One afternoon, they take Victor to the park. Lilia says the fresh air will be good for him. Yakov doesn't know that it will, but that's no reason to object. He suspects that she actually wants him to burn off some energy outside and without needing too much supervision. So together they bundle Victor up in proper winter gear and go out.

It's cold and windy, but there are plenty of other children out, though Victor ignores all of them in favor of diving into the snow. Yakov and Lilia clear snow off a bench, hunker down next to each other, and each read a book while Victor runs about to his heart's content. Yakov looks up every other page, and he can see Lilia glancing up from the corner of his eye sometimes. Victor is always fine, running in circles, shoving the snow into piles, all caught up in his own little world, except when someone walks by with a dog and he goes still to watch.

Yakov only closes his book and stands up when he notices that Victor's gloves are gone. He shuffles through the snow; Victor looks up from where he's playing with a dead leaf and waves at him. Maybe Lilia was right. He's smiling, and his cheeks have a healthy flush to them. "Where are your gloves?" he asks.

"Gloves?"

Another word Victor doesn't know, or maybe he's just forgotten it. Maybe they should start narrating everything they do with him until his language skills catch up. He did pick up several words when Lilia verbally helped walk him through setting the table last week. (He still needs the occasional prompt when he forgets something, but it's surprisingly charming at times to watch him pick out three of everything and carefully arrange them on the table like they taught him.)

Yakov takes off one of his gloves and shows it to him. "Glove." Victor nods and pulls his own pair from his pockets. "Yes, those. Why aren't you wearing them? Put them on."

At Victor's blank look, he kneels down and slides the gloves back on for him. Victor immediately peels one off again. "It's hot."

Victor's hands are, in fact – and contrary to those first few days he lived with them – warm. But Yakov doesn't trust him to remember to replace his gloves if he starts to cool down again. "You'll get sick," he says, reaching for Victor's hand, but Victor jumps up and skips away before he can insist on wearing the glove.

"Hot," Victor repeats, stuffing his gloves back in his pockets, and then he scoops up snow in his hands to blow it out. He laughs at the effect it creates, which is pretty. Yakov sighs and decides to give up on the argument for now.

And then he sees Victor blow across his empty hands. Another cloud of tiny crystals glints in the air for a moment. Yakov blinks; Victor giggles again. Yakov turns to Lilia, and he can tell from her expression that she saw it, too.

Maybe it was the wind blowing snow in the air. Yakov thinks it, but doesn't believe it.

He puts his hands in his pockets and approaches Victor. "Can you do it again?" he asks.

"Again?" Victor blinks his wide eyes, smiles sweetly, and blows across his bare fingers once more. Another batch of little snow crystals appears, drifting slowly in the still air before sinking to the ground. Victor looks at him, obviously hoping for approval.

"Pretty," Yakov says, feeling too much of the chill around them. Nobody else nearby has noticed what Victor did, but wary that they will, Yakov distracts Victor by asking him if he wants to make snow dogs.

"Snow doggy!" Victor brightens like he's just received a present. No wonder; two of his favorite things put together. Not that Yakov's ever made a snow dog (did he even make snow people when he was a child? He can't remember), but it can't be that hard to figure out.

To his surprise, Lilia comes over to help. They don't talk about what happened. Not while trying to carve vague dog shapes from the snow, not while holding each of Victor's hands as he skips down the street home, not while feeding him a hot and hearty dinner. Not until he's in the bath and they are once again alone together.

Lilia makes tea, and they sit with each other, silent for a minute. "It's like a fairy tale," Yakov finally says, feeling ridiculous, but the thought is on repeat in his head. "We're the old childless couple. He's the wondrous child we found in the middle of nowhere." Although they hadn't been wishing for one.

"But what is he?" Lilia wonders, and neither of them has an answer for that. "And what will happen if he does that in front of others? If he already has?"

And why wouldn't he show it off to his new friends at kindergarten? Children might not blink at the idea of another child having magic – it's no more fantastical than their TV programs – but adults? Adults will see something they don't believe, and if Victor insists on proving it, he could become something to study at best and use at worst. Yakov rubs his forehead. They don't know how far Victor's charm goes, or if this new magic of his is good for anything other than blowing tiny ice crystals. They are so many things that they don't know about him.

They talk in low tones for a while, until they notice how long it's been and Yakov goes to pull Victor out of his cold bath. Victor is humming as Yakov helps pat his hair dry, as cheerful as ever.

Yakov takes him into the kitchen when he's as dry as he's going to get for the moment, his silver hair still turned grey with the water left in it. Lilia has made another cup of tea for Victor, though in a sturdy mug rather than the delicate teacups Victor can't be trusted with yet. Victor climbs into his chair and starts to swing his legs, blows on the tea. He's still humming.

Yakov sits next to him, and Lilia across from him. "What you did in the park, earlier," Yakov says slowly. "Can you do it again?"

Victor looks at him, tilts his head, then nods after a moment. He picks up his cup and tips his head down to blow across it, softer than before. For a moment, there's a faint white mist hanging over the cup, and then it settles against the sides and turns into a fog on the ceramic. Victor sets the cup down; the surface of the tea is covered in ice. He pokes a finger down a few times to break the ice's surface and makes a happy sound as he takes a sip.

After getting his attention, Lilia says, "You cannot do that when anyone other than Yakov or myself can see you." Victor blinks at her and doesn't respond. "Making ice like you did just now. You may only do that in front of me or Yakov, or alone. Not in front of your friends, or your teachers, or strangers. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

Victor's legs stop swinging. His expression is confused. "Cannot make ice," he repeats. "Why? It's bad?"

Yakov frowns at the same time Lilia does. "It's not bad," he says slowly. "But people will think it's strange."

"Strange?" Now Victor is frowning, too, looking back and forth between them. For a moment, Yakov thinks he doesn't understand the word, but then he says, "Not strange. Mama makes ice." Victor glances down, then back at them. "Lilia and Yakov, too." His voice pitches upward, though it's not quite a question.

Lilia shakes her head. "No, we can't make ice."

Victor looks even more confused. "Everyone can," he insists.

"Perhaps where you came from, everyone can. Here, only you can make it."

"Oh," Victor says softly. He pokes at the ice in his drink again. "Why?"

"Because we can't," Yakov says, more shortly than he meant to. He can feel a headache coming on. The more important thing: "You can't let anyone see you doing it."

"Why?" Victor kicks the leg of the table. "Not strange. I'll show them." He looks frustrated, like he wants to say something further but doesn't have the words, despite how much his vocabulary has increased in the past few weeks. He takes another sip of his tea and stares at them over the rim of the cup.

Yakov doesn't know how to make him understand. Lilia might be considering something, but after a few moments, Victor kicks the table again, harder, impatient, still frustrated. So Yakov simplifies. "If the people who think it's strange see that you can make ice, they will try to take you away," he says sharply.

Victor freezes. "No," he whispers, almost too quiet to hear, his eyes gone large.

"There are bad people who will," Lilia says.

"No," Victor says, more loudly. "No," and he drops his cup.

It bounces off the table. Lilia jumps to her feet. The cup clatters against the floor, spilling tea everywhere. Victor doesn't even flinch at the sound, too distracted.

"No," he says in a small voice. He starts to mutter something, curling up on himself, becoming more and more upset. "Won't!"

Trying to calm him down, Yakov reaches for him. He tucks Victor against his chest, strokes his damp hair, says, "Vitya, we don't want anyone to take you away." He wonders if anyone could, given how Victor has charmed everyone into letting him stay here. Still, Victor shakes against him and burrows his head down. "Vitya, it's alright. Shh. Come on, stop shaking so much, you don't have to be scared. Nobody will take you."

Over Victor's head, he can see Lilia picking up the fallen mug – despite the awful noise it made, it isn't broken – and bending down to wipe up the tea with a dishtowel. When she's finished, she folds the towel, giving Victor a look, and then puts the towel down by the sink. She comes over and slowly rests a hand on Victor's thin shoulder. Victor's shivers, which have been slowing, come to a stop at the touch. "You have nothing to worry about, Vitya. You have a gift, and gifts shouldn't be wasted. Some, however, should only be shown off with care. As long as you are careful, and only Yakov and I see you use it, you will be fine."

After a few more moments, Victor pokes his head out. He turns to Lilia and asks, "What is 'gift'?"

Yakov lets Lilia struggle to explain that one for a while before telling Victor that it's time for bed. Victor goes more quietly than usual, and Yakov takes an extra minute to make sure that Victor is properly tucked in, and that he's finished calming down, before leaving the room.

They finish a few household chores, then sit together in the living room – Lilia with another book she keeps writing notes in with a frown, Yakov watching the news. Things feel, more or less, back to normal. Or what is normal now. So they have an odd child. They already knew that. Victor seems to understand, in content if not in reason, that he can't go showing off his ice magic to his friends.

That night, though, when they've just settled into bed, the creaking of the building is sharper than usual. Yakov is putting it up to another snow storm when there's a soft sound from the door behind him. He reluctantly lifts his head from the pillow and turns it enough to see that Victor is trying to sneak in.

He sits up further, attempting not to wake Lilia, but she opens her eyes anyway. "Go to bed," he tells Victor, but Victor of course comes closer instead. "Vitya. Go to sleep. In your own room."

Victor flops against the side of the bed. Surely he has to try to make his eyes look that big. He makes a noise that Yakov can't interpret.

Then, in the way he hasn't since that first night, he starts to climb in. Yakov instantly sits up all the way and tries to tug him off, and Victor begins making that whining noise again, looking pitiful.

After a moment, Yakov realizes, or at least think he realizes, what's going on. "I think we scared him too much earlier," he tells Lilia.

"Bad people," Victor whimpers, which only confirms it.

Lilia sits up, too, takes a look at him, and lays back down. "He can stay on your side of the bed."

"Lilia!" But to be honest, Yakov isn't exactly thrilled with the idea of hauling a protesting Victor back to his bed, then having to sit up with him until he falls asleep, before being able to return to his own bedroom.

Or he could let Victor stay here for one night.

Yakov lets out a breath and gets the covers out from under Victor so he can tuck him in. A moment later, Victor has burrowed under them. "No bad people."

"No, there are no bad people here. They won't come for you if you don't show anyone your ice."

"Mm," Victor says, and like that, he seems to be asleep. He's chilly, but at least not as cold as he was before.

Lilia wraps an arm over him from behind. Victor curls further into his warmth from the front. Yakov repositions himself and thinks that at least they didn't end up with two mysterious ice children. There wouldn't be room in the bed for all of them. (And Lilia would certainly not put up with that, charm or no charm.)

In the morning, he's the last one into the kitchen. Lilia is making pancakes again. The table is set, although the forks and knives aren't in the correct places by all of the plates. Victor is tracing little spirals of frost in the window, which is lit from behind by the streetlights outside, which are muffled by yet another snowfall.

Victor blows over the window, and the whole bottom section of it becomes a mosaic of ice patterns, like blown-up snowflakes, all running into each other. He hums, sounding pleased with himself. He turns to Yakov. "Pretty?"

"Yes," Yakov says. The light on the ice glitters differently every time he moves his head. One shape looks rather like a dog's head seen from the front, and then he gets closer and the whole thing is like a field of flowers. "It's very pretty. Good work." Victor beams. Lilia is almost done cooking, so he gently pushes him over toward the table for breakfast.

~!~

Nowadays, Lilia often comes along to his students' competitions, if it doesn't conflict with anything else, since she teaches half his students ballet. And anyway, she likes to travel.

Thus, perhaps it is fortunate that this year she wasn't planning on coming to Euros with him, given that Victor is now with them. Yakov still doesn't know what they're going to do for Worlds. Even if they bought Victor plane tickets – which they can afford – there's the matter of getting through a long flight with a squirming child if they can't get him to sleep through it.

Not to mention what to do with him all day – Yakov has to give his skaters his attention and get them through the competition, and Lilia's students will expect her to be with them, even if she wanted to babysit Victor all day instead. (He doesn't need to ask to know that she doesn't.) And they can't leave Victor alone in a hotel room all day, can they? Here in the apartment, maybe, where he can't get into too much trouble. Not in a foreign country. What if he wandered off? Perhaps in a couple of years, if they checked on him when they could, but then he'll have school.

Maybe if Irina likes Victor and he likes her, he can stay with her next time. He can live with missing a week of kindergarten, unless she really wants to come stay in their apartment. After that... can one get a babysitter for a few days at a time? There must be something like that available. By next season, Victor should be settled in well, and hopefully able to understand that they'll be coming back for him.

Hopefully he can understand that now. Yakov is trying to pack, but Victor has wandered in and forgotten whatever it was that he wanted from him. "What?" he asks, one of his favorite words recently. (Either alone or as what's that?. Taking him grocery shopping a few days ago was an adventure, although at least learning the names of the vegetables made Victor more interested in them.)

"It's called 'packing'," Yakov says, placing another folded shirt in his suitcase. "I'm going on a trip. That means I'll be gone for a few days."

Victor's head jerks up. "Gone?" He grabs Yakov's shirt hem. "Noooo."

"It's only for a few days, and then I'll be back. Besides, Lilia will still be here. She'll take care of you." That should be simple enough for him to understand, but Victor looks up at him with big, round eyes. There's a brief feeling like he should take Victor with him, and then Yakov shakes it off.

"Come back?"

"Of course I will. Like I come back after taking you to school. Stop worrying. We're not leaving you alone."

He pats Victor's head; after a few seconds, Victor slowly peels away. And then he decides that he wants to help. It's easier to redirect his energy than to stop him, so Yakov sends him running off for a couple of things and hastens his work at folding clothes. Victor seems to think that he then needs more things to put in his suitcase, and Yakov has to keep telling him no, put them back.

When he leaves for the airport, he stops to tell Victor, "Be good for Lilia until I come home. Don't cause any trouble."

"Come back soon," Victor says. His pronunciation and prosody isn't quite there, but it's getting better.

"I will."

Lilia kisses his cheek, though it's swift rather than sweet. "We'll be fine," she says. "He's only a child and it's only a few days."

She's right, of course. He doesn't think she'll enjoy having Victor to herself for a few days, exactly, but she can manage. And he needs to make his flight. So he goes.

He doesn't have too much time and energy to miss Lilia, or worry about her and Victor, once his flight lands. There's practice and students, managing minor drama when someone can't find their skates or their lanyard or their makeup, making sure nobody has a breakdown before or after they go to skate (and they're all old enough that during the skate isn't so much of a problem). There's no big trouble, at least. Yakov is always glad when he doesn't have to call an airline that has lost someone's equipment, or take anyone to the hospital.

His oldest student grabs herself a bronze; she can do better, and she knows it, and the disappointment shows on her face when they're away from the crowds and the photographers. It only takes a few sentences for him to help encourage that look into one of determination instead. She's strong, and she has a good pair of programs. "Gold for Worlds," she mutters to herself, looking like she already has a to-do list. Good.

Right before he leaves Copenhagen, on a whim, he buys a postcard that depicts the pretty colored buildings by the water to show Victor when he gets home. It's not until he looks at it again when waiting for the flight home to get in the air that he wonders if Victor will understand how far away this city is, or have any interest in a picture of it. He's probably never been out of Saint Petersburg. Hopefully, he'll at least like looking at it for a moment.

Yakov is tired by the time he gets home. He's barely gotten inside when he hears the sound of little feet running, and there's Victor peering around the corner. It looks like Lilia's taken him in to get that haircut he needed, because his hair lies neater and more even than it did before Yakov left. A moment later, Victor cries out his name and comes flying across the floor. Yakov almost stumbles when Victor full-on tackles him, leaping up to wrap his arms around him.

Those few days were probably longer for him than they were for Yakov. Victor rubs his face into Yakov's shoulder and says his name again, quieter. When Victor doesn't let go, he resigns himself to having to hold him for a few minutes and shifts his grip on Victor so he can at least get the door closed and locked, and when he looks up from that, he can see Lilia. She's standing with her arms crossed.

She looks exhausted.

Yakov nearly groans. "What did he do now?"

"He didn't do anything in particular," she says curtly. She rubs her forehead. "He has had too much energy the past few days. Even kindergarten didn't tire him out. I've hardly had a moment's peace, especially since I couldn't get him to be quiet today."

Victor does seem to be in one of those moods, if the way he's still clinging to Yakov is any indication. And today's a Monday, so if she's had to deal with him like this during the weekend with no school – yes, that would be taxing even for someone who did like small children. Perhaps leaving her alone with Victor wasn't the best idea, but what else was there to do? "I'll see if I can wear him out a bit."

Lilia doesn't relax, exactly, or smile, or anything like that, but he can see something shift in her posture and expression. She comes closer to take his bag. "There's dinner left over for you," she says, "and I have water on for tea."

"Vitya, why don't you go get our cups?" Yakov suggests. Victor nods eagerly and squeezes him harder before letting go. As soon as Yakov puts him down, he dashes off for the kitchen. When Yakov gets there, resigned to unpacking after Victor is asleep, he has clambered up on the counter and is carefully picking out mugs.

Lilia sticks around long enough to make the tea (normal black tea for the two of them, something herbal for Victor because he does not need the caffeine) before taking her mug and striding out. Somewhere down the hall, a door closes with a firm click. Victor hardly seems to notice her leaving, though; he sticks by Yakov as he reheats his dinner and tries to tell him about his day. It's not very comprehensible – Victor's talking too fast to form his words properly, and he still doesn't know enough of them, or the right way to use grammar all of the time – so Yakov tunes him out for a few minutes while pretending to listen.

He remembers the postcard when he sits down and Victor scrambles into the chair next to his. "Stay here," he says, and he's a little surprised that Victor listens. He returns a moment later to find Victor still there, blowing ice into his tea, and he feels less silly about spending a few coins on the postcard when Victor takes it from his hand with both of his.

"Pretty," he says, smiling at it. "Pretty, um." He frowns for a moment, and Yakov takes his thinking time as an opportunity to start eating. He doesn't come up with whatever word he's looking for. Instead, he leans over to get Yakov's attention and points. "What's this?"

Yakov tries to explain about the buildings and the boats in-between bites of food. Eventually, Victor sits back to admire the postcard for a few seconds, or so Yakov thinks until he opens his mouth again. "Go?"

"Hm? Yes, I went there."

"I can go?"

"Do you want to go and see the pretty buildings?" It wouldn't be impossible to take a short trip in the summer. Not to Copenhagen, perhaps. Victor might like someplace he could splash in the water, though. He could ask Lilia if there's anywhere she wants to visit that isn't too far away.

Victor shakes the postcard, and his head. "Go to Mama's home?" He gives Yakov a hopeful look. "Lilia and Yakov, too."

Oh.

It's a long moment before he knows exactly what to say, when Victor's looking at him like that. All of the questions he hasn't been thinking about recently, the ones they can't answer, come floating back – why Victor was left in the park, what he is, where his parents are. "Where is your mama's home?" he asks.

"Where?" Victor echoes, and then his expression falls into one of concentration, like he's trying to remember, and then it falls further into a frown. He shakes his head.

"You don't know?"

Another shake. Victor puts his postcard on the table and slumps against the surface. It doesn't suit him at all, as much as Yakov appreciates having a few quiet moments to eat his dinner. So after another couple of bites, he says, "If you remember, let us know," but either Victor doesn't understand or he's not listening. He keeps on staring at the opposite wall, head set on his folded arms. Even rubbing his shoulder some doesn't help.

Yakov goes back to his meal. It looks like Victor's already had a bath – his hair is still damp – and no wonder, since it's the most reliable way to get him out of their hair for a while. But that means Yakov can't use that as a way to cheer him up. Well, it's late enough for him to go to bed. Victor follows when Yakov encourages him out of his chair and down the hall, clutching his postcard.

In fact, he perks up slightly as they step in his room, and he tugs on Yakov's sleeve before bounding over to the other wall and holding his postcard to it above his bed. It takes a moment to understand that he must want to put it up, like the pictures in the hallway.

Yakov finds some tape that he doesn't think will harm the wall and tapes it up for him. Victor looks pleased, afterward; he taps the buildings in the picture, and he keeps looking at it even after Yakov gets him to lay down.

As soon as he turns the light out, there's the sound of little feet on the floorboards, and Victor is tugging on his arm. "What is it?" Yakov snaps, his exhaustion taxing his patience.

"Lilia says, um," Victor starts, and he pulls again. "Thank you!"

The sweet tone of his voice does something to Yakov's heart. He's getting soft over a child he didn't even ask for. What is happening to him.

"You're welcome," he says, very seriously, and he can't see Victor's face that well, but he can imagine the smile he must have. And then, when he nudges him – but without being told, thankfully – Victor goes back to his bed. Yakov waits a moment further, listening to the rustling of the covers, before he steps out and closes the door behind him.

He makes himself unpack before he goes to bed himself – as much as he doesn't want to do it now, he'll want to do it even less tomorrow – and falls asleep almost as soon as he's under the blankets. Lilia wakes him when she comes in later, or rather her weight on the bed does. She sighs when he runs a hand through her loose hair, relaxing at the touch, when he kisses her. In his arms, she is warm, and while he might have been too tired to miss her when he was gone, he is glad to be with her now.

"You're a good influence on him," Yakov murmurs. "He remembered to thank me for giving him a postcard."

She makes a quiet huffing sound, as though it would ever do for a child she helped to raise to be anything other than polite. "He is not a bad child. He simply needs to settle down."

Yakov remembers children screaming and chasing each other in the park. No particular scene, just a general memory. He wonders when they grow out of it. A few years? Another thing to ask Irina.