CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED NINETY FOUR
[Thank you everyone for being good to your new team-mate.] Yakov was saying, waving at the team as he stood by the door with the 12 year old silver Russian, the rest of the skaters getting their gear together after a long day of practice, [We'll have to put together a proper birthday party for him since we just missed it.]
[...What day was it?] Georgi asked, almost defensively.
[The day before yours.]
The youngster seemed discouraged to hear it, [Great.]
Viktor blinked at him from behind the replaced eye-patch, and he turned his one good eye back up to his coach, but said nothing, clutching to the backpack in his arms. A few moments later, and the coach was guiding him out of the skating arena and into the parking lot, opening the door of an old grey Mercedes Benz to let him in, and then getting in on the other side himself.
Most of the way back to Yakov's house, Viktor was quiet, holding to his backpack for dear life. All Yakov could see from his side of the car though was that eye-patch and the painful cheek it had been taped to. The boy's bangs were far too short to do anything to hide it. He couldn't even tell if the tiny Russian was looking at anything or if he had his eyes closed. The silence was deafening, [So Vitya, what did you think?]
That one slate-blue eye turned to glance at him, then looked back out the window at the light snow falling outside, [It was nice.]
[I know you're disappointed that I made you stop jumping, but you'll thank me for it later.] Yakov insisted, [Everything you're hoping for will come in due time. You just have to be patient.]
Viktor just went quiet, biting lightly at the zipper across the top of the bag in his arms.
.
Night came early, as it usually did in winter. It was already the third night since arriving in St. Petersburg, but up until that moment, even with the obvious signs of time passing...the sun rising and setting...the hands moving on the clock faces...leaving and returning...time still seemed to stand still. Viktor laid on his side in the bedroom Yakov had thrown together for him, keeping the painful side of his face up to prevent anything from touching it.
He hated how dark it was though. The sounds of the city after sunset did nothing to dissuade the young Russian's mind from feeling like the blackness was just as bad as it ever was back 'home.' The only difference was that wolves howling had been replaced by cars honking.
...and the pain. It wouldn't go away.
In his head, his eye, his cheek, the spot on his back, even in his neck a little. There wasn't a position he could lie in that wasn't somehow uncomfortable. In the black of the room, he made the mistake of rolling to his left side, and the moment his cheek landed on the hard spot where he could feel his hand through the feather pillow, the tiny silver boy gasped in sudden pain and sat upright in bed.
His cheek and eyebrow were as painful as anything he could imagine. It was like knives being forced through his face. He'd heard what the doctors had told to Yakov about what happened, but the words didn't stick. His mind had been swimming at the time, and he could hardly focus on any one thing for more than a few seconds. All he knew was that he was allowed to leave the same day, he'd fallen asleep in the car, and he woke up sometime during the mid morning of the following day.
The shooting pain had calmed a little, but the intense throbbing lingered, and in his frustration, the young skater peeled the patch away and let the skin breathe. He fumbled in the dark to try and find his way around, and eventually out of the room, feeling along the walls until he was certain he'd found himself in the kitchen. The light-switch was easy to find after that, and so was the bag of frozen peas in the freezer door. Viktor went over to the nearby table and sat in his 'usual' place, grabbing a thin dish-towel as he passed where they hung over the oven door, wrapped the bag with it, and pressed it gently to his sore face.
It only took a few minutes before he heard the sound footsteps coming down the stairs. By the time Yakov stuck his tired and confused head through the open doorway, investigating why there were lights on in his house at that hour in the first place, he saw the tiny silver figure at the table with his arms crossed, and his face resting against the cold bag, [Vitya...?]
The youngster barely managed the effort to turn his eyes at the sound of the oncoming shadow, but then blinked and looked further up once the shadow became a normal man. With the coach fully in his single-eyed sights, Viktor turned back around to staring at nothing, shifting the peas resting on the crook of his left elbow and then setting his face against it again.
[How long have you been awake like this...?]
[...I never really fell asleep to begin with.] He answered quietly, not moving, [I wish Uncle Mimi was here.]
[Who's Uncle Mimi?] Yakov wondered, pulling up the chair next to his pupil.
[Uncle Mimi is Uncle Mimi.] The boy answered, [Mama's brother. Mi...khail...? Mikhail, yeah.]
[Why do you want him? You've never mentioned him before.]
Viktor lifted his head off the ice bag, but kept his eyes low, [...He was my best friend, my only friend... He left a long time ago, though.] He sighed, [Then it was just me and Losi...but then Losi left me, too...]
[...Losi?]
[My dog. He died.]
[Did Mikhail die, too?]
[No, he just left. I don't know why, and I haven't seen him since.] The youth said, lowering his head, the tears of shock and pain and frustration finally starting to catch up with him...and they slowly started to roll down his face, [...I bet...he...he could've stopped this...]
Yakov saw it, and immediately went to a knee beside the boy's chair, pulling him away from the table and lifting those tiny arms over his shoulders to hold him, [Vitya, I don't know that anyone could've stopped what happened. But it's over now; you don't have to be scared anymore.]
The youngster just sobbed and trembled, clinging to the man's night-robe with little fingers, [Wh-why did...why did papa do this...? Wh-why did...why did he hit me...!?] He asked through quaking breaths.
[I don't know.]
[Why d-did he make me burn the skates you got me!?] Viktor went on, face wet with tears, stained a bit red on the left where his wounds still hadn't healed, [Why does he h-hate EVERYTHING!?] The boy's pained voice cracked a few times, squeaking a few times as he cried out in frustration.
Yakov drew in a breath and shook his head lightly, leaning into the boy just enough to get his feet under himself and stand up, taking the child up with him. He ever-so-slowly wandered through the rooms of the first floor of the house, letting Viktor cry himself out, gently rubbing his upper back as he carried the boy around, careful of the ripe bruises he knew were hidden lower down. It took about 30 minutes for the loud sobbing to fade down to muffled whimpers and the occasional hiccupped breath, but eventually, the trembling silver boy got it all out...at least for the moment. Yakov slowly moved towards the study that he'd converted into a make-shift bedroom, and set the youngster back into bed, clicking on the lamp on top of the nearby desk and then pulling on the office chair tucked under it.
[...Does p-papa hate me too...?] Viktor finally asked, staring straight up at the ceiling from under the heavy blankets, his voice raspy and dry.
The coach blinked at him, hands on the chair's arm-rest as he was leaning back into it to sit down next to the bed, [I don't know what your papa thinks. He seems like a very troubled and confused man.]
[...H-he's...going to c-come find me...] The boy whimpered quietly, sinking into himself enough that the blanket over his chest now rose up over his nose, [...I-I disobeyed...and...he's g-going to-]
[He's not going to find you.] Yakov said flatly, cutting off that train of thought immediately, [He doesn't know where we are. He can never hurt you again, not so long as you're with me. I'll make sure of it...I promise.]
[...But y-you're...upstairs...]
The coach tilted his head a little at that, but rubbed his chin in consideration, then leaned over the chair to reach a hand out to the boy's head, brushing his palm gently over silver hair, [I'll stay here with you tonight, and tomorrow, we'll move you upstairs. We can switch everything around, so anyone who comes here has to go through me first, okay?]
[...O-okay...]
[Get some sleep then, Vitya. I'm here.]
.
Two weeks passed, and the bruises around the young skater's eye had healed enough that he didn't need to cover it anymore. It was still sore to the touch, but at least he could touch it without feeling the blinding rush of pain shooting through his bones like before. The blood under his cornea had fully gone away as well, making him less a spectacle than he looked like originally.
He followed Yakov like a quiet silver shadow, moving through a studio, hearing soft classical music playing in the background. The sound of soft feet on wooden floors came after that, and the voice of an instructor, too.
[Lift those legs higher up...yes, yes like that, good. Excellent form.]
The coach entered through one last doorway before Viktor could see the source of the voice; a tall, slender woman with long, braided black hair, wearing a form-fitting pair of leggings, ballet slippers, and a loose sweater that hung off her shoulders. She had warm brown eyes, and they immediately descended on him once he was fully in sight. Viktor quickly hid behind his skating mentor, like a startled squirrel avoiding the eyes of a hungry lynx.
[Oh my, who's this silver gem?] The woman wondered.
[Katya,] Yakov started, pulling his hat off as the woman paused her class to come forward and greet him, [I have another pupil for you.] They briefly held hands as the woman leaned in to kiss each cheek, then let go to look around his frame at the nervous child hiding behind him, [Vitya, come out. She's a friend.]
[Vitya? Is that his real name or...?]
Yakov huffed a laugh, [No, just a nickname.] He stepped aside and put a hand behind the boy's back to stop him from trying to hide again, [Introduce yourself. You'll be here a lot soon.]
[I will...?] Viktor squeaked, coughing and then looking around again, trying to see everything except the woman trying to meet him, [What is this place?]
[It's a ballet studio.] The woman answered, reaching her hand forward kindly, [Welcome.] She waited for those slate eyes to finally meet hers before smiling, [I'm Ekaterina Chudov, but you can call me Kat. If Coach Yakov brought you here, at your age, you must be quite the little skater. Normally you'd be much younger when you start here.]
[I found him a bit late, but he's absolutely brilliant.] Yakov beamed, [A bit rough around the edges, but that's why I'm bringing him here, of course. We're about to go to the airport for Euros, but I wanted him to meet you before we took off, so he'd have something to look forward to when we get back.]
Viktor looked at the woman's pale hand, fingernails painted an iridescent blue-purple. He glanced briefly back up at his coach, and then back at the woman...and finally reached out to return the gesture, [...I'm...Viktor Nikiforov.]
[He was already doing triple Axels before he was 10. He's going to be a champion one day...I can feel it.]
[Oh, he's already a champion.] Kat cooed, reaching out that same hand to lightly press her fingers to the boy's unmarred cheek, [Monday then? Or Tuesday?]
[Tuesday.] The elder Russian nodded, [Teach him everything you know, right from basics. He's a fast learner and highly motivated, so anything that can help his skating will stick immediately. Right, Vitya?]
The nervous child nodded, pinching his fingers around the sleeve of the coach's heavy winter jacket as he tried to hide again, this time from the prying eyes of the class that had been interrupted. He pulled his free hand up to cover his still-bruised eye, and sucked in an anxious breath.
[He'll come out of his shell fairly quickly.] Yakov went on, moving his hand just enough to take hold of the youngster's and hold it reassuringly, [He's already become King of the Skate Club. He's still learning to get used to being around new people.] He leaned in closer to the ballerina and whispered into her ear, [He came from one of those half-collapsed steel towns up north...I only went there the one time, but I didn't see a single other kid around that was close to his age. He's kind of like a feral cat, learning to trust people.]
[And the bruise on his eye...?]
[An accident. Keep it at that. The less people take notice of it, the faster he'll heal.]
Kat nodded, and then turned her attention back to the young skater, putting her hands on her knees to better see him at his own level, [Well then, Viktor...it looks like you and I are going to become good friends fairly soon. Ballet is like skating, but off the ice...I think you'll like it quite a bit. A lot of the moves are very similar. So...Tuesday, okay?]
Viktor swallowed nervously, but nodded, [T-Tuesday...]
.
The flight from St. Petersburg to Paris was relatively short, although Aeroflot had been delayed by almost an hour. Yakov complained bitterly to the flight staff in the terminal right up to the moment their tickets were clipped and the Russian team was allowed on board.
[Get used to it, Vik.] One of the older male skaters had joked when they'd finally squeezed into Economy Class, sitting on Yakov's other side, whereas Viktor himself had been given the window seat, [Aeroflot keeps all of us waiting. It's almost a joke. They're always late.]
Slate eyes blinked at the man, but Viktor nodded, and turned his attention out through the window. By the time they landed, it was late Thursday afternoon. The lights of the city were already on full display, and the City of Love called out to the young skater. He was speechless and awe-struck, especially when he got to see the Eifel Tower all alight from the vantage of their high-floor hotel room. Every experience was new...from the airport itself, the flight, driving through the city, and even just being in the hotel room...everything was new. He could hardly keep up with what the team was doing around him...at least, until Yakov called him over specifically.
[Vitya, I have something for you. You'll like it.] The coach said, standing next to an open suitcase on the first of the two huge beds.
[What is it...?] The silver skater turned and started walking towards him.
A coat-bag unfolded, and a zipper pulled down, and when Yakov turned around again, he held in his hands a jacket of red and white, with RUSSIA displayed in bold letters on the back. Viktor knew immediately what it was, even if he couldn't read it. His blue eyes got rather wide as he saw it, and when the older man shook it open and lifted it over his head to settle it on his small shoulders, Viktor practically bounced with excitement.
[Is...is this really for me!?]
[You're on the Russian team, so it makes sense for you to wear our colors, even if you're not competing this time around.] Yakov explained, watching as the boy slid his arms through the sleeves, and realizing they were still a bit too long, [You'll grow into it. This is just the first of many team jackets you'll get to wear over the years.]
[Oh wow, so he can smile.] One of the other team members commented, looking past Yakov from closer to the door.
The coach just looked back over his shoulder sharply, scolding the man with a look; the three of them that were standing there smiled nervously and left the room, running down the hall as the door clicked closed behind them. Yakov looked back at Viktor, who hadn't apparently heard or noticed, still admiring his new coat, [Vitya, the season is already more than half done for the year, so there won't be any events that you can compete in.]
[...I know.] He answered quietly, pulling up the jacket zipper close to his face with both hands, breathing in the new smell of the material.
[What I meant to say is...I brought you here so you could learn about how events work before you start competing in them. Even though you're not turning 13 until the middle of next season, and you'll be doing smaller unofficial events until you're properly of age, it's still important for you to know what everything's about and how things happen...because once you're in, I have no doubt that you'll take the Junior ISU by storm. So pay attention to the rules...learn how they apply, and watch how the other skaters go about their business. Learn from the best and the worst.] He explained, [And always look for ways to inspire people. It's not enough to just be good at what you do...you have to surprise the people watching you, too. Be fresh and exciting, be something that the judges and audience look forward to seeing. Never be satisfied just with copying what other people do before you, okay?]
[Yessir.]
.
Even being more than a thousand miles away from St. Petersburg, Viktor was still torn between the two worlds. One that desperately wanted to enjoy the European Championships...his very first time seeing a skating event of any kind, outside the magazines he'd been given so many years ago...and another that was terrified of being caught there. Interruptions in the crowd's cheering only served to give Viktor's mind the chance to let the anxious memories come flooding back.
.
[I made it clear a long time ago that skating was forbidden, and yet I find these.]
[P-Papa...please, don't...]
[No son of mine is going to be skating.]
.
[We're going to take care of this once and for all... Put them in.]
[N-No...please no...!]
[Do as your father commands. ...Heed me, boy. You will never skate again. Understand?]
.
Viktor's breath caught in his throat for a moment as the thunderous roar of the audience shook him from his torpor.
Yakov saw him flinch, looking around like a spooked cat, only to slouch back down on the seat, just on the other side of the railing. The boy seemed to be trying to hide inside the jacket, pulling the zipper right up to the top and closing it just under his eyes, even bringing his knees up inside it, and pulling his arms from the sleeves to wrap around them.
By the time the boy was done, he looked like a weird, armless and legless torso, with half his silver head sticking out through the neck-hole at the top of the coat. He peered around with suspicious eyes like he worried his father would jump out of the crowd any moment to drag him back home, kicking and screaming.
Yakov huffed to himself quietly, and thought, 'Maybe it was too soon to bring him to an event. Is it too intense, too loud for him? I wonder what I need to do to help him know he's safe here.'
.
Another week passed, and Viktor got to go to his first official ballet classes. His eye looked progressively better, healing just a little more, but still fairly red. The cuts no longer needed to be covered at least, but the little silver Russian kept himself to the far side of the room...deliberately positioning himself at the far left end of the line so no one looking in his direction would be able to see the damaged half of his face.
Yakov watched him over the top of the newspaper he held, sitting in a wooden chair near the door on the other side of the room. As he glanced down, he noticed a small advertisement.
[Poodle puppies for sale.]
He glanced back at the boy and narrowed his eyes in thought, pursing his lips a little as the words wandered through his mind, '...He barely speaks to anyone...he's having a hard time making friends because of it. He's definitely worried about people judging him because of his injuries, and he's putting up such a fuss to avoid being seen as damaged goods, but people still notice, even if they don't say anything.' He looked back down at the ad blurb, 'The call from his mother the other day rattled him, too. He really needs a friend...someone, or something, that won't question or judge him...and he said he'd had a dog before...' Yakov thought...folding the newspaper so just the quarter-page with the advert on it faced up, and he crossed his arms, putting one hand on his chin, '...I could stand to have a dog in the house if it means Viktor will smile again.'
.
[Vitya, it's over this way.] The elder Russian explained, guiding the blindfolded boy through the house by his shoulders, correcting his path as he wandered in the wrong direction, [Right here.]
[What's going on...?] Viktor wondered nervously. He had no idea he'd been placed in front of an open-top box, but he could feel the blindfold being pulled off his face, revealing the fully-healed eye underneath...and the tiny brown flufferbutt in the box just below him, [What...in the world...?]
[He's for you.] The coach explained, [Go ahead, pick him up.]
The silver youth blinked at the pup, seeing how it panted quietly as those dark brown eyes looked up at him. Viktor moved a little, and the puppy got up, tail wagging, which made the boy flinch and back up...but he gathered up his courage again and swallowed before reaching forward. The puppy wiggled with excitement, tail wagging even more, and as Viktor lifted it out of the box, all four paws flailed until they were planted firmly on the boy's chest and shoulders, that pink tongue licking furiously at his face. The little Russian was taken aback by it at first, but the more the puppy seemed to be excited to see him, the more he let himself relax.
[Keeping a dog is a big responsibility. Do you remember how you helped take care of Losi?] Yakov asked.
Blue eyes turned back towards him, and Viktor nodded, [I think so. ...Are you sure I can have a dog...?]
[What, do you think I'd take him away after giving him to you?] The coach chuckled a little to himself, moving to sit back in one of the big chairs of the living-room, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee, [Of course you can have a dog. Most of the time, dogs are better than people anyway, right? You can talk to him and he'll never tell anyone else your secrets...or you can be completely quiet, and he'll never get mad at you for it. Dogs are good like that.]
[...Does he have a name?]
[Not yet. You're his human, so you should name him.]
Viktor looked back at the squirming puppy in his arms, and he held it out in his hands, looking at it in thought. Out of nowhere, the pup barked and sneezed at the same time, making a 'khbuh' and 'chih' noise, which immediately inspired the word that would go with it, [Kubochin.] The boy said.
[Kubochin?]
[I've decided...that's his name.] Viktor explained, pulling to wiggly pup to his shoulder again and patting him fondly, then turning to his coach again, smiling truly and happily for the first time in ages, [After the first sound he made at me, so I always remember.]
.
Mila's performance was coming to a close, and Yakov found himself blinking and shaking his head, realizing he'd daydreamed right through the second half. The woman took her final pose, and the music faded out, leaving only the maelstrom of applause to echo in their ears. The coach looked from his skater to the one standing next to him, and watched as Viktor pulled his arm back from over his partner's shoulders so he could clap along with the rest...but that expression on his face hadn't really changed.
Vitya... The elder Russian thought, worried, ...You came into the skating world looking like that because of your father... Please don't let that man make you leave it the same way. You have too much to be happy for and proud of to let him ruin it like this.