CHAPTER TWO HUNDRED FIFTY SEVEN

Seats were taken on the one side of the rink that wasn't pressed up against a wall. None paid the inconspicuous silver-haired pair much attention, simply going about their warm-up as normal. At least, as normally as could be referred to given how they mostly chased one another around the ice like children. As professional figure skaters though, their antics could still be more entertaining than simply watching kids speed-skate from one side of the rink to the other...they'd weave and spin around one another at unexpected moments, looking more like the hockey players for whom the arena had been built, albeit with significantly more grace.

"That concludes the warm-up period. All skaters please depart the ice." An announcement called overhead in an almost robotic voice.

Grey-green eyes looked up the meet it, but then descended again towards the rink door, watching the Russian Punk vacate first, since he'd stayed on that side of the rink since the start. The other five came soon after, laughing and joking amongst one another as they each wondered which of them would be called to go right back out again.

"With my luck, it'll be me again." Yuri lamented sarcastically, snaking an arm around his partner's back as the Russian approached, "But maybe that's only in Japan. Minami-kun would never miss a chance to laugh at me for it."

Viktor huffed a laugh, but leaned in closer to nuzzle the side of the younger skater's head, draping one arm over his shoulders, "We can laugh in his place."

"You would."

Yurio had long-ago grabbed his blade guards and moved off before either of the remaining skaters had made it to the gate, pulling the top of his hoodie over his head and trying to leave without notice. There was only a 16-or-so-% chance that he would be called out first anyway, and the desire to stay on his own overrode the teen's potential to be the 'winner.' His skate-guards thunk'd along the steps to the second-floor prep area, making hollow thumping noises as he made each move forward. The sound of a second set of steps caught his attention rather quickly, making a pit in his stomach grow for the half-instant it took for him to realize the steps sounded like shoes, not another set of skates. The chatter of the other skaters was fading fast behind him anyway.

"Hey, wait up." A voice came; female, young, familiar, "Yura-"

"It's Yuri." He corrected stiffly, not bothering to turn around, and kept on going up the steps.

"Will Christophe Giacometti please take position for his Short Program practice." The announcer called overhead again.

"Yatta~!" Yuri could be heard cheering, "I didn't get called first!" The rest of the group could be heard laughing again.

The Swiss skater's coach heard the call as well and broke away from the gathering in the prep area, moving down past the Russian Tiger to seek out his skater. Both teens pressed against the walls to let the man by, and Nikki got a first glance of her target's face since going after him; he was obviously irate. She drew in a nervous breath and tried to catch up, but Yurio was free to move sooner than she'd been and was out of her sights fairly quickly.

When the silver Canadian finally got to the top of the steps, she had to look around quickly to try and find where Yurio had gone. She spotted him trying to go out the back of the room, and that was only because she heard Yakov calling out for him not to run off when his turn could come at any moment. The young teen quickly moved through the thin crowd, glancing briefly down to the rink, seeing some of the other skaters taking seats near the rink door as Chris moved back out onto the ice.

The blonde pressed up against the Plexiglas barrier, looking dramatically despondent from his side, "Viktor..." He gave the most theatrical pouty-face he possibly could, hands up on the see-through wall. When the Russian answered in kind, Chris leaned forward, "Never leave me..."

"Oh Chris, how ever could I?" The Russian lifted his hands as well and placed them just aside his melancholy friend's.

"When you leave this place, and can see into the sky as a free man...think of me...when you look at the moon..." The younger skater went on.

Yuri just made a confused-yet-entertained face, leaning towards Phichit, "He acts like he's in prison or something."

"Don't worry, Chris! We'll put money on your commissary card!" The Thai figure hollered.

Viktor looked back at the duo, then glanced aside to where Otabek was still fixing his blade-guards to the bottom of his skates. He sighed dramatically then and pressed his cheek to the glass, giving a sad look like something out of one of his exaggerated recollections of some past event, "I will..." He declared quietly, feigning tears.

Phichit was trying not to crack up, holding both hands over his mouth; Yuri just kept watching in perplexed curiosity. The show was bordering delicately on 'going too far.' His legs were itching to get him up onto his feet again to drag back his husband before Viktor forgot who that actually was.

The silver Russian was just eating up the performance though, and pulled back just far enough to turn his head and kiss the glass where Chris had pressed his cheek in turn, "When next I see the lunar face, I'll think of yours, pale and glowing in the dark night."

"You'll see the man in the moon..." The Swiss skater answered coolly, finally pushing off, leaving his fingers as the last things to come off the glass before he turned around...and planted both palms on his butt, "...Or maybe I'll show you the moon in the man."

Viktor just burst out laughing. So did Phichit. Otabek walked up right then, wondering what he'd missed, glancing between the different groups and blinking in confusion.

Yuri leaned forward to set his hands against his face, holding his head up with his elbows on his knees, looking through his barely-parted fingers, "Yikes those two."

The silver Russian started moving down the first row of seats, pulling one down with a knee as he leaned forward into it, and towards his flustered partner. One hand held to the back-rest as the other reached ahead, sneaking a few pale fingers between the younger skater's wrists to press one up against his chin, and drew him down with a seductive half-lidded gaze, "What did you think of just now? Something inappropriate for a married man?"

The Japanese skater just returned the look with a skeptical glance, "Just the idea of Chris' arse floating across the sky. By morning, it gives the phrase 'crack of dawn' a whole new meaning."

Viktor cracked up laughing again, having to lower down to both elbows on the back of the chair, forehead resting on his partner's knees as Chris finally made like he was heading to the center of the rink. Phichit was busting up as well, having to lean back just to catch his breath.

The Kazakh just took a seat stoically in the front row a few places over from the silver legend, resting one arm over the back of the seat next to him to watch the show. He glanced away briefly to look up at the glass wall of the mezzanine, quietly wondering where Yurio had run off to in such a hurry.

Yuri just huffed a quiet laugh, leaning down a bit further to kiss the back of his husband's head, hands sliding over the man's shoulders and down his back as far as they could go, "Sometimes I wonder if I should be worried about leaving you two alone together."

"Oh? Really~?" The Russian lifted his head slowly, careful to avoid banging their skulls together, but then gave a sultry look as he met his partner's gaze and settled nose-to-nose with him, "You worry about that sort of thing? Yuuuuri~"

"Maybe I just need a reminder of who I'm married to."

"I can arrange that." Viktor purred, leaning up a little higher to free his arms, and slid those pale hands down the sides of his partner's thighs, "You're married to me..." He tilted his head a little and pushed in a little closer, speaking the words quietly against his husband's lips as he closed his eyes, "...Viktor Nikiforov."

Phichit had his phone out so fast it practically broke the sound barrier, but Otabek just sat in brave/uncomfortable silence, casting his eyes away. When the excitable Thai skater pulled his screen back down and took a look at his new prizes, he saw something he hadn't expected...it wasn't just himself making a hilarious face in the foreground, or the kiss taking place just behind him...it was the photobomb of a certain older Russian who'd come down the few steps just behind them. Granted, it was basically just a pair of legs from that vantage, but they were still unexpected legs.

Mikhail cleared his throat, looking down at his nephew and in-law from where he stood at the second-row level, "Vivi."

Yuri was the only one of the occupied pair to react to the voice, his eyes shooting open in surprise in the midst of the kiss, his cheeks going bright pink. He pulled back quickly and sat all the way back in his chair, looking up uneasily at the older man as he set his hands together neatly on his lap, "O-Oh...h-hey, Mikhail. Didn't...ahem...didn't see you there." He said nervously, waving weakly.

Viktor practically still wore his kissy-face, but then deadpanned as he realized it was over before he'd meant it to, and turned his one visible eye upward as he slouched against the seat again, "...I was enjoying that."

"Didn't mean to interrupt." The elder raised his shoulders up a little, feeling a bit awkward for it all, "Can I have a minute?"

"Sorry, I only give kisses like that to Yuri." The younger Russian teased, "You'll have to find Minako-sensei."

Mikhail could feel his eyebrows going so high on his face that they practically rolled under his hat and settled on the back of his head, "...Noted." He cleared his throat again, "But no, seriously."

"Yuri or I could be called up to do our SP right after Chris. Can't it wait until we're done?"

"I can't hold everyone here hostage to wait for me after, plus I'd rather be discreet. It'll be quick; promise."

"...Quick? Discreet?" Viktor echoed in confusion. He glanced at his husband and gave an exaggerated sigh, "Put a bookmark on that. I'll be back."

Yuri just kept on smiling nervously, but nodded as the silver skater pushed back to his feet and plodded along after his uncle.

['Broken' - Lifehouse]

The Russian quickly pulled his team jacket down from where it was still hanging on the corner of the open rink doorway and slung it to hang loosely over his shoulders, stuffing his hands into his pockets as they moved past the opening to the stairs...and past the one-way mirror bearing the image of the Stanley Cup...and the hallway leading around to the medic's area...only finally stopping when they were clear across the other side of the rink. Viktor gave his uncle a strange look, glancing out across the ice where Chris was putting on his show, and then further over to where Yuri was still sitting in the stands with Phichit and Otabek. When he turned back, Mikhail had turned around and was facing him, giving something of a serious expression, "...This feels weird."

"Sorry, Vivi." The older man said, "I just wanted to get you away from influences."

"Influences?" Viktor repeated, "You mean Yuri?"

"And the quiet guy."

"...Otabek?" The skater was thoroughly perplexed then, "Why would you worry about what Otabek would do to my opinio-..." The realization was grim, and the Russian leveled his gaze, "Oh. This is about Yurio."

"One question and one request." Mikhail explained simply, "That's it."

Viktor gave a disgruntled sigh, "Fine. Out with it."

"I'll preface the question with something of a statement first." The elder said, "I know I haven't been around that long. Not even a year yet. But I did a lot of research on you guys before I ever set foot in that skating rink in St. Petersburg, so I was pretty well acquainted with a number of things that had happened up to then. Everything from how Russia lost its shit when you suddenly went to Japan to be Yuri's coach, to how you weren't able to make your come-back until Worlds. Since then, and especially because you and Yuri asked me to be Yura's sponsor, I've gotten to know that kid pretty well. Maybe I've seen a side to him that neither of you guys have and it confuses things, but I know he's not as bad as you seem to think lately."

The younger Russian just listened silently, though he gave something of an unenthused, if not bored expression with the one visible eye.

"I know that him and Yakov were the first people to find out you'd decided to go back to competition. Yura told me that you'd even hugged him at the time. He even told me about what you guys had done to help him in the midst of that crisis with his grandpa during Euros. But I've also watched as everything between you and he has completely crumbled to dust over this past year, like rocks slowly being crushed in a mortar." Mikhail went on, the music above being severely inappropriate to the tone of the discussion, "This conversation he overheard between you and Yuri, about him wanting to move to Hasetsu, has caused a rift that even I'm not sure how to fix anymore. I want to believe that this friendship between you three can be mended. I've watched you forgive your father, and he's done much worse to you than Yura ever did."

"My father only ever did things directly to me." Viktor explained, "Yurio does things that hurt Yuri, and that hurts me worse than any punch in the eye ever did."

"I get that. I don't hold it against you to want to protect the person you love." The elder agreed, "But you're punishing Yura for crimes he's yet to commit, and he's been trying so hard to get better. I know you've seen how much he's progressed. He's not the same kid who screamed at Yuri in the bathroom in Sochi anymore."

"If he hadn't been eavesdropping on us in the onsen then this wouldn't even be an issue though." The skater pointed out, "And he's making a mountain out of a mole-hill anyway. What we said wasn't meant as an attack on him. We were just agreeing that the best thing for Yurio might be to stay on with Yakov, especially since he'd gotten so mad that I declined to be his coach. But now that he's gone off the rails about it, Yuri's getting all anxious again, and that's exactly the sort of thing I was trying to avoid in the first place." He shifted his weight from one skate to the other, and slipped his arms into the sleeves of his team jacket for the warmth, "It was already enough to make me worry he might start falling on his jumps...but now he's got that head injury, too. It's too much to deal with. I'm trying to keep him distracted so he doesn't think about it."

"...Then I pose my question." Mikhail looked on squarely, "What would it take to fix this?"

Viktor twitched his head back a little in surprise, but then looked out to Chris on the ice, "I don't know." He cast his eyes back to his uncle, "I wasn't even the one who got mad. This is Yurio's problem, not mine."

"So you wouldn't apologize for what he heard you guys say?"

"What we said wasn't offensive. He chose to be offended by it by creating his own context for what we meant by it and ran off without hearing anyone out. Yuri went after him, and all Yurio did was scream at him for it."

"He's more upset by how you disregarded him than he is by suggesting he stay in Russia." Mikhail explained, then fishing into his jacket for his phone, unlocking it and then glancing back at the man before him, "Then I'll move on to my request."

"Okay?" Viktor raised a brow behind his bangs.

The elder clicked at something on the phone's face-plate, and then held out the device for the skater to see. Viktor recognized it immediately; it was footage from the middle of the old RSF conference from just after the Barcelona Grand Prix Final. The Russian watched the old version of himself, and listened to his own words as they were spoken in his Mother Tongue.

[Being back at my home rink will make me more accessible than ever.] The Viktor on the screen said, [I don't think there will be any problems. I'm actually hoping that both Yuris will use the opportunity to push each other, so maybe Yurio can score even higher in his Free Skate and try to take that record, too. I'm sure the RSF will be very happy about having a 15-year-old who can score as well as I do at the end of my career. He's an exceptionally talented athlete, and I have no doubt that he'll be breaking records and setting trends long after both Yuri and I retire for good. Maybe he'll even let me choreograph something else for him in the future.]

Mikhail pulled his phone back and clicked it off, returning it to its pocket, "Will you consider maybe choreographing for him?"

Viktor was silent for a moment, but then shrugged, "Sure."

The elder was taken aback, "...Sure? ...That's it? Not even 'let me think about it'?" He made air-quotes with his fingers.

"Choreographing isn't like coaching. If I put a program together, he'll memorize it after the first or second time I show it to him. That's more-or-less what we did with 'Agape.'" The skater explained, hearing the music above finally coming to a close, and turning his eyes back out to the Swiss skater entering his final pose, "I would've said yes even if you hadn't shown me the clip. I'd forgotten all about it anyway."

"...I honestly hadn't expected you to agree right away. I was all ready to beg you just to consider it."

Slate irises turned to jade, "It'll be months before anyone has to worry about next year's programs; and like I already said...I'm not the one who's mad right now. On the other hand, I'm already Yuri's coach, and I still plan on competing to some degree next season myself. Even if I didn't have personal reasons for not wanting to be Yurio's coach...I'm already stretched thin. All three of us would suffer if I coached both of them while I'm still an active athlete, too." He turned on his blade-guards, assuming the conversation over at that point, "Besides, Yuri tried to send me home to Russia alone last year, thinking it'd be too much trouble to stay on as his coach if I decided to come back to competition. I told him he was being selfish, making that choice on his own, without even asking me first what I wanted to do. Now, he's being the complete opposite. He isn't taking himself into consideration anymore. I stopped him then, and I'll stop him again now. Maybe I'll reconsider coaching Yurio after I retire...but not before."

"...I guess that's fair." Mikhail nodded, "Thanks, Vivi."

"Don't thank me yet. It won't mean anything for me to agree to this if Yurio refuses to even talk to us."

"I'm working on that, too..." The elder explained, stepping off to catch up to his nephew again, "Actually, I take that back; Nikki is working on that."

Viktor stopped in his tracks, "Wait, what?"

.

She was trying, anyway. Yurio had escaped beyond her boundaries when he left out the back of the prep area...and so, she sat, waiting and wondering what to do. A few minutes passed, and Chris had finished his SP run-through. Jade eyes watched as her father and cousin came back around to the other side of the rink, the younger of the two waiting to find out who was going to get on the ice next. Mikhail glanced up and saw her, and she gave a worried look in return, shrugging to express that she'd lost the teen. When the two Russians parted ways, and the elder came back up to the mezzanine, Nikki trotted over to him and sighed, "He took off past the back door. You said not to go too far, so..."

"No, you did the right thing." The Russian set his hand behind her back and looked around, "Let's go find him. He can't have gone far since he could be called out to the ice any minute."

"Skater Otabek Altin, please enter the rink."

"...Well, that gives us a hand, too." Mikhail noted, moving off towards the rear exit with Nikkita in tow. By the time they walked to the doors, and stepped in front of them to push through, the panel was being pulled away from them by someone on the other side.

And thus, three sets of green eyes were glancing back at one another.

"Oh." Nikki looked a bit relieved, "There you are."

Yurio just looked on quietly, but then scoffed and moved around them to get by, "I just came back to watch Otabek."

"Then let's sit together." Mikhail offered, turning on his heel to go after the teen, "Yuri-"

The Russian Punk just stopped where he stood, and twisted a bit to look back over his shoulder, first staring at the lady, then at her father, "...Look, you don't have to play this game. I don't want to talk right now anyway. I just want to do my practice and then leave."

"That's fine." The elder said, "You don't have to say anything. We'll just sit with you so you're not alone."

Yurio gave a confused look, but had no answer for it. He just turned on his blades again and started walking back towards the stairs, thunk'ing down them one rubber guard at a time. Glancing around briefly, he spotted the Kazakhstani skater already on the ice, and made his way along the concrete side of the rink-wall to get back to the stands. He passed silently in front of where the other skaters were sitting in the front rows, giving Chris their compliments on his Short Program, and wondering idly why he'd gone out of his way to make a program dedicated to Viktor in the first place. Yurio paid them no attention though, simply passing them all by and waving out to Otabek when he'd seen the older skater facing his direction. To his relief, the skater waved back and gave a thumbs-up as he moved around the rink. The Russian Tiger climbed the stairs to get to the highest part of the 7-rows-tall viewing area, feeling the presence of the two figures behind him even if he didn't look back to watch them following. By the time he made it to the far corner, he ducked into the higher-level viewing box and took a spot right against the wall, putting his feet up over the edge of the short barrier and crossed his ankles.

['Requiem - Dies Irae' - specifically on YouTube channel 'fanworldmusic']

Mikhail shuffled in after and sat next to the teen, with Nikki sliding in next to her father after that. Like the elder had said, they simply sat there quietly, watching the next practice-performance without trying to start any conversation. Half of Otabek's show had gone on before any of the three did anything, though it was Mikhail raising an arm to let Nikki lean against him, and he settled it down again across her shoulder protectively. He whispered something to her that the blonde couldn't make out, but the teen looked over anyway since he could see the man leaning down to speak the words, even if he couldn't hear them.

The SP second half had barely begun, but Yurio felt like it had been forever already. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, and then mumbled a few words.

"...You say something?" Mikhail wondered, looking over at him curiously.

Yurio grumbled and grit his teeth, but then pulled his skates back over the wood railing and sat normally, "...I said thanks...for the stuffed tiger."

"Oh." The elder smiled, relieved to hear something so simple, "I'm glad you liked it. There's a white tiger version of that same plush, too, if you want it."

"...Oh. No...thanks."

"You don't want a white tiger?" Mikhail was surprised, "How come? If it's the price tag you think it has, don't worry...it's Christmas. Everyone gets a freebie this time of year."

"I don't...agree...with white tigers..." The teen said nervously, not wanting to go on a rant about it at such a time, but feeling it bubbling under the surface anyway.

"What's not to agree with?"

Yurio tossed his head back, but then twisted in his seat, "White tigers were created. Every single one of them in this world was born through the breeding of a father with a daughter tiger who carried the genes. For every 30 or so tigers born from that kind of program, only 1 of them is suited to put on display. I'll let you guess what happens to the other 29."

Mikhail was taken aback a bit, nervously looking down at his own daughter before clearing his throat, "...Uh...they don't get put on display?"

"Most are drowned, poisoned, electrocuted, or bludgeoned to death, some just for the crime of being born with orange fur instead of white. Others because they're severely deformed or sickly. The 'lucky' few who only have minor defects like crossed eyes or cleft palates might get sold to private owners. All white tigers are inbred, so even if they look cool, they shouldn't exist; they'd never survive in the wild. It's a crime against nature to breed them, especially when people lie about them being their own subspecies needing conservation. They're not, and they don't. Every one of them is a regular Bengal, and every one of them is bred for captivity." He twisted back and sat hard in his seat, pulling the front of his hoodie down a little further, his cheeks a bit pink from the embarrassment of such an outburst, "...Sorry. That was a mine-field."

"You're passionate." The silver Russian said simply, "I like it. People could learn from you."

"Wow." Nikki agreed, looking past her father, "You know a lot about tigers."

The teen just sank a bit where he sat, though that position didn't last long, making it impossible to see the ice. He pushed back up to sitting normally again soon after, as Otabek's SP was coming to a close. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the edge of the low wall, watching the older skater finish out the show, and then move back towards the rink wall for any critiques for improvement.

For a moment, Otabek was of a mind to join the Russian Tiger, but when he saw the two other figures in the viewing box with him, he thought better of it.

Must be having a private conversation or something. I'll just find him after his own practice.

Yurio watched the man go retake his seat in the front row near the rink entrance, and waited carefully for the announcer to call the next skater. It turned out to be Viktor though, which was both an annoyance and a relief all at once. As he pushed off the top of the low wall and leaned back to slouch in his seat again, he found himself leaning right into an unexpected arm. His heart skipped a beat, but he felt the arm rise up again, settling across his shoulders instead as he tried to sit back normally.

All he could do was stare forward in stunned confusion, not quite sure whether to be angry and say something...or whether he should just stay quiet. His stupor forced the silence to last long enough for the arm to shift again, pulling back just far enough over the back of the chair so that the hand attached to the end could settle on the edge of one shoulder.

The silver skater went out onto the rink with flare, skating a few laps around it in preparation, loosening up a bit again. Before long, he finally took his place in the center of the rink and struck his introductory pose.

['History Maker' - Dean Fujioka]

Nikki peered around the front of her father's dark-colored jacket, looking at the teen for any signs of a reaction. She was sure he'd just yell or flail to get away, but was surprised to see him just sit there, even if it was in wide-eyed surprise. She moved a little when she felt her father moving, too, and sat up to get out of the way.

Mikhail kept his hand softly planted on the blonde's shoulder, sitting up a bit straighter and then twisting around slowly towards him. Yurio wouldn't look back though, which wasn't all that surprising. The elder drew in a quiet breath and hedged his bets, knowing full well his next actions might leave him with claw-marks on his face if he wasn't careful. But...he leaned forward, moving his free arm in front of the tense skater, and slid the one already behind him a bit further across. Before long, Mikhail had pulled Yurio into a hug. He held there for a while wordlessly, wrapping his arms a little bit tighter when he could feel the teen holding back whatever punches he might've thrown, until he could press a cheek against the top of that blonde-haired head, the hood falling away.

"You're a good kid, Yuri." The silver Russian said, barely audible over the sound of the music, "Things are going to work out." He pulled back then, turning back in his seat to sit normally again, but kept his one arm behind the teen, resting an elbow on the back of the chair, "If nothing else...think about it all like this. When I first showed up, all Viktor wanted was for me to get hit by a bus and disappear. If the worst thing he's ever done to you is decline to be your coach, I think you got off pretty easy. I actually had to have his permission just to speak to anyone back then, especially his Yuri. It was all really awkward and tense. Now, I'm dropping my entire family onto his proverbial doorstep, and I didn't even ask him first. He won't admit it, but I bet he's stressed about that as much as anything."

"Viktor can be an ass. I've known that for a long time." The teen said stiffly, still a bit stunned by the prior hug, but finding the focus to at least move again, leaning forward to set his elbows on his knees and rest his cheeks on his balled-up fists, "But it's...not even specifically him that's gotten me all pissed off."

"What then?" Mikhail moved his hand again to set it on the teen's back, pressing gently back and forth.

Yurio drew in a sharp breath, but then turned his eyes towards the area where the other skaters were sitting, "...It...was hearing Yuri say it'd be better for me not to come at all. I could take it if it came from Viktor...but it was Yuri..."