By some unspoken agreement, Yuri and Otabek don't go to the rink the day after, instead they eat breakfast and talk about inconsequential things. It is a forced lightness that cannot last. They fall silent, Otabek looking at Yuri and Yuri studiously staring into his cold tea and tearing a leftover piece of bread into tiny, tiny pieces.
"Is there a way to save you?" Otabek asks.
"No. Or, I haven't found one at least. It's not exactly a common problem. People would think I was crazy if I talked about it. In fact, I don't get why you don't," Yuri replies.
"You don't lie, Yura. And it was just too far-fetched, too unbelievable, to be a lie," Otabek says, wry. "Does your grandfather know?"
"No! No. I don't know how to tell him. 'By the way, your stupid, problematic grandson has gotten himself into another mess'? I didn't even want to get you involved! It's too dangerous-"
The chair falls with a crash as Otabek stands up abruptly. He leans on his hands against the table, looming over Yuri.
"You didn't want to get me involved?! I want to be involved! And I definitely think that your grandfather would want to know, as well. How selfish can you be, Yura? You have people who care about you, who would be hurt if you disappeared," Otabek all but spits out. Yuri looks at him, wide-eyed.
A little sheepishly Otabek rights the chair and sits back down.
"Sorry. That was unnecessary."
"No, you're right, you don't have to apologize." Yuri sighs. "I've been selfish and, well… scared. I tried to find a way out of it, but I couldn't, so then I just hid. I pretended everything was fine, that I was normal, that I never made the bargain. Tried to put it out of my mind. I've always been a troublesome grandson. And you don't deserve to be dragged into this mess either."
"I still want to help," Otabek says, calm but implacable. "And I do think you should tell your grandfather. He deserves to know."
"Ok. So I guess we're doing this then. If we're manage to get train tickets for today we can be in Moscow by tonight. When can you be ready to go?"
They do in fact manage to get tickets for the same day and Mila agrees to take care of Yuri's cat. Nikolai Plisetsky is a bit nonplussed at the sudden visit, but he still comes to pick them up.
The atmosphere at the dinner table that night is tense. Nikolai talks about his day and asks about Otabek's season and what Yuri has been up to but Yuri is nearly monosyllabic and Otabek is quiet by nature. In the end, they all eat in silence and Yuri gets up to do the dishes as soon as he's done eating, making his escape to the kitchen. He's already told Otabek. Surely it should be easier the second time? It is not.
Up to his elbows in suds and halfway through washing a pot Yuri spins on his heel and stomps out of the kitchen.
"I bargained with the Faerie Queen and they're coming for me this midsummer," he says belligerently, dishwater dripping from his fingers. His grandfather looks at him, then stands and hugs him.
"Oh, you fool child, it is never wise to get involved with the Kindly Ones" he says sadly into Yuri's golden hair. "Yurochka, why?"
"I wanted to skate. I wasn't good enough," Yuri says and then tells his grandfather everything.
"I had a sister once. Beautiful Yekaterina. Reckless, beloved Yekaterina. We lived in the countryside then, and she loved nature. She was always outdoors when she could. She had the luck of the devil himself, or that of the fey, but one summer night she just disappeared. People talked, of course. They said she'd been stung by a serpent and that we'd had to send her away or that she'd gone to the city to find work. Not Katya, she wouldn't give the village boys a second look, and she hated the city! And when I looked for her, I found the flowers she'd picked, dropped in a clearing, and hoofprints all around," Nikolai tells them, eyes far away.
"You mean…?" Yuri asks, but doesn't know how to finish the question.
"Yes. At least that's what I've always believed. And there's always been tales. A pretty daughter gone. Someone's uncle vanished without explanation. She was fair haired, like you. They like golden hair, it is said."
A shiver goes down Yuri's back and he scrubs his hands through his hair violently to banish the sense-memory of slender fingers caressing it. Jerkily he twists it up into a bun and flips the hood of his sweater over his head, despite the fact it is rude. He hunches down over the table.
"Can we do anything?" Otabek asks.
"Maybe, but it will be hard. Firstly, have you spoken of this outside?" Nikolai asks.
"No! I'm not entirely stupid. I've made sure to always be within home and hearth," Yuri says. Otabek turns to look questioningly at him. Yuri continues: "The Queen of Air and Darkness, whom I bargained with, can hear every word spoken after dark, Beka. And the Queen of Light and Illusion can hear every word spoken in the light of day. Unless you take precautions, of course. That's why I wouldn't speak of this on the train today. It seemed foolish to, if she could hear everything we said."
"Good. At least you have some sense in that head of yours. But wait, you bargained with the Winter Queen on midsummer? I thought she was powerless then?" Nikolai asks.
"Yes, I bargained with Her. She said that there is always winter somewhere so she can never be entirely powerless. She came because she wondered who 'longed so fiercely for ice and cold in the middle of summer,'" Yuri answers.
"Oh. Hm." Nikolai muses. "Now, exactly what did you bargain, Yurochka?"
"I said that I wanted to be good enough at skating to be able to compete and win. She laughed," Yuri shudders at the memory of that tinkling, utterly inhuman sound. "Then she said something along the lines that if I wanted to compete, then she could only give me talent and that I would have to hone it myself. So I said of course I wanted to compete, I wanted to win by myself. 'Then talent you will have, little mortal, equal to that of the greatest skater,' she said, 'but that talent is ours after ten years.'"
The last thing Yuri says has the ring of a quote to it, and the words seem heavy, binding. Filled with intent and power, even when repeated. He does not like uttering those words again. Like yesterday, remembering that encounter gives him a headache. There is a reason, beyond the hopelessness of the situation, as to why he has avoided thinking about that night as much as he has been able to. It hurts. Without thinking why, he turns to Otabek beside him.
"Would you-?" he begins to say. Ask. It helped yesterday so just ask, he thinks, but it is embarrassing and Yuri has long grown used to pushing people away, not inviting them in.
"Would I what?" Otabek asks.
"Wouldyouhugmepleasebeka?" he manages to force out. His face feels hot enough to fry an egg on, so he ducks his head and looks at Otabek out of the corner of his eye. Otabek stills and then something changes in his expression. His chair makes a startlingly loud sound as he scoots closer and drapes an arm around Yuri's shoulders. It is warm, in fact Otabek is a warm line against the whole side of his body. Tension floods out of Yuri and he slumps a little against Otabek at its release.
"Thanks," he says in a low voice, still embarrassed.
Nikolai clears his throat, but he is smiling a little.
"She didn't specify more? Other than that your talent would be theirs?" he asks.
"No," Yuri answers, and breathes out forcefully, annoyed.
"Am I missing something?" Otabek asks.
"Only that my nine-year-old self was an idiot, but we've already established that."
"What Yurochka means to say is that by not asking the Queen to specify, anything could happen to him. That the wording is so open makes it harder, in a way, to counter," Nikolai fills in. "But it is getting late. We can begin to search for answers tomorrow."
Lying in the darkness of Yuri's childhood bedroom, not quite comfortable on the extra mattress on the floor, sleep is slow in coming.
"Yura?"
"Mm?"
"You were not an idiot. You were a child. Don't beat yourself up over an old mistake."
The next day is a lovely spring day, perfect for being outdoors and enjoying the weather. Instead they boot up Yuri's computer while Nikolai pulls out a veritable mountain of dusty old books, mostly about mythology and folk-tales. Yuri recognises many of the books from when he was still trying to find a way out of this. From before he lost hope. Nikolai also turns his drawers inside out before he finds a shabby notebook full of phone numbers.
The three of them spend the day poring over the books. Nikolai makes a few phone-calls, as well, some of them ending with a "My condolences," others ending with him closing the door to his bedroom and talking for a while. In the end they have nothing much to show for their efforts.
"I'm sorry, Yurochka. We'll keep looking, but most tales simply caution not to bargain with the fae, or how to avoid them, or tell of what they fear…" Nikolai says.
"And it is ten years too late for that. There is nothing to be done, is there?" Yuri asks, but it is not a question, not really. He already knows the answer. This is good, he tells himself, now I can lay this final hope to rest before it consumes me.
"I can't accept that," Otabek says and stalks out of the apartment without coat, cell phone, wallet or anything.
They stay in Moscow for a couple of days more, looking through the books, Otabek with fervour, Nikolai more methodically and Yuri resignedly. On the fourth day Yakov calls and yells about his top skater up and leaving without a word. Practice, new routines, costumes. Yuri sits with his eyes closed, his hand clenched to white-knuckled fists, and pretends, pretends, pretends.
Yuri and Otabek go back to St. Petersburg the day after that. On the train, Otabek calls his coach, and talks about extending his stay in Russia until midsummer. Yakov is well known, and against the promise to practice and think about a new program he gets permission to stay. When Yuri asks why he's staying Otabek says that he will see this through. Either he will be able to stop it or he will be there until the end.
Yuri throws himself back into practice. It feels utterly futile since he knows that he will not be skating the next season, or any season for that matter, but as always, the ice helps. He got himself into this mess for love of skating, so skate he will, until it is over. Yakov seems pleased at his dedication, which is a plus since it makes for smoother practices. Otabek practices, too, though maybe less diligently.
They are sitting by the rinkside one day when the Yuri brings up the irony of the situation.
"It's funny, isn't it? I think you should practice more, Beka. You'll actually be competing this fall. Right now I have you beat for practice time, and I'm not even going to skate next season," Yuri says, but doesn't add: or any season, for that matter.
Otabek doesn't smile, not even close. He looks upset.
"It's not funny," he pauses. "I'm practicing less because I'm still looking for a way to get you out of this. I've been going to the library." Since they are in public Otabek carefully doesn't mention any particulars of what he is looking for.
"You're wasting your time, Beka. There is nothing to be found," Yuri says. They have approached this argument many times in the last weeks. Yuri still doesn't get. Some things can't be done.
"It's my choice to do this and I won't give up. Don't ask me to. I'll never stop looking," Otabek says and then they both startle as Mila comes up behind them and leans her weight on their shoulders.
"Look for what?" she asks.
If Yuri had been anyone else he might have tried for a polite lie or some other evasion. He does not, instead he spits out:
"None of your business, hag!"
After that the conversation descends into squabbling. That is just the way they interact, him and Mila. The only difference is that this time he feels oddly guilty for snapping at her. He doesn't like it.
Time, as always, is contrary. It crawls when one wants it to run and flies swiftly when one dreads what is to come. Early summer is gorgeous, even in the city, filled with light and greenery. It is almost midsummer.
Otabek has taken to lining the apartment with salt and iron nails and has given Yuri a medallion of iron forged in seawater to wear. It feels like a last-ditch attempt to Yuri, but he wears it, and doesn't clean the salt up.
It has been nice to share an apartment. Yuri is surprised. Usually he doesn't like people in his space. He is very much a cat-person like that. For all that he has accepted his fate, it is still nice to have Otabek there. Less lonely. And it helps when Yuri's acceptance wears away and he gets scared. When he can fight through the embarrassment he asks for hugs and the fear recedes a little.
It is one of those times and it feels good to be held, but Yuri doesn't get why Otabek is staring so much at him lately. Suddenly uncomfortable, he extricates himself from the embrace and mutters something about groceries before leaving the apartment. He doesn't see Otabek's shoulders slump as he goes.
The last bit of time slips away and midsummer arrives, rainy and miserable. The weather seems appropriate. Yuri feels worn out from too much worry, despite his resignation. If even Yakov looks frowning at him in practice and tries to send him home he figures it must be bad. He refuses. Otabek has already given up on trying to pry him from the rink, and instead puts on a brave face and makes practice into a game. They chase each other and skate improvised, silly pair routines until the other skaters join them and practice is derailed into impromptu competitions. It is fun while it lasts.
In the evening, Yuri calls his grandfather and they speak for a long time. Otabek checks and rechecks the line of salt and iron. After dinner, he and Otabek sit in the living room and try to talk. They are both at once tense and worn out. After a while Yuri contents himself with petting his cat and leaning against Otabek while Otabek talks about Almaty and leaving home and living away from his family. Neither of them want to sleep, not now, but after dinner the sofa is so soft and the lights dim, they are tired, it is warm, it is soft… they are tired… tired…
There is light coming for him, the scent if crisp winter air, joyous laughter, the baying of hounds, chiming bells. Someone is holding his hand, holding him back from all that glory, but Yuri slips the stifling grip and
is
gone.
/Edit to put in the line breaks that stupid ff-dot-net ate *sigh*