What made Viktor Nikoforov most appealing to people was his eternal smile.

And what a joyful smile it was. Ivory teeth glimmered like a sparkling pond when he flashed his grin at pretty much anybody that walked by him. The vibracny and genuine appeal made women melt (as well as some men, but that was still a sensitive topic back home). It was a smile that told others that there was no issue that could not be solved with a little panache and suave formality.

Sure, he was taller than many people, his lithe limbs dressed in a charcoal three-piece suit suit that matched his hair that waved like a happy tourist on the way to a vacation. His posture, always sturdy and upright like a soldier, shook hands with his environments like they were old friends and alerted others of the confidence this man had in himself. Even his odor, a pleasant mix of lilac and sifindale wine curated around his body as if they were cocooning him from the normal odors of the airport he was ushered into. His immaculate obsidian shoes clacked on the tile floor as he grazed elbows with the throngs of people flowing between the security ropes like cattle towards slaughter.

To Viktor, no problem was an issue. No obstacle was permanent. Life was an adventure, and he was hoping it would stay that way for the rest of his life.

The grumpy blonde next to him was a bit less of a ray of sunshine. He was a typical teenager in the throes of early adulthood angst. His frown was oe signal, but the red hoodie that swallowed his body and earbuds mashed into his shapely ears were further evidence to others not to mess with the kid. For the boy, his eyes were the most defining feature to onlookers. They were a steely emerald that gazed darts through anything they targeted. Hugging himself with his thin arms, he slunked forward with his head down, barely flickering his eyes up to keep from bumping into the people ahead.

"Yuri, pay attention." Victor said in his natural tongue. A thick Russian that sounded more like a song than the typical apathetic garble Russians were stereotyped to have.

"I am, old man," Yuri said in that exact stereotypical garble.

A dark-skinned woman, professional and dressed in a dark uniform, waved the group forward towards her cubicle with her fingertips.

A voice squeaked through a loud speaker above their heads. "Make sure all I-94 Forms and Declarations are filled out before reaching Immigration and Customs."

Victor was also easily distracted. he adored the hustle and bustle of the airport. People blabbering to each other while snacking on overpriced water bottles and candy bars. The babies that cried while mothers bounced them in their arms. Dictator security, endless lines, stamps and forms being processed, even the planes that roared by and shook the rafters of the massive terminals gave Viktor a feeling of belonging of endless possibility.

"Idiot, pay attention!" Yuri shouted.

Viktor shook his head and looked down at the black woman. She had her hand outstretched. "Passport, please."

"Passaport?" Viktor said. His english was not very good. I am positive that will fit into this story somehow.

After seeing the officer nod, Vicktor and Yuri entered their passports into the cubicle. The lady looked down at the forms tucked into their pages and entered the information into an ancient, box computer. It reminded Yuri of the computers at his school in Moscow.

"Welcome, Mister Nikiforov," the lady said. "Are you here for business or pleasure?"

Viktor kept up his grin. He had no idea what the lay told him.

Yuri was a little further along with English, learning enough to get by in basic conversation. Despite that, he still had to process the words in his head. "I think she asked what we're here for."

Viktor chuckled. "Oh...that's right. Uh...Vy Gavarite Po-ruski?"

The lady ignored him as she scanned his passport into his computer. As she did, her eyes widened at a red light that blinked with a small alarm buzzing at the computer. She propped herself up straight on her stool and held the passport up to her face. Viktor shrugged to himself as he thought there was no major issues here. Yuri, however, blinked a little faster as the lady scrutinized the passport further. They certainly were not fake, so what was taking this lady so long?

"Khrakozia?" That lady asked.

Viktor's smile widened like a flooding river and gave the lady a thumbs up sign. "Khrakozia! Province in Russia! Where we from!"

The lady's face fell, a nearly worried look on her smooth complexion. She grabbed the radio on her desk and held it up to her plump lips. "Possible IBIS hit on lane 10. Khrakozia."

Yuri felt his muscles tense up, strings in his nerves tightening to the consistency of plucky strings on a well-tuned guitar. Had he known what kind of trouble he and Viktor were in for the next period of their lives, he would have grabbed Viktor and bolted for the plane they had arrived on. As it was, there was nowhere security would let them go as more officers in uniforms closed in on them in a menacing confinement. One officer told them to stay put. Another told them to go over to a holding area. It would be a time of much confusion, of much soul searching.

Yet, there was nowhere they were allowed to go. Not forward. Not backward. A permanent holding pattern.

Viktor realized something was wrong when Yuri grabbed onto his arm in a gentle squeeze. Yuri was scared, and that made him worried for the first time in many years.

"So your purpose in New York?"

The office was rife with strewn papers that littered the mahogany desk like leaves on an autumn ground. It was a tight cubicle that had a narrow door located behind Viktor and Yuri's current seats. Shifting his weight on the hard oak of the chair, Victor pulled out a piece of paper in his pocket. Eyeing the stuffed filing cabinets behind the officer, he gulped and prepared his speech.

"Yellow taxicab. Please."

Yuri smacked his face with his small palm. The man was hopeless. He looked beyond Victor and noticed the window running from floor to ceiling showing off the waiting room of the immigration office. Some officers were scrambling around with papers. An important appearing man in a tan work suit pointed over at the pair as Viktor attempted English. It made Yuri feel like a hamster stuck in a tiny cage, which was a great way of describing the dim office they were cramped within.

The officer sighed. Viktor noticed that he appeared to be foreign as well. In fact, he was quiet handsome in his bulky fit unifrom. His seductive eyes along with his eyelashes that would make most women jealous at how long and lush they were. His curled, blonde hair and thin accent dripped with sexuality, even though he was speaking about things that were the complete opposite of sexy. Hey, when Viktor saw attractive, he called it. Sadly, he sighed since he felt this would not work in this situation.

The officer pointed down at his and Yuri's passport. "Mister Nikiforov," he said. "You are from Krakhozia. The province in Russia?"

Viktor grinned and gave another thumbs up. "Khrakozia! Great place!"

Yuri gripped his wooden armrest like a stress ball. Whatever the officers were saying about Khrakozia, the repeated mention was not good.

"I am Officer Christophe Giacometti," The man said. "I've been assigned by the Director of Customs and Border Protection to help with your situation. Do you understand?"

"Khrakozia!"

"Okay, he doesn't," Christophe said. He turned his body over to Yuri's side of the desk. "Do you understand?"

"Little bit," Yuri said. "Taught some English in school."

"But not enough to translate immigration law?"

Yuri's glare was all Christophe needed.

"Well, Victor," Christophe purred. "I'm really happy you want to come to America. Unfortunately, we cannot let you in right now. All passports from the province of Khrakozia have been declared null and void by Russia, and your visas to enter the country have been revoked."

Yuri frowned. He cocked his head with a curious look. "Revoked? That's...not good."

Viktor noticed Yuri's crestfallen face. "What's wrong?"

Yuri growled. "I don't think they're letting us in?"

Viktor chuckled. "Why wouldn't they? We're not illegals planning on living here. Tell him that."

"Excuse me, Mister..."

Christophe smiled at the young boy. "Call me Christophe."

Yuri scratched at his arm, his hoodie arm pulled up to reveal his alabaster skin. "Right. We are not illegal immigrants. We don't want to move here."

The Swiss man nodded, the gravity of the situation causing him to sigh at the innocence of the pair in front of him. "I understand. But a horrendous situation has occurred where you live. You see, during your flight, a military coup decided to take over the Province Governor's Mansion and the Capital Building. They have decided to declare their independence from Russia, and now your country is involved in a civil war."

Viktor and Yuri stared with expression blanker than the sheetrock to their right. Viktor was oblivious as usual, and Yuri's mind was hard at work to pick out bits and pieces. Based on Christophe's tone, something tragic had occurred, but there was no telling what.

Christophe sighed. Deciding he was going nowhere, he opened up a drawer on his desk. He pulled out a bag of potato chips and placed it on the desk. Then, he grabbed an apple from beside his name plate and held it over the bag.

"Imagine this bag," Christophe pointed at the chips. "Khrakozia. Okay? And now, this apple," he waved the apple in his hand. "Russia."

He slammed the apple onto the bag. The chips exploded from the pressure. Bits of sea salt and vinegar chips sprayed over Viktor and Yuri.

"No Khrakozia! Russia! Big war!"

Yuri opened his mouth slowly and crossed his arms. "Khrakozia...it's apart of Russia. You don't make sense."

Christophe blew out a warm breath. Wiping his brow of the small beads of perspiration, he gave off an unsure smile and waved his hand towards the exit. "I don't believe we will be able to get this translated today. We may have an interpreter available tomorrow. Until then, we cannot allow to you leave here into New York."

"Yes," Viktor said in a taut fashion. "We go New York."

"No, you don't," Christophe said. "Not yet. Wait tomorrow."

Viktor narrowed his ice-blue eyes. "Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow. New York, but tomorrow. You will stay in the International Passenger Lounge until then."

Viktor was beginning to click the dots together. It seemed that some beaurocratic mess had landed them into deep waters. However, based on how calm Christophe appeared to be, they had not committed any crime. Whatever was going to happen, they would not be arrested. As long as they waited until tomorrow. Maybe it was a special rule people from Russia followed to wait a day at the airport before entry. He heard relations were not the best between the countries anyway. Viktor flashed his smile and nodded.

"Tomorrow."

Christophe could not help another sigh of relief. Finally, he was getting somewhere. "Yes, Viktor. Stay here until tomorrow."

Viktor scanned the man behind the desk. "But before so, you have phone?"

"Do you need to call somebody?"

Viktor smirked. "You. Phone number. Seem like nice guy."

"Seriously," Yuri rolled his eyes. "Hitting on the immigration officer."

Victor let out a hearty chuckle. "My flirting is the only reason your biology teacher gave you a B last year."

Christophe eyes the Russian man. For as attractive as he was, and as questionable as his sexuality at the current time was in his love life, he decided to remain professional. "Now, Viktor, let's wait until we have this mess sorted out first. Tomorrow."

This is where I tell you that things will not be sorted out tomorrow.

Christophe was nice enough to give the pair some flight food vouchers that kept them fed. Using one on a burger, Viktor hummed as he chowed down on the grilled meat. It had been many years since he had any American food, and it was as unhealthy and poisonous and delicious as he remembered. He chewed the soft meat with grease juice dripping off his chin.

Yuri grimaced at the man. If there was one area in life Viktor was the opposite of graceful, it was eating food.

Noticing his glare, Viktor swallowed and shifted his seat on the marble bench. The center of the terminal. It was an impressive area. The terminal was about two floors with an escalator rolling up to the second. The tile floor shined underneath the bright fluorescent lights that gave the airport a clinical, somewhat unfriendly appearance. Despite this, the roaming travelers and foliage that dotted the island in the center they were seated by made Viktor excited for traveling. Restaurants and electronic stores lined the sides of the terminal like soldiers guarding a fortress. All the big American brands Viktor had seen on television shows flashed in bright lights over their respective spaces. It was almost like a museum for popular culture.

Yuri kept his burger in his bag. The stench of lard and fried potatoes was disgusting him more by the second. He stood up and stretched out his arms.

"I'm going to walk around," he said. "Meet you back in a few."

Viktor may have debated with him if he was not munching on heavenly fried goodness. He nodded and kept stuffing his mouth.

The younger boy rolled his eyes and sauntered over towards an electronics store. His stride was strong and powerful, as if he owned the airport and knew of all their whereabouts.

Viktor knew Yuri had a strong independence streak. The boy would rarely ask for assistance in any capacity. Even holding the door open for him would bare nothing but strong glares from the seething boy. A bit of an inferiority complex, Viktor thought to himself.

He finished up his burger and looked down at the electric wristwatch on his person. It had been an hour since they had left the office. Viktor was still not sure what was going on, but he felt there was no major issues. Although he noticed his phone was not working properly. He had not been able to pick up his luggage, so only his carry on bag was available to him. His phone charger happened to be in the checked baggage. Even then, contacting anyone from home only led to a dead ring tone blinking in his ear like the shifting board above him announcing departures and arrivals to the International Terminal. Maybe it was just the signal in the airport, Viktor thought to himself.

"Can you help me?"

Viktor turned over to a girl. Deep purple eyes bore back at him as a very tan girl with straight black hair pointed down at the luggage resting next to him. "My bag won't close all the way. Could you push it down?"

Viktor smiled. "Yes, I help."

Viktor stood up and put his hands on the periwinkle bag. He pressed down on the top. Viktor prided himself on having a decent amoutn fo armstrenght, so that mixed ith gravity would fix the problem. He bounced himself down onto the surface.

CRRRCK!

Viktor's hands felt the mixture of clothes inside as the gaping hole formed around them. He had broken the bag.

The girl's face morphed into one of horror. "You broke the bag? How did you even do that! That was reinforced!"

Viktor clenched his teeth and sprang from the bag like it zapped his hands with a taser. "Izvinite! I mean...I really strong!"

Suddenly, a taller man with the same complexion ran over to the girl's side. He grabbed at her shoulders and wrapped around her in a protective fashion. His glare flashed at Viktor, a sudden shiver going down the man's back as he realized that he was now in trouble.

"Sara, what's wrong? What happened?" The boy asked in what Viktor remembered as an Italian accent.

She pointed at Viktor. "This moron! He broke my bag! The one I got in Paris! Mickey, please do something!"

The man known as Mickey poked his head up and made a power stride towards Viktor. "How dare you do this to my sister!

This is when Viktor decided to take his leave. Grabbing his own leather knapsack, he did not even bother to understand the whole situation before he bolted for the escalator. Getting in trouble might mean he could be kicked out of America. He had heard on news it was easier than usual to get kicked out, so being arrested was the last thing he needed. The Italian man barked at him, but Viktor heard no footsteps as he zoomed up the escalator. Thankfully, no people crowded the moving staircase, and Viktor was on the second floor in a flash of grey.

Viktor jogged past groups of travelers and some disgruntled janitor yawing about his horrendous home life with his wife. He kept the jog up until he felt sweat beading by his eyebrows. He whipped his head back, noticing he had appeared in a slightly less crowded part of the terminal. A few seats at a plane gate where available, so Viktor took it as a resting place. No visions of the short brown haired man in sight, he gathered his breath and sat down. Best to lay low for a while.

Shaking his head, Viktor frowned to himself. He was not even able to finish his fries.

however, his heart nearly stopped when he heard the opening chords to a familiar song.

His eyes as wide as the Hudson River, he cranked his head up to the television playing the Provincial Anthem of Khrakozia. On the television, a news anchor spoke while images of his hometown blared on the screen.

Viktor could not help the smile. Khrakozia was rarely in the news, so it was nice to see that something was being talked about in that boring place that he called home.

Wait.

Viktor blinked.

Was that an explosion?

He watched the anchor's mouth carefully. The sound was soft in the busy terminal, but he made out few English words. A mention of the Governor's name. Putin. Bomb? Bomb was a word he definitely knew.

Images of citizens running around in the streets. They appeared panicked. It looked like a scene from those countries in the Middle East he saw on the news. However, the street signs were familiar to Viktor. The park in the center town square was a mess. The sod was overturned with dirt sprinkled around. Cars crashed into poles and buildings smoldered. What was going on? He was just there yesterday! Why was a tank running over the concrete of the main street?

Viktor stood up to get a better view, but then the news switched over to the local weather.

But then, Viktor gasped. As he was running, he noticed another tower of televisions by the escalators.

He bolted with his bag behind him through the hallway. He received some curious looks, but he cared little. His black loafers made a harsh click with every stomp he made. His lungs felt a small pang, and he throat had dried up like the basin of the Caspian Sea during low tide. Avoiding a man driving a golf cart, he skittered into the open atrium area and approached the televisions. Fortunately, or maybe not so fortunately, the sound was higher on this set of televisions. This time, a strange man with a scruffy chin and gaunt eyes was looking right at him from the television, the flag of Khrakozia waving in the background.

His ears picked up Russian, and Viktor looked down at the wooden bench right underneath the television. He stepped up onto it to put his ear closer to the television speakers.

"...annexed our land from the inside. The last time we are taken advantage of for our resources and for our lives. Years ago, a group of nations made the same decision to control their own destinies and achieve greatness amongst themselves. We do that today, and any fight that the Russian Federation has to reclaim us will be met with swift victory on our part."

Viktor gasped, his face going numb and his heart plummeting into his stomach. Sure, he had heard whispers of people wanting independence, but he never thought anything of it. Viktor was not one to worry about politics, but this ignorance had come back to haunt him.

More images. People screaming. Jets dropping bombs.

Viktor panicked and whipped around towards the travelers criss-crossing the atrium like ants on a hill. He stammered to himself as the news went back to another weather break.

"Please...somebody!" Viktor said. He pointed up at the television. "Televisor! Need to know! Sound!"

"Sir."

Viktor saw a security officer frowning at the man and approached him. "What are you doing? You can't stand on the bench like that."

"Sound!" Viktor stammered. "I need news!"

"If you want the news, go to the Grand Prix Lounge down the hallway," the security guard said and pointed towards a fancy set of glass double doors many yards at the end of the atrium hallway. "They have sound for you to control."

Viktor took the hint and he leaped off the bench. Again, he sprinted like one of the yelling children he saw on the news. He ran faster than he remembered running, hoping to not miss the news again. Something terrible was happening, and he needed to know what was wrong with his home.

He reached the doors and slid through the opening just as the door was closing. At the entryway, a dark man with slicked black hair smiled over at the flustered man. Despite the visible worry the man gave off, the younger man decided to play things cool.

"Hello sir," he said. "Welcome to the Grand Prix Lounge. I'm Phichit. Can I see your membership card?"

Seeing a plasma television above the desk, Viktor pointed at it with a trembling finger. This time, sound from the Prime Minister rolled from the speakers. Phichit, realizing this man was receiving bad news, stopped and turned around to the screen.

"...war is now upon us. And the transgressors will be punished accordingly. We cannot guarantee that collateral damage will not occur. However, we do not recognize this new state. We will have Khrakozia as part of the Russian Federation. By any means necessary."

The news switched over to a news anchor. However, what shocked Viktor was the words underneath the anchor. he understood numbers. And the words used he understood when written down.

One thousand dead. Civil War.C

Viktor's vision grew blurred with the presence of tears welling like a hurricane in his eyes. Covering his mouth, his face tensed up as he struggled to hold back the sounds of anguish he was threatening to let out. He could only think of how he had just left his friends, his family, his job, his house and so much more behind to be destroyed in a war he knew nothing about.

A place that was his home.

A place that meant more to him than almost anything else.

"Please, why is this happening?" Viktor asked himself. "What can I do? What is happening to me?"

What is happening to us.

Us.

Viktor gasped and nearly tripped over on his feet. He stumbled onto a coffee table and dropped his bag onto the velvet carpet of the lounge.

"Yuri!"

A hand clasped onto his wrist. Phichit tugged on his wrist.

Viktor yelped as he tried to yank his hand away. "No! No touch! Yuri!"

"Wait, sir," Phichit said. "You need to calm down! I know your upset, but running out like this won't help. Sit down and have a drink."

Viktor narrowed his eyes and almost seemed to gnash his teeth like an angry wolf. "I need Yuri!"

Phichit's face lit up in recognition. "Oh, you know Yuuri? Okay, let me get him for you. He's here."

Viktor stopped his struggling and frowned. he pointed down at the ground. "Yuri? He is here?"

Phichit smiled. "Yes, he just got here. Hey, Yuuri! This guy is calling for you."

Strolling out from the entrance of the Lounge, Yuuri appeared. But it was not the man Viktor wanted to see. In fact, the image of this man made Viktor forget about everything for just an instant. When he emerged, there was no stout, angry teenager to greet him. Instead, a calm presence with glasses looked out, concerned and almost confused. A gentle man that seemed as unsure of things as Viktor was at the time being. A man that gave Viktor such a mixture of emotions. Instead of panic, he felt calm. It was a man with somewhat messy black hair, but a chiseled face that matched his formal business attire. Slightly slouched, his glasses gave him an air of mystery, and he adjusted his cerulean tie as he met eyes with the man. A warm, mocha brown.

"Uh," The man said in a quiet voice. "Do I know you, sir?"

Standing before him was a complete angel.

And that's when Viktor knew for sure he was in trouble.

Well, this was unexpected.

I really did not expect to write this, but I guess I had a stroke of inspiration. I hope you all care enough to give this a shot! I also hope you care enough to review! Those are important to me.

It's been a while since I struck it out into the Yuri On Ice part of fanfiction. However, I think this section needs some spice! This first chapter turned out way more dramatic then I intended. Don't worry. It's labeled a comedy for a reason!

So please! Tell me what you think! I am happy to be back, and I really hope some of you are happy to see me again!

Thank you. See you soon!