CHAPTER FOURTY ONE

-Up and at 'em! It's the Men's Singles Short Program!-

Bwam-bwam-bwem-bwoommmm...

I'm begging you not to!
But you always make me so breathless...

Chris was like a bolt of hot, shining lightning on the ice; blue, turquoise, black, and purple glimmered to the beat of 'Intoxicated.'

How can I resist you?
When you leave my heart being undressed...

Every ounce of his uninhibited, unashamed self-love went into that performance, swaying his body in a dance of seduction that could only be explained by one thing.

"He's trying to taunt you," Yuri said quietly.

"Why me?" Victor wondered; he'd found his usual perch on his husband's back, pressed in close with his chin on one shoulder, "Maybe he's taunting you."

"No... He did that dance at Cup of China. This is all yours." Yuri retorted, "He's trying to lure you out there. You've been off the ice for so long; it's like he's lost control now that you're back."

"Hmm...maybe. We'll see how he scores like this."

.

"The score for Christophe Giacometti...102.49!"

Victor's brow furrowed but he smiled anyway, "It's even higher than at the Final."

Yuri pat the man's arms where they held around him, "Told you. Are you gonna go stretch now?"

"Probably should." He sighed, and reluctantly peeled off. He took his husband's waist and nudged it to turn him around, then leaned in for an adoring kiss, "I'll step off so you can watch Phichit. Come find me after?"

"I will."

"Next to take the ice...representing Thailand...Phichit Chulanont...!"

Yuri turned his attention back to the screen; Victor moved away, heading for their gear to find a roll-out mat. Wild cheers signaled Phichit's arrival on the ice, and he quickly slid back around to meet Celestino on the rink wall for a few last words of advice and motivation. With a final nod, the Thai skater presented himself properly to the audience, and headed to the center of the rink.

"His Short Program comes from his favorite movie, 'The King and the Skater'...Ladies and Gentlemen...'Shall We Skate.'"

"Do your best, Phichit-kun..." Yuri said to himself quietly.

With his bright red ensemble, emblazoned with gold, the nervous athlete lowered his head for a final breath and took his starting pose. The music above started almost instantly, and he quickly stepped into it, turning in place before he extended his hand.

What do you see...from there?
People sing, royal anthem, Your Majesty...!

Chris finally ducked back into the prep-area, a towel around the back of his neck as he dabbed it against his face. His cheeks were still flushed from the intensity of his skate, and his eyes trained over the area to find his rival.

"Don't forget to hydrate, Chris," His coach reminded, "And go get a rub-down before the seats are all taken."

"Don't say it like that; he'll get the wrong idea." The third member of the kiss-and-cry group whispered, leaning in towards the older pro, "He might expect a happy ending from the therapists in this condition."

"Oh, I've already had one." Chris teased, and took a quick sip from his water-bottle, "But a rub-down after that doesn't sound like such a terrible idea. I'm sure I'll get one." He chuckled, and started to head off. Both coach and attaché grimaced as their athlete moved away, and he waved at them as he went to find Victor. It wasn't a terribly long search, and he found the man in an adjacent hall, using his sneaker to straighten out his stretching mat. Lime-green eyes leveled at the Russian, feeling a tingle down below at the sight of that red and white track-suit, "I always love a man in uniform."

Victor's head jerked up in surprise, "Yeesh, you scared me. Don't sneak up like that!" He fussed, and bent down to finally take a seat on the flat foam rectangle, "And you should probably be more careful hitting on Yuri like you do."

The arena thundered with Phichit's music, and it made the floor vibrate slightly; Chris stepped closer though to be heard more easily over the clamor, "I nearly hit a new personal best and you've decided to scold me instead? Victor..."

"I've developed a newfound sense of responsibility," The silver explained simply, "But it was partly my fault anyway since I let it happen."

"Let what happen?"

"Yesterday in the bar," He clarified as he started stretching, "You got between his legs and I didn't stop you. You should know; I'm the only one allowed there now."

Chris held up his hands and smiled, "Fair enough."

"Now we can talk about your skating," The silver teased, legs spread out like a V in front of himself, and he bent down over one until he could feel his knee against his chest, "You really put it all out there but the judges didn't seem to give you points for it."

"A minor disappointment. I'll make up for it tomorrow in the Free Skate."

Phichit's program continued into its second half; Yuri was too nervous for Victor's program to pull away from the television. Nearby, Michele Crispino finished-up some last-second preparations before his turn on the ice; JJ was doing the same a bit further away, a cocky smile on his face as usual. The music above suddenly cut out though, and Yuri looked back at the television. The audience cheered wildly, and Phichit headed for the kiss-and-cry with Celestino. A few minutes later, the announcer called out his 97.21 score.

So far, everyone who went to the Final is seeing their same scores... Yuri thought nervously, brow furrowing in uncertainty, I'm never going to win Gold here if I can't break 100!

"Yuri! Did you see my score!?" Phichit suddenly called out, and rushed through the curtain, blade-guards thunk'ing along the ground with each awkward step, "It's a new personal best!"

"I saw, it was amazing! You keep getting better every time!" He called back, trying to hide the nerves he'd started building. He was slightly relieved to see Yakov head by; it was time for Victor to get his pre-skate pep talk. Celestino finally returned to the prep-area as well, following after his quicker skater. Michele was already on the other side of the curtain; Yuri looked back to the television to see blade-guards set on the rink-wall.

"Next on the ice, representing Italy...Michele Crispino!"

"You're oddly quiet, Yuri." Phichit commented, hands stuffed into his jacket, "I thought you'd be more excited!"

"Sorry..." He answered pensively, "I just...noticed that everyone who went to the Final is getting their same scores here, more or less... If JJ gets the same score again, too, then what'll happen when I go out? I already know Victor will score over 100; he's really consistent about it. I'll never win Gold here like this."

'L'homme Armé' started to play high above; the battle-fantasy theme just added to Yuri's anxiety.

"This isn't helping." He stammered, and fumbled into his pockets for his ear-plugs.

"Yuri, relax. There's still like twenty other skaters that have to go out there before you do." Phichit attempted, "Chris and I are the only ones from the Final who've done our SP's yet...we both skated our best, and pushed the limits of what we're capable of. Seems the judges here and in Barcelona thought more-or-less the same of our performances. There's no reason to think they'll do the same to you...especially since you've probably gotten even better since the Final, working with Victor at his home rink."

"What if I do worse!? I did so well cat Cup of China and Rostelecom and then at the Final, even with my new quad Flip, I scored so bad!" He whined, practically shaking like a leaf where he stood, hands on the sides of his head in half a sad panic.

Phichit deadpanned him, eyebrows way up, but smiled anyway, "You need a pep-talk from your coach. Let's go find Victor, okay?"

Yuri's body rattled like a loose skeleton, but he nodded and followed. It wasn't hard to find the alcove the Russian had chosen to warm-up in; Chris had only been the first to find him in it. Now, there were other skaters - and Yakov - standing around to watch him get ready. Yuri and Phichit made it there just in time for Yakov to interrupt the whole thing and tell his athlete something that made those silver brows wrankle a bit.

"Uh oh," Phichit hummed, a hand up over his mouth, "He doesn't look happy. What'd Coach Yakov tell him...?"

Yuri pressed is palms to the side of his face and tried to pat himself into normalcy, but it didn't help, and he went forward to get through the gathered crowd, "I can hazard a guess." He muttered, and shuffled his way through the throng. Victor had risen to his feet by then, water-bottle to his lips, but had found it difficult to contain his discomfort with the news he'd been given; his eyes lit up though when they fell upon a sweetly family face, anxious as it was. Yuri immediately threaded his arms around his husband's chest and buried his face against it, "Victooorrrr..." He whined quietly, "I shouldn't be allowed to watch the competition alone."

"Why? Are people bothering you?" The silver wondered, and took comfort from the hug, even if it wasn't entirely meant that way. He returned it easily though and kissed that anxious brow, "What's the matter?"

"I'm getting really jittery! I'm not going to score over a hundred in this place!"

"You will!" Victor reassured, "I don't know what was wrong with the judges at the Final, but you'll do great here! You've scored over a hundred at every other event this season."

"Bphhhhvvrrr..." Yuri whined again anyway.

"Hey, let's go do something to get your mind off it before I skate."

Hazel eyes lifted from the front of the track-suit, "...Like what?"

The duo headed through the curtain to rink-side; Michele was just-about half done with his Short Program by then. Victor looked out across the ice inconsequentially, but then turned up towards the stands above the gateway. To Yuri's surprise, once he looked in the same direction, his husband's older doppelgӓnger was there, leaning against the rails. The elder wave amiably; Yuri responded in kind.

Victor made the effort at least to raise his hand and fingers, but beyond that, he couldn't find the energy. Do it for Yuri, do it for Yuri...

"I wanted to wish you luck before your turn." Mikhail said, "With all the buzz I've heard about this come-back, everyone's expecting that you'll basically sprout wings out there and fly up to the top of the podium."

"Wouldn't that be a trick."

Yuri could feel the bristles on those words, and whatever butterflies had been in his gut about the Short Program were replaced by the moths of doubt, He's not warming up to Mikhail at all... What should I do...? Victor's holding it against him that he was gone all this time and isn't even giving the guy a chance!

"The score for Michele Crispino..."

Neither of the skaters at rink-side had even noticed that the music ended, but when they heard those words, their attention was drawn instinctively to the kiss-and-cry.

"...82.18!"

"Yuuuuuri! Victoooooor!" They heard others calling, and they looked up to see Minako and Mari in the stands, waving their Victuri flags enthusiastically. The two skaters waved back happily to the welcome distraction.

Mikhail looked back over his shoulder at the women, then turned to rink-side again, "Who're they? Fans?"

"The one with the headband is my older sister, Mari." Yuri explained, "The other is Minako-sensei, my ballet instructor."

"I didn't know you had family coming! We should all sit together to cheer you on!"

Yuri was excited about the idea, but he could feel Victor getting tense beside him, so he nervously shrugged, "You can sit wherever you like."

"Next to take the ice...representing Canada...Jean-Jacque Leroy!"

JJ skulked behind the duo and made it to the ice without them having noticed; Yuri looked back to watch, but Victor kept his eyes forward.

The crowd went wild as the Canadian stepped off; he looked calm, even eager, staring towards his Russian adversary as he glided by with his arms up. I created this Short Program specifically to stop Victor from stealing Gold from me again at the GPF...but since he dropped out, I never even got to use it against him in competition. It's ironic that he's skating right after me today...I'll show everyone who's the King on this ice!

Victor could feel his skin crawl as he heard the crowd chant JJ's name, and he shook his head to make it go away. Instead, he looked back up to his uncle on the next tier, and to both of their surprise, he reached up one hand towards the man, "I have to finish getting ready."

Mikhail reached back down to shake it firmly, "You'll do great. Have fun, nephew."

"Thanks."

Nooowww...I ruuule the woooooorld...and the starry skyyyy...spreeaaading abooooove...

Victor turned away and drew in a quick, sharp breath before he pulled his partner close with one arm, and walked back through the curtain. Yuri could feel the slight tremble, but he wasn't sure who it was coming from between the two of them. Suddenly, the Russian pulled him out of the way of the gate. He felt the wall come up behind him, though Victor didn't push him against it. His other hand was clasped, and both were pulled up and flipped around, then threaded with nervous fingers as Victor pulled the back of his wrists towards himself. The silver leaned his head down to kiss his beloved's knuckles, then cast those blue eyes forward, "...I'm sorry; that didn't go how I meant for it to."

"...Victor...?"

He wasn't sure what to say, so he just looked down into those brown eyes quietly.

"You've got this." Yuri finally said, and stepped closer, pulling his husband's clasped hands towards his own chest then, and kissed those fingers back, "I know it's hard for you to deal with him being here. I'm...not sure what I can do to make it easier."

A huge part of the crowd had picked up the beat of the music and were singing along with JJ's song, and Victor grimaced, "...Hmph. If I could figure out whether Leroy bothers me more or less than my uncle right now...maybe that would help."

"...Did Mikhail do anything to you in the past?" Yuri had to wonder, "Is there something I should know...?"

Victor just shook his head, "He didn't do anything. That's the problem. He could've done a million things, and he chose to run away instead. He was selfish...and now he's back? What for? So he can feel better about himself for being gone all this time?"

Yuri's eyes opened wide in surprise, Yakov said Victor looked up to Mikhail as a kid...and Mikhail said Victor was five or six when he last saw him... Yuri paused a moment and closed his eyes, then nodded, "I...I think I understand. You don't want to get invested because you're worried he'll just leave again."

Victor offered a reluctant but honest nod, "...This whole thing is going as well as it can, Yuri. I'm doing my best...I'm sure he is, too. There's just a lot of baggage to process. There's no easy way of getting through it."

"Are you going to be okay on the ice like this...?"

"The ice is where I belong." He answered, "And with you here, the rest doesn't matter."

Yuri smiled at that, and nuzzled his husband's brow fondly, "In body, I'll be at rink-side the whole time. In spirit, I'll be out there with you."

Victor nodded, and kissed his beloved lightly before he shrugged off his track-suit coat. To Yuri's surprise, the coat actually ended up being placed onto his own shoulders, and he looked up at the man with amazement. They could hear the crowd screaming with enthusiasm as JJ finished his program, but neither of them was particularly interested in seeing his score yet. Yuri focused on seeing that new costume up-close, only for the second time; there were actually some rhinestones within the mantle, but they were subtle; green and silver within the different layers of grey. I guess the light at Victor's house isn't enough to make these shine. I wonder how it'll look under spotlights?

The Russian slid his hand over his partner's slicked-back hair, "Remember, eyes on me, and only me."

"I'd ask you to seduce me while you're out there, but I don't think this is the right program for that." Yuri commented as they slipped back out through the curtain.

Victor laughed, much to Yuri's relief, "No, not this one." He said, then suddenly dipped into a rather obvious and unrefined Russian accent, "Maybe we join Russian army. Be big strong soldiers. Conquer world."

"Oof," Yuri had to fan himself, "You went from hot foreigner to terrifying in two seconds flat."

"Vitya!"

Victor was still laughing, even as Yakov became a killjoy in the moment. He sighed and returned to his normal affect, "Time to go to work."

"I'll go hang-out with Yakov."

Victor nodded and finally broke away, leaving his spouse with the warmth of his coat.

"The score for Jean-Jacques Leroy...105.19!"

Even with the announcement fresh in the ears of the crowd, Victor could already hear the cheering shift from JJ's score to the reckoning of his own approach; the difference was palpable. Russian flags took the place of Canadian ones, and signs with Victor's name - and on others, Victuri - rose into his sights as well. When his gold blades actually set out onto that white field though, the noise became deafening. Victor couldn't help himself, and drank in the exhilaration of is welcome; he moved out in a few wide arcs, waving at some parts of the crowd before bowing as he slid backwards in a circle. He knew he couldn't take forever though, and he gave a last quick wave before he pushed back towards the rink-wall, and his coach's dubious glare from the other side. Victor offered a half-sarcastic chuckle as he came into ear-shot, "Jeesh, Yakov, try to look a little happy that I'm back?"

"You wasted a perfectly good season." The gruff older man chided, "Notwithstanding the Grand Prix, you blew off two whole events."

"I didn't realize All Japan was at the same time as Russian Nationals!" Victor protested, hands on the wall. Yuri gingerly offered up the Makkachin soft-toy tissue-box, and the Russian took a sheet from it, sitting back on the heel of one blade, "There was nothing I could do." Pffffffbt.

"Yuri would've been fine on his own."

To that, Yuri felt a stiff shudder down his spine, hands held out together to take the gently used tissue. Victor just glomped onto him suddenly tough, and his arms got pinned against his chest - cupped hands wedged directly under his chin - and he looked up cautiously.

"I could never!" The Russian protested dramatically, "My sweet, adorable, amazing Yuri needed his coach."

"And you need to get your ass out there and skate!"

Victor shook his head and laughed quietly, then turned to his partner, "Please try to enjoy the show more than you worry about it, okay?"

"I'll do what I can. No guarantees."

"I'll take it," He answered, and stole one last quick kiss before he ventured out to take his place in the center of the rink.

"Now taking to the ice, representing Russia...Victor Nikiforov!"

Morooka's voice returned for the television audience; Yu-Topia's Watch Party was ready, even if it was rather late at night for them, "Tonight's performance is the third act in a series that Skater Victor has put together. It follows the Short Programs he created for Russia's Yuri Plisetsky - 'On Love: Agape,' and Japan's Yuri Kat-...erm, Nikiforov! - 'On Love: Eros.' Ladies and gentlemen, presenting Victor Nikiforov's 'On Love: Phillia!'"

['Sol Invictus' - Audiomachine]

On one knee, Victor listened for the cue, and as soon as the music began, he rose. It was the passive, yet hopeful hum of string-instruments to start, but the shift in mood could be felt throughout the entire audience. It was a complete 180 from JJ's boisterous pop-star 'King' theme.

The Russian began to rise slowly, and turned in wide circles as he made the ascent to the time of the violins and cellos; he pushed backward elegantly as he moved into the first loop of the rink-wide figure-8. He slid through several cross-overs as he moved around the inside edge of the rink's short side, and hopped into a high scissor-kick as the drums beat, slipping backwards again for the next arc of the loop. Each drum-beat made the orchestra's intensity grow just a little bit more, and for each new level of power, Victor's performance escalated as well. Each twist was harder, each hop or jump on the drum-beat was crisper, every turn and wave of his arms became more rigid and forceful; more like strikes than waves.

Like the rigors of training, a soldier meets his companions on the precipice of looming war. Young men from all walks of life, joining together for this one common cause, united on a single front to defend home, side by side.

Halfway through the song's rising crescendo, Victor leapt into his first jump, the quad Salchow, triple Toe-loop. The deep bass of the horns finally joined in, and the Russian twizzled swiftly through it, pushed through a few crossovers into his first spin-sequence, leaping into the death-drop entry flying sit spin with gusto.

Rising early, working hard, never leaving the side of your new brothers. You run together, sweat together, bleed together.

Swift rotations propelled the skater around like a blur on the ice; he started with the initial basic position with one leg held forward, then transitioned to the broken-leg twist variant with a boot-change between them. As he rose back up to stand again, he slid his fingers gracefully past his chin and tilted his head back. He then broke out and skated backwards swiftly, coming close to the long-side of the rink wall as a second set to the wind-instruments section began, emphasizing the strings again with another layer of drums to fill the arena with enough power that the rafters shook.

...And then the dawn of war finally glows dim on that far horizon. You line up together, your training complete. Side by side, you look to the break of day for any sight of the enemy...and then...the bombs begin to drop.

The music seemed to cut out abruptly, and Victor threw his arms out to the side as he glided backward in deafening silence...only to suddenly kick his left leg out behind himself, and toe-picked down hard on his inside edge when the music came back to life, shaking the very foundations of the building as he flew and the choir began.

"Incredible! A quad Flip with both arms up! We haven't seen that from Skater Victor before!"

The crowd was wild with excitement, feeding energy down into the rink.

The war rages for days beyond count...brothers fall, some even die in your arms, looking up at you with those glassy eyes as they draw their last breaths. You collect their tags and chains, and add them to the collection growing around your neck, knowing that you alone carry with you their last moments, the echoes of their dreams, their love and longing for home. You've seen a side of existence that no man should ever have to see, and you carry those scars with you for their sake. They were more than just your friends or team-mates. Your bond with them was thicker than blood. You made that bond because you wanted to, you had to, in order to survive. Without them...we're nothing.

The Russian flew into the step-sequence then, and moved from one corner of the rink with speed and intensity towards the opposite side. His blades were a golden blur beneath him, and he continued through the serpentine path until there was a brief gap in the orchestra again.

Yuri squashed his arms tight around the soft-toy in his arms; he could feel the tissue box inside it crumple through his sleeves. Yakov quirked a brow at him, but looked back out to his student.

When Victor reached the other corner of the rink, and spun away to weave his feet until the next gap, he finally revealed his secret. It was a move that began like normal; he went into it skating backwards on his right skate, tilted into an outside spread-eagle, shifted to the left blade at the last second, flipped to face forward again, and kicking off to thrust into the air as hard as he could.

Time stood still as Victor launched; cold air whipped past his face, and the world became a streaking blur in every direction. One...two...three...

It's just you at the end of the long night...the sky still burns with the echoes of fire. Lightning streaks across black clouds, thunder mixes with the flying ashes of your fallen brothers. Yet the enemy is still coming...

Four!

Skaters watching in the prep area, and from the audience, were suddenly very away of what just happened, and most wore dubious, even disbelieving looks on their faces. They looked at one another in shock; the program went on in spite of them. Even Yakov was wide-eyed, not sure he'd really just seen what happened. Yuri's parents weren't sure what was going on, but the looks on the Nishigori clan's faces told them clearly that it was something.

Gold hit the ice, blades cracking on the frost like a thunderclap. The entire audience was quiet.

"Impossible!" Morooka and Oda both called out at the same time. They gaped at each other n the announcer's box, "Did Victor just make history with the world's FIRST QUAD AXEL!? That's four and a half rotations!"

Yurio was on his feet in the stands, "...There's no way..."

"He did it...!" Yuri was stunned, and in his fit of disbelief, grabbed the coach next to him in an enthusiastic hug, "I THOUGHT HE WAS CRAZY BUT HE DID IT!"

Yakov was too surprised to react, and blinked in stunned confusion, ...He just did a quad Axel. That stupid idiot did a quad Axel! Does he have a wish for a broken back!?

Victor slowed down to start a camel-spin, and bent slightly for the sideways variant; one hand held his blade and his free hand rose into the air. He then pulled his foot in a bit tighter for the forward variant, and straightened himself out into almost but not quite a Bielmann spin. He quickly leapt to the right, and continued the last aspect of that spin on the other foot before he spiraled wide to skate along the rink-wall again.

Dawn breaks on another day. There's far fewer of us than there were before. Reinforcements come to save you, but they're not the same men that you'd arrived with. The situation calls for new bonds to be formed; bonds forged in pain, duty, and honor. You get your second wind, and you're carried forward on wings made from the dreams of those who bled before you.

The show continued almost normally after that, but Yuri could see that the quad Axel had done its damage. He'd seen the show in practice enough - without the Axel being a quad - to know what it should look like in those final moments.

Something's off. Come on, Victor...you can do it...!

"That moron's lost his mind..." Yurio growled, and thumped back into his seat; Mila and others were nearby with him, each watching the come-back show intently, "He won't make it to the end with how hard he's pushing himself."

Victor reached out his arms as he skated away...he could feel how sore his legs, back, and chest were getting, but at least the worst was done. He went back to center and entered into his final spin sequence. It was a standard camel-spin entry, and he rotated several times before lowering down into a twist-variant sit-spin. The music overhead was thundering towards its climax; the choir entered into its final three explosive chants...and then stopped.

Is the war finally over? Have enough of us died to slake the thirst of the enemy? ...Even just for now...?

The Russian held motionless for a second, the spin having ended in an upright scratch-spin, with a toe-pick digging in hard to brake at the end. Sweat rolled off the man's forehead and down his neck, but he heard the soft, quiet, almost inaudible sounds of the last few drums of the orchestra return. He backed up with long, sweeping reaches of each leg, arms swaying like waves of water over the rocks at the end of a long battle, ceding the tumultuous cacophony of war to the harmony of the landscape it left behind.

Victor panted heavily where he stood; his lower back and sides hurt than they usually did at the end of a Short Program, but the crowd was a maelstrom of cheers and screaming - that made the pain worth it. Succumbing to the ache, he finally dropped to his knees on the ice; hands perched on his parted thighs, and he lowered his head as fire went into his lung. He leaned back then, one hand moved down to the ice hold him up as the other clutched at his chest, and the audience seemed to notice that he was struggling...

Yuri couldn't breathe as he watched, "V...VICTOR!" He called, hoping it would encourage the man to rise up again. He looked over to Yakov, but the bristly old Russian just looked out sternly, brows crinkled in an 'expecting the worst' kind of stare. The audience shifted though, and Yuri looked out again, watching his partner finally drag himself up to his feet again.

The darkly-clad athlete lifted himself up, and gave his waves and bows like nothing had happened. The audience cheered even more loudly for him then. When he was done, he waved a final time and headed to the exit. Yakov stood there with the water-bottle, and the World Champion took it eagerly. Yuri warily offered up the tissue-box again, but when Victor tried to pull a few sheets out, all he got her crumpled bits that tore; Yuri blanched, and scrambled for a small towel instead. Victor smiled as he took it, and moved off with the pair towards the kiss-and-cry. He practically fell onto the bench like a bag of potatoes that had been left open - and suddenly tipped over - and waited for the lecture that was sure to come...but he couldn't hear it. All he could hear was the ringing in his ears and the sound of blood rushing through his head between desperate, ragged breaths. He couldn't help but inconspicuously clutch at his chest again; that time, only Yuri noticed, and he pulled the man's hand down with his own to settle it in his lap.

It seemed like it took forever for him to get his score. Every time he looked up at the monitors, there was still nothing listed. He was starting to wonder if something was wrong. But, he looked beyond the screen to where the ice-bunnies were still collecting the myriad toys and bouquets that had been thrown to him by the audience, and thought that, perhaps, not so much time had passed after all.

Or maybe there's more out there to collect than I realized.

"Don't worry so much; the judges are probably still reviewing the quad Axel you pulled." Yakov said stiffly, getting the silver skater's attention.

"Are you mad?"

"I warned you not to push yourself, but now look at you. You look like you're about to have a stroke."

Victor laughed and took another swig from his water-bottle, grateful that his hearing had come back enough by then that he could understand his coach's remarks. The water went coolly down his throat, calming the fires in his lungs bit by bit.

"The score for Victor Nikiforov..."

"Finally..."

Yurio nearly had a kitten when he saw it, and Yuri paled as well, hands up and over his gaping mouth.

"HE JUST SET TWO NEW WORLD RECORDS IN ONE PERFORMANCE! A MASTERFUL COME-BACK BY THE LEGEND HIMSELF, VICTOR NIKIFOROV!"

"...122...43..." Yuri repeated, eyes wide at the screen where it showed playbacks of the quad Axel that had just changed the landscape of figure skating forever.