Victoria
By Spunky0ne
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Newlyweds, Victor and Yuuri Nikiforov have it all, but things go awry when a silver-haired child is dumped on their doorstep with a message identifying her as Victor's biological daughter. Traumatized by the sudden death of her mother, Victoria refuses to speak or to have anything to do with her new parents. But could a selfless act by Yuuri open the way to making them a family? Victor/Yuuri
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Chapter 1: Little Girl Lost
Soft footsteps sounded in the darkened bedroom where Yuuri Nikiforov (formerly Yuuri Katsuki) laid, curled on his side and deeply sleeping. His tall, silvery-haired husband approached the bed slowly, admiring the adorable sleeping face of his Japanese spouse. He sat down at Yuuri's side, watching as the movement on the bed brought Yuuri awake, and he blinked his brown eyes slowly and focused on Victor, his expression both happy to see him, and sad to know they were about to say goodbye. Victor coaxed Yuuri into his arms, meeting him for several long, passionate kisses, before he sat back and squeezed Yuuri's hand comfortingly.
"I have to go now," Victor said in a regretful tone, "I still wish you could come with me, Yuuri."
"It would be fun," Yuuri agreed, "but I have to get ready for my first competition of the season. I'm going to miss you, Victor, but it'll be fine. You need to get out there and stir things up to get people excited about the new season."
Victor nodded.
"They'd be more excited to see us together," he mused, smiling, "but I agree, you're at a critical stage, getting ready for your competition. You need to focus on that. I won't be gone long, just a few days. Yakov is going to keep you so busy, you'll hardly know I'm gone. Just ask him anything you don't understand, and if he starts to yell at you, hug him. It usually surprises him so he'll stop. Yurio said he would practice the new combinations with you, so that's taken care of."
"And I'll keep working on improving my Russian," Yuuri promised, "That will give me something to do when I'm not skating, eating or sleeping."
Victor gave him a warm kiss on the lips and an amused look.
"You mean there are times we're not doing one of those three things?" he chuckled, "Take care of yourself, Yuuri."
"I will."
Victor dropped to one knee to pet the old tan poodle that laid on the bed next to his husband.
"You take care of Yuuri, Maccachin," Victor said, hugging the dog as the old poodle whined and licked the Russian skater's face, "And take care of yourself. Good boy."
He rose again and ran light fingertips along Yuuri's soft cheek.
"I love you."
"Love you too," Yuuri whispered back, watching quietly as Victor turned away and picked up his suitcase, then carried it out of the room.
He listened to Victor's retreating footsteps, then the sound of the front door opening and closing. Left alone with Maccachin in the now too quiet house, Yuuri rolled over in his bed and looked out the window, into the cloudy sky, where a flock of seagulls were flying by, emitting soft cries that reminded him instantly of the ocean in Hasetsu. He breathed slowly, mulling over the past year he had spent in Victor's home country, and the turns that their relationship had taken.
Living here with Victor is the most wonderful thing that's ever happened to me. While it's true that we couldn't be married in either of our home countries and our marriage license isn't worth the paper it's written on, where we live, we feel a bond that's real, one we acknowledged when I took his surname. It doesn't really matter what the world calls us. We know who we are, and that's all that matters now. Victor and I are happy.
Yuuri's eyes blinked slowly and he yawned and hugged Maccachin, who thumped his tail on the bed and licked the young man's cheek.
We'll stay in Saint Petersburg until we retire from skaing, he mused silently, then we've talked about going to settle down somewhere where our marriage will be acknowledged. I guess as much as we can be happy the way we are…everyone wants to be accepted.
I wonder sometimes if acceptance might be a problem with Victor's family. They didn't come to the wedding. When I asked Victor about it, he just said they don't talk. I think he meant they're not speaking, but from his tone, I knew not to ask about it. I do hope that someday he can talk to me about it, especially now that we're family.
Yuuri closed his eyes and curled closer to Maccachin, letting himself drift off again and sleeping for another hour before the alarm clock brought him awake and coaxed him out of bed. He deflated a little at the too quiet house and the lack of Victor's energetic presence, but revived himself with a quick shower, before dressing in his practice clothes and heading out to meet his spirited rinkmate. He found Yurio waiting on the bridge, a few blocks away from the house, in the company of a tall, serious-faced man, who was also a member of the skating elite.
"Hi Yurio," Yuuri greeted his friend, "Otabek. I didn't know you were visiting."
"Hey, pork cutlet bowl," Yurio greeted him, "He's not visiting."
"I have moved to Saint Petersburg now to train here," Otabek explained.
"Oh, that's great," Yuuri said, smiling.
"Here," Yurio said, tossing Yuuri a bag filled with still warm pirozhki, "They're fresh. I figured you'd need some company, now that Victor's off doing publicity. I'm surprised you didn't just say fuck it, and go with him."
"The competition's going to be extra tough this year," Yuuri said, an edge of anxiety in his voice, "and my program this year is really difficult."
"Well," said Otabek, "Victor wouldn't have given you that program if he didn't have confidence that you would master it. You're skating has been growing by leaps and bounds."
"Yours has been amazing," Yuuri said appreciatively, "It's hard keeping up with you."
"Thanks," Otabek replied, nodding.
"We should get going," Yurio suggested as Yuuri pulled out one of the pirozhki and started to eat, "Yakov will be in a pissy mood today, because his ex is going to be working with me on my new program. If I were you, Yuuri, I'd find a corner and just keep your head down and do your thing. It's a pain being around him when she's there, nagging him."
"I'll watch my step," Yuuri chuckled, "I feel sorry for you, having to put up with the two of them."
"Don't worry about me," Yurio huffed, playfully mocking him, "It's worth it to get a program I'm going to crush you with this year."
"You said that last year, didn't you?" Yuuri reminded him, exchanging a smirk with Otabek, "As I recall, Victor and I both beat you."
"The power of love," Otabek said in an amused tone.
"Hah!" Yurio scoffed, taking Otabek's hand, "Well, this year, I have that too."
"I think that's great," Yuuri said approvingly, "Bring it on."
The three young men fell in together, crossing over the bridge and completing the walk to the ice rink, where they checked in and sat down to put their skates on. Yuuri watched as each headed off to begin their training, giving a bored sigh at the thought of training without his lover there.
It's so funny. For most of my life, I wanted to train alone. I wanted to be alone. All I wanted to do was to be on the ice and to think about how much I wanted to be as good at skating as my idol, Victor.
So much has changed.
I don't want to be alone anymore. I look forward to every day with Victor, here or wherever we go together, whatever we're doing. And I have friends here now. Yurio hasn't changed at all. He still calls me names and teases me about my weight, even though I'm not overweight anymore. He's rude, but beneath the words, I feel the connection. I'm actually friendly with some of the other skaters here, too. Victor taught me a lot about putting myself out there and making friends. That's turning out to be a good thing. I miss him right now, while he's gone, but I'm okay.
"Yuuri!" Yakov snapped, "Stop daydreaming and get over here."
"Uh-oh," Yuuri sighed, climbing to his feet and stepping onto the ice.
"Get warmed up," the elder man said gruffly, "I don't have all day."
Yuuri nodded and began his warm ups, quickly falling into the routine that he and Victor used to structure their practice sessions. Within minutes, he was knee-deep in work on the step sequences for his programs, then spins and jumps. Time passed more quickly than he had thought it would, and soon practice was over and he was heading home.
"You want to go out somewhere?" Yurio asked as the two reached the bridge, "You must be bored with just the old dog at home."
"I'm working on my Russian," Yuuri said, taking his leave, "I'm getting better, but I have a lot to learn."
"You learn faster by talking to natives, you know," Yurio chided him.
"I know, but I'm tired. Yakov had me doing about a billion jumps before he was satisfied. I thought I was going to die on the last few."
"All right," Yurio said, smirking, "Go home and eat the rest of those pirozhki. See you tomorrow, pork cutlet bowl."
"Bye Yurio."
Yuuri headed back across the bridge, turning off on the far side to stop by the market on the way home. He strolled home slowly, in no hurry to be faced with the empty, too quiet house.
Maybe I should have taken Yurio up on his offer.
He turned the last corner and headed up the street, his mind on what he was going to make for dinner. It took him a moment to notice that there was something happening on the doorstep at his and Victor's home. A stern looking woman stood, scolding a little girl.
"Stay there!" she ordered the child, then she turned and hurried to a waiting car.
"What the…hey!" Yuuri called out, breaking into a run, "What are you doing? Where are you…?"
The car shot forward and disappeared down the street, leaving Yuuri staring after it in dismay. He stood, holding the grocery bag and trying to make sense of things, but only felt more confused as a little, scared whimper made him turn and look at the girl who had been left behind. He moved towards her in slow steps, staring at the silvery hair that was pulled up into a high ponytail, the wide, pretty blue-green eyes that he felt like he'd know anywhere.
What is this?
What's going on?
Who is she?
"Hello," he greeted the trembling child in Russian, dropping down onto one knee and facing her, but keeping just enough distance not to frighten her more, "I am Yuuri Nikiforov. What is your name?"
The girl rubbed her teary eyes, but gave no answer.
"Do you speak Russian?" he asked in Russian.
The girl gave no answer.
"Do you speak English?" he asked in English.
Do you speak at all? he wondered, She looks scared to death. But I saw that she reacted to hearing English. I guess that's what she speaks.
"Are you hungry?" he asked, digging through the bag he held and pulling out the last of the pirozhki that Yurio had given him that morning, "This is good cold, or we could go inside and warm it up. Do you want it cold or warmed?"
The girl quivered, but accepted the pirozhki. She looked down at it silently, then back at Yuuri.
"Go ahead," he encouraged her, "It's really tasty. It's called a pork cutlet bowl pirozhki. It's my favorite."
The little girl quivered, staring at him raptly as she took a tentative bite. She chewed slowly, blinking and making no other moves as she ate.
"It's great, huh?" Yuuri said kindly.
He spotted a note attached to the girl's coat and carefully extracted it, opening it to read it.
Victor,
This girl is your daughter. Her mother has died and she has nowhere to go. Her mother's wish was that, if anything happened to her, the girl would be brought to you. Her name is Victoria and she is nine years old. You will find her documents in her bag. Please do not attempt to contact members of her American family. They have no interest in her.
Yuuri looked at the girl again, his heart pounding.
It's hard to believe, and I know Victor will question it. Who wouldn't, right? But, I see it. She has his hair, his eyes, his nose, his lips, his ears.
This is Victor's daughter, a daughter it seems like he has no idea at all she exists.
"Your name is Victoria?" he asked.
The girl said nothing, but gave him a withering look.
"Oh, you go by a different name?" he concluded, "Will you please tell me what it is? Or…or maybe write it? I need to know what to call you."
The girl paused in her eating, looking at him as though considering.
"Tora," she said in a voice barely more than a whisper.
Oh my god! I even hear it in her voice. She's got Victor stamped all over her. She's obviously scared. Who wouldn't be? She's been dumped in a country where she doesn't know the language or any people. Poor kid. And she's lost her mother and whatever family she had there.
"It's nice to meet you, Tora," Yuuri said kindly, "You can call me Yuuri. I'm Victor's husband."
The girl continued to chew on the pirozhki, but gave no answer.
"Why don't we go inside?" he asked, slipping the key into the lock and opening the door.
Maccachin burst through and crashed into the girl, making her sit down hard on the porch. Yuuri started to scold the dog, then his breath caught in surprise as the girl dropped the last bit of the pirozhki and wrapped her arms around the old poodle's neck, burying her face in his soft fur and letting out a sob. Her body shook with more silent sobs as she held onto the dog and Maccachin licked her cheek and whined.
"You must be scared to death," Yuuri said sympathetically, "But, you don't have to worry. You can come inside and I'll take care of you until Victor gets back. I'm sure we can work things out. Will you come inside?"
He extended a hand towards the girl and waited silently. The girl peeked around Maccachin's head, her damp eyes meeting Yuuri's, and he could see she was considering. After a long hesitation, her slender hand reached out and latched onto his.
"Good," Yuuri said, helping the girl to her feet as Maccachin barked and finished off the last of the fallen pirozhki.
He picked up the little suitcase that had been left with her, and carried it inside. The two stopped in the entry and Yuuri closed the door behind them.
"You can stay in our guest room," Yuuri offered, leading her down the hallway and into a comfortably furnished bedroom, "Victor will be back in a couple of days. Until then, you need to stay here, in the house, unless you're with me. You're in a different country and you don't know your way around yet. If it makes you feel better, Maccachin can stay here with you. He's good at making me feel better when I feel a little lost. Maybe he'll make you feel better too. Tora, I'm really sorry about you losing your mom. I'm sorry for whatever made the rest of the family decide to send you away. But, you'll be okay here. I won't let anything bad happen to you, okay?"
Tora said nothing, but nodded briefly and climbed onto the large, soft bed. She patted the bed with one hand, and again, Yuuri saw the similarity to Victor, plain in her movements.
She's had it hard. I wonder what went on with her American family. I have so many questions. And I have to decide what to tell Victor. He's focused on getting people excited about the upcoming season. And what could he do from so far away, anyway? Maybe I should wait and tell him when he comes home.
He looked back at Tora, who sat, holding onto Maccachin and looking out the window, into the clouds.
"The remote for the TV is by the bed," Yuuri informed her, "There's a bathroom in the hallway. The door is open. You can come to me if you need anything. I'll make some dinner for us in a few hours. Is there anything you really like, that you would want me to make?"
He waited for a moment, watching the girl look out the window.
"Okay, I'll be around."
He left the bedroom and headed to the kitchen, where he sat down at the table and pulled out his home language course. He placed the ear buds from the set into his ears and began the lesson, listening carefully and repeating, answering questions in Russian, and trying again when he made a mistake. Intent in his work, he didn't notice when the girl slipped into the hallway and walked down to the kitchen, where she peeked around a corner of the wall to watch him.
Yuuri focused carefully on the images in front of him, studying the pictures and naming things, then putting pictures in order and matching them with statements written in Russian. He completed the lesson, then sighed and sat back, yawning as he looked at the clock.
"Guess it's time to make dinner. I wonder what she'd like. She wouldn't even talk to me."
He dug through the refrigerator and cabinets.
"What do American kids like? Hamburgers? Hot dogs? Pizza? Like we'd keep that stuff around, the way I gain weight when I get nervous and binge eat…"
He sighed in frustration and turned around, then he froze for a second as he spotted Tora watching him. She ducked back behind the wall, and Yuuri turned back to face the sink, pretending that he hadn't seen her.
She's curious. Maybe there's a way to use that. I just have to keep her interest.
He reached over and turned on the radio, smiling as a familiar song came on. He sang along in Russian as he gathered the makings for pork cutlet bowl. Behind the wall, Tora peeked out at him, watching through widened eyes as he measured out the ingredients and started cooking. Soon, delicious cooking smells filled the air. Yuuri breathed in the pleasant scent, his stomach growling as he finished making their dinner. He turned around and a smile crept onto his face as he found Tora waiting at the table for him.
"Hi," he said, nodding, "I hope you like pork cutlet bowl. It's from Japan, just like me. It's my favorite food. Please try some."
He set a plate in front of her and sat across from her, with his own. The girl sniffed the steam that rose up from the plate, then took a bite. Her face lit up, and Yuuri could almost hear Victor's happy exclamation of "Vkusno!"
"It's good, huh? I know the pirozhki was also pork cutlet, but this is what I grew up on. I only usually eat them when I win a competition, because I eat too much and get too heavy for skating."
He pointed out a portrait on the wall, one of Victor and him, dressed in costumes and holding each other as they swept across the ice.
"Your dad and I are figure skaters," he explained, "We compete professionally. I'll tell you what. If you want, tomorrow I'll take you with me to the ice rink. You can watch me practice if you want to."
The girl said nothing in reply, but Yuuri didn't miss the way she continued to steal glances at the portrait as she devoured the food in front of her.
I wonder how Victor will react when he meets her. I wonder what he'll do. If she's nine, then Victor was twenty when she was born, which means he was nineteen when he fathered her…assuming she's really his daughter. It's a lot to take in. This is a lot for all of us.
I wonder what will happen when Victor gets home.
