CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

Victor choked on the occasional breath, even as they finally got him back home. Yuri helped get him onto the couch while Makkachin ran back and forth around them - sensing the tension but unsure how to react - given he was still excited everyone was back to begin with.

Yakov closed the door behind them, and stepped quietly into the room from the front hall, "Vitya, do you want me to look through this before you do?" He asked, holding up the envelope.

Victor nodded, unable to form coherent words. Yuri had gone to the linen closet to find towels, trying to get Victor as dry as he could until the man was willing to change; his clothes and jacket were soaked through and filthy from snow and dirt.

Yakov pulled the crushed papers, and used a letter-opener on a nearby desk to start ripping it open. Inside was a single sheet of torn notepad paper with an address scrawled in Cyrillic text, which the coach set aside, knowing it was the location of the next day's somber event. He also found another, normal-sized mailing envelope - which was sealed with old, faded tape - as well as a few photos. The handwriting on the sealed envelope was different from that which was on the notepad paper, and Yakov could only assume it was Victor's mother's. He set that aside as well to look at the photos, trying to flatten them out again to get a better look in the dim light of the room. It was obvious that the photos were twenty or so years old; worn and faded, and showed a much younger woman than the one that had died in the preceding days, with a young child. They both had silver-grey hair, though it was hard to tell given how faded some of the colors were. Yakov started to set the photos on a shorter table where Victor could see them, and red-tinted slate eyes looked over. He peered past where he held his face in his hands, elbows on his knees, to see what was in store.

He recognized them.

"Is that...your mom?" Yuri wondered quietly; he looked more closely at the picture Victor picked up first.

"Da." The Russian answer; he and rubbed his nose and snuffled a breath, "She was probably...early to mid thirties here."

"It's easy to see what side of the family you got your good looks from." Yuri said, trying to lighten the mood, and Victor did smile despite himself.

"These are all from before I got into skating." Victor pointed out, looking through the five photos before him, "There's nothing from after I turned ten, for sure. My father was never the sort of man to take pictures, so these early ones of me and my mama were probably taken by my un-"

Yakov looked up from the second latter, and glanced an eye aside when he heard the words. Victor had stopped and shook his head, moving on without finishing the thought, so the elder coach went back to the letter. It was easily three pages long, and Yakov had one hand over his chin as he scrolled through the hand-written text. When he was done, he realigned the papers so they'd be in the right order, folded them back into the smaller white envelope, and put it on the table with the pictures, "Wait to read this until you've had some time to decompress, Vitya." He said, keeping his hand over top of the folded paper until those pained eyes looked at him, "I imagine you won't be interested in skating for a few days either, so I don't mind if you don't come to practice while this all settles down." The coach went on, and rose back up to his full height, "But you know where to find me if you need anything."

"Thank you for everything, Yakov, and sorry for dragging you back into this mess. I'm sure you had enough of it back when it first started...now it's all coming up again." Victor added quietly, and rose to stand and show the man outside again. They exchanged a few more words in Russian before Victor closed the front door, and kept his hand flat on it as he heard the Mercedes turn on outside. It roared for a moment, then faded away in the seconds after. He then slowly shuffled back to the couch where Yuri was still looking at the pictures. He grabbed the envelope with the three folded pages and sat down, still damp and cold, and pulled the papers out to read them. He slouched and pulled one knee up to half-cross his legs, and looked at the papers without unfolding them just yet.

Yuri reached over and stroked some of that silver hair, "You don't have to read it now if you don't want to."

"Yeah..." The Russian agreed, too anxious for the task, "All I want right now is to get out of these clothes and warm up."

"...Can I do anything to help...?"

"Go pull a bath, would you?" He asked, and tilted his head back to look at his partner, "It's not Yu-Topia, but we can still soak for a while, right?"

"Yeah!" Yuri answered, and kissed the man's forehead before standing to go do as he'd been asked. He was barely around the corner when he turned about-face and came back again, looked at Victor, and swiped the letter from the man's mitts before he had a chance to unfold it.

Victor didn't argue, though he was a bit dumbfounded that Yuri would take it from him either way. But, he smiled at the understanding that Yuri was just trying to protect him. Before long, he was submerged up to his chin in hot water, and the memory of earlier in the afternoon started to melt away. Yuri tossed the wet clothes into a separate hamper for later, and came back to sit on the edge of the large tub. He reached for a washcloth, folded it, and then set it on top of his fiancé's head.

"It's not exactly Yu-Topia, but I guess it's close." Yuri said.

"...There is one thing missing, that's for certain." Victor pointed out nonchalantly, and pushed himself up a little bit so his arms and shoulders were above the water. He propped his elbows up onto the sides of the basin and laced his fingers together, giving Yuri a bit of an elementary look, "Can you guess what it is?"

Yuri started listing things off on his fingers, "...Mood lighting, stone masonry, that fountain in the middle, the giant red kabuki demon-mask on the wall, a bunch of old men in small towels, uhh..."

Victor huffed a laugh and leaned over, and wrapped one arm around his partner's waist before he dragged him - fully clothed - down into the tub with him. The overflowing water spilled over the edge of the tub, and flooded the floor as Yuri protested in surprise. With the deed done though, there wasn't much Yuri could do about it anymore; he managed to keep his socks dry though - small victories.

"There," Victor said proudly, "Now it's perfect."

Yuri settled in and relaxed in the man's grip, and things once again started to feel like they were on the mend. There was that nag at the back of his mind though that they were far from done with the situation.

True to his fear, Victor brought it all back around again.

"I'm not taking you with me tomorrow."

"Bu-" The water splashed a little where Yuri whipped his head around.

"No. I forbid it." Victor said flatly, not moving a muscle, "I should have fought harder to prevent you from seeing what happened today, too. I'm sorry that I didn't. If you really want to help me...the best thing you can do is to let me do this alone."

Yuri wanted to fight it, but in that moment, he felt that he didn't have a horse in that race. He just furrowed his brow and tilted his head against his partner's shoulder, even with the water there making his hair wet. It mattered so little compared to everything else.

"Yakov and I will deal with this last thing tomorrow, and then I want to go back to how we were before. Whatever questions you might once have had about my family...forget them. You're my family. You already know the only important bits about my past that matter anyway."

"...Can Yakov protect you from that man?"

"If my father tries something, I don't think anyone can stop him." Victor admitted, "But that's not going to be an issue. I'm ending things tomorrow. Whatever happens...it'll be the last thing that happens. I promise."

"You forget promises sometimes..."

"Never something this important."

.

Yuri felt uncomfortable and helpless all day and night afterwards. Victor had done everything he could think of to put his mind at ease, but it wasn't enough. Even the hard-won katsudon seemed like a hollow victory when presented under those circumstances. Victor upped the ante after that, claiming the man on the floor of the living-room unexpectedly, thinking maybe that would finally get Yuri's mind off the next day...but it was only a temporary solution. Once it was over and Yuri could catch his breath, he still spent half the night awake worrying.

It truly didn't help that Victor had finally gone to read the letter - and was gone for the better part of two hours, right-smack in the middle of the night - unwilling to return to bed or even discuss what it said. Yuri later watched him burn it, as well as the photos, and the envelope everything had come in. Even the address was rendered to ash, though Yuri supposed it was because Victor recognized it, and wouldn't actually need it anymore to know where to go.

He must really want to forget, Yuri thought to himself, and crossed arms as he leaned against a wall, watching in silence. To erase even the good memories from before everything went so wrong... This is all a side of Victor that he probably never thought he'd have to reveal to me. But even with everything that I've seen, he still refuses to explain what caused it to be this way... What happened to you, Victor? Why was your family torn apart?

When it was finally time to go, Victor took his partner to the ice rink to leave him with the rest of the Russian skate team. He knew Yurio would be there at least, even if no one else was. The last thing he wanted was for Yuri to be by himself while everything was coming to a head.

"...You want me to babysit your boyfriend?" Yurio asked, incredulous, "Do I get paid for this?"

Victor huffed a laugh and shook his head, "No, but I'll really appreciate it?"

Yuri just watched the pair, and sighed to himself, "When I said I was worried about being a burden, I didn't think it would mean like this, too."

When it seemed like the Russian duo finally come to an agreement, Victor pulled his fiancé aside. He took the man's hands in his own and squeezed them reassuringly, but held there waiting for a moment before doing something Yuri had never thought would ever happen.

"I thought I'd never take this band off again, after we got the etchings..." He started, and reached for his finger to gently slide his ring away. Sighing, he kissed the gold, looked at the half-snowflake engraving on the inside of the band, and put it carefully into the palm of Yuri's hand, cautious to close his partner's fingers overtop of it before encapsulating the whole hand with both of his own.

Yuri was entirely confused; his chest and throat started to hurt immediately.

"I need you to keep this safe for me." Victor finally explained, "The last thing I need is for my father to try and take it away, and throw it into the woods...or make me stumble, and have it fall out of my pocket without me knowing. I would never forgive myself if I allowed that to happen when I knew I could protect it, and you're the only one I trust to hold onto it until I'm back. You understand? If it's with you, I know it's safe."

Yuri nodded, though he shook as he did so, "I-I understand..." He said warily, and moved to take the ring and put it onto his middle finger, right next to the ring he himself bore, "I'll keep it here until you come to collect it."

Victor smiled - a sad, but relieved smile - before both of them cried in the corridor together. His heart felt heavy with the guilt of having to leave the ring behind, but he knew...he rationalized...everything said it was the right thing to do. He noted the odd perplexity of hoping his father would try to take the ring now, just so he could have the justification in his own mind for having put it into safe keeping ahead of time.

"Please don't get hurt." Yuri pleaded.

"I don't plan on it." Victor said, and nodded. He leaned in close to kiss his fiancé lightly, brushing his cheek with a thumb.

Yurio watched quietly from where he'd previously been standing, but turned his head abruptly to avoid getting an eyeful. The sight of their affection still made him uneasy.

When Victor finally started to leave, seeing Yakov pulling up just outside, Yurio held his ground. Yuri stepped up next to him silently, watching the pair enter the car. He snuffled a little.

"You're not going to cry, are you?" The blond wondered pessimistically.

"You don't even know what he's about to do."

"I know that whatever it is, it bothers him less than it bothers you, so you crying doesn't make any sense."

"...Phichit-kun said the same thing at Four Continents."

"Fit-bit-coon?"

"Phichit Chulanont. The Thai skater I used to train with when I was in America." Yuri answered, "He was at the GPF. How can you forget it? He's the only Thai skater that ever did 'Shall We Skate' as a figure skating performance."

"I don't watch most of the other skaters." Yurio shrugged, "I only really watch the ones that I have to worry about being contenders for the podium."

Yuri deadpanned, "That's cruel."

"Still doesn't change the fact that you're bawling over someone else's problems."

"It's not that uncommon for people to share in each other's burdens when they care about one another." Yuri gawked at the Russian Punk, "Like how Victor helped carry your burden when your grandpa was in the hospital."

"That was different."

"It's not entirely different." Yuri looked through the glass doors to see Yakov's car pull away, and the butterflies started to rise in his gut. He hated that he only knew the 'event' started at 3, but not having a clue when it would end or when he could expect Victor to return...that was killing him.

"Let's go skate." Yurio said suddenly, pulling his Japanese counterpart from his thoughts, "There's no sense worrying about it until there's something to worry about."

Sighing, Yuri followed him back through the locker rooms, put on his skates, and went out onto the ice.

By 7pm, there was still no word, and Yuri had done basically nothing other than skate slow laps since 5. Yurio had even done his entire new Short Program, but Yuri was so distracted in his mind that he'd missed it completely.

Then 8 o'clock rolled around, and still nothing.

Then it was 9 o'clock, and Yurio had to offer to let Yuri come back to his place for a while, "Unless you want to spend the night alone or something." He grumbled. When Yuri didn't answer, the teen rolled his eyes and stepped out of the locker-room to wait in the foyer.

Yuri moved at a glacial pace to get his skates off and organize his backpack.

"YOU SURE ARE TAKING YOUR SWEET TIME IN THERE." Yurio yelled from the exit.

Yuri felt a fire under his butt after that and started to hurry; he threw the pack on and rushed to the doors. As they rounded the last corner before leaving the arena, Yuri looked outside to see the familiar headlights of a Mercedes pulling up. He barreled out the doors and ran up to the sidewalk's edge, happy to finally see the car. When it stopped, and the engine turned off, Yakov was the first to get out, "What took you guys so long!? I thought you were stranded or worse!" He cried out in a nervous panic. He could see Victor's outline in the front passenger seat, but for the most part, he was covered in dark shadows from the car, and didn't move right away.

Yurio came up next to Yuri, curious, "Why isn't he getting out?" He looked to his coach, "Yakov...?"

"It's been a long day." Was all the tired older man could say.

Yurio noticed his coach had something of a scrape on his chin, and his long-coat had what looked like dried mud caked to it, and he raised a brow at it, "Did you fall...?"

Yuri went around the other side of the car and moved to pull open the door for his fiancé, anxious to give him back his ring and go back to how things were, just as the Russian had said. Then he looked at the man's hands where they were still held on his lap, and saw the cuts and scrapes on his right-side knuckles, "...Victor...?"

His face, from that side at least, looked entirely fine, and it added a certain air of mystery to what was already a mysterious situation. Then the Russian finally started to move, reaching over to undo the seat-belt from its buckle, and got out of the car. When he leaned down to avoid hitting his head on the door-frame, Yuri could see that something was weird about his hair. It looked like it had been made wet and then dried without being brushed. There were a few red streaks in his bangs as well, especially at the tips, which were a darker red-brown than elsewhere.

Yakov looked uneasy as he watched Victor rise back up to his full height, even as Yuri threw both arms around the man in greeting, saying all the expected things to welcome him back. When Yuri finally looked up again though, finally able to see past the bangs that covered the opposite side of his fiancé's face, he saw true 'rewards' of the afternoon's events.

The skin behind those strands of red-tinted silver-grey hair was red, shiny, and swollen. Further inspection lead Yuri to see that there were a few deep cuts around the eye socket and cheek, black in the dark of the night, and a single slate-blue eye looking back at him through a slit where the eyelid could barely open, surrounded by a pool of dark red where the sclera should have been white. Whatever had gotten Victor's hair wet earlier had smeared the blood around his face and left faded, crusty red streaks down his chin and neck, which trailed down and vanished under the edge of a blood-stained scarf.

That gentle heart couldn't handle it. Yuri could hear the ringing in his ears just micro-seconds before the edges of his peripheral vision started to go dark. The world faded, and he felt the strength leave his legs.

Everything became black, and he dropped where he stood.