(Please stop asking me for OtaYurio. It's not canon. It's crack and it makes me uncomfortable for a number of reasons. I will not be writing it into this fic. Chris x Phichit isn't a thing either; people can actually be friends without eventually dating each other. Thank you.)
CHAPTER TWO HUNDRED NINETY ONE
The stadium was filling quickly; the halls were swarming with spectators and event officials, running to and fro to find their places before the next competition could start. There was one rather brooding figure who didn't seem to be in much of a hurry though, leaning against one of the support pillars in the main concourse as everyone else hustled by.
Without his hat, Mikhail's silver-haired head stuck out from the dark of his black coat like a sore and glowing thumb. A few people paused and gawked at him, several mistaking him for his nephew before realizing he was 'just some old man' and moving along again, hoping to not have been heard. He could hardly manage the energy to be offended by it all though. His focus was on the ring held in his fingers.
...$45,000 and she just gave it back like it was nothing.
He sighed quietly and put the ring back into a buttoned pocket inside the breast of his jacket, and pulled out his phone instead. A few clicks in, and the elder Russian was swiping through photos he'd taken. He hadn't snapped too many shots since leaving Bordeaux to go back to his home town though, but the reminder of that place made him backtrack and find a different folder. The grainy scans of old Polaroids came into view then...a few of the same pictures he'd shown to Yuri at Trophée de France, and then others that he hadn't shown to anyone.
The images were so old that they had a sepia overtone, and the original colors were rather faded. But the content of those photos was still otherwise as clear as they'd always been. A teen with long silver hair, sitting on top of a tank, in the middle of a lush, summer Russian forest. She had on a thin dress...Mikhail remembered it as sky-blue, even if it was grey in the image. The memory of taking that picture was clear in his head.
[I don't know why you like hanging out here so much, Tat.]
Jade eyes glanced down from the higher vantage, but the teen smiled sweetly anyway, [Aside from the seasons, nothing out here ever changes.] She answered, looking up, and raising a hand to shield her eyes from the rays of light peeking through the tree branches high above, [I feel like I could come back here again in 200 years and it'll all still be the same.]
Mikhail looked down at his boxy black-and-silver VILIA camera, but then around to the rest of the clearing, his own hair just as long as his twin's, swaying behind his back in the light breeze, [Maybe.]
[Isn't that why you take so many pictures?] Tatiyana wondered, suddenly leaping down from the tank, her heavy workbooks thumping against the grass like rocks, [So you can capture a moment on film, and be able to remember it exactly as it happened, without it ever changing?]
[Maybe.]
The lady teen twisted on her heel and looked around again, spotting the assortment of crippled tanks hidden in the brush. Paths cut through the woods were the only evidence that suggested the metal machinations hadn't just been dropped there from the sky somehow, though those paths were grown over with shrubs, grass, and the odd sapling. Tatiyana held the finger of one hand behind her back and started stepping back through the footpath they'd both taken to get there in the first place, but turned back to see her brother still looking at the camera, [You look so sullen, Mik. How come?]
[Haven't I been sullen?] He answered back, finally letting the device go to let it dangle on its belt over his shoulder, [You don't seem all that bothered at all.]
[Why should I be?]
[Oh come on...don't make me spell it out...] Mikhail whined, slouching as he stepped onward.
[For every moment in the here and now that you want to capture on your camera...the elders have done the same in their own minds. They want to keep things the way they were 40 years ago. Plus, I happen to already like Kon, so it's no big deal to me.]
[I hate it.]
[I know.]
[I hate the Nikiforovs.]
[That's not going to change anything.]
Mikhail grumbled under his breath, turning his head to look away for a moment. A few paces later, he grit his teeth and reached forward, taking one of sister's wrists in his hand to stop her and force her to look back at him, [Let's just leave this place. You only like Kon cuz we've been friends since we were tadpoles anyway. You can always find someone else. ...We'll take papa's car an-]
[Mikhail...] Tat just gaped at him, and crossed her arms, [You're being dumb. Kon's been there for you as much as he's been there for me. Don't just lump him in with the rest like you think this was his idea.]
[It's not like he's contesti-]
The girl's hands were on her brother's mouth in a hot second, cutting off those last words. She looked into those identical grey-green eyes, but said nothing for a while. Unbeknownst to her brother, Tatiyana pulled her slender feet from the loosely-tied heavy boots, keeping her eyes looking into his, [...I know you like to think you can control everything. But...you can't. There are going to be times where you have to do things you don't want to, and accept things you hate. We aren't going to be kids forever anyway. You should try to make the most of the match they made for you.]
With palms still flat against the lower half of his face, Mikhail couldn't argue. He just stood there in bitter silence. Unexpectedly, he felt the strap of his camera suddenly lifted from his shoulders, and his sister was practically flying away from him, running at top speed in the direction they were walking before. Trying to regain his bearings, Mikhail drew a breath and made to give chase, hollering something about giving the device back before he tripped over the big work-boots his sister had left behind. Stumbling over his own feet rather unceremoniously, the teen picked himself up from the grass and dirt, looking thoroughly unimpressed as bits of each fell from his face and hair, [TATIYANA IVANOVA ROZOVSKY, BEFORE I LEAVE THIS WORLD...I WILL HAVE MY VENGEANCE.]
[Not if you can't catch me first!] She called back at him from far ahead.
Mikhail shook his head and huffed a sad laugh, swiping through another few photos before there was a noticeable gap in the ages of everyone in the shot. The image he finally stopped on was one that mostly featured his sister, standing in the doorway to her home and looking back at him over a shoulder like she was surprised he was even there, never mind with a camera. From the side-angle she was standing at, it was clear that she was heavily pregnant with the one child she would ever have; the tiny light of her strange life. The next photo after that showed her with her sleepy newborn.
...I wish you were still here...
He reached up to rub his eyes on the side of one wrist.
You always seemed to know how to handle things. I guess I was just a pretender most of the time... Even Minako says I'm kind of an idiot when it comes to this family stuff...and now I'm even mucking things up with her...
"The Men's Free Skate will begin in five minutes." The announcer echoed overhead, forcing the elder Russian to lift his head, "Repeat...the Men's Free Skate will begin in five minutes."
He turned back around to look at his phone screen, glancing for a few more seconds at that last picture before finally clicking it off and standing up.
I guess I should head back. ...I don't know if I'll make it all the way through without falling asleep, given how I couldn't last night...but hopefully...
.
Under the stands, the full group of six skaters were giving a big mutual interview to the NBC reporters covering the Final for America. They were making their last gestures of thanks and farewell before the cameras turned off and moved away, leaving them all with their focus on the coming event. Skate-guards thunk'd along the wooden floors of the Players Lounge as they each made their way over towards the doorway that lead out to rink-side, breathing in their last moments of non-competitive air.
Yuri leaned back against the edge of the wall nervously, pulling down the zipper on the front of his team jacket and leaving the chest open until his name was called. He shook his hands in front of himself and shifted his weight from one skate to the other before finally reaching down to pull the guards off. Looking back, expecting to see his partner doing much the same thing, he instead saw Viktor eyeballing the RSF group that was cloistered off in a corner at the far end of the clubhouse. Yuri huffed a sigh to himself and shrugged an elbow to get his husband's attention, "Never mind them."
"I know." The Russian answered stiffly, giving the group a stern look, though knowing they weren't paying him any concern, "But that's two interviews they've stiffed now."
"It's not like they've ever gone out of their way to interview me before." Yuri offered, "Why would they start now?"
Viktor whipped his head around, all but snorting in disbelief at him, "...Four gold medals between us...?"
Brown eyes just looked on.
"Bah fine..." The Russian grumbled and reached for his blade-guards, "It's not like they interviewed everyone else that's here."
Phichit leaned forward to whisper behind a hand, "Isn't he supposed to make sure you don't find things to get anxious about?"
"Usually..."
"Then what's he doing?"
"The RSF walked out in the middle of his interview. He's got ants in his pants no-"
"WOW!" The Thai skater said, much louder than he meant, and brought both hands up to cover his mouth...nearly cracking himself in the face with the rubber bars he was holding, "Er...I mean...wow...!" He whispered instead, in spite of the looks he was getting.
Yurio and Otabek side-eyed one another to hear the whispers, then looked back over their shoulders to the media group again, as though they weren't sure they'd believe what had been said.
"...The radio people were still calling Viktor 'Russia's Hero' back in Moscow last year, even though he'd left home to coach Katsudon." The blonde commented quietly, "Things have only gotten worse since then. I wonder what their big problem is now?"
"Probably more of the same." The Kazakh shrugged.
"And here I thought I put an end to that crap." The teen huffed, turning back towards Yuri, "I'll go yell at them again if you want."
"W-what!? No way!" He protested, hands flailing, "I don't want to start anything! Forget about the fact that they didn't interview me! It'll be worse if someone tries to force them."
"Ladies and Gentlemen..." The announcer overhead started up again, and the audience started clapping and hollering, the energy in the building growing to make the air vibrate.
The skaters were all laser-focused after that, looking out onto the ice and readying themselves.
"The International Skating Union, along with the United States Skating Federation, formally welcomes you to the Grand Prix of Figure Skating Final...Men's Singles Free Skate!"
Cheers and clapping rose to a fever-pitch, with many fans already starting to scream their adulations.
"In order of performance...let us welcome our Men's competitors to the ice! Representing Japa-"
The volume rose too high to coherently understand the rest of what was said, but Yuri knew it was his turn anyway, and launched himself out onto the ice, open coat fluttering behind him. He threw his arms out to the side in presentation, gliding around on the edge of one blade, the second tucked in just behind it. He made a wide circle before pausing in the center, bowing towards the audience with one arm under his chest, then rising up to extend it out in an arc as he rotated, then pushed to the left to take his place at the end of the soon-to-be-formed line.
"For the nation of Thailand...Phichit Chulanont!"
Another roar from the crowd, and the younger skater went out next, spinning and bowing much the same before taking his place close to his friend.
"From Russia, please welcome...Viktor Nikiforov!"
The cheering rattled the rafters, and the silver legend whipped out across the ice, raising one arm up as he paused in center, and twisted in a circle before pushing off backwards to lazily find his place. He glided in a figure-8 to the side, standing next to Phichit, and dug in a toe-pick before turning to look back over his shoulder for the next to be called.
"Skating for Kazakhstan...Otabek Altin!"
The dark-horse competitor was more easy-going as he came onto the rink's surface, feeling a little silly for the braids tied around the sides of his head, weaving the meager lengths of hair that he had to create a border between the longer lengths on the top of his head and the closer-shaved part around the base. Not that he entirely agreed, but the consensus from the peanut gallery was that it suited his Viking theme rather well. He took his place to the right of center, just after the most senior member of the group.
"Also performing for Russia...Yuri Plisetsky!"
He tossed his team jacket onto the edge of the rink wall as he moved off of the hardwood floor and onto the frost, wearing something like a gothic punk-rock outfit, his eyes darkened by black powder, reminisce of his 'Welcome to the Madness' show. He dug a toe-pick down when he reached the center marker, extended his arms, and bowed forward, veering off backwards as he rose back up again to skirt around the Khazak and take his place one-spot-further to the left.
"And last on the ice, but not least...representing Switzerland...Christophe Giacometti!"
Minako shrieked to see her favorite blonde taking the ice, waving her red flag around like the man was already doing his Free Skate. Chris came out to center and blew a wide kiss to the audience in front of him, though missing the hapless Japanese ballerina, and then turning to take his place at the far end of the line.
"Ladies and Gentlemen...your Men's Singles competitors! We wish them all good luck, and hope they all have fun tonight! Let the 6-minute warm-up period...begin!"
The athletes all broke off like a flock of birds, pressing close to the rink wall and dividing up the space between them to make enough room. Yuri twisted around backwards though and waited for his husband to glide close, turning forward again once he was near enough, "...Did you hear that?" He asked, still stunned, "You couldn't even make out my name!"
"It's the third GPFinal in a row where you've kind of been the unsung underdog." Viktor pointed out, "...Though this time, it was entirely not your fault."
Phichit tried for a quad Loop in the center of the rink, but fell flat and had to pick himself up at the end, dusting off his show-pants quickly to prevent the frost from melting, and leaving dark wet spots in their wake.
"I guess so." Yuri agreed quietly, though suddenly finding himself energized again, "I'm still pretty stoked from practice earlier. I'm kind of glad I go out first for once...I can use this adrenaline rush to power through."
Yurio was next in the middle to try for a quad, and much like Phichit, it resulted in a fall...though his was slightly more liquid and he was able to pick himself up in one fluid motion when he hit the ice. The Flip landed on the wrong edge and pulled him in an unexpected direction.
Viktor winced, "He's still trying for that..."
"Go show him how it's done then." The younger skater laughed, nudging a finger against his partner's shoulder.
"Da, dorogaja." The Russian legend spun away, building up speed and drawing the attention of the crowd for it. When he pushed into the middle of the rink and clicked off a toe-pick, the audience cheered, and for added flair, Viktor raised both arms as he flew. The landing was smooth as well, and he reaffirmed why he was a 5-time consecutive World Champion...even if his own student had bumped him off his record the previous year.
When the skater rejoined the circle around the rink wall, he and Yuri both sought for Yurio's attention, waving at him dramatically and then winking.
The teen just gawked at them, sticking his tongue out and pulling an eyelid down in their direction. The two older skaters just laughed and went on.
"Hm... The air definitely feels lighter now that those three are on speaking terms again." Chris commented idly to himself, moving out towards center, "But...I think it's time to show them all who's winning tonight in spite of their mended friendships."
"Uh oh..." Viktor watched, smiling with intrigue as he held one hand behind his spouse's shoulders, "Chris thinks he can one-up us."
"But I haven't even jumped ye-" Yuri started.
The quad Lutz was landed expertly, and the Swiss skater moved off, holding up one of his fingers. He dramatically set it down on his backside, like he was putting out a fire on the tip, and finished it out with a wink and a Tssss.
"Now he's done it." The Russian went on, "He's taunting us." He turned to look at the younger man next to him, "Quick, go out there and do something."
"But the only thing harder than a quad Lutz is an Axel!" Yuri protested, "There's no way...!"
"Ah...right." Viktor's expression was blank, but then he got an idea, "I'll do it!"
"Oh here we go..." The younger figure sighed, smiling nervously as he watched his husband flying down the ice in a forward stance, "...Watch him be too tired or weighed-down do pull it off..."
True to Yuri's guess, Viktor ended up sprawled out completely on his back, swirling around in a circle as he skidded down the ice with an unimpressed look on his face. When Chris pulled around and looked down on him sweetly, the Russian could do nothing but complain, "...Don't say anything...!"
"You look like a dog that just walked into a glass door, and is trying to pass it off like it meant to do that." The Swiss skater laughed, reaching a hand down to help the nonplussed silver genius up again.
Viktor whined to himself, but took the hand and got back up onto his blades, clinging to the back of the taller man's team jacket as he was pulled along like a stunned child. When they finally got to where Yuri had slowed down, Chris pretended to have a clip-board in-hand and furled an imaginary paper over the top of it.
"I have a delivery for aaaaahhh...Yuri Nikiforov? Is that you?"
"Yeah...that's me." He answered, twisting around to lean forward into a wide inside spread-Eagle as they curved the short end of the rink.
"I have one fresh but sad Russian for you." Chris mused, moving further ahead so Yuri could unhook the man's hands from his coat, "Maybe next time he won't try a quad Axel when he's wearing two sets of clothes."
Viktor could do nothing but watch in comical indignation as the two had their laugh at him, and crossed his arms as he took on a sour expression.
"So far, I'm the only one who hasn't fallen on a jump." Chris started again, moving on idly, "It's up to you and Otabek now, Yuri."
"I'm saving my energy." The younger figure explained reasonably, "We were doing quads all afternoon."
The rest of the warm-up period went uneventfully, with the Kazakh clearing one of his quad-triple combos and Yuri sticking with the spins he was 'famous' for. When the time finally came though, and the announcer called for the rest of the skaters to leave the ice, Yuri pulled up to the rink wall close to the door cut-through, and waited for a moment for Viktor to come around with a water-bottle and their Makkachin plush-toy tissue box.
He reached for the former and then the latter, handing the crumbled tissue back like usual, and then setting his hands on the upper lip of the wall. He looked down and closed his eyes, taking in a breath to clear his head.
"...Well...all joking aside then...this is the moment, Yuri." Viktor's voice spoke, drawing up the younger skater's attention again, looking into him with those crystal eyes, "You've spent all day in warm-up mode. Now it's time to take the gloves off."
Nodding, Yuri stood up straight and slid a bit closer in, feeling his husband's arms go over his shoulders as his own reached forward to hug around the man's core.
"Tonight's Free Skate begins with Japan's Yuri Nikiforov...!" The announcer called, this time able to get through the whole thing without being drowned out by the crowd.
The skater smiled and held onto that hug for a few seconds longer, feeling a kiss against the side of his neck as he pulled back to shrug the team jacket off his shoulders. Folding it loosely over his forearms, he gently handed it over, and leaned in and under to get his send-off kiss, "You said earlier that my score sets the bar for the rest of the night... I plan to set it high."
"Perfect."