CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THIRTY FOUR

"...That was really cold." Yuri commented quietly, the group making their way back to the benches so Viktor could get his skates off. He held timidly to the Russian's fingers, like he almost wasn't sure it was a good idea.

Viktor felt the man's grip sliding though and reached down to take it fully, palm to palm, and turned slightly to pull it up and kiss the ring, "He won't take it seriously unless he feels like he's actually going to suffer some consequence. I want him to stew in it for a while."

"So you're going to talk to him at some point then?"

"Eventually. ...Maybe."

"What'd he do this time?" Chris wondered, finding himself in the awkward position of carrying all of Viktor's gear on his own, lest it be forgotten at rink-side where he'd left it with Yuri before.

"Spoke before thinking. You know, the usual." Viktor answered, continuing the lazy saunter back to the Russian corner, slowly swinging Yuri's arm between them where he held it, "It's been a while since he's said something really awful, but this time he took it a bit too far, like he was condensing all his prior malice into a single statement to make up for all the lost opportunity. I feel a little bad, but I almost legit drop-kicked him for it..."

"He is in that age range..."

"I have this sneaking suspicion that every one of us made it through our teen years without ever once saying something too horrible." Viktor pointed out, arriving at the bench area and turning around. He wove his arm over Yuri's head to spin him around and leaned against his back, holding to his hand throughout the turn, "Yurio's a product of his past...we all are...but he's been given a lot of help since Worlds. I can't really understand why he's gotten so spiteful all of a sudden."

"You don't think it's you that's overreacting?" Chris posed, setting the two bits of luggage down next to the bench nearest to where the Russian was still standing.

"Me?" Blue eyes blinked at him, "Maybe initially." Viktor offered, shrugging before leaning back to sit on the row of seats, and taking Yuri down with him as he went. He pressed his face against the back of his husband's shoulder, scrunching his nose up in the process and half-closing his eyes, "I'm used to him throwing curses at me like it's nothing. But this time, his insults dragged Yuri into it, too, and I won't stand for that."

"Mh..."

"So what do you expect him to gain from this then?"

"A little perspective." Viktor shrugged again, sitting back a little as Yuri twisted to sit sideways over his legs instead. He gazed up to see his favorite hazel eyes, and reached with his free hand to push back a few stray black hairs, "What'd you tell him, anyway?"

Yuri gave him a puzzled look, but then shook his head lightly, "I told him to stop blaming you for the things he's mad at me for, and...I guess I gave him a warning."

"What sort of warning?"

The younger skater paused, eyes moving down to look at his knees, feeling the guilt in his belly, "I tried to explain how the two of us are something of a package deal...he can't go after one of us without it hurting both of us. I feel like, in a way, no matter how often we say it or act on it, he still doesn't really understand what it means that we're together. So...I warned him that he should be more careful what he says. If he upsets one of us too much, then we're both gone...maybe even Mikhail if it's that bad. The worst possible thing anyone could do to him is to repeat what his own parents did already." He slid his left arm over his partner's and leaned into him, pressing his chin and nose lightly against the crook of Viktor's neck and shoulder, "I feel really horrible saying so now, because you did exactly what I told him you would do if pushed too far."

"I haven't spoken to him since earlier in the afternoon. What makes this so different?"

"I think he felt like he still had time to fix things."

"He doesn't think he did anything wrong."

"...Mhhh." Yuri sighed, not knowing what else to say.

Viktor tried to nuzzle in closer, but the younger figure avoided him, turning his head away so he'd be looking down the Russian's back instead. That could only mean one thing. He looked up at Chris, and then to the two British skaters who'd been wall-flowering despite how awkward things had become after they'd left rink-side...but instead of asking them all to leave, he put his left arm under Yuri's knees and hoisted him up as he rose back to his feet.

The younger skater yipped in surprise, holding tight to the man's shoulders, "V-Viktor!"

"We're leaving for a bit. We'll be back by the end." The Russian explained, turning on his blade-guard and carrying his husband away.

The Pair skaters waved awkwardly as well, but were relieved to no longer have to find an excuse of their own to bolt without seeming rude.

Viktor made his way through the halls of the prep area, and once he was to an area that was slightly less crowded, he turned his focus back to his partner, "You have your phone with you, right?"

"Y-Yeah, why?"

"Call up my uncle, we need him in on this."

"...What if he's with Yurio already?"

"He wouldn't be. He's up with Minako-sensei in the stands. If he's already with Yurio then he must have telepathic superpowers or something."

"Yurio could've texted him..."

Viktor gawked at him, "You think Yurio would reach out to my uncle for help?"

"I dunno." Yuri shrugged as well as he could, "He spent the whole 2 weeks before the event with them..."

"Would you sooner bet that it's because he valued the company, or that he just wanted to get away from Yakov and the rest?"

The younger skater sighed, twisting his hips a little so he could get at the phone in his back pocket, and then 'sat' normally again where Viktor was carrying him. He sent a quick text and then let the phone fall against his stomach, then crossed his arms over it and leaned his head against the Russian's collarbone, "It's always something."

"Cup of China and NHK will be fine. I promise."

Yuri felt the buzz from his phone and lifted it up again, "He wants to know where we are."

.

.

.

"No, I haven't seen him since his show." Mikhail said, gawking at the pair where he found them.

It was next to impossible to get anywhere in the building without being mobbed by fans who were wandering the halls between performances they were interested in, so they had to stay in the prep area. Mikhail was only able to get past the event staffers because he had a guest badge for being Yurio's sponsor. Once he was through the doors though, he pocketed the badge back into his coat, his hands going in after it.

"But the way you guys are acting, I feel like I should go find him."

"We were actually thinking that might be a good idea, too..." Yuri said, "But I think we need to have some kind of...plan first?"

"A plan?" The older Russian echoed skeptically, "He's a teenager. He lives beyond the realm of plans. Besides, if you've already made him think that you don't want him around anymore, what good is a plan to contradict yourselves? You should let him go to you, that way he doesn't think this whole thing was some horrible practical joke at his expense."

"It's not a joke. I am mad at him." Viktor clarified; he was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, "And I do expect him to apologize for what he said at some point."

"What exactly did he say anyway? He wouldn't quote it to me."

"It's hard to repeat..." Yuri said quietly, "But the long and short of it is he told Viktor to take his gold medal and put it where the sun doesn't shine," He held his fingers up into air-quotes, "'...along with all the other stuff you've been putting up there lately, including your head.'"

Mikhail snorted, trying not to laugh. Viktor just narrowed his eyes glowered at him dubiously.

"What?" The older man had his hand over his mouth, his head turned slightly.

"...Mikhail..." The younger skater blanched, "It's not funny."

"No, the thing itself isn't, but hearing you sanitize it for me is." He answered, stepping forward to sling an arm over the man's shoulders, "You're too modest to even be able to repeat the words as they were said." He lifted his free hand to poke a finger under the brim of his customary hat, and looked straight at his nephew, "I can only wonder how long it took for you to get him to do anything with you."

Yuri's face was bright red in a heartbeat, "M-MIKHAIL..."

"Da, and the last thing I want is for that little pizda to use it against me." Viktor retorted casually.

"Language, sir."

"Yuri doesn't know what it means."

Mikhail cocked a brow, but then looked at the aforementioned skater, "It means cunt. Viktor called Yuratchka a little cunt."

Yuri quirked his head around, looking at his husband incredulously, but Viktor just shrugged and gave a look like 'it is what it is.'

"Well, anyway," Mikhail started again, pulling his arm back and giving Yuri a rough couple of pats in the center of his back, "I guess if I need to find him then I should start looking. Who knows where he's gone after you crushed his tiny little soul."

"Maybe Yakov would know?" Viktor suggested, turning off his shoulder to lean his back against the wall instead, slinging his free leg around to pin the heel of the blade-guard against the painted concrete, "I'd call him myself but he'll just yell at me."

"About this?"

"If not, he'll find something." The younger Russian mused, "He always does."

"Nah, if Yuri is as upset as I think he is, he won't want anyone to know about it. He'll be hiding somewhere." Mikhail pulled out his phone and started typing a message with one hand, using the other to push open the door to the main area, "I'll find him." Green-grey eyes lifted though and he pointed the phone at the duo, "I'm taking a break when you two do your pair skate though, so message me when you're about to go up."

"We will." Viktor nodded, "Thanks, Uncle."

Those same eyes furrowed at him briefly, and the phone was replaced by a finger pointing right at him, "One day you're going to say my name, too."

Yuri laughed meekly at the statement, waving as the older man finally left. When he turned back, Viktor was looking down the other end of the hall, acting like he hadn't heard the statement. The corridor returned to near-silence after that, the only sound reverberating through the walls being the hollow echo of the performance beyond them. Yuri rubbed his temples again, but then moved in front of his husband and sat down in the space between the man's skates, loosely wrapping his arms around his knees as he buried his face against them.

Viktor turned his eyes back and looked down, nudging his partner with the inside of one knee to try and get him to look back up at him, "Yuri."

"What are we even really trying to solve anyway?" He answered, not moving, "Yurio being mad at me for skipping his Free Skate? You being mat at him for taking shots? Him being mad at you for being why I missed the Free Skate?" He lifted his head a little and settled his chin on his knees instead, "Am I mad at anyone and don't realize it?"

"It takes a lot to make you mad." The Russian pointed out, "I've only ever seen it twice. Once was because of him."

"And the other?" He couldn't even recall.

"Because of me."

"Huh?" Yuri's ears perked, and he turned his face upward to look at the man looming overhead.

Viktor leaned forward, leaning his lower back against the wall to keep balance, and glanced at his partner from the upside-down vantage, "Right before the wedding party."

"I wouldn't say I was angry at you...just confused and disappointed." The younger skater retorted, eyes turning down again.

"Passionately so."

"...All the same."

"You should go find us some seats. If we've sent my uncle on a tiger hunt, we might as well record the show for him while he's gone. I'll go get into my last outfit and meet you after."

"Yeah..."

.

.

.

Mikhail was glancing down at his iPhone, waiting for a reply from the youngest skater.

[Where are you?]

[...]

The three 'typing' dots were starting to make him crazy, so he wrote another message.

[You know that I can tell when you're typing by the dots on my screen, right? Where are you?]

[Why, so you can lecture me more? You're not my dad.]

[So where is he then? I'll be happy to hand this off to him if you prefer.]

[Wow.]
[You're an asshole, you know that?]

Mikhail huffed and shook his head, [Not as much an asshole as your papa. At least I'm here and I'm trying.]
[So, where are you?]

[I'm not saying shit unless you can guarantee the dumbasses aren't with you.]

[Fine, come find ME then. I'll wait under the Bar sign at the northeast end of the rink.]

The elder Russian clicked out of his phone and started moving off to the designated spot, keeping half an eye out for a potential ambush along the way. He tried to look out onto the ice as he came around the wall, but there were too many people watching from the second floor balcony to see what was going on, so he kept moving. He'd already seen 2 of the 3 shows he wanted to witness anyway, and he knew the last was about 45 minutes off.

There was some rock-like music playing on the speakers, but it wasn't anything he recognized.

Hm...my kids would probably know this. Shame they don't get skating. Yuratchka might've had some friends that were his same age otherwise. Maybe I should drag him back to Canada at some point...

When he finally got to the right spot, he leaned against the first of several rectangular brick pillars. From there, he was able to see the rink again, since right in front of him was the end of the lower-level seating area, and the closest head was 5 feet beneath his own. The Russian crossed his arms, and folded his right ankle behind the other...and waited.

The Pairs Gold medalists, Ladies Silver, Ice Dancer Bronze, and even Chris, had gone on to do their Exhibitions before Mikhail began to wonder if Yurio was even going to show.

He sure is taking his damn time...

A tingle suddenly went down the man's spine, and he instinctively spun around and held his hand out, abruptly catching a skate as it was being thrust towards the center of his back like a rubber-guarded battering ram. When he realized what it was that he'd caught, he glowered at the surprised teen in front of him and raised the skate high, taking Yurio's leg with it and forcing him into a vertical split.

"How did you-"

"You think you're the first moody teenager to try and kick me from behind?" Mikhail answered curtly, keeping his hand firmly on the blade-guard even as the blonde struggled to pull it back, "I have Dad Powers. Sergio used to throw paper airplanes at me while I was working, too...the silent death. I learned to hear them, and I can hear you. Now, let's go someplace less noisy."

The older man started pulling the younger one along, keeping the blade up at around his shoulder-level, and effectively dragged Yurio several feet before the teen finally managed to get his leg back. Several people had noticed them and were turning to comment, but thankfully, none had the ignorance to try and get in the middle of it for anything.

"What the Hell was that for!?" The blonde barked, standing funny where his legs had been painfully stretched.

"I don't think I've ever had to repeat myself so often as I have with you. Let's go someplace less noisy."

"I heard you the first time! You could've let me walk!"

"This is taking too long." The older Russian sighed to himself, stepping forward quickly and grabbing the teen by the waist. Before Yurio even knew what had happened, he was watching the hall pass by him in reverse...and he looked down to see the back of Mikhail's coat and legs.

"Put me down!" He hollered, flailing as well as he could where he'd been flung like a sack of spuds over the man's shoulder, only to get a finger jammed in his kidney. He deflated instantly.

"You need a serious talking to. I was volunteered. I intend to be back before Viktor and Yuri's pair skate at the end, so let's get this thing done."

The only thing Yurio could hear after that was the muttering of people who'd heard the words, and who were checking the program list on their phones to see if the statement was true.