A/N: Here's some filler because!

Chapter 10

No one told me it would be this difficult to raise another human being. And I don't mean the kind of 'difficult' in terms of a math equation. At least with a math question, you can pull out a calculator and tease your brain for an answer. And poof, problem solved literally.

That is not the case when it comes to Vasilisa. She cries often. She prefers to be held, which means I'm almost always holding her just to assuage her crying. Sometimes she cries even if her diaper is dry and her belly is full and she's already napped. In those instances I sometimes cry, too, completely at a loss of what I should do next. Otabek usually looks entirely frazzled at my distress for our child.

She requires feeding so often that my nipples ached. I'd come to dread feeding time. They became raw and red and sore, and I actually whimpered every time she latched on. I eventually give up and switch to formula when my poor chest experiences cracking and bleeding. The switch makes me feel like a failure, and I do eventually vent about this on social media. But I'm flooded with support and love from other Omegas who've been there before so the guilt is short lived.

I haven't left the house in weeks. I wasn't allowed to go on meds due to breastfeeding, so I was made to suffer my postpartum as best as I could on my own. I think Otabek is happier than I am about my switch to formula so that I could finally take something. He hates medicine, but he hates my suffering more. He wastes no time in going to pick up my prescription for me, demanding I take it everyday as scheduled. This time it's a direct order, so I merely bow my head and submit to his demands.

It's two in the morning when Vasilisa's groaning wakes me. I jolt from Otabek's chest, and I can tell from his exhausted sigh that he is awake as well.

"I've got it," I sigh, patting his arm. He stayed up with her last night and ended up having a shit practice as a result of lack of sleep. I refuse to have him sacrifice his skate career just when he's improving so well.

"Mmhhmm…" he mumbles tiredly, nodding and rolling back over. I don't blame him. I wish I could do the same, but Vasilisa is grunting in agitation so I'm forced to take her from her little crib and bring her with me to the kitchen. I've gotten pretty good at doing things with one hand now, easily grabbing her premade formula from the fridge to stick in the little bottle warmer my mother gifted me some weeks back. My other hand bounces her a teeny bit when she starts to gurgle in hunger, my eyes fixed on the timer on the bottle warmer. When it beeps, I waste no time in popping open the lid to grab the bottle, moving the two of us to the living room so I can finally sit down to feed her.

Vasilisa's eyes are indeed as blue as mine, and we can tell that they will stay that way. She fixes her eyes on me while she drinks, on little hand gripped on my loose hair. It's in the quiet moments like these that I fantasize about how she might look in a few years when she finally starts school, or when she's older and getting Paired to a mate of her own. What if she presents as Alpha, like her father? Or Omega like myself?

In truth, I pray often to any god that listens that she will grow to be neither. I wish she wouldn't present at all and become a Beta—a woman not ruled by ruts or heats or pheromones. That she can live a life ruled only by the choices she does or doesn't make.

When she finishes her bottle, I raise her to my shoulder to burp her, still half asleep in my actions and running thoroughly on autopilot. I'm just so exhausted all the time, and my eyes keep drooping closed. I don't even remember when she and I make it back into the room where Otabek was still asleep. Only that I wake the next morning to Otabek's side of the bed feeling very cold.

When I check the time it's already past eight. Figures, Otabek must already be at the rink and midway through his stretches by now. I blink over to Vasilisa, who's already awake and awkwardly trying to shove her entire fist into her mouth. The pacifier lays forgotten to the side of her. I cluck my tongue and sit up, shaking my head. "What an odd baby you are, preferring your hand to your binky," I coo at her. Of course she doesn't reply back, merely gurgling at the slobbery mess all over her own hand.

I eventually drag myself to the bathroom to take a speedy shower—I get anxious if I leave little Vasotchka alone too long—and when I return to the bedroom I take an extra long time to observe myself in the mirror. I mostly remained rather toned everywhere on my body. My arms remained muscular, and my thighs still a sight to see. My chest has shrunken back to its usual size for the most part, now that I wasn't lactating anymore. My hips were wider of course, but not by too much. It's not like I had any to begin with.

But my midsection.

I still remain self conscious about how slowly my belly is going down. Otabek claims he finds my little pooch adorable, but I can't help but feel a seed of doubt. I'm not as in shape as some of the other Betas and Omegas he sees when he's not at home. Not anymore. My stomach has a bit of jiggle that will take some time to fully go away. I don't look horrible, I suppose, from the front. But from the side…

I turn to my profile and frown at the little bump of my belly still visible. I know it's only really noticeable when I'm nude, and of course only Beka sees me naked. But still I hate it. I've been hating it for weeks, wondering why I haven't snapped back like I've seen others do.

Aggravated, I shove on a baggy sweater and sweats and dial up Yuuri.

"Moshi mosh—"

"Oy, Katsudon," I butt in, cutting off his standard greeting. "So you were chubby once, before Viktor. How'd you lose the weight, and keep it off so fast?"

There's a silence on the phone that has me wondering if maybe I was being rude again. I've been told I'm too straightforward before, but just when I prep myself to issue apology, Yuuri replies to me.

"Where is this coming from?"

That wasn't quite the statement I was expecting. I expected whining that I was mean, or a direct answer to my question. But instead, he throws back a question that has me feeling embarrassed. I suppose my silence is answer enough for him, and Yuuri sighs almost sadly. "Yurio, I'm coming over there. I'll be there in an hour."

In the hour it takes for him to get here, I manage to sneak a tiny nap, make some bottles and clean the place up a bit. Not to mention change Vasilisa's diaper for the millionth time that day.

I leave the door closed, but unlocked so that Yuuri helps himself in while I am in the middle of feeding the baby. It's not the first time he's come over. Both he and Viktor have become regulars in our little apartment.

I don't hesitate when Yuuri reaches out to take the baby from me, taking over the act of feeding time. I use my newfound free arms to flop lazily onto the couch, my long limbs stretched over the majority of the couch. We don't speak for a while, sitting together in comfortable silence. The only sound is that of milk pulling through the bottle's nipple and Vasilisa's occasional groans of satisfaction. I even dose off for a few moments until I hear Yuuri shift my child over his shoulder. My eyes slide open, and I smile at the image of this oriental man burping her.

He takes note of me looking at him, and gives an awkward shift in his seat. "You're staring," Yuuri points out.

"This image suits you," I tell him. "Maternity, I mean. You're a natural, unlike me."

"Oh, stop it." Yuuri is hiding his reddened cheeks with Vasilisa's tiny body. I know my blunt honesty makes him uncomfortable. I'm told it's a trait that is both lovely in dreadful in people. "That's not true."

I merely shrug. "It would be nice to see you and Viktor try again. Are you, by the way? Trying again, I mean."

We both know what I mean about that, and for a moment he's quiet. I know they tried a long while before, and when they finally got pregnant, the miscarriage happened. That had taken its toll on Yuuri the most, and I wondered if they'd given up all together.

When he peeks up at me, I know what he's going to say before he opens his mouth, and my eyes go wide. They drop to his still firm tummy and then back up to his face again.

"Viktor doesn't know yet," he says quietly. "I didn't want to disappoint in case something goes wrong this time…"

I shake my head before he's finished talking. "You have to tell him, this is too big a thing to hide and he is going to be able to smell it on you soon enough," I advise. The Viktor I know doesn't like secrets, and this was too important to keep from him.

"But I'm not here about me," he says, smoothly changing the subject. Well, shit.

"Don't—"

"No, you 'don't'," he throws back, and I fold my arms stubbornly, pouting like the brat I am. He's older, so I listen. "What's with the comment on body weight? Do you not like your body as it is or something?"

I slump lower into my seat and look away. It's answer enough.

"Yurio, you literally just grew and pushed out an entire person out of your body. It took nine months to get your body this way…don't you think you should give yourself at least nine months to get back into shape? Be fair to yourself."

Of course the Katsudon is speaking sense. And he's not done yet.

"Your main concern right now is to care for both yourself and Vasilisa, and Otabek. That is a lot of work on its own, and you're doing it without help. Give yourself a break and stop being so hard on yourself, Yura," he continues. "Where is all this coming from, anyway? Did Otabek say something?"

I shake my head no. "I just..." I raise my right hand, the white-gold ring glinting in the light. "We've started planning the wedding, and that's usually the day the two participants look their best. But I looked my best nine months ago…now I just feel fat," I finally admit.

My eyes drop to my stomach, my hands now laying on the squishy, semi-round mass that is my new stomach. We set the tentative wedding date for just a bit under a year from now, but ever since then my anxiety went into overdrive at the prospect of being as thick as I am now, at that point.

Yuuri's voice pulls me out of my own head, and I look at him. "Huh?" I say, indicating I hadn't caught his words.

He shifts a dozing Vasilisa to his other shoulder, careful to support her head. "I said, you'll be fine. As soon as you're up for it, I'll train with you until my belly gets too big for it to be possible. If it helps, anyway…"

I'm embarrassed we even had to have this sort of conversation, and my cheeks are crimson. But I nod in appreciation anyway, unable to meet his eyes. A year ago we were barely even acquaintances. Who knew it would take me getting bonded to the Kazakh for a friendship to bud between us?