CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FOURTY TWO

Despite the trio having at least half-woken-up since passing out on the stage, getting the three of them down the elevators and into the car was still a challenge. Viktor was nudged in first, the driver's side passenger door closing against his shoulder. Yuri was hoisted in next, wedged against him in the middle seat. Yurio had roused enough to sit himself down next to his Japanese counterpart, leaning his head against his jacket on the door panel before crossing his arms and promptly dozing off again.

The eldest Russian tipped the Valet staff and yawned against the back his hand before moving to get into the open driver's side door, finished with the task of sorting the SkaterPile. The car was already on, so there was no need to ask for keys. His fingers curled around the steering wheel before he leaned his forehead against it briefly.

Minako was already waiting in the front passenger seat, wearing his top-coat to shield against the cold of the late night air. She watched the man quietly, listening as the door on his side was closed for him by staff, "You gonna make it...?"

Mikhail held a moment before turning his head to look past his knuckles, but then pulled back and sat normally again, putting the car into Drive and moving forward, "Getting too old to play babysitter. We'll have to get them into their rooms again once we're at the Novotel, too."

The ballerina examined his demeanor quietly, but as they rounded the corner to take them down the main street back south, she reached over to pat his leg gently, "What you're doing is often a thankless job, but you're doing great. I'm sure they appreciate it."

The words bounced around in Mikhail's head like a pingpong ball, echoing until they finally faded off again. As the car came to a tapered stop at a red light, he looked back at the trio through the rearview mirror, noting how there was no chance any of them was awake, given their likely-uncomfortable positions or how at least two of them were drooling. Catching sight of himself, and where his hair was sloughed over his left eye, he shook his head and ran a finger through the normal center part and put everything back into its original place, flicking at it a little until it looked half-normal again. Seeing that it still looked a bit unkempt, he reached for where Minako had his flatcap on her lap, and set it on top of the silver-grey mess, squishing it down a little for good measure.

"I never thought I'd be a dad again to three completely different kids." He commented idly, leaning his elbow back onto the arm-rest between the two front seats, left hand barely clinging to the wheel, "The three I already had were enough."

"You don't really see them that often though, do you?" Minako wondered. When he didn't answer immediately, she turned her head back to face straight ahead, "Sorry, I know it's a touchy subject sometimes."

Mikhail stayed quiet for a moment, the light having a chance to turn green again before he spoke, "I buried myself in my work after everything changed. Went back to my old stomping grounds in Kharkiv in the Ukraine until things started getting weird in Crimea...tried to forget about everything. I think my kids resented me for it, especially Sergio. You'd never know just by the one time he came to Calgary, but he used to be a sweet kid."

The roads were surprisingly populated for being so late at night, and with the rain, travel was especially slow. Another red light came ahead, and the vehicle slowed to stopping again.

"I sometimes wish I would've made the three of them come with me instead of leaving them in Canada, but...we gave them the option of choosing for themselves, and they all wanted to stay. Not necessarily because their mother was their favorite, but because she wasn't leaving." Mikhail explained, keeping his eyes ahead, "They all had their lives and their friends established in Banff already...what right did I have to uproot all that? None of them spoke a lick of Russian anyway, so they would've been worse off for going to the Ukraine than if they at least had some terse understanding of it. English isn't really spoken out there."

"I guess it was providence then that you ran into Viktor when you did." Minako suggested, reaching over to take his hand where it was hanging limp over the end of the arm-rest.

"I'd have rather done so without my sister having to die first." The Russian sighed, slouching a little where he sat, but curling his fingers where he felt the ballerina's anyway, "First that, and then seeing Konstantin beat the Hell out of his own kid, not being able to do a damn thing about it." His voice got a bit quieter after that, and he leaned closer, in case any of the trio in the back really was awake and just doing a damn good job pretending otherwise, "Getting hit in the eye wasn't all that happened. I wouldn't have been surprised if Konstantin cracked a rib or two on top of that. He really let that kid have it, though he made it look like he was barely doing anything."

Minako's brow furrowed, and she looked back at where the younger silver Russian was squashed up against the doorframe, his left eye conveniently hidden from view by the turn of his head.

"Maybe I was just too numb from Tatiyana's passing." Mikhail went on, "When I saw Konstantin pouring his flask out on Viktor's head, I wanted so badly to do something...but I just froze. I was still kind of shocked that Viktor was there in the first place...I hardly recognized him...but then everything happened in slow motion, and yet...too fast." He paused a moment, remembering the whole thing unwillingly, "I tell myself I did nothing because I would've gotten a beating, too, but...maybe I was just a coward."

The ballerina had no response to it, so she simply rubbed her thumb once or twice against the man's hand. The Novotel was barely around the corner by then, and it was only 30 seconds of awkward silence before they were pulling into the drop-off area.

Minako had cast her heels off before leaving the Banquet, having her flats back on, and she moved around to the passenger seat behind her to try gently rousing Yurio as Mikhail did the same with Viktor and Yuri. Collecting the sweaters, jackets, shoes, and socks that had previously been taken off, they escorted the hazy men and teen into the building.

The ballerina broke off on the 3rd floor to take Yurio to where the rest of the Russian team was still (hopefully) winding down and expecting him. Mikhail stayed with the two older skaters, getting to the 2nd-to-last floor before disembarking again. Yuri had fumbled around in his coat pocket enough to get his room key, but he was too bleary-eyed to be able to get it into the slot and open the door, so Mikhail reached ahead and guided his hand, then pushed the door open to let the two stumble in.

Yuri paused in the small hallway as Viktor went on through, fumbling at the buttons of his half-open dress-shirt as he tried to at least pretend he could get ready for sleep before passing out.

"When is your flight?" The Russian asked, "Should I call to make sure you wake up?"

"It's not until evening." The young skater answered, reaching up to rub his eyes; he still had Viktor's tie around his head, though his hair was quite a bit messier than it had been when he'd originally put it there, "We won't sleep that late. But you can call anyway if you want; we don't mind."

"Are you flying straight from here?"

Yuri shook his head, "Viktor wanted to get dinner one more time in Paris before we left, since we're not sure when we'll be back."

"All right. Well, get some sleep. I don't know how much you drank tonight, but..."

Yuri just smiled in his hazy way, "Five glasses of champagne and two fancy high-octane cocktails." He blearily recounted.

"Too much. Go to bed."

"Mh. 'Night, Uncle Mikhail." The skater said, falling into a lazy hug rather than stepping into it.

The Russian pat his shoulder and then pushed him back upright, turning him around so he could just walk straight ahead and not have to coordinate himself much more, "G'night, Yuri." He glanced into the interior of the room, but couldn't see his nephew, so he quietly let the door latch and started heading back down the hall towards the elevators.

The light for the 'down' button was glowing as the elder Russian waited, hands stuffed into his pants pockets for lack of his coat. He pulled out the pocket-watch briefly to check the time; nearly 3am.

I'm half a mind to see if I can't just get a room for us here so I don't have to drive agai-

"You left in a hurry."

Mikhail would've jumped out of his skin if he were able. He regained his bearings before turning to look at where Viktor was leaning casually against the corner of the hall, staring straight at him with a half-drunk haze in his eyes, "You scared the ever-living Hell out of me just now."

Viktor huffed a laugh, "Sorry. I thought my footsteps gave me away."

"No. You're wearing slippers. You were as silent as the ghost you skated about tonight." The older figure said, righting himself as he felt his heart starting to calm again, "What is it?"

"I just wanted to say thank you for tonight." The younger silver answered, "You never answered my text but I'm guessing you saw it anyway."

"I did."

The curtness of the answer threw Viktor off a little, "...Was it too much to call you dad?"

"What? No..." Mikhail felt a little ruffled, "You just hadn't done it before, save that one time when I nearly ran us off the road after."

The skater laughed, "I remember. That's why I said it again." The laugh faded and Viktor just smiled at the memory.

The older man examined him, turning his head a little, "...Is that the smile you said at Worlds that I'd eventually earn?"

"Hah?" Viktor looked a bit more serious then, digging through his memory for a moment before finally recalling it, "Oh...right. Yeah...I guess so, maybe." He paused a little, looking at the floor, "I was horrible to you back then."

The elevator arrived, a subtle 'ding' resounding through the air as the doors opened. Mikhail stuck the toe of his damp shoe into it to prevent them from closing again, thankful that there were no other passengers, "You had your reasons."

"I couldn't really remember you that well." Viktor admitted, reaching up to scratch his cheek under the bangs, "I had...this nebulous memory of the idea of you, but...nothing concrete. No real events to think about."

"Even if you had straws to grasp for, I was away for too long anyway." Mikhail shrugged, feeling a bit naked without his coat suddenly, "Both of us were different people coming back into things by then."

"Still. I was unnecessarily cruel to you for a really long time."

"Hindsight is always 20/20. You had your reasons. I don't hold it against you. I made my own mistakes in how I handled it all, too."

Viktor lowered his eyes as he nodded, remembering the behind-his-back conversations the man had had with his then-fiancé. He looked out at where his left foot was propped up on the back of the heel, posturing himself like he normally stood while idling on the ice, even if the pose felt uncomfortable without skates on; the lack of the elongated heel-blade made his hips feel uneven. He pulled his leg back and crossed it behind his right ankle instead, "Truth be told, I just didn't want to remember anything from before I got into the ISU. When you showed up, it reminded me of everything I had been dealing with since Four Continents, and by then, I was ready to just let myself forget it all. Yuri and I had just gone to Barcelona to tie the knot and...it was just a lot of emotions to handle at once. I didn't want anything bad to come up while so much good was happening, too."

"I understand."

"But I've learned over the last few months that you're really not all that different from how I remembered...or rather, conceptualized you from back when I was a kid." Viktor went on, bringing his eyes back up again to look at his Uncle squarely, though softly, "I feel...like I looked up to you back then. Weird as it sounds, I don't have a lot of memories of Konstantin from before you left. It's like he didn't really exist yet in my mind. I don't know if that makes any sense."

"Sure it does." Mikhail nodded, pulling his foot back to let the elevator go about its business. If no one else called for it, it would still be there behind the closed doors when he hit the button again anyway. He turned himself to face his nephew evenly, "You were my little silver shadow back then. You and that massive bear-dog."

Viktor huffed a laugh, "The one that Konstantin wanted to use to hunt wolves and boars, but ended up being too kind-natured for the task?"

"That dog only ever got aggressive when you were in trouble." Mikhail noted, recalling it fondly, "You once walked half-way across town by yourself, throwing clothing onto peoples' doorsteps as you went, dragging a rake behind you...and that dog followed you the whole way. Snapped at your father when he came and found you. Konstantin was so pissed, but Losi wouldn't let him near you. He was a good dog."

Viktor looked up curiously, "...I did all that? Why?"

"I dunno," Mikhail laughed, "I guess you were trying to come to my place."

"But the clothing...? And dragging a rake...?"

"You were three. Who knows what you were thinking. I just heard the barking and came running cuz I thought you were hurt." The elder was still half-chuckling at the memory of it, "I saw that my old house burned down sometime after I left, though."

"I didn't notice. I imagine a lot of things about that place changed while we were gone."

"Yeah." Mikhail nodded, the mirth fading, "...I'm going back for a few days once we get Yuratchka settled in St. Petersburg."

Viktor's pupils widened even as he narrowed his eyes, "...Why?"

"It's been a while since I paid my respects to my sister." He answered, lowering his head such that his own eyes were somewhat hidden behind the 'curtain' of bangs framing his face, and under the brim of his hat. He rubbed his nose on the back of a knuckle idly, trying not to let himself be overcome, but then lifted his head again.

Like before, he didn't hear his nephew's footsteps, and his eyes went wide as he felt the man's arms go around him from the side, "...Uh..."

Viktor held there in silence for a little while, speaking only once he felt the older man's stiff frame relax a little, "I'm sure she'd be happy about what you've done since the funeral. I am."

"...You are?"

"Mh." He answered, "...It took longer than it probably should've, but I am. I'm sorry for that."

"Don't be sorry." The elder said simply, patting Viktor's arm awkwardly where one was around his chest, "Things are better now. I'd do it all again if I knew it'd get to here."

The skater finally nodded and withdrew, crossing his arms loosely in front of himself, "You're coming to Cup of China?"

"Da." Mikhail answered, "Minako and I are making the big pilgrimage back to Japan. It just suits us that everything we need to do and all the places we need to go are in sequence going east. From here to St. Petersburg, then on to Shanghai and Sapporo, then south to Hasetsu...lines up pretty nicely."

Viktor nodded, but then grinned to himself, "Well, I'm going to go make-out with my husband for a little bit before I go to sleep. We'll see you in a week."

The older figure's face was a bit red to hear it, but he reached out and pat his nephew's shoulder, holding it briefly before letting him go again, "Until then."

"Spokushki, Dyadya Mimi*."

Mikhail stopped dead where he stood, not sure he heard correctly, watching Viktor move back off towards the hall he'd come from. The younger man hadn't looked back though, as though he hadn't realized what he'd said or what it meant, leaving the older figure to just blink a few times in utterly confused shock. Mikhail raised his right hand weakly, not quite waving but meaning to, and not feeling the tears roll down his face, "...Spokoynoy nochi**...Viktor..."

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*'G'night, Uncle Mimi.'
**'Goodnight.'