paused to admire how beautiful he was. He looked so much like Mama. The straight black hair was a mess over his face and pillow, and his incredibly long eyelashes looked angelic as his pale chest gently moved up and down. On the top bunk, Dmitry's nose caught on to the inviting smell of one of his mother's signature recipes.

"Wait, did Mum bake some piroshkis?" Dmitry asked in Russian.

"They're not for you." Tyson was gradually picking up the second language spoken in the house - he wasn't quite sure but took an educated guess at what his eldest foster sibling said.

"What? Are there more?" The twenty-year-old man-child poked his head over the railing.

"In the kitchen," Tyson brushed him off curtly.

Dmitry was kind of an idiot, but he took the hint, eager to stuff his gob with something sweet for breakfast. The others were also out of bed, the inviting smell filling the house. Vlady was the only one still unaware, but that wasn't too surprising. He had trouble staying awake. He always had since Tyson had known him. Tyson remembered the first time they'd spoken in the psych ward. They were watching a movie - A Bug's Life - and Vlady had fallen asleep, his head on Tyson's shoulder. The memory made the recovering teenager so happy.

"Hey," Tyson reached down and gently shook his boyfriend's chest. "Hey, wake up."

"Mmm...?" Vladimir's eyes groggily opened one at a time, and a wide, happy smile followed. "Heeey Tys!"

"Happy Vladentine's Day," Tyson proudly presented what he'd worked so hard on.

Vladimir's confused reaction initially took the wind out of Tyson's sails. His gorgeous blue eyes searched the void for meaning and moved to the plate, then to Tyson's face, but then they widened.

"Ohh!" The sixteen-year-old sat up properly. "Happy Valentine's Day!"

"I thought I'd make our first one special," Tyson sheepishly offered the plate.

"Piroshkis", Vladimir's eyes lit up. "How did you get Mum to agree?"

"I guess I'm just her favourite," he replied flippantly.

"Yeah, no kidding," Vladimir took the plate from him.

Tyson laughed. "No, she showed me how to do it this morning. That's why I was allowed to stay over."

"Wait, you made these? Not Mum?" The raven-haired boy had been ready to bite but put it back on the plate.

Tyson paused, alarmed. "Yes. Is that okay?" Why wasn't Vlad trying it? He'd worked so hard! Was this a terrible idea all along?

"Oh my god," Vladimir exclaimed, putting the plate down next to him on the tangle of plates. "I don't deserve you!"

Tyson had no time to react as Vladimir suddenly hooked him and dragged him down on top of him. His yelp of joyful surprise was interrupted as his boyfriend's lips locked onto his, and the piroshkis were momentarily forgotten.

"Boys!" Mama yelled at them as she paused in the doorway. "You're making me regret my decision."

Tyson, burning with embarrassment and frustration at being caught in such an intimate moment, was too grateful for everything right now to lash out at her as he might have done six months ago. Instead, he pulled away and only intertwined his fingers with his boyfriend, Mama leaving them be, satisfied they were behaving themselves.

"I love you."

"Aw, I love you! So much," Vladimir's smile was all Tyson needed.

Heart is a grim story and this is the complete opposite - I wouldn't recommend going back to look at Heart without looking at the disclaimers!