Je Suis Malade
"Welcome To The Madness" played at full volume, loud enough to wake the dead.
Groaning, Yuri slowly cracked open an eyelid and fumbled for his phone on the nightstand to hit snooze on the alarm, resisting the urge to pull his blanket over his head and pretend he hadn't heard it. Whose brilliant idea was it to program a fucking rock song to wake him up in the morning?
Oh, right. His.
To be fair, the music usually pumped him up, got him energized to start the day and kick ass on the ice. That morning, however, it was a struggle to even sit up, his head pounding and his stuffy nose making it difficult to breathe. Potya, who had been laying at his usual spot at the foot of the bed, padded over the mattress and butted his chin, meowing in what Yuri liked to think might have been concern but was more than likely a plea for food as usual.
"Yeah, yeah, good morning to you, too," he mumbled, giving the cat an affectionate pet before pushing his blanket aside. "I'll feed you in a minute."
Someone sharply rapped on his door with their knuckles, Yuri groaning again at the noise. "Yura? Breakfast," his choreographer Lilia called out.
"Coming!" he replied in the loudest voice he could manage, but it came out dry and raspy, his throat on fire.
Ugh. Great. The European Championships were only a week away, and he just had to have caught the world's worst cold. Yuri didn't have time to be sick. Though Viktor hadn't competed at Nationals, allowing Yuri to easily win his first senior title over perennial silver medalist Georgi, with the news that he intended to make a comeback after spending the first half of the season in Japan on an international booty call, the Federation had named Viktor to the team competing at Europeans on the strength of his previous competition record and a private test skate held shortly after New Year's. It was going to be the first time they directly competed against each other, and Yuri had looked forward to thoroughly kicking the old man's ass.
Well, it wouldn't be the first time he skated sick. He was Yuri Nikolayevich Plisetsky, the Ice Tiger of Russia, and he damn certain wasn't going to let some stupid cold stand in his way.
Though he felt a little light-headed, Yuri managed to stand, nearly tripping over his own feet as he made his way to the door.
In the dining room, Yakov and Lilia were already sitting at the table, a robe-clad Yakov hidden behind the pages of Sport Express with his customary cup of coffee while Lilia, already impeccably dressed, ate a breakfast of syrniki. Another plate had already been set aside for him. Slumping into his usual seat, Yuri mumbled "'Morning" when Lilia greeted him and reached for the carafe of orange juice in the center of the table. Vitamin C was supposed to be good for colds, right?
Lilia frowned, setting down her fork. "You don't look well, Yura," she said as he finished pouring his drink. "Is something wrong?"
Groaning, he propped his head on his elbow and reached for his fork, though he had no appetite, the thought of eating anything making him want to hurl. "I feel like shit."
"We do not use such language at the breakfast table."
If Yuri hadn't felt like he was on the literal verge of death, he might have asked Lilia when and where "such language" would be appropriate. Instead, he forced himself to take a bite of his syrniki covered with jam, washing it down with a gulp of orange juice.
Yakov folded down his paper, peering at Yuri in suspicion. "You weren't up all night, chatting with that Altin boy again, were you?"
"No." In fact, Otabek had ended their daily video chat early because he had a DJ gig scheduled at a local club he needed to get to. Besides, that had only happened once, at New Year's, when everybody stayed up well past midnight anyway. "I have a cold."
Yakov scoffed. "You don't have time for a cold," he said, echoing Yuri's earlier thought. "Lilia, get the boy some medicine. He'll be fine."
"I'm not your servant." Still, she rose from her chair and walked over to Yuri, placing an almost-motherly hand on his forehead. "My god, you're burning up," Lilia said. "I don't think you have a cold, Yura. It may be the flu."
"But it can't be the flu!" Yuri protested in a weak voice. "I gotta practice so I can beat Vit–" He broke into a violent coughing fit, Lilia rubbing circles on his back.
"Forget about practice. You're going to the doctor."
"I'm his coach, Lilia, in case you've forgotten," Yakov said, setting his paper aside. "If I say he's going to practice, then –"
"Then, what?" She arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow at her ex-husband, hand on her hip. "Would you rather Yura go to practice, injure himself while trying to skate when he can barely lift his head, and possibly infect Vitya, Gosha, and Mila, too? Right before Europeans?"
"Those three already got their flu shots...but, fine." Sighing, he waved a dismissive hand. "He can miss the morning session to go to the doctor, but if it turns out it really is just a cold, I expect to see him back on the ice after lunch."
"We'll see." She laid a hand on Yuri's shoulder. "Go get dressed, Yura. I'll call and make an appointment with the doctor."
For once, Yuri didn't argue, trudging back to his bedroom to change into jeans and a sweatshirt and brush his hair before the two of them left for the doctor's.
Yuri and Lilia returned home a couple of hours later. After looking over the results of his rapid influenza diagnostic test, his doctor determined that Yuri was, in fact, sick with the flu and not merely a bad cold as he had hoped. The prognosis was good that he would probably be over it by the time they arrived in Ostrava for the European Championships, much to their joint relief, but Yuri had been ordered to take it easy for the next few days.
"Off to bed with you," Lilia said after helping Yuri out of his heaviest winter coat. "You heard the doctor."
"But Europeans are only a week away! I need to practice –"
"What you need is your rest."
"But Yakov –"
"I will deal with Yakov." Placing her hand against Yuri's cheek, her typically hard face softened. "Despite what he said this morning, I know he would much rather you take a couple of days off from training and get better, rather than risk you getting injured in your condition. If you want to beat Vitya, then get some sleep and let your body fight off your illness."
"Fine," Yuri sighed, knowing she was right. As it was, it was taking almost all his strength to keep standing, the trip to the doctor's office taking more out of him than he expected. Even if he went to the rink, he'd probably wipe out the moment he stepped out onto the ice.
"Now, I need to get back to the studio for my afternoon classes," Lilia said. "Am I wrong to trust that you will stay in bed as much as possible and keep yourself hydrated like Dr. Tarasov instructed?"
Yuri rolled his eyes. "I'll try..."
"Don't try. Do. Here." She handed him a small white bag from the local pharmacy. "Take two of these about every four hours and call me or Yakov if you need anything."
"Okay, okay... See you later."
As soon as the door closed behind Lilia on her way back out, Potya woke up from his nap on the window seat. He hopped down from his perch and sprinted over to Yuri at the entrance, meowing at the top of his lungs. It was only then that Yuri remembered that he had forgotten to feed Potya before they left for the doctor, his mind on other things.
"Okay, I'm coming. I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Yuri said as he headed toward the kitchen, Potya right at his heels.
After he dumped the contents of a can of cat food into Potya's bowl, Yuri grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and shook out a couple of the over-the-counter pills Lilia had bought for him on the way home. She insisted she had double- and triple-checked the ingredients to make certain the medication didn't contain any banned substances, but Yuri still looked over the packaging one more time to be absolutely positive before swallowing them. He wasn't going to have his first (potential) European title taken away because of a stupid failed drug test. He then headed back to his room, collapsing face down on his bed.
Yuri wondered what he should do with his unexpected time off. He was behind on his schoolwork, but surely if he wasn't allowed to practice, that also meant he was excused from studying. Maybe watch a movie? He rolled over on his side and grabbed the TV remote from his bedside table, looking through the selection of on-demand movies, but nothing caught his eye.
He glanced at the clock on his phone. It was about half-past nine, which meant it was 12:30, Almaty time. He was pretty sure Otabek was on his lunch break right about now, but Yuri wasn't exactly fit to be seen on camera, and he sounded even worse.
Texting it was, then.
If I die promise me u will win Worlds n avenge my death, he typed, Otabek replying a short time later.
Otabek: Is that...something I should be concerned about?
Yuri: I have the flu.
Otabek: Sorry to hear that.
Yuri: Not as sorry as i am.
Otabek: Aren't Euros next week? Will you have to withdraw?
Yuri: No way! Doc says i'll probably be over it in a few days if i rest.
Yuri: It's so BORING tho. I need to practice.
Otabek: You need to get better.
Yuri rolled his eyes, even though Otabek couldn't see.
Yuri: I wish people would stop saying that.
Otabek: We're just worried about you.
Yuri: Yeah yeah. Enough about me, tho. How's training?
Yuri: Im expecting u to at least beat Jean-Jackass Leroy at 4CC.
Yuri: Still cant believe he stole your bronze at the Final.
Otabek: JJ didn't steal anything. He doesn't control how the judges score him.
Yuri huffed. Perhaps that was technically true, but as far as he was concerned, Otabek had been the rightful bronze medalist, and he would continue to be bitter about it until the end of time.
Anyway, training's been going well, Otabek texted. I landed my first clean quad lutz today.
Yuri: No u didn't.
Otabek had only started practicing the quad lutz after New Year's, after all. It was impossible. Nobody learned a new quad that fast, especially not the most difficult ever landed in competition.
Otabek: Wanna see proof?
Yuri: Damn right I do! Video or it didn't happen.
Otabek uploaded a short twelve-second practice video of him jumping the quad lutz. If a technical panel was really, really strict, they might ding him for just the slightest bit of under-rotation on the landing, but otherwise, it was a great jump, nice and high and coming off a deep outside edge. A few of the other skaters on the ice clapped at his accomplishment, the person recording the video – Otabek's coach, Yuri presumed – calling out something in Kazakh that Yuri couldn't understand. The clip cut off on an image of Otabek bashfully rubbing the back of his neck.
That's awesome Beka! Yuri replied after watching the video a couple more times, fighting back a bit of jealousy. He had wanted to start working on the quad lutz too after coming home from the Grand Prix Final, but Yakov had forbidden him from training the more difficult quads until after he got through his growth spurt. Something about protecting his bones or muscles or whatever, blah, blah, blah. Yuri hadn't paid much attention to the lecture.
Otabek: It's still far from consistent. I fell on all my other attempts today, so it was probably a fluke that I managed to land that one. I doubt I'll be able to add it to my programs until next season.
Yuri: Still...I gotta up my game. Stupid flu. I wanna jump.
Otabek: You'll feel better soon.
They texted for a little while longer, but at the top of the hour, Otabek needed to head back to practice. Fine leave me to die of boredom, Yuri typed, pouting.
Otabek: Why not read a book?
Yuri: Do I look like a nerd to u?
Otabek: ...I enjoy reading books. Does that make me a nerd?
"Shit!" Yuri swore aloud, glad they weren't on video chat so Otabek couldn't see his grimace. No… I bet the books u read are really cool! he quickly replied back. Not like the boring Tolstoy, Pushkin, and Dostoyevsky his tutors always assigned him to read, which he never did anyway. A paperback copy of Anna Karenina, his latest assigned book, sat on his nightstand in pristine condition. He hadn't even cracked open the spine.
Otabek: I can recommend you some, if you'd like?
Yuri yawned, his heavy eyelids beginning to droop.
Yuri: Maybe later. I'm actually getting kinda sleepy. The drugs must be kicking in.
Otabek: Okay, get some sleep. Don't worry about our chat tonight if you're not feeling up to it. I should probably call my parents, anyway.
After they finished saying their goodbyes, Yuri set his phone on the nightstand, plugging it into the charger, then shimmied out of his jeans and slipped underneath the blankets, falling asleep within minutes.
A knock on the door woke Yuri from his nap sometime later, interrupting a very pleasant dream that he forgot as soon as he opened his eyes. Assuming it was Lilia, checking in on him, he coughed and told whoever it was to come in.
Instead, it was Viktor.
Yuri struggled to sit upright, glaring at his unexpected visitor. "What the hell are you doing here? Did you break in?"
"Of course not," Viktor said, setting one of Lilia's fancy tea cups down on the nightstand before taking a seat on the edge of the bed uninvited. "We're here to take care of you."
Take care of him? He was fifteen years old, almost sixteen. He didn't need a fucking babysitter! "Nobody asked you –" He paused, registering what Viktor had just said. "Wait, 'we'?"
"Yuuri's in the kitchen, preparing the soup." Of course he was. Those two idiots were seemingly incapable of being more than ten meters apart at all times. "And you're wrong – somebody did ask us. Lilia wanted us to come by and check on you. She gave us the key to let ourselves in."
Stupid old woman. She didn't trust him to take care of himself, after all. Yuri fell back on his pillows, coughing a couple of times into his hand. "Aren't you afraid of getting sick?" he asked. "Euros are only a few days away, you know."
"Yuuri and I are vaccinated, so we should be fine," Viktor said. "Speaking of which, you didn't get the vaccine?"
"N-No…" He rubbed guiltily at his upper arm.
Viktor arched an eyebrow. "Don't tell me the fierce Ice Tiger of Russia is scared of a little needle?"
"I'm not scared!" Yuri abruptly sat up again, regretting it as a bout of dizziness overcame him. Groaning, he rubbed his forehead. "I...just didn't think I needed one," he said. "I mean, flu shots are for old people like you, right?" Although if it meant avoiding feeling like this ever again, Yuri would be the first in line to get one next year. A couple of seconds of pain was nothing in comparison.
"Just how old do you think I am?"
"Old enough that you should fucking retire already. For good this time." While a part of him had been excited at the prospect of competing against one of the best figure skaters who ever lived, Yuri still didn't understand why Viktor had decided to come back to competition. He had already won everything there was to win in the sport, multiple times! Viktor had nothing more to prove and everything to lose in terms of his "Living Legend" reputation. "What are you gonna do at Euros? Jump while using a cane?"
"Well, at least your sense of humor is still in tact," Viktor said lightly, not offended at all. "Here, hold out your hand." He dropped a couple of pills in Yuri's palm. "It's probably about time for your next dose, right?"
Yuri reached for his phone to check the time. It was a little after two. "Yeah…"
"Oh, I made you some tea, too." Viktor handed him the cup and saucer he had set aside earlier. A spoon was sticking out of the cup. "I took the liberty of adding some raspberry jam. I hope you don't mind. Tea with jam always makes me feel better when I'm sick."
"Is that all you put in there?" Using the spoon to stir the tea, Yuri stared down at the contents of the cup with suspicion. His nose was too congested to really smell it, but it looked innocent enough, he supposed. "You didn't, like, lace it with drugs or poison or anything of that sort, did you?"
"Honestly! Where on Earth do you get these ideas, Yurio?"
"My name's not Yurio."
"Anyway, I swear it's only tea and jam," Viktor insisted, "but if you would like me to taste-test it for you just to be certain…"
"No way. I don't want your yucky germs. I'm already sick enough as it is!" Deciding to trust him, Yuri popped the pills into his mouth and took a large sip, the pleasantly warm liquid sliding down his sore throat as he swallowed. "It's...good," he admitted, taking another sip. More than good, actually, but Viktor had a big enough head as it was without needing to praise him for making a simple cup of tea. "Thanks, I guess."
Viktor grinned.
A short time later, Yuuri arrived with the soup he had prepared.
"Hey, how are you feeling?" Wearing a poodle-print mask over his lower face, he carried one of Lilia's breakfast trays over to the bed, placing it over Yuri's lap."I'm not the best cook, but I hope the soup turned out okay," Yuuri said, his voice slightly muffled. "I tried my best."
Yuri set his almost empty cup of tea at the corner of the tray. He still hadn't regained his appetite, but after skipping breakfast, he supposed he should try to eat something to keep his strength up. "What kind is it? Miso?" He remembered eating miso soup during his trip to Hasetsu. It had been pretty tasty.
"It's a surprise!" Viktor answered for Yuuri, his eyes sparkling.
"Okay…" Yuri side-eyed Viktor. It was just soup. He hadn't even been the one to make it; what was he so excited about? Weirdo. Lifting the cover off the bowl, Yuri's face was hit with a burst of steam being released.
"Careful, I just finished making it a couple of minutes ago, so it's still hot," Yuuri said.
"I'm not an idiot," Yuri said, reaching for the clean spoon laying beside the bowl as Viktor and Yuuri stared at him in expectation. "Okay, so did you put the drugs in the soup?"
Yuuri blinked behind his glasses. "No? I...uh..."
"Don't worry about it. Yurio's just being Yurio," Viktor said dismissively. "Go on, eat it. It's good for you!"
"I told you, my name isn't Yurio." One of these days, he was going to strangle Mari Katsuki for coming up with that idiotic nickname. Yuri scooped some of the soup onto his spoon and brought it to his mouth, blowing on it while they continued to stare. "And, seriously, stop staring at me like that! You're freaking me out."
"Oh, sorry." Yuuri pulled out his phone and pretended to check his email, Viktor doing the same.
Yuri shook his head in exasperation and finally took a sip of the soup, his eyes going wide. No, it couldn't be… The taste wasn't quite the same he remembered from his childhood memories, but it was unmistakably the same recipe. He recognized the hint of lemon in the broth, giving it just the right amount of acidity.
"This is…" Yuri took another sip to confirm his suspicions. "This is my grandpa's chicken soup. He always used to make it for me when I was sick as a kid. How…?"
"Yakov called your grandfather and asked for the recipe," Yuuri revealed. "He then gave it to us to make for you."
"Yakov did?" The same Yakov who had wanted him to attend practice even with a forty degree fever?
Yuuri took a seat on the other side of the bed. "He was worried about you when Madame Baranovskaya called and told him that you had the flu."
"Yeah, because I might not be well enough for Euros," Yuri said with a scoff. Winning medals was the only thing that man cared about, which made him a great coach, but not exactly the most compassionate person in the world.
"Well, yes, I'm sure partly because of that," Viktor said, "but he really did seem upset with himself for being so dismissive of your symptoms earlier this morning."
"We all want you to recover quickly and come back strong at Euros," Yuuri added. "Mila and Georgi sent their well wishes, too."
He found that hard to believe. "But if I'm still sick, Vitya will have an easier time winning his sixth title…"
"What? Vitya would never –" Yuuri started to protest until Viktor held up a hand.
"Do you seriously think I want to win like that?" he asked softly. He seemed genuinely hurt by the accusation.
"No… I guess not," Yuri admitted, looking down at his soup.
"I want to compete against you at your best, Yura. It's a large part of the reason I decided to come back to competition." Viktor reached over, covering Yuri's hand with his own. The golden band on his ring finger shimmered in the light. "Beyond that, though, we do care about you. You're like the annoying little brother I always wanted...or maybe more like a son?" A mischievous twinkle appeared in Viktor's eyes as he looked across the bed at his boyfriend. "Yuuri, how do you feel about adoption?"
"I have always wanted a son..." Yuuri teased, playing along.
Yuri groaned, dragging a hand over his face. "Oh, God, don't even joke about that!" he said. Knowing Viktor, he might actually try to go through with such a crazy scheme, although his grandfather would certainly have something to say about that.
"Well, anyway, finish eating your soup before it gets too cold," Viktor said, patting Yuri's knee underneath the blanket as he stood back up. "We need to get back to the rink, but Lilia said she would try to make it home early if she can."
"I put the rest of the soup in the fridge if you decide you want some more," Yuuri added, joining him. "Just heat it up on the stove top for a couple of minutes and squeeze a little bit of lemon juice into the bowl before eating."
"Yeah, yeah, okay," Yurio said, taking another sip of his soup as they headed toward the door. He had to admit, Yuuri really had done a good job of recreating his grandpa's chicken soup recipe. "Thanks, you know, for making this, and, um, coming to check on me, I guess. It was...nice of you," he admitted, Viktor and Yuuri sharing a grin.
"Get well soon, Yurio!" they exclaimed in unison, Yuri rolling his eyes as the door closed behind him.
"My name's not Yurio!"
As predicted, after a few days of rest, Yuri recovered from his bout with the flu just in time for the European Championships. He was perhaps not quite at full strength, having only returned to the ice the day before they had to fly to Ostrava, but it was still good enough to finish a very strong second to Viktor in the short program, only a couple of points separating them. Christophe Giacometti, his competitive spirit seemingly renewed with the return of Viktor, sat in third, a point-and-a-half behind Yuri, with Emil Nekola in fourth. He had brought the hometown crowd to their feet with his best short program ever.
Surprisingly, the result didn't annoy Yuri as much as he thought it would. They didn't call Viktor a Living Legend for nothing. The old man really was just that good, even after not seriously training for over half a year. Even he could (grudgingly) admit that. In only a matter of weeks, Viktor had gotten back most of his quads, including his signature quad flip, and had choreographed a new program dedicated to his love for Yuuri which was as beautiful as it was nauseatingly romantic. At least he had failed to break the world record Yuri had set in the short program at the Grand Prix Final, a small consolation. It made Yuri that much more determined to make a comeback in the free skate and take the gold overall.
For the free, Yuri drew the final spot, his favorite position. He liked knowing how everyone else had done and what he needed to do to beat them. He hadn't watched Viktor's skate before him, but judging by his score, he must have made at least a couple of mistakes. Yuri wasn't all that surprised, based on what he had witnessed during practices back home. It was one thing to get through a two-and-a-half minute short program with only three jumping passes; it was quite another to keep up the stamina required for a free skate, especially when you were in your late twenties and attempting four quads after a long break from competing. He still skated well enough to keep the lead over Chris and Michele Crispino, who had overtaken Emil, but it was definitely a beatable score, even with Yuri still recovering from his illness.
What struck Yuri most was how visibly happy Viktor was in the Kiss-and-Cry, despite his less-than-perfect skate. Much happier than he had seemed over the last couple of seasons when he was winning everything in sight. There was a good chance he was going to lose a competition for the first time in forever, yet Viktor was beaming, one arm thrown around Yuuri's shoulders as he waved to his fans. Technically, Yuuri wasn't even supposed to be there, yet somehow Viktor had gotten accreditation for Yuuri as his choreographer, which was only true in the sense that Yuuri had offered him a couple of minor suggestions on how to improve his footwork sequences and came up with the ending pose of his free. Nobody really seemed to care, though, not even Yakov, who had simply thrown up his hands and sighed in exasperation when he found out.
At least with Yuuri sitting with Viktor in the Kiss-and-Cry, Yakov was free to stand at the boards with Lilia. The two of them gave him a brief pep talk as he took a sip of water from his thermos, Lilia making some last minute adjustments to his elaborate hairstyle while Yakov reminded him once again to keep his quads to the first half of his free as they had decided during practice earlier. Yuri wasn't exactly thrilled about it, but his stamina had also taken a hit after his illness. With the score Viktor had posted, backloading as he usually did wasn't necessary, anyway. If he skated close to clean, he would most likely win.
"Okay, okay, I got it. Stop fussing over me," Yuri said as his name was announced, waving Lilia's hands away. Honestly, ever since he had gotten sick, she'd been acting like a mother hen.
Lilia cracked a rare smile. "Break a leg out there, Yura," she said instead of one of her usual grand statements, Yakov grunting his agreement.
And from all the way in the Kiss-and-Cry...
"Yurio, davai!" Viktor and Yuuri shouted in unison.
Yuri rolled his eyes at the use of his hated nickname, but a small smile crossed his lips as he took his spot at center ice and got into his opening pose. As annoying as they could be sometimes, he supposed they weren't all that bad.
But he was still gonna kick Viktor's ass.
DISCLAIMER: "Yuri! On Ice" doesn't belong to me.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This fic was written for Cheyla for The Yuri! On Ice Secret Santa 2021 event on Tumblr. I hope you enjoyed the story, and happy holidays!
(And, yes, I did title this fic after the figure skating warhorse, "Je Suis Malade" (translation: "I am sick.") I couldn't resist!)
Feel free to follow me on Tumblr! My username is kaleidodreams.