SUMMARY: It's been five years since Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov married his husband, mate and coach all in one: figure skating legend, Viktor Nikiforov. The two have everything they could ask for: a stable marriage, reputation, and money. But the one thing they do not have after years of trying, is a CHILD, while their friends are either pregnant or working on their second children. After two miscarriages, the loss beginning to take it's toll on Yuuri and Viktor both. Can the two overcome this hurdle? Or will it rip them apart?
DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to Yuri! On Ice, or it's characters!
A/N: Hey ya'llllll, it's nice to be back! I've been playing around with the idea of a Viktuuri fic the moment I reached the half-way point of the Yurabek one a couple years ago. Though this will take place in the same universe I created following some years after the end of 'Your Forever', you do not have to go back and read that fanfic just to read this one (though I encourage you to read it anyway, and drop a review :D).
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Chapter 1
"It's all right, Yuuri. Every Omega is different, but this story is still very common amongst the males I'm afraid..."
I swear I'm not intentionally ignoring the doctor, but his words simply flow into one ear and out the other without me retaining much of what is said. I can't focus on him. I can't focus at all. He doesn't understand. He's a beta; he's never lost a baby before...and I've already lost two. This makes it our third.
Third.
The reminder causes me to clench the material of my thin hospital gown.
Viktor isn't here; both a blessing and a curse. I miss him of course, but oh God, the prospect of telling him I've failed again is tearing me apart. My anxiety sky rockets, I can't breathe, and I think I'm going to-
"Oy, piggy."
The familiar voice pulls me from my spiraling thoughts of negativity, reminding me that Yurio took the time away from his own child and husband to be here with me. When I blink back to the present, the doctor is gone and I realize that somehow I'd missed the moment Yurio put his hand on top of mine. I look down at it, and then back up at him quizzically. I know he hates physical touch besides that of his daughter Vasilisa, and husband Otabek. That he's touching me now speaks volumes.
"I told him to leave," he says in regard to the vanished doctor. Closer inspection of his face reveals his deep worry for me. "Does it hurt anywhere?"
I want to lie and say that I feel fine...but I just can't do it. So I nod in truth instead. "A little," I say. "It'll pass. It always does."
And I just lose it right there, removing my glasses to sob into my hands. Yuri sighs and climbs awkwardly onto the small hospital bed to pull me into an awkward sort of embrace. Yesterday, there'd been a slight belly between us. My belly.
Not anymore.
Why must this always happen? What if I'm barren? How am I supposed to face the world like this?
"Shit, Yuuri, don't start now," I hear him warn me. "Breathe evenly."
A panic attack sits on the corners of my sanity, waiting to consume me whole and he knows it. He knows it better than anyone else, of course. And why wouldn't he? He struggles like I do, enough to need daily medication. So I follow his orders and force myself to inhale and exhale deeply between sobs, until the tears have stopped and my heart no longer feels like beating itself out of my chest.
It takes several moments for me to pull myself together, and Yuri gives me the dignity of wiping my face and waiting for some of the splotchiness of my cheeks to dissipate before allowing the doctor to return. The man in the white coat looks sympathetic when he comes back in, but he discharges me after the usual spiel about the after effects of a DC, the spotting I may have, etcetera. Nothing I don't already know. Unfortunately, I've been here before.
Although I want nothing more than to go home and to be left alone, Yurio simply calls Otabek to inform him he'll be sleeping over my house. In more hushed tones of Russian, I know he is explaining the miscarriage before he ends the call and stares straight ahead out the windshield. It's his new car, gifted to him by Otabek on their wedding anniversary last year. Expensive, sleek but simple. And warm now that the heat is on.
I've been looking at his stoic face for a few moments before I finally manage out a, "You don't have to do this-"
"You are my responsibility until Viktor gets back and you break the news to him," he cuts off.
He didn't even give me room to argue. Immediately my mouth closes audibly. "He's not due back for a few more days," I mumble lamely in excuse. Viktor is abroad shooting a commercial that's due to wrap up soon. In truth, I was planning on not telling Viktor until then, giving me time to gain the courage to say it to my husband's face.
But Yuri sees through it and makes a rude sound with his throat. "He deserves to know. We are calling him tonight, and you will tell him." More orders. I shouldn't be surprised. We may both be omegas, but Yuri comes from a long line of Alphas. Up until he presented, his family assumed he'd be an Alpha too. He'd been groomed to be one for much of his developmental years. Unlike me, who wasn't groomed in either direction since my family had more betas.
Yuri turns to look at me, a bit softer now. "It was his baby, too. I'll be there with you when you break the news."
It is very late by the time we pull into the driveway of the home I now share with Viktor. It's a slow process getting up from my seat on the passenger side to the door, and again from the main floor to the bedrooms upstairs. Of course it's not Yuri's first time here, and he easily takes over the guest bedroom down the hall. He doesn't disturb me for the duration of my very long bath, and the brief privacy allows me to cry out the remainder of my frustrations in the soapy water. As warned, I find that I am still spotty and must wear a liner to protect my underwear. Yet another reminder of my failure to create life. Pathetic.
Fully cleansed of any evidence of tonight's horror, Yuri and I make camp in the large living room before the curved, obnoxiously large television to indulge in some anime. It does a good job of distracting us for a time, but eventually Yuri pauses the show to look at me.
I already know what he is going to say, and I bite my lips when he reaches over for my forgotten iPhone on the coffee table. Upon pressing the home button, the private picture of myself blushing while a smiling Viktor kisses my nose appears. Yuri gives a tense look at the photo before handing the cell back to me.
"You need to call him," he says gruffly. It's in Russian, but I've been in this country for a few years now and can catch enough of what is said based on context clues if the pace of speech is slow enough.
I bite my lip and take the phone, unlocking it and going to my recent calls. My thumb hovers over Viktor's name and the longer I stare at it, the harder it is for me to break the news. I count to ten in my head, and finally dial the number.
I so wish it would go to voicemail, but of course the universe answers none of my whims and he picks up on the third ring. "Allo?" comes his standard greeting. It sounds like he's still asleep, and I feel terrible for waking him to this kind of news.
"Vit...Vitya..." I stammer out. My throat is tight. I can't breathe. I can't do this. Try as I might, I can't get anything else out.
"Yuuri, love?" Viktor is wide awake now, my tone his alarm clock. I can hear shuffling through the phone, followed by a click; likely his lamp switching on. "What is wrong?" There is a mild pause, and then, "Is it the baby?"
That he is able to guess so correctly, so quickly, hurts. As if he's used to this. And that cuts worse than the loss of life. I am utterly silent, and I hear Viktor sigh. "I will be there by tomorrow."
I simply pass the phone to Yuri in defeat, who has a grim look on his face. He turns away somewhat to continue speaking to Viktor, though now it is fully in Russian and going far too quickly for me to keep up. I don't want to keep up, anyway. I simply lay down and curl into a ball, and in no time I am fast asleep.
That night, I dream of a field of red coffins with distant lullabies playing in the background.
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