CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED SIXTY EIGHT
The call had been disconnected for half an hour already. Yuri couldn't help but stare at his phone though, as if quietly wishing Viktor would call back to say he'd changed his mind about his unexpected side-quest. The thought of his partner going back to that place sent chills down his spine.
"You haven't said one word since the call ended."
"Huh?" Yuri lifted his head, shaken from a daydream, "Oh...sorry. He...just blindsided me with that last comment."
"I can tell." The teen retorted, pulling up a knee to wrap his arms around and lean against it on the chair, "He'll be fine."
"...A 50% chance that he'll be fine." The older figure sighed, slouching a little and sliding down his seat in the process, "I almost wish hadn't told me he was going. It'd be easier if he waited until he was at NHK to say he'd been there at all."
"Viktor does what he wants, when he wants, regardless of what anyone else says. Yakov's been trying to corral him for years and it hasn't happened. He chased the idiot all the way to the airport the night Viktor said he was flying to Japan, and all Viktor did was wave at him from his seat and say Yakov should join him sometime."
Yuri huffed a laugh at that, "Yeah, sounds like Viktor. Still though..." He got somber again, "This isn't like that. No one ever hit him in Hasetsu. Konstantin though..."
"The last time Viktor saw his father, I was there, and so were you." Yurio reminded, "We all saw how they kind of established a truce of sorts. If he's going out there again, he has a reason for it. You could say it's just business."
"...I just hope he knows what he's doing..."
.
.
.
"Goddamnit Viktor, GO SLEEP IN YOUR OWN ROOM." Mikhail barked, trying frantically to kick the figure off the end of his rather large bed, "You're a grown-ass man!"
"I can't sleep!" The skater protested hazily, "I don't have Yuri OR Makkachin!"
"You're not a toddler anymore!" The older man argued, finally shoving his nephew off the end with a thump, "You're not cuddling with me!"
"I wasn't trying to!" Viktor insisted, staring at his senior over the edge of a bed like a kicked dog.
"You were touching me." Mikhail glowered.
"I had my back to you!" The younger Russian slumped down to his side, pulling his big blanket around himself again where he came to rest on the floor at the foot of the bed. He stared bitterly at the bottom of the black cabinet in front of him, listening to the rustling of blankets as his uncle got up and started walking closer to stare down at him. He could practically feel the man's eyes drilling holes into him.
"You're not sleeping in my room. What's wrong with the one you're using?" Mikhail finally said, his tone a little more empathetic, but not by much given that it was midnight by then, "You'd been sleeping in there all afternoon already."
"...I wasn't asleep."
He could hear the slap of a hand against a face, and the slight, quiet groan of a man about to give up.
"Then what were you doing all day?"
"Trying to sleep." Viktor pinched the bridge of his nose, turning slightly over to face the floor, "I just can't. I feel like a broken-down car with an engine that keeps screeching when you turn the key, and it just never quite turns over and starts. It sits there on the edge and makes you think it'll finally go...only to disappoint you." He pushed up reluctantly and leaned against the footboard behind him, leaning his head forward to rest against his upturned knees, "My entire head feels tight. The front of my brain is tingling."
"Not sleeping for days on end will do that to you. But again, I defer to the offer of sleep meds. It's all I can do for you." Mikhail explained, "If you don't want the drowsy allergy tabs, then I'll give you one of the muscle relaxants the docs gave me for my back. I'm out like a light on those, so I don't take them."
"I don't want my head to be cloudy tomorrow." The younger silver quietly protested.
"It's not like I don't know where you want to go. The only thing I don't know is why you want to go." The elder said, crossing his arms over his skinny bare chest and sitting on the edge of the bed, "But if you don't get some sleep, you'll be messed up from the lack thereof, and that'll be worse because you can't shake it. At least the meds will be out of your system long before we even get through St. Petersburg." He dropped a hand on the blanket covering his nephew's head, "Vivi, for your sake, and for mine, please take the sleeping aids and go to bed."
The skater huffed a sigh, feeling defeated, "...Fine..."
The older man put his hands together as though thanking the heavens for this turn of events, and rose to stand, ushering his nephew from the room and pushing him towards his own, turning back only to get the prescription and something to wash it down with. Once the exhausted heap was finally in bed, Mikhail turned back and quietly stepped out the door, looking back briefly before putting the door to. He was out within two seconds of crawling back under his own blankets.
For Viktor, sleep came reluctantly, yet not without significant effort even then. His head swam as he felt the effects of the muscle relaxant going through him, taunting him with the promise of sweet oblivion. Behind it though, like an expected but unseen trap, Viktor knew something was waiting for him. Something sinister that he wanted to avoid at all costs, but he was pushed through like a paper boat in a raging river.
Strangely, though...this trap...sounded like skates scratching on the ice.
The familiar sound was unexpected, and for a moment, perhaps lulled into a false sense of familiarity, Viktor allowed himself to close his eyes.
.
[Bring it in, everyone.] Yakov said, calling to a small group of skaters from rink-side, [Come take a few minutes to meet someone.]
Viktor's heart pounded in his chest, taking in the sight of the arena. The huge, professional, new-looking skating rink, the massive windows, the river just outside, and the sound of skating instructors on the far end of the ice. It was all so strange, and yet...it was like he knew he was meant to be there.
[Who's this kid? Someone you found in a gutter?] The first skater asked condescendingly; a pale, skinny figure about Viktor's same age, with black hair slicked forward to a short point above his forehead.
[Georgi, this is Viktor. He's going to be joining the team starting today.] Yakov explained, putting his hand behind the 12-year-old's back reassuringly.
The silver boy clutched harder to the backpack in his arms, looking with his one good eye to the figure that had spoken before, then to the others...teenagers, and two adults. They were a mix of men and women, all of whom were part of Russia's professional skating team. It was an intimidating group to look at.
[How's he joining the team if he's only go one eye to see with?] One of the older men asked.
[He'll be fine soon. I just wanted to bring him down here to get acquainted with all of you and get used to being here.] The coach explained, keeping a firm hand against the boy to reassure him, [He comes from north of the city. He's the prodigy I told you all about last year. I was finally able to convince his parents to let him come train.]
[What happened to his eye then?] One of the ladies asked, [Does he speak?]
[Of course he speaks.] Yakov chortled, [Just give him time to get used to things before you crawl up his backside. He comes from a really small town that didn't have any other kids, so this is all new for him.] He turned to the boy after that, [Viktor, meet your teammates. That's Georgi. He'll be your main competition when you start going to events, since you're the same age.]
Standing only a head taller than the edge of the rink wall, it was difficult for Viktor to make a good impression, but he tried his best, stepping forward and letting go of the backpack just long enough to reach over the wall, [...It's...nice to meet you. I'm...Viktor Nikiforov.] His small hand shook a little, but he did his best to hide it by pressing his wrist against the plastic guard along the top of the divider.
The other boy looked at him skeptically, but then returned the gesture, squeezing the hand briefly before pulling back, [Georgi Popovich.]
Each introduction got a little easier after that, and before the tiny Russian knew it, he was getting his skates on. New skates, better fitting to his year-older feet, and most importantly...unburnt. When he was done lacing them, he took a deep breath and stood up, nervously reaching for the bulky square of gauze that had been taped over his eye and cheek, peeling it off with a wince as it tugged on tender flesh.
[Are you sure you want to do that now?] He heard Yakov asking, coming up to him on the ice-side of the rink-wall, [I wasn't going to expect you to do anything strenuous today. Having you come here so soon was just to give you something to do besides sit around my place watching television.]
[I have no depth perception with only one eye.] Viktor answered, blinking deliberately a few times as his uncovered eye got used to the light. The area around it was a deep purple and red, with paper-tape holding the cuts closed where his skin had torn from the strike. He looked down and shielded his sensitive sight from the light with one hand, slowly trying again to adjust to the brightness of the arena by looking through the spaces between his fingers instead, [I want to skate. I feel better on the ice.]
[Come on out, then. Do a few laps and get acquainted with the arena. Don't do anything reckless though; you're still recovering.]
[Okay...] He said quietly, pulling off the blade guards and slowly making his way towards the rink door. He looked around again before setting one skate down on the ice, but when he felt the slide beneath his feet, he pushed off quickly, letting the cold air all around numb the throb in his cheek. Skating idle laps around the edge of the rink, Viktor glanced around at all the other athletes. The oldest looked to be in their mid-20s, while the youngest, to his surprise, were barely old enough to know how to run, let alone skate...and yet there they were, learning how to figure skate professionally. The youngster felt a bit cheated to see these proverbial toddlers gliding around.
He turned his eyes up to where Team Yakov had cordoned themselves off in one half of the rink, practicing moves in the field and spins according to instruction. It occurred to him in that moment that this was his first time on the ice since the previous winter. Since his father had burned his skates during the summer, and he'd been forbidden from leaving home once the snows started falling, he hadn't even been able to throw himself around the pond in his boots, let alone pull his old antique blades out of the tank where he'd left them. The new skates on his feet were hard and tight, needing a couple weeks of use to break in...but at least he had them. He felt whole again. But that's where hubris took over, and the young silver Russian felt the itch to remember what it felt like to fly again. He was already going backwards around the rest of the team when Yakov realized what he was about to do.
[Vitya! Slow down! You're not ready!]
It was too late. Viktor had rounded the curve and had put himself into an outside spread-Eagle, then twisted just enough to launch forward, spin three and a half times, and land like it was nothing.
[...Did he just...?] Voices started rising up around him, [How old is he?]
[That's enough.] Yakov answered stiffly, [Alright everyone, calm down and go back to what you were doing. Vitya, come talk to me.]
Anxiously, Viktor did as told, holding one arm with the other as he started to worry what punishment he'd face for his disobedience. He slid after the coach until the man paused by rink-side and turned to watch him follow, taking a drink from a water bottle that had been on the wall near his gear. Terrified, Viktor said nothing until spoken to, and winced even then.
[Vitya,] Yakov started, speaking quietly, especially after he saw the boy twitch. He put his hands on the little Russian's shoulders and leaned down slightly to look at him more evenly, [I know you want to go all out, but you need to take it easy until you've recovered.] He said, then getting a bit quieter, [The accident was only two days ago. I promised I'd show you the rink today, but promise me that you won't jump again until you don't have a bloody eye anymore, okay?]
Viktor was a bit confused, [...I'm not...in trouble...?]
[Trouble? No, why would you be?] The man answered, seeing the stunned look on the youngster's face, [You're a skater, doing skating things. I just want you to heal quickly, and I know that being here will help with that. But you can't be overconfident and risk hurting yourself more by doing complex jumps, because if you fall, you might do more damage than you mean to. After everything you went through, I'd hate to see it be for nothing because you pushed yourself too hard, too soon, and killed your chances by blinding yourself. You need to be patient a little while longer.]
[...Sorry...] Viktor held his head low, looking down at the ice.
[If I tell you one thing, will you promise not to do jumps until you're healed?] Yakov bargained, putting his hand under the boy's chin to make him look up again.
[Tell me...one thing...?]
The older man nodded, [You only barely turned 12 a few weeks ago, and you just did a triple Axel in front of everyone here. It's the most difficult of the triples to land. Most kids learn to do that when they're 13, 14, or even 15, but you told me you perfected that one when you were 7, launching yourself off a tree stump. Some skaters may never learn it at all. You're already way ahead of the curve...I can feel it in my bones that you're going to be phenomenal in competition. Please don't ruin your chances by getting excited. I'll let you go full-steam-ahead once you're ready, but that may take a week or two. For now, get reacquainted with the ice...practice other elements, moves in the field, simple spins, connecting elements, all the other stuff I taught you last winter...but leave the jumps for later. Promise me.]
Viktor blinked, one normal slate-blue eye, the other peering through a pool of crimson, the cheek and eyelid swollen over it slightly. He finally nodded though, [I promise.]
Yakov nodded, and pat his head gently, [Good boy.]
.
It was barely another week before the first call came. Viktor was poking at a cereal bowl in front of him with an over-large spoon. He could hear the conversation in the other room, and from only the first few exchanges, he knew who was on the other end. He hopped down from the chair and quietly made his way over to the edge of the hall where Yakov had disappeared, and found the man nearly tripping over him as he came back around.
[Vitya!] He hollered, [...You scared me!]
[Sorry.]
[I guess you know who it is though. Do you want to talk to her?]
The boy nodded, and reached up to take the phone, feeling the squiggly cord pull on it a little as the coach let it go. Anxiously, he put it up to his ear, and spoke quietly, [Mama?]
[Vivi!] She answered excitedly, [I'm so happy to hear your voice! How are you?]
[I'm okay. Coach Yakov is taking care of me.] He answered, sounding a little reluctant, [I'm...going to stay here with him, in St. Petersburg.]
[Yes, that's what we were just talking about. I think that's a good idea.] Tatiyana replied, a slight twinge of sadness in her voice, though mostly relief, [There's a lot of things we grown-ups have to talk about, but...I think it's for the best. You deserve to follow you heart. We've been keeping you trapped here for too long.]
[...How's papa? Is here there?] The boy wondered reluctantly.
[Oh, I don't think you need to worry about him, Vivi. Just...let all that go. Yakov's your papa now, okay?]
[Papa's my papa. Yakov's my coach.]
[Yeah...yes, he is. I'm sorry. Uhm...anyway...] Her voice trailed a little, unsure what else to say. There was too much going on and it was likely too much and too complicated for a 12 year old to really grasp. All she could do was look into the room that her son had once occupied and be reminded of how it had been completely emptied out since he'd left. Pieces of the wooden bed-frame were still stacked against the wall near the cast-iron fireplace, the brittle steel skate-blades still cooking inside it, [I'm looking forward to hearing about your first competition. When do you think you'll start?]
[I don't know.] Was all the boy could think to say in response. It was the truth, but it was only so for lack of knowing what his coach was planning. It was too soon to know anything.
[I'm sure Yakov will tell me all about it once you've got something started. You'll do great, I'm sure of it. I love you, Vivi.]
[...I love you too, mama.]
It was difficult; both of them held the phones to their ears for a while in silence before the call finished. Tatiyana was the one who clicked the disconnect button in the end. Viktor just held the receiver in his hands, listening to the muffled sound of the dial-tone blaring like a far-off, hollow siren.
At least, until the plastic device slipped out of his hands and fell.
CRACK
He was up with a start, eyes open wide as a breath caught in his throat. The silver Russian felt dizzy as he pushed up on an elbow in a slight panic...but as he looked around the room, realized it was different. Modern. The walls were painted white, entirely unlike the floral wallpaper from his dream. There was a huge vase in the corner with colored sticks poking out of it, not the window-sill planters he'd remembered a moment before. And it was night.
Still.
Viktor dropped back down to the pillow, reaching up with his hands, looking at his ring briefly before covering his eyes in frustration. His head was still swimming from the combination of the lack of sleep and the muscle relaxer he'd been given.
I have to finish this... He thought, It won't stop haunting me until I go back. I can't still be like this when I see Yuri again... I can't keep dragging him down into this...