CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED SEVENTY FOUR
Viktor lasted around 3 hours before the boredom of being without the internet finally settled in, and he drifted into an uneasy sleep.
His music thumped away into the dark of the night, quiet enough to be tolerable, but still audible within the house on the hill. With nothing but a hundred miles of densely wooded and frozen Russian wilderness in every direction, there was little else to hear except the occasional hooting of owls...and the subtle, far-off bass of whatever song was playing in the hybrid at the time.
It was nearly 2am when Konstantin refused to listen to it anymore. Irate eyes opened in the dark, hearing the quiet thumping through the walls. It was barely audible...but the fact that it was audible at all upset the delicate balance of the quiet night.
By the time Mikhail heard the bear getting his snow-boots on, it was already too late to stop him. The skinny silver Russian could do nothing but rise up in surprise from where he'd been scattered all over the old couch. The door closed behind the Nikiforov Patriarch, and a bit of snow fell from where it became dislodged from the roof, landing with a quiet paft in the ground. Mikhail quickly jumped to his feet and scrambled to the door, pulling it open and spotting Konstantin skulking down the narrow path in the snow.
"Kon!" He called out, "Kuda ty ideš'!?"
No answer came, at least not in words. It became obvious enough when the bear made a B-line for the car, peering into the back seat to spot whichever side Viktor's head was at and then going to the other side. Mikhail was scrambling for his shoes as he saw it, yelling out again as he came flying through the door with his coat only half-on, pausing suddenly before taking an unwise step into 2-foot-deep snow.
Konstantin had stopped. His hand was up, as though he were about to bang on the window to wake the skater up and demand he silence the infernal screeching coming from within. But he held it there, simply staring down into the back seat instead.
Viktor hadn't noticed any of it. He'd bundled up as well as he could, arms crossed tightly in front of himself as he slept on his side, his scarf rolled up under his head to form something close to a pillow.
Slate eyes stared at the skater, and soon, the hand came back, stuffed into the coat pocket at the big man's side. The thumping within the car seemed to stop anyway...the song had ended and something much quieter had taken its place. Konstantin grumbled quietly to himself and started to step away after that, boots crunching through the packed snow as he went back to the path and came up the hill.
Mikhail was still trying to close his coat when the bear finally got close enough to the door that he could be spoken to without yelling, [What was all that about?]
[His music was keeping me awake.]
Grey-green eyes watched in confusion as the man went inside again, [...But...you didn't even do anything. The music is still playing just as it was before.] The smaller man went in after the larger, closing the door and kicking his frozen shoes off, scuttling over to the cast-iron oven that heated the room, [Kon?]
The Patriarch was still hanging his coat by the door, but he looked up before stepping over to sit in the big reclining chair nearby. He pulled the lever on the side and set his feet down on the padded lift that folded out, [He reminds me of you, before you left. All hot-headed and defensive. If I didn't know what year it actually was, I'd think it was 1990 all over again.]
Mikhail was stunned, blinking a few times and shaking his head, but then stepping over to where his blanket-pile waited for him on the couch, [That doesn't explain why you stopped yourself.]
The older man thought on it for a moment, lacing his fingers together over his chest as he looked up at the wooden ceiling. He shrugged after that and closed his eyes, [I decided that I didn't feel like waking him up and pissing him off over nothing. I already have enough to be angry about...no reason to add him to the list.]
The silver Russian watched in thorough perplexity as Konstantin seemed to settle in where he was, resigning to sleep in the chair instead of his own bed. There wasn't any sense in asking why, so Mikhail just tossed his coat over the back of the couch and pulled the blankets back over himself again like before. He barely lasted a few seconds though before he lifted his head again, [If you could forgive me, you can forgive him. What he's doing is far less offensive than what I did, and he isn't even doing it directly at you. He's just living his life the best way he knows how.]
He waited a moment...but no response came, so the silver Russian just set his head back down onto the pillow and let himself go quietly back to sleep.
.
.
.
By the next morning, Viktor had tossed and turned, and wrapped his scarf around his head in a desperate bid to keep the light out for just a little longer. It was no use though, since just as he felt like he was finally going to be able to fall asleep again, the doors on both sides of the car suddenly pulled open, and the entire vehicle shook from the entrance of the two new occupants. The front passenger seat got shoved all the way back, forcing Viktor to sit up to avoid it hitting his arm where it dangled into the foot-space. He was ten different kinds of confused and surprised, the scarf still clinging over one eye, barely giving him enough room to look around and process whatever the hell was going on just then.
Mikhail clicked over his seatbelt and put the car into reverse, just as Konstantin was finally settling into the passenger seat and pulled his own seatbelt over as well. The car was moving before Viktor had regained his faculties enough to get behind the driver's seat, where there was still room, and buckle in as well.
"What the Hell is going on?" He finally asked, unraveling his scarf to rewrap it properly, "Where are we going?"
"We're going to the steel mill." The Rozovsky answered, like it was obvious. He kept his eyes down on the navigation panel on the center console, making sure he was clear of the trees behind him until he was reversed far enough to pull ahead again.
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?"
"Nope." He put the car in Drive and started turning the wheel all the way to the left, setting out onto the snow-packed dirt road that lead through the remains of the hamlet. A handful of people were out already, walking the streets on their usual morning errands to the only little store in the area. But, instead of driving through the town, the car turned onto the road just before it, heading well beyond the edge of the tree-line.
"I swear to God, if you hadn't just had back surgery, I'd be channeling my Inner Yurio right into the back of your chair right about now." Viktor snarled, "Stop the car and let me out."
"I'm thinking...no..." Mikhail shrugged, looking at the radio faceplate as the quiet 'Song of Demeter' changed over to 'Aria.' It was barely audible over the sound of the car moving, so he reached over to turn it up, much to Viktor's chagrin, which he saw through the rear-view mirror, "What's the matter, you don't even want to listen to your own music now?"
"I really don't feel like I should have to explain why I wouldn't want to listen to my own music right now." The skater argued, eyeballing where his phone was set into the cup-holder between the front seats, connected to the car via the charging cable. He didn't dare reach for it at that moment though, so he grudgingly listened to the Italian opera. It made the hair on the back of his neck bristle when Mikhail turned the volume up even higher for the climax.
Stammi vicino, non te ne andare
Ho paura di perderti
Le tue mani, le tue gambe...le mie mani, le mie gambe,
E i battiti del cuore, si fondono tra loro...
It felt like it took forever for the song to end. Viktor didn't think it was possible to dislike hearing it, but in that moment, he passionately hated it.
Partiamo insieme, ora sono pronto...
When the drums finally finished out and the song ended, the skater felt some semblance of relief. However, that only lasted a few seconds, and his eyes went wide to hear the sassy guitar of 'Eros' starting instead. With that, he lunged forward, only to get yanked back by the seatbelt activating...so he leaned forward more slowly after that and snatched his phone before much more of the song could go on. A few quick clicks, and he disconnected from Bluetooth, plunging the car into utter silence.
"Aww." Mikhail whined, "I like that song."
"I'm not going to play Yuri's skating music for my father. You already just ruined 'Aria' for me."
"Ruined it...? How did I ruin it?" The man wondered, gawking back via the mirror again.
The woods abruptly ended, revealing a massive clearing where a huge swath of the terrain had been flattened.
Viktor wouldn't answer, simply retreating into the farthest corner of the back seat so he could avoid the front-seat stare. He turned his head to look out the window instead, pocketing his phone as he watched the tree-line fade into the distance. Soon, the pristine snow-pack changed from white to brown, the ground giving way to industrial train lines. The skater hesitated to look after that, pulling back to stare at his knees instead, and then finally closing his eyes. It was another ten minutes before he could feel the car starting to slow down, and then eventually park and shut off. The two men in front got out, pushing the doors closed and leaving the interior in silence. Viktor couldn't hear them, and was thoroughly caught off guard when he felt the door next to him suddenly pull open as well, leaving him to catch himself before the seatbelt had to. He glanced up in confusion, seeing his uncle there holding the panel away, "What's going on?"
"You already spent all night in here. You're getting out for a stretch."
"The next time I get out of this car is when we're at the airport in St. Petersburg." Viktor said stubbornly, unclicking the seatbelt just so he could scoot further inside, squishing himself into the space behind where his father had previously backed his own chair right up against the seat. He crossed his arms and legs, and glared, "I'm done with this trip."
Mikhail just cocked a brow at him, then seemed to look at something over the roof of the car.
Just as the skater realized what was about to happen, the door panel opened behind him and he nearly tumbled out backwards, heels-over-head. He caught himself just in time and scrambled for the middle instead, "I'M NOT GETTING OUT." Viktor barked.
[You can either get out on your own, or we can get you out on your behalf...] Mikhail's voice said in Russian from outside, [But one way or another...]
"I'd really rather not have to get vulgar." The skater countered, continuing to speak in English defiantly.
Mikhail leaned in after that, and Viktor leaned away again, just out of reach. He could feel the shadow of his father before he saw it, and in two seconds flat, one big hand came around his side and hooked around the front of his stomach, pulling him back and then tossing him over a shoulder before both car doors unceremoniously closed, ending the farce.
"PUT ME DOWN. THIS IS UNDIGNIFIED." Viktor yelled, writhing where Konstantin had him firmly in his grip. He saw his uncle coming up behind the big man though, looking up at him from his vantage closer to the ground, "You set me up!"
[You need to see something.] Mikhail said simply, shrugging.
With that, Konstantin suddenly hoisted Viktor up again like he was less than a sack of spuds, and set him, almost gently, on the ground. The skater grit his teeth, adjusting his coat and scarf again where they'd been ruffled from the struggle. That's when he heard the voices.
[Isn't that...?]
[...Is...that really him?]
[Viktor Nikiforov...?]
[Isn't he supposed to be in Japan right now?]
Viktor turned around, seeing where a small group of mill workers had gathered and were staring straight at him. He panicked and stumbled back, only to run right into his father, who once more...almost gently...set him right again.
[How'd you manage to get hold of him, Kon?] One of the workers asked more directly, [We all thought you disowned him years ago.]
Konstantin shrugged, as though he wasn't really sure how to answer.
[It's been ages since I saw this place up close.] Mikhail mused to himself, looking all around at the rust-red ironworks, [Absolutely nothing has changed.]
[...Mikhail?] One of the other workers wondered, an older man, face thick with whiskers, skin dark from fire-smoke. Bright eyes seemed to glimmer under all the soot-staining though, and the man poked his hard-hat up with a gloved hand, [Mikhail Rozovsky?]
[The very same.] He answered, lifting his flatcap up and bowing a bit dramatically before setting it back on his head again.
[Well, shit. What brings you all the way back here? We all thought you escaped.]
[I did. I came back to show my nephew what he missed while he was being Russia's hero on the ice.] Mikhail mused, nudging an elbow at Viktor for emphasis, though he didn't seem to take it very kindly, [I actually took what I learned from here and made something out of it in a different way.]
[Yeah? How so?]
[I buy the stuff coming out of places like this and turn it into engineering equipment, then sell it to someone else.] He explained proudly, [Got a big company back in Canada now.]
[Lucky!]
The group of workers seemed to be inching their way closer, more coming as others heard the talking and saw them. By the end of it, some 15 men were coming out of the mill's main doors, all clad in the same sort of filthy clothing and barely-yellow hard-hats as the first few. Their ages ranged widely, from some barely-19-year-old to someone in their 70s.
Viktor was looking around at them all like they were aliens, entirely unsure what to do and really uncomfortable about the whole thing. He felt trapped though; his father behind him, Mikhail to the left, and a bunch of the mill workers surrounding him on every other open side.
Why are they all coming over here...? He wondered, brows furrowed in confusion, glancing at each of them one at a time, Shouldn't they still be working...?
[So what'd it take you guys to get Viktor Nikiforov to come grace us commoners with his presence?] A different man asked; he had no beard, but his face was still black from the smelting furnace deep within the building, [He never came here even before running off into the sunset to be a famous skater.]
[Oh jeeze, I'm standing right here.] Viktor finally said in Russian, [I'm not deaf.]
[Oh!]
The group all seemed to laugh at that, muttering amongst one another throughout the mirth that they thought he'd forgotten the language, given how he'd shown up yelling in English.
[Since the mill is shutting down, we figured it'd be the only time we could get Vivi to come here without him running off screaming as soon as he saw it.] Mikhail explained, still chuckling with the rest of them, [But a bunch of you saw how difficult it still was.]
Viktor's eyes went blank as he heard the words, [...Shutting down? You never said-]
[You weren't listening anyway.] The elder quipped, [Would you have come willingly if we told you?]
[No.] The skater deadpanned him.
[See?] Mikhail laughed nervously in response, but then waved one arm at the massive complex, [But since it is shutting down...you can look at it without having to worry that you'll never get to leave again. Besides, Yuri would hunt me to the ends of the earth if I didn't get you to Sapporo by tomorrow. Yakov probably would, too, now that I think about it. So, don't worry so much. Relax a little.]
Viktor's eyes twitched to hear his husband's name, and he cautiously looked at the faces of all the men around him, wondering who'd be the first to start taking shots. He felt a tense few seconds pass though without any of them doing so. In fact, there was only one comment about Yuri at all to be heard.
[Way to give all our national secrets to Japan, by the way.] One of the men who'd recognized him before said, [There should be rules against that.] Both comments were made in a friendly tone though, so Viktor couldn't find a reason to set his teeth on edge over it.
[...I...didn't teach him anything he didn't already have the potential for.] He finally said, [I just helped him believe in himself.] He reached up with his right hand to brush a loose strand of hair back over his ear, the gold on his finger glinting in the sunlight...and catching the group's attention.
[Oh hey, when'd you get that thing?]
[Huh?] Viktor looked up, then at his hand, then back at the worker who'd asked him the question...thoroughly confused again. He glanced back at his uncle, who seemed a bit stunned as well, but then the realization hit, and he leaned close to whisper into his nephew's ear.
"I doubt these guys actually watch the skating...they just know about it because of the newspaper, and because you're Kon's kid. The newspapers here have never once mentioned that you and Yuri are married though, and they still edit your ring out of publications...so unless these guys watch the shows live, they'd never know. I wouldn't be surprised if the RSF still refers to Yuri as 'Yuri Katsuki,' too...but I haven't checked. I always watch the Japanese streams since Minako hooked me up."
[What's the problem?] The mill worker asked again, [Who's the lucky lady?]
Viktor looked back at them, feeling nervous. It was one thing to defend his honor against his father, but Konstantin was only one man, even if he hit like 10. This was a whole group of people though, and he had no idea what their opinions were. He could only assume the worst.
"You don't have to say anything if you don't want to." Mikhail went on, whispering still.
[Shouldn't you idiots be working?] Konstantin finally spoke, [The mill is shutting down but it isn't shut down yet. Get your asses back in there and do your jobs. There's still another month to go.]
The group completely B-lined their train of thought, bursting out laughing at the comment and starting to turn back to go inside again slowly. A few turned back and waved their well wishes and 'good luck's to Viktor for his next event, but that easily seemed to be the end of the whole thing. Within a minute, it was just the three of them again, standing in the railway yard just outside the main building.
Viktor glanced back at his father for a moment, unsure why he would've spoken when he did.
Was it to avoid having me admitting the truth and embarrassing him...?
When those slate-blue eyes glanced right back at him, Viktor turned away quickly, and tilted his head down, though towards his uncle, "If there's nothing else here to see, can we go...? Please?"