CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED NINETY NINE

"Yuri!"

Lifting his head to the sound of his name, the skater spotted Phichit coming up towards him from the prep area's entrance hall, Celestino following behind calmly. Frost still clung to their hair and jackets, and both were trying to dust themselves off before it melted all over them, "Phichit-kun...I was starting to wonder where you were."

"We just got here." The Thai skater huffed and puffed, clearly out of breath, "The snow's really coming down outside, and there was a fender bender on the road we were supposed to take to get to the back entrance. We ended up getting out of the shuttle down the street, and ran up through the courtyard at the south end of the arena. Who knew it would take so long! I thought we'd be here in time for OCs!"

"It's fine." Yuri shook his head, turning to look back at his partner, who was waiting patiently and quietly at the end of his hand. Hazel eyes turned around again though, "It was about what you'd expect. Have you seen the scores yet?"

"No, not yet." Phichit shook his head, smiling nervously, "I'm scared to see how far down Viktor buried us."

The Japanese skater was hesitant to respond to it, but his train of thought was quickly interrupted when he felt that very man let go of his hand. He reached for something in his team jacket, and withdrew his phone, which was set to silent but was vibrating for an incoming call. Cool blue eyes glanced from the faceplate and then to him, and Yuri felt the man's free hand on his back briefly before the Russian answered the phone and started walking away.

"Hey." Viktor said quietly, skate-guards thunking along the floor as he moved off, "Yeah...no, it's fine. I know."

"Who would be calling him like this...?" Phichit wondered idly, "And why does he look so glum? Didn't he just finish?"

Yuri glanced back at Yakov for a moment, getting a hat-tip before the elder coach started wandering away as well, heading back to where the Russians had left their gear. Before the man could get far though, Yuri reached out to tug on his sleeve, "Wait..."

"What is it?" The elder turned his head back briefly, seeing the skater over his shoulder.

"Spasibo. I know it was last-second, and you didn't have to...but, thank you anyway." He explained nervously, still finding the coach a bit intimidating despite knowing him so much better since their first interactions at Rostelecom the year before, "I don't know that he would've done as well if you weren't there."

"Who knows." Yakov shrugged, "Maybe he would've done better. Viktor's complicated." He turned an eye to see the Thai skater eavesdropping for lack of else to do, and started moving away again, "Until later, Yuri."

Cherry-hazel eyes watched the coach go, and Yuri quietly sighed, stuffing his hands into his pockets before turning back to his friend.

"...Why is everyone so dark around here?" Phichit asked, putting a hand on his hip, "It's unlike you guys."

The older figure drew in a breath, moving to follow after Celestino as the man moved to find a place to set down his athlete's gear, "Viktor didn't score as well as we'd hoped. I think my bad habits are rubbing off on him."

Brown eyes blinked at the man, but Phichit quickly followed after, "What do you mean? It can't be that bad."

"He didn't break 90."

"WOW."

Yuri had both hands clasped around the Thai skater's mouth in half a heartbeat, "TSST!"

Other people nearby were looking oddly at them, so those hands only came back far enough for the man to put a finger over his own mouth and shush his friend instead. Phichit was still gawking in disbelief though, whispering his surprise, "He didn't break 90!? What did he break, his legs!?"

"He's got some stuff going on right now and can't focus." Yuri explained vaguely, quietly, "You know how it goes when your mind isn't on the ice but the rest of you is."

"...Yeah..." The younger figure nodded anxiously, stopping where a small line of empty fold-out chairs were claimed by his coach, "Is it cuz of that huge scary guy?"

"Eh?" Yuri blinked at him, "How would you...?"

Phichit slid down to sitting, and pulled out his phone as Yuri followed suit, clicking into Instagram and sliding through his feed until he found some familiar content, "When you guys were still in France, some mega-fan of Viktor's was posting stuff about him. He's got this whole blog dedicated to what he calls 'investigative sports journalism,' figuring out what a small handful of athletes are doing between competitions, but it comes across as creepy vigilante paparazzi stuff if you ask me." He found a certain recent post and held his phone out for Yuri to look, "See?"

The older skater took the device in-hand, "...I used to follow this guy on my old account... He was one of the first to post about how Viktor had left Russia to coach me." He said quietly, "...I guess I hadn't noticed that I wasn't seeing his content anymore. After I made the new account with my married name, I didn't need this blog anymore to follow what Viktor was up to..."

"So you had no idea about this stuff?"

Yuri's eyes scanned the 'article,' seeing photos from afar of the big group's arrival from New Chitose. Mikhail and Konstantin were following at a short distance, as Yuri well remembered, but then the blog spliced in photos from the previous year, at a distance in St. Petersburg, just outside the rink. A side-by-side comparison image tried to show that the huge hulking figure in both images was the same man, confirming it with the association of Mikhail next to him, "...No, I had no idea. This is kind of eerie. To think, I used to rely on this guy for info on Viktor during the off-season...now I just want him to go away..."

"The pics are always from a distance, so it's not surprising if you've never suspected anything. I doubt this person is taking all of them himself either, but rather, using photos other fans take and then figuring out the story based on what he sees." Phichit explained, "You said that your ballet instructor somehow knew about you going back home before, even though you'd semi-officially dropped out of skating at that point... The same people that would've known about you are the kind of people who are floating info about Viktor, too, and all of us to some degree or another." He looked to see where Yuri had made it to the bottom of the article, and hovered a finger over a link listed there, "Yeah, here, you can see the blog post from two weeks ago."

Another page loaded, showing a few of the same pictures from the St. Petersburg Skate Club, showing a string of images afterwards that included shots of Mikhail and Konstantin's initial arrival, their loitering, Mikhail wandering off somewhere, and then Konstantin going inside the rink alone. The article, called 'Viktor Nikiforov Skates on Blades of Rage: What's he REALLY mad about?' went on about the suspicious nature of Viktor's injuries back then, contesting the validity of the Russian's explanation, and even showing off photos of his undamaged car when he'd given it to Mikhail at the airport, which made Yuri glower dubiously, "Whoever this is, they're getting uncomfortably close. The pics from Viktor's old Skate Club were taken by Yuri's Angels, but the rest of them...?"

"If it's any consolation, content only seems to pop up when you guys are at competition in Europe, or when Viktor's back in Russia. It must be someone local to the area...I don't see a lot of stuff come up while you guys are in Hasetsu. Not unless you guy post it first yourselves."

"...That's a relief." Yuri huffed, reading through the article, seeing the embedded video of Mikhail's impromptu interview at Worlds, and then more pictures of Konstantin, zooming in so close that the images were distorted and blurry. The captions that went with the pictures though, suspecting who the Russian Bear was, were clear as day, "...Wow, they figured that out in a hurry."

"Which part?" Phichit looked again.

Yuri shook his head a little and sighed, finding one of the clearer pictures from the previous article, "That's Konstantin Nikiforov...Viktor's father." He pointed at it, then pulled his finger back again, "They'd been estranged for years, but he kind of came crashing back into things after Four Continents last year. You remember how I was all weird at the Banquet, and you thought Viktor and I had a fight?"

"Sure."

"It was because Viktor had just gotten news about his family. He didn't want to deal with it, and now...Konstantin's here. Uncle Mikhail got this crazy idea in his head that Viktor and his father could reconcile things by having the man watch Viktor in competition, but it's just eating him up. I don't know what to do." The skater slouched a little and handed the phone back, withdrawing under the edge of his scarf like a turtle retreating into its shell, "Way back when Mikhail first showed up, Yakov passed his contact info to me and suggested Viktor could use some positive family bonds, but he left it up to me whether I'd tell Viktor about it or not. I...wanted to, because I was stupid and didn't know what I was messing with...but in the end, I brought Mikhail into things entirely by accident. Now he's kind of invaded every aspect of our lives and is starting to override what Viktor thinks. I know he means well, and I know he's realizing that what he did was wrong, but Viktor refuses to send Konstantin home again now, even though literally everyone else wants him gone."

"Sounds bad."

"Viktor created his Rage Ska-...er...his Free Skate specifically because of the negative energy that had built up while dealing with his father last year. He said he needed to do something with it. Now that Konstantin's actually here at NHK though, Viktor says he needs to make him see things with his skating. With everything that's happened..." Yuri slid down a bit further, and brought his hands up to cover the rest of his face with his scarf, "...I wish I'd never sent that first text to Mikhail at all. Viktor wouldn't be suffering so much if it weren't for me."

"I doubt he sees it that way." Phichit said, slouching sideways against his own chair so Yuri was in front of him, "Whatever mistakes Viktor's uncle has recently made, it's not because of you. The way you're talking about it, at any rate, makes it sound like you're about as miserable as Viktor is about this whole thing. But..."

Yuri pulled the scarf down a little to peer past the rim of his glasses, "But?"

"If Viktor made his Free Program because of how he felt about his father, then performing it tomorrow ought to be especially intense. With the man actually here, watching it with his own eyes, Viktor will really be able to show off exactly how he feels about things. It might be cathartic for him. He might even take back the world record you swiped from him."

"...Maybe..."

"Just hang in there. NHK is only one weekend, and then it's back to Hasetsu for some serious rest, relaxation, and decompression." Phichit made a 'free sailing' gesture with his free hand, gliding it forward easily through the air, "And then it's on to the Final. Regardless of what happens this weekend, you and him will be surrounded by friends in Detroit. I bet Chris will go even if I somehow beat him for the last spot. So...you, Viktor, Chris, me, and even Captain Yuri "Crankypants" Plisetsky. And after seeing that video of Viktor on the roof last weekend, I guess Otabek's part of the gang too?"

Yuri's face just went red, "You saw it!?"

"Everyone saw it." Phichit laughed, "But my point is...JJ notwithstanding, everyone else at the Final will be a friendly face. Once this weekend is over, things will be better. The way things seem to have panned out for you guys so far this season, I'll make sure of it. It makes me sad that you aren't smiling as much as you used to."

.

Viktor leaned against a wall in the empty outer ring of the stadium, holding the phone to his ear still and listening quietly. He looked down at the polished concrete floor, and idly kicked his left skate out, balancing it on the heel of the blade, rotating it to and fro mindlessly.

"Yeah, I saw the post online about it. Did someone drug you when they suggested bringing him?"

"No..." The Russian sighed, lifting his head, "Uncle Mimi suggested it, and at the time, he made some really valid points about why my father should come...I eventually caved, because I'm stupid."

"You think you can make up for it tomorrow? You haven't scored less than 90 in like 10 years. You looked dead out there."

"I felt dead out there." Viktor agreed, "I must've gone into autopilot for the second half because I don't remember doing it. I had to ask Yuri if I even finished the damn thing because my final pose is so similar to my intro. For a second, I thought I hadn't even started. All I had to go by was the burning in my chest for having pushed myself so hard, I guess."

"Yeah, your second half was really intense. It didn't look like the same show I watched in Bordeaux. You looked angry and frustrated. It was more like a fight sequence than a dance."

"Well...now you know why." The Russian huffed quietly to himself and then pushed off the wall again, meandering alone through the halls, "I feel really bad about it, too, because that's the show Yuri picked, way back after Four Continents... I think I let him down by phasing out in the middle of it, especially since I gave him so much grief last year over being too stiff doing his YoI program."

"He knows you didn't mean for it to go down like this. He probably understands better than I do. I mean, I've known for years that you can't stand your father, but you've never really said why, other than he was a prick."

"He's still a prick. He's multiple pricks all clustered together around a singular massive prick." Viktor growled, going quiet suddenly as an event staffer passed him by. He smiled politely like nothing was amiss, and watched the short figure move off, only then turning back to the conversation, "I'm not even sure why I keep saying I want him to stay. Everyone here keeps saying we should send him back, and in my gut I know we should, but I just...I need this. Going back to my hometown didn't really do anything for me. I don't know if I'm trying to prove something to him or to myself or... I just...I need him to see me...see what I am, what I've become in spite of him. I don't care if he's proud of me or any of that...I just want him to watch."

"Considering your international fame, your father's probably the only person who hasn't seen you skate, which is pretty hard considering the way the Russian media adores you." The other voice offered, "I remember seeing the papers and news bulletins when we were in Sochi, and a few Rostelecom Cups before that. You'd have to be dead or in a coma to miss it."

"My Uncle missed it. For 25 years he missed it."

"Your Uncle also said he left Russia entirely. Moved to Canada or something, right?"

"He's had a time-share in Moscow since before finding me again." Viktor explained, pausing in front of a narrow hallway that broke away from the main corridor, halogen lights glowing brightly above him, "Well...I guess maybe that wouldn't matter. He and Minako-sensei went back there during the summer. If he was never there in winter, he wouldn't have been around to see the headlines."

"You sound like you're mad at him, too."

"I am, kind of." Viktor grumbled, lightly tapping the toe of his blade-guard against a door, and blinking at it when he saw it push open.

"Well, this whole crazy farce was his idea, so I guess you're entitled to be angry."

The Russian pushed into the dim room, looking around it and realizing it must not have been used in years, at least not since the building had been put together for the Olympics. He saw some old, flat-seat office couches pushed up against the walls, a small coffee table, and another hall leading further away where there were no other lights. He closed the door behind himself, made sure it wouldn't open again, and then sat in the middle of one of the big couches, hoisting his skates onto the short table ahead of himself, "Yuri's gotten dubious of him too... I think I corrupted his opinion. I shouldn't have done that."

"Well, he's your bae." The other voice laughed, "If you're not happy with something or someone, he's going to feed off of it and feel the same way. He won't forgive your Uncle until or unless you do."

"...I don't even really want to talk to him right now, to be honest." Viktor sighed, slouching down and leaning his head against the backing, "My father made a huge scene when he stormed off earlier, and Uncle Mimi made an almost equally-huge scene trying to make him stay. Yakov was the one who originally suggested sending my father home, and told Mimi to do it when they talked alone." Cool blue eyes looked up at the off-white ceiling, and the Russian sighed a little, "Everyone here except Yuri likes making decisions on my behalf lately, and it's always the opposite of what I want. Even Yurio is starting to do it."

"Why? How?"

The Russian grit his teeth and flopped to his side, blades hanging off the end of the last couch cushion, "I guess he thinks he's doing me some favor by minding my father? I'm not entirely sure. He said he helped translate for Konstantin the other morning at breakfast, so I'm guessing he's translating stuff about the event for him, too."

"Ah... Yeah, I heard him yelling at the audience to stop booing the judges and cheer for you, so whatever he's doing, he probably thinks he's helping."

"...In my head, I agree. But in my heart...I just...I dunno, it's like he's taking sides. I feel like Uncle Mimi should be doing that stuff."

"Probably."

"...That concludes the presentation of Men's Singles Group 1. We will now take a 30 minute recess to resurface the ice, and then Group 2 will begin warm-ups. Thank you." A voice spoke over the intercom, making Viktor lift his head from where he'd come to rest it over his crossed arm.

"Well, you should probably go find Yuri again. I doubt he'll want to be away from you for too long when he knows you're down like this."

"Yeah. I need to face the media frenzy, too. Thanks for calling when you did. I really needed someone outside this craziness to vent to." The Russian dropped his head back down again, turning it only enough so his voice wouldn't be muffled speaking into the phone, "See you next weekend, Chris."

"I'm here anytime. Good luck tomorrow."

"Spasibo. Do svidanja."