CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED NINETY THREE

Yakov pushed into the building far ahead of Mikhail, the doors sliding shut long before the second figure ever got close enough to see within. By the time those grey-green eyes set themselves onto the skating duo again, Yakov had already found the group and had been speaking to them for a few minutes. The coach looked up and back at him when the group seemed to shift their attention away, but made one last comment before getting a nod from Viktor and started to leave. The quiet tap of his dress-shoes on the floor echoed briefly, drowned out by the sound of the announcer reading off the previous performance's score and earning a loud applause.

The older Russian paused in front of him though, still looking ahead, "Leave them be. You've already done enough."

The pit in the silver Russian's gut grew bigger to hear the words, amplified by the new round of cheering from within the stadium as the next set of skaters went out.

How ironic... I get a knife in the chest, and the audience cheers. I know it's not actually for me, but the timing makes it feel like it might as well be.

He listened to Yakov's shoes clicking away until they vanished entirely, leaving him in the otherwise silent hall. All the while, he kept his eyes forward, wanting desperately to say something, but frozen solid by the look on his nephew's face, those blue eyes staring right back at him, clearly saying not to come closer. The trance was broken by Minako turning to say something to the pair, getting a kiss on the cheek from Viktor and a hug from Yuri before departing. Mikhail just stood there, practically paralyzed, until the ballerina got closer and all but forced him to turn around, spinning him by his shoulders until he was facing the other way, then nudging him to start walking in that direction.

"Just give them space for now. Viktor needs to focus so he can skate later." She instructed; her voice sounded hollow at first, but then returned to normal as the listener focused on it.

"...I should apologize to him at least..." Mikhail protested, looking back over his shoulder, only to see the woman shake her head.

"They don't want your apologies right now. They want space."

"They? Yuri's mad at me, too?"

"Neither of them are mad at you." Minako clarified, stepping up beside the man instead and walking next to him, "But they are a packaged deal. That little outburst from Konstantin wounded Viktor rather deeply, and Yuri feels his pain. He'll fight to the death to protect Viktor if that's what it takes, and right now, Viktor's in a particularly vulnerable place. Yuri can sense it, and is drawing in closer to keep him safe." She said simply, stuffing her hands into her jacket pockets, "But Viktor badly wants his father's approval for his skating...or at least, that's what he says he wants. Not knowing a lot about his life outside of the sport though, I can't say for sure that's all he's looking for." She turned her eyes up at the taller figure, taking note of how he avoided her gaze just by tilting his face forward enough that his silver-grey bangs covered them over, and hopped quickly forward to get in front of him instead and make him stop in his tracks.

Mikhail paused to avoid running right into her, but kept his gaze case down, until he felt the woman's hand come up to his face to force him to look up.

"If I could put the conversation you and I had the other night onto a television and make them watch it, I would... I know you meant well when you suggested bringing Konstantin here, but the more I talk to Viktor, the more I get the impression that he was strong-armed into agreeing. How upset was he already about things in Russia when you sprung this ridiculous idea on him?"

The silver Russian grimaced, and turned his head to pull it off the woman's palm, "...Enough that he'd been crying and said he wanted Yuri." He admitted darkly, further realizing the error in his judgment, "It's not how I expected things to go."

"What did you do to him that made him that upset?" Minako asked incredulously, both hands on her hips as she interrogated the man.

"I didn't do anything to him." Mikhail protested, "Konstantin had just found out his work was shutting down, so we went to the steel mill so he could get some of his things. Viktor was already in the car at the time so we just took him with us. I had no way of knowing he'd react so badly just seeing the place, but he did."

"Did he go into that place willingly after you hijacked the car with him in it...?"

"...After a fashion...I guess?"

"Mikhail!"

"I thought it'd be good for him to see the mill! It's just a building! And it's closing down in a few weeks anyway so it's not like there was some supernatural risk of him never getting to leave again."

"How many times did you twist Viktor's arm into doing things he said he didn't want to do!?"

"I thought that making him confront his fears would be good for him! He started the whole thing by saying he wanted to go back to the town in the first place!"

"He had his own ideas about what he wanted to do there. The stuff you added wasn't good for him! It sucked all the joy and happiness out of him! Look at him!" Minako argued, pointing back down the hall, "He's all jittery and restless! That's not him. It's the NHK Trophy, he should be bouncing off the walls with excitement! But he's just a lump now!"

Mikhail refused to look.

"NHK was supposed to be their once chance at a fun event before the Final!" The ballerina continued, "Now it's turning out worse than Cup of China did! Every competition this season so far has been progressively worse than the last! It's practically a miracle that they're getting a chance to go home for a few days before going to Detroit. Who knows what's going to happen there."

"What difference does all this make anyway when I already told Kon that we're going to send him home early?" The Russian asked pointedly, looking straight at her, "As soon as he calls me back, I'll buy his plane ticket. I'll put him into cargo if I have to."

"Is that what Yakov told you to do?" Minako wondered, looking a bit disappointed, "All he told us was that it's being dealt with."

"What else can I do to fix this?"

"Viktor told us what Konstantin said while storming out of here. He's expecting that the man will show up. He seems pretty resigned to the idea that Konstantin came all the way out here to watch him skate, so by God it's going to happen. It'll be the only way all the stress of the man being here will be worthwhile."

"I knew we should've talked to Viktor first. I told Yakov as much," Mikhail said. He roughly pulled the flatcap off his head and grudgingly ruffled his hair with the other hand, squishing the hat back in place soon after. He grit his teeth and drew in a sharp breath, but then finally turned to glance behind himself to see his nephew sitting with Yuri against the wall, the two whispering between each other. The elder Russian sighed, "I guess I'll just have to wait and see how long it takes for Kon to call me back."

"Then let's go steal our seats back and see how things play out."

Two pairs of eyes watched the duo disappear around the curve of the hall, followed by two loud sighs.

Yuri leaned back and slouched in his seat, sliding down it slightly, "Well...between Minako-sensei, Coach Yakov, and Konstantin's outburst in front of everyone...I'm sure Mikhail feels at least a little guilty for all this now."

Viktor slouched and slid down a little as well, "My father better come back." He said quietly, "All this drama will be for nothing if he doesn't."

"It's weird to feel like that." Yuri commented, turning his head against the back of the chair to look at his partner, "Actually wanting the guy to be somewhere close? It's been the other way around this whole time."

"Yeah..." The silver Russian agreed, rubbing his thumb over where he held to his husband's hand between them, "I was pretty shocked when he agreed to come in the first place. He might still be an intolerant jerk on the whole, but the fact that he came here? Not just to Japan, but to NHK? We'd never have gotten him on the plane unless he wanted to be here in some way. I feel like..." His words drifted a little, but he shook his head and then leaned it over to rest it against Yuri's shoulder, "...Maybe he's got his own reasons for being here. I doubt he really cares about seeing me skate...but my mom died after they fought over her watching me skate. Maybe he's just trying to atone for that."

"Maybe." Yuri agreed.

Their thoughts were drowned out after that by the sound of the crowd again, their cheers reverberating off the walls like thunder.

Hazel eyes lifted, and the younger skater pressed his cheek to the soft silver hair lying loose over the shoulder of his coat, rubbing it against the man's head gently, "...These cheers have been loud all day... I almost wish I'd be able to see the look on Konstantin's face when he's assaulted by the sound of the applause when you go out there."

Viktor huffed a quiet laugh to himself, but nodded a little, "Same."

Yuri pulled up from where he was starting to slide off the end of his seat, sitting up on the edge of it before turning to look back at his partner, seeing him still slightly tilted where he'd been leaning. As Viktor righted himself again, the younger figure turned around outright and settled himself on his husband's legs, sitting on the middle of his thighs and folding his shoes below himself loosely. He looked into the tired, slate blue eyes in front of him, and smiled as well as he could, "Maybe we can make that Mikhail's punishment. Make him get a picture of Konstantin's reaction to you getting ready for your Short Program, so he can show us later."

The Russian watched quietly as the younger skater went on with his description, feeling where the man had let go of his hand so he could be a bit more dramatic.

Both hands went up as Yuri went on, "The next skater to take the ice tonight...representing Russia...Viktor Nikiforov! And the crowd goes absolutely nuclear." He leaned forward and put those hands on the skater's chest, "The power of their cheering is so strong and loud that it feels like our very heartbeats are syncing with the roar. The air is vibrating with excitement...and you haven't even put skates to ice yet."

Viktor was already starting to enjoy the tale, reaching his hands up to wrap around the two over his front as he continued to listen.

"But then one gold blade glides across the frost...and then another...and the thunder of the audience kicks it up another notch. The rafters start to shake, the windows rattle...people start chanting your name, and pretty soon, it's a hundred times what it was at Rostelecom last year. Viktor! Viktor! Viktor!"

"Viktuuri. Viktuuri." He corrected, smiling a little brighter then.

Yuri felt his heart float in his chest, "Then all the banners come out. Some fly the Russian flag, others show off your name in huge print...then they start to show off the big posters that hang over the edge of the wall. The ones with big photos of you winning gold in previous competitions, or shots from your past modeling gigs, like the ones I used to have plastered all over my walls back home."

"And then the ones from our wedding photobook." Viktor added, "And all the banners with the hashtag #SkateHusbands."

"You do your rounds around the rink for a minute, fans screaming from every angle...and then you come back to rink-side for one last pep-talk from your not-really-a-coach."

"And he offers the only advice I've ever really listened to."

Yuri leaned in a little closer, pressing his forearms down against the man's abdomen as he closed the gap between them, nosing his husband fondly, "I love you. Go have fun, and skate like you're trying to seduce me."

"I will." The silver Russian hummed, tilting his head and closing his eyes as he felt warm lips on his own. He held there for a moment before moving his hands to go over his partner's back, feeling Yuri's go down around his own, wrapping around him through the gap under his shoulders. At least in that place, in that moment, everything else finally felt irrelevant, and a fraction of the weight on his heart lessened.

As long as he has his arms around me, nothing else matters.

As the kiss ended, Yuri buried his face against his husband's neck, hugging him a little tighter as he felt Viktor doing the same thing in turn. The warm, wet feeling against his skin came soon after, and Yuri pressed in a little closer, fingers clasping to the back of the man's track-suit.

"I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have you, Yuri." The Russian whispered, nuzzling a little to try and dry his eyes on the younger man's scarf, "You're my everything. I'd be lost without you."

.

.

.

By the time the Ladies Short Program had started, things had settled enough in Viktor's head that he could watch the show without constantly thinking about something else. That didn't entirely stop him though, but at least it was at a minimum. Plus, every time it looked like his thoughts were wandering again, Yuri would move somehow in the seat next to him, and bring his attention back to the ice.

With the seats as narrow and unaccommodating as they were, moving was a common occurrence, shifting in the hard plastic seat when feet or butts would fall asleep. When it was finally Mila's turn, it was as good an excuse as any to get up and walk around for a bit, and the duo headed down to rink-side to wish her luck alongside Yakov.

Seeing the female figure skaters was like seeing an entirely different version of figure skating. Unlike the men's side of things, it almost seemed like the women were regulated far more strictly. Creative incentives were almost-entirely restricted to performance dresses, and they were required to wear nude-colored leggings in almost every instance. Not one to buckle to norms though, Mila went her own way, adding flare to the ice with an outfit that loosely resembled some of the one-piece ensembles normally worn by the male athletes.

It was dark, with a black dress that ruffled out around her mid-thigh, slightly longer in back than in front. Black translucent leggings with skate-covers at the bottom, and sheer covers on her arms, with red accents at the wrist, and in a gradient around the edges of the skirt fringes. It had a loose black turtleneck, with a red stripe from under its folds, across one half of her chest, and met the red lining the ruffles of the skirt. On the chest and back, it sparkled with a mix of black, red, and gold crystal designed into swirl patterns. She wore her hair loose, since it was too short to tie up in the traditional bun, and had her make-up done immaculately, eye-shadow a dark red to go with her outfit.

Just as she was approaching the rink wall to get that last bit of advice and a pep-talk from Yakov, she spotted Viktor and Yuri coming up from the prep area, and her eyes lit up, leaving the old coach mid-sentence to slide off towards her former rink-mate, "Wh- Hey!"

"Thought we'd send you off properly." The silver Russian said, smiling, "It's been a long time since I did so last."

"You didn't have to. Just knowing you were going to watch was enough, but thanks!" She answered, pausing on the wall just in front of the man, then reaching across it to hug him as well as she could, "Maybe some of your essence will stick with me on the ice and I'll take gold just because I touched you."

Viktor grinned at that, "Maybe."

Mila turned her eyes over to Yuri, acting like something of a wallflower where he stood next to his partner but saying nothing. She smirked to herself while he wasn't looking, and then reached over to ruffle his hair eagerly, "Aha! I touched two gold medalists before skating! Now I have to win!"

"Mila, time to go." Yakov said gruffly, thumbing out to the center of the rink, "Better get out there."

"Yessir~"

Just before she could pull away, Viktor pulled her back with a his free hand around her waist and lower back, leaning over to kiss each cheek, "Davai~"

"Ganbatte, Mila-san." Yuri added, waving as she finally pulled off to take her position.

The crowd roared again as she raised her arms and went around in a big circle, eventually making her way to center and digging in her right toe-pick. Her right arm extended, curved, out to the side, while the left rose up in front of her, and she dipped her head, taking what looked like a ballet-stance. A moment later, the low hum of her music started.

['If You Shout' - Era]

"Feeling better now, Vitya?" Yakov asked, keeping half an eye on his skater as he glanced back over towards the athlete who'd temporarily reinstated himself as one, "I didn't think you'd come down like this."

"We've caught grief recently for missing a certain Russian Kitten's performances, so I figured there'd be no harm in coming to see Mila off." He answered, "Besides, our butts were starting to hurt in those seats. We'll have to go buy seat-cushions for tomorrow. Neh? Yuri." Slate eyes turned fondly to the other skater.

"For sure."

"Well, it's good that you have your head back where it needs to be," The coach went on, nodding at him before turning back out to watch Mila launch into her first jump; a triple Salchow, "I was starting to think you were going to consider withdrawing from Opening Ceremonies."

"Nah. I hardly have to do anything there, so there'd be no point in dropping it even if I still felt like heck." Viktor explained, releasing his partner's hand to set his whole arm over the man's shoulders and slouch over him instead, "Where's Yurio anyway? I thought he'd stay close to you guys."

"Not sure. He wandered off sometime before the Pairs event ended."

Mila did a triple-twizzle as she slid down the edge of the rink, finishing it into the wide arc of an outside spread-Eagle, and then into the triple Axel, landing it cleanly. The audience clapped excitedly for her.

Yakov turned his gaze from his skater back to the lanky silver figure standing a few feet away. He could see that Viktor was smiling despite it all, enjoying the show being put on ahead of him, but the way he stood, the way he watched...that was still slightly counter to normal.

That's the look he makes when he's barely keeping things together with duct-tape and a prayer, and he's never really been the praying type to begin with. It's a look I didn't think I'd ever see again, not after he finally found his smile back then...

The stoic old coach stepped closer and roughly pat the man on his shoulder, saying nothing but understanding all the same.

Viktor glanced back at him, initially unsure what it was for, but then realizing...and remembering...