CHAPTER THREE HUNDRED THREE
Though Viktor had done his absolute best to honor his promise not to continue on as Captain Crankypants, it truly didn't take longer than 3 minutes before someone hit a button and put the Russian back into the shade.
"Goooood morning!" The hostess at the entrance chimed, her tone overly cheerful for it being barely 9am, "Party of six?"
"Yes," Yuri answered on the group's behalf, spinning his husband around by his shoulders so his 'I literally cannot even right now' face wouldn't be seen, "Us four are skaters," He made a circular gesture at the males of the assembly, and everyone started pulling out their event passes to prove as such, offering up their food-voucher stamps, though Viktor did so with his back still turned, "And those two are paying for themselves." He pointed at Minako and Mari, who waved sheepishly, as though they'd just been declared 'outsiders.'
The hostess nodded, entirely oblivious to Viktor's grumpitude, and showed them all back to the large circular table that she had just assigned to them. By the time all was said and done, food was procured, and everyone was sitting back at said table, Viktor could do little more than stab at the bits of breakfast that had been put in front of him, never really eating any of it. Or, if he did, he did so grudgingly.
The table was awkwardly silent despite the number of people sitting at it, everyone casting the occasional glance over at the tense Russian. When the minutes went by, and nothing seemed to change, eyes started wandering towards Yuri instead...and he could feel it like a weight on his shoulders.
...Leave Mikhail and Minako-sensei to me...
The words were beginning to haunt him, but Yuri drew in a breath, holding a piece of toast in his lips as he rifled around his back pocket for his phone. He checked the World Clock on his timer app and grimaced, but switched over to his contact list anyway and sent out a FaceTime request to someone very far away. Eyeballs were on him even more intently after that, with a bit of whispering joining it, but soon, the fruit of his efforts was laid bare.
"...Yuri?" A woman's voice answered, bleary and tired.
Viktor's head perked up.
"...Hi mom, I'm so sorry to bug you guys so late at night, but I have a huge favor to ask..."
"Oh! ...Oh good, just a favor." Hiroko breathed a sigh of relief, "You gave me a scare there for a minute. Is everything okay?"
"Yes, yes...everything's okay." He nodded, "Could you find Makkachin though?"
If the Russian had the ears of a dog, they'd be fully upright and facing forward, his attention thoroughly captured even if his brain was confused.
"...Makkachin?" Hiroko echoed, only for the sleepy bark of the poodle to sound in the background. Within seconds, the aging woofer was on the screen, sniffing at it as though he could recognize the voice coming out of it. The Katsuki matriarch was too busy laughing in her effort to get the dog out of the way to say much else, but eventually she dropped the phone to the bed and Makkachin looked down on it from above, pawing at the sheets and whimpering.
"Viktor, look." Yuri turned the phone where he held his own in his hand, and the Russian quickly glanced over at it, spotting the big black nose snuffling close to the camera on the other end of the line.
"Makkachin...~!"
Woorf!
"Maaaakkaaaaachiiiiin~!" The silver legend was already rolling around on his back on the floor, much to the chagrin of those still sitting at the table, holding the phone out at the end of his arms as though he were rough-housing with the dog in person.
For the time being...the Grump had been defused.
.
Finally on the road, with the two passengers in the back seat, the quest to find an ATM was on. The first order of business, even before that, however, was finding a Starbucks for the hapless Russian, who had decided to eat so little that he left with an empty stomach. It growled incessantly, though his eyes lit up when he spotted that green and white Siren sign.
With only two cars ahead of theirs in the drive-thru line, it wasn't long before Viktor was pulling up to the order panel. The window scrolled down to the quiet hum of the electric motors in the door, and the silver legend hung an elbow out through the open panel, waiting for the prompt.
"Welcome to Starbuuuuucks, how can I help YOU today?" The voice asked.
If not for the fact that it was a male voice, the 'Valley Girl' tone he'd spoken in would've put the image of a sun-kissed but empty-headed 'dumb blonde' image into the minds of all four skaters in a big hurry. But, since it was a male...that left only one other unfortunate stereotype, one that brought the image of Chris (x100) into their collective imaginations.
"...Uhh..." Viktor started, a bit thrown off, recoiling into the car briefly, "...It's too much, these people are too excitable for this early in the morning..."
"It's 10am. The morning crew at these places usually gets here around 4:30, so they've almost finished for the day already." Yuri pointed out, giving his partner's leg a gentle squeeze, "Forgive him, koibito, he knows not what he does."
The Russian grumbled and leaned into the window again, "Can I just get a Venti 8-pump Chai latte?"
"...Sorry?"
"A Venti 8-pump Chai latte." He repeated indignantly.
Yurio and Otabek side-eyed one another from the safety of the back seat.
"Sorry sir! I can't understand you."
" VENTI...CHAI TEA LATTE...EIGHT PUMPS." Viktor barked.
"You have a very thick accent! I'm sorry, I'm having a very hard time understanding what you're saying!"
"I DO NOT HAVE A THICK ACCENT."
"Vikto-"
"I don't have a thick accent!" He spun around in his seat, fingers white-knuckling the steering wheel, turning those blue eyes a bit further to the right to look at the man sitting next to him, "...Do I?"
"No." Yuri shook his head, "Let me try." He unbuckled his belt and shuffled towards the ruffled Russian, balancing one hand on a thigh as he leaned against the door, "We need a Venti Chai latte with 8 pumps."
"Thank you, yes sir...~! Anything else for you?"
Viktor was incensed, but said nothing, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a few fingers in frustration.
Yuri looked around the cab, but no one else piped up with requests, so he turned back to the order-panel just outside the window, "A grande White Mocha with cinnamon and nutmeg stirred in, whip on top."
"Yes sir, absolutely~! Will that complete your order?"
"I think so."
"I'll have your total at the window, thank yoouuuu~!"
The young skater pulled back to sit properly again, buckling his seatbelt like before, and replaced his hand on his husband's thigh as he felt the car starting to pull forward. When they passed around the corner of the building though, he reached instead for where Viktor's hand had migrated to the gear-shifter, prying it away one finger at a time. When he finally had it unclenched from the knob at the top of the stick, Yuri pulled it up to his lips and kissed the ring, "You aren't going to be in any mood to skate later if you keep this up." He teased.
"...Idon'thaveathickaccent."
"Why would it matter if you did?"
The Russian grumbled a bit more, "I didn't spend the last 15 years learning English and French to be told by some pridúrok barista that he can't understand me, like I just stepped off a plane from the Motherland for the first time."
The last car ahead of them was pulling away from the window, and Viktor took his foot off the brake to coast forward.
"It's just a one-off." Yuri offered, letting the man have his hand back again so Viktor could move to fish for his wallet.
As they finally pulled up to the sliding glass panels, the Russian had his eyes out the window, looking on in a steely, unblinking, dark-eyed glare at the barista who was waiting there with the two cups just within.
Standing behind the window, a gangly 18-year-old with bars in one eyebrow and gages in both earlobes was looking right back at him, looking oblivious, "Good mooorning sir~ Your total issssss...$9.26."
A card was held up between two fingers, but Viktor made no particular effort to tilt his arm out of the car window, beyond where it already was where he had his elbow propped up against it. He simply stared, "Ja ne mogu ponjatʹ, čto ty govorišʹ."
"...Sorry?"
Yurio chortled under his breath, trying not to be too obviously entertained by the spectacle.
"Po anglijski govori, ja ne ponimaju." Viktor went on, still in Russian, still teasing the card in his fingers without ever handing it over, "Čego ty hočešʹ? Deneg?"
"Viktor, I think you're freaking him out." Yuri tried to reason with his partner, leaning down and over slightly to gently stroke at the closest leg, "Just give him your card so we can go."
"Oh!" The barista heard the whispers, and leaned down, a somewhat-desperate look on his face, "You're the one who put in the order for him?"
"...Y-Yeah?" He answered nervously, not having expected to be singled out.
"Mh...you're cute."
Yuri, for once, went pale instead of red.
Viktor's head spun around so fast, but not fast enough to avoid the teen finally swiping the plastic card from his grip while he was distracted. He just gaped at his now-empty fingers, and then snorted like an angry horse, turning to look back into the café.
Both back-seat passengers looked up nervously from their patience, gawking out the window with a look of 'oh now you've done it' on their faces.
The fuming Russian in the front seat was staring daggers through the open window, waiting for the barista to come back. Still, his husband was desperate to defuse the situation before it got worse, and just as he saw the shadow of a figure coming back from behind the glass, Yuri quickly shuffled forward and blocked his forward view. He felt a knee wedge between his thighs where the younger man planted it to hold himself up, for lack of space between him and the steering wheel.
Yuri had done his best to get as much of the transaction over-with as quickly as possible, leaning out through the window to reach for the drinks and pull them back so they wouldn't have to wait for them to be handed off. That's where he made his biggest mistake though...and as he lost his balance, positioned as awkwardly as he was with his arms and head outside the window but the rest of him trying to lean over the driver's seat...he felt two hands on his own, catching the paper cups before he lost them.
"Careful. These drinks are...hot."
Hazel eyes looked up in stunned horror, but then turned aside, looking at the insofar-silent man blocked into his seat. Through the shadow of the Russian's down-tilted face, Yuri couldn't see his partner's blue irises, and rather nervously pulled back inside the car, finding his seat quietly with both drinks still in-hand. He skin still tingled where the barista had caught him moments before, but that mattered rather little.
"V-Viktor...?"
Tha-thump...tha-thump...tha-thump...tha...thump...
Yurio threw himself between the two front seats and had both arms wrapped around his older counterpart just as Viktor half-way launched himself out through the car window, seat-belt be damned. Yuri barely had time to pull back into the corner before regaining his wits about him, hearing his spouse yelling things in Russian and trying to crawl into the café through the drive-thru hutch, flailing and kicking all the while. He leaned forward to set the two cups in the holders and moved to aid the teen in pulling his husband back into the car...and failed to notice the vehicle starting to roll forward where Viktor's foot had eased off the brake.
Both Yuris were too busy trying to get the silver genius to calm himself and sit back down that they couldn't feel the car moving...at least not until they felt it suddenly stop moving, and Yuri was flung aside by a few inches where his back hit the car horn, making it squeak like a kicked dog. The window was about 3 feet away by then and three employees inside where within, trying to figure out what was going on, when Viktor was finally yanked back inside the vehicle, arms still reaching and Russian words still flying.
Otabek sighed and sat back from where he'd reached between the front seats and under the Russian Tiger to pull the e-brake, saying nothing, but giving an unimpressed look like everyone in the car was acting like they were 8 years old.
Viktor was still fuming, but finally settled down as Yuri hit the button for the power window to close it. Yurio retreated to the back seat again, only to spot the sight of a different barista leaning out the drive-thru window, waving a certain bank card towards them. He grit his teeth and kicked the door open, rushing out quickly to swipe it and return before they drove off without him.
Within a few moments, calm seemed to settle in the vehicle again, and Yuri chanced a whiff at the scent of his drink. He was oblivious to the fact that the car was sneaking its way into a parking space, rather than finding its way back out onto the main road towards their next destination. When opened his eyes again though, he saw the fact of the matter a mere half second before he could feel the car stop. Hazel eyes turned to the left to look at the man, "...Doushita? We still have to hit the bank."
Viktor held the wheel for a moment, staring at it, but then closed his eyes and shook his head, "I'm really having a day." He answered stiffly, leaning forward to set his forehead against the backs of his hands, "First, he can't understand me. Then he hits on you, right in front of me. The world is conspiring against me." He reached for the drink in the cup-holder under the dash, and set the mouthpiece just in front of his chin, "As if having Mari and Minako show up last night wasn't bad enough, but everything since then has just been one insult after another. I just want one minute where something or someone doesn't try to make me mad."
"Well..." The younger man pulled the drink from where he'd sipped at it a little, licking the tiny fleck of whipped cream where it stuck to his lip, "For what it's worth, I think your accent is sexy."
"Really?" The silver legend's eyes shone a little with tame excitement, lifting him up slightly from the dour feeling he'd been in a moment before.
"Absolutely." Yuri nodded, then smiled in his usual sweet way, "You could read the dictionary to me and I'd listen."
"...REALLY?" Viktor was astonished, those blue eyes wet with excited tears.
"Mh."
Impressed and flattered, the anxious Russian turned back to his drink, and took a happy sip, "Vkusno~!"
"Deshou? Let me try." Yuri reached his hand over, as though to grab for the cup, but lightly curved his fingers under the man's chin instead and gently pulled him aside. He immediately went for the kiss, tasting the spicy black tea on the man's lips, and...
...Heard the annoyed cough from the back seat.
"AHEM."
The two front-seat skaters turned their eyes to the two in back, and just looked on innocently with an expression of calm surprise on their faces, as though saying 'oh...you guys are still here?'
Yurio deadpanned them severely from where he'd pulled his hoodie down over the top of his face. Otabek just looked at his phone.
.
Finally getting to the Little Caesar's Arena for Exhibition run-through, the quartet filtered their way into the Players' Only area and headed for the secluded practice rink. It set Viktor's hackles on end to be going down there again, just as it had every time he went through those halls and saw those walls since Thursday. Seeing the rink from the mezzanine only made the Russian remember the vantage of some of the videos he'd seen of that ill-fated accident, realizing he was standing in the very same place as whoever had recorded the film.
The three medalists from the Ladies' Singles group, and the six from the Pairs competition, were already in the prep area getting their gear on. The Ice Dancers doing their Free Programs would have to catch up later, once they knew who'd won.
The silver Russian passed through the smattering of athletes and coaches, looking for an open space on one of the many couches strewn throughout the area. When he finally found a spot, he looked back to find his husband and nudged his head towards the opening. Yurio and Otabek went a different direction to find their own.
"Gone back to coach-mode, eh Viktor?" A voice asked suddenly, catching the Russian's attention. When he looked to find the source, he spotted Mila there with Sara close behind, the both of them putting their hair up for the practice.
"Coach-mode?" He echoed, "What makes you think that...?"
"Well...you..." Mila gave a confused look, "...You pulled out of the competition. It's like you were never here. Can you even participate in the Gala now?"
"I don't see why not," Viktor answered, giving a look, "Yuri and I have both jumped into the Exhibitions of events we didn't compete in."
"Well, sure, but you did so with duet programs, so technically you were just piggy-backing on the other's solo show." The redhead pointed out, "Unless that's what you planned on doing."
Yuri glanced from Mila to his spouse, then back to Mila, "Well...we're doing that Team Skate with Yurio..."
"I was going to do a solo show, too." Viktor explained, "I'm just paying my way in like I usually do when I want to do a Gala performance at an event I didn't participate in. You think they'd tell me no?"
"You don't have to remind me who you are," The younger Russian laughed, waving her hands up nervously, "I was just curious. Have you talked to the event coordinators yet?"
"I was going to when I checked Yuri and I in." Viktor said with a shrug, "I guess I'll go now." He turned back to his partner and rubbed the closest shoulder with one hand, "I'll be right back."
"Hai."
The trio of skaters watched as the silver legend moved back through the crowd, following the laminated signs taped to the walls to get to the Exhibition registration table.
"He seems off today." Sara commented, "Don't you think?"
"Yeah..." Mila agreed, "I hope the yell-lecture he got from Yakov yesterday didn't get to his head. It'd be the first time it has."
"It's the first time he's ever disqualified himself from a competition after he won though." The young Italian pointed out, "...Heck, it's the first time he's dropped from a competition period."
Yuri turned towards them and looked briefly between the pair, but turned his attention to the carry-bag he'd brought his skates in with, and turned to sit down on the couch it had been set on, "Yakov made some good points..."
.
"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU JUST DID? YOU MIGHT AS WELL HAVE THROWN YOUR WHOLE CAREER AWAY. IS THIS HOW YOU PLANNED ON RETIRING, VITYA? YOU SKATED JUST AS HARD AS ANYONE ELSE AND YOU WON. YOU SHOULD BE TAKING THE GOLD MEDAL. HOW COULD YOU HAVE EVER THOUGHT THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA? YOU DON'T SPEND A WHOLE WEEKEND COMPETING ONLY TO FORFEIT AT THE END BECAUSE YOU THOUGHT IT WAS A NEAT IDEA."
Viktor could practically feel his body tilting backward against the force of his former coach's barrage.
"I DIDN'T TEACH YOU TO BE A QUITTER. YOU DIDN'T BUST YOUR ARSE FOR 25 YEARS SO YOU COULD WIN TITLES FOR OTHER PEOPLE. YOU SHOULD'VE JUST SYMBOLLICALLY GIVEN IT TO YURI AFTER YOU GOT HOME. NOW YOU'VE JUST CREATED A GIANT CLUSTER."
.
"Ah...yeah..." Mila agreed with a nervous smile, but then leaned over the back of the couch and crossed her arms against the back of it, "I can't imagine how that whole thing made you feel."
"I won Silver." Yuri answered simply, "While I'm worried about how this might hurt Viktor later on, I'm trying to be positive for him. What he did was one of the most self-less things I've ever seen in the sport. Giving up the Gold couldn't have been easy...especially given how competitive it got between us right up till the end." He pulled his sneakers off as he spoke, and reached for the first skate, wedging his foot into it, "But maybe it was easier than I give him credit for. He never came back to competition because he decided he was done with me and wanted to start winning medals again. He came back because I asked him to, so we could face-off against each other after everything I learned from him. Hell..." He pulled the laces tight, but then looked up to where Viktor would've been beyond the crowd, "...Half the reason I came back was because I wanted to skate the same ice as him again. I'd been looking for a way to keep going on my own after I went back home. After Viktor did so much to build me up...I couldn't bear the idea that I'd never get to compete against him again, especially now that I'm at this level."
"...Well, I've heard coaches say that their greatest pride is seeing their students surpass them." Sara agreed.
"...Yeah...that's kind of what Viktor said after I broke his World Record at last year's Free Skate." Yuri nodded, pulling on the second skate.
"Kind of?"
"Well," He huffed an innocent laugh, "He said that, as my coach, it was his proudest moment...but as a competitor, it was the biggest diss. It was his way of saying he'd decided to come back."
"Awwww!" The two lady skaters cooed, "That's adorable!"
Viktor's ears would've been on fire for the amount of time people had spent talking to him...if he wasn't focusing so hard on the man sitting at the registration table in front of him.
"Sorry, Mr. Nikiforov. You can't be in the Exhibition when you withdraw from the competition."
"...But..."
"These smaller-scale events aren't the kind where we're inviting famous retired skaters to put on a good-faith show." The man went on, as though it were a done-deal, "This is just a celebration of the winners and active competitors."
"I'm not retired though."
"Your name has been stricken from the record of this competition, by your own request."
"I asked if it would be okay that I forfeit the Gold medal, not be erased from the competition as though I was never here." The Russian argued, "The big-wigs on the red carpet agreed with me."
"I'm afraid it's not up to me."
"Well call someone who it is up to!" Viktor barked, "How many people do you think paid to come watch the Final because they knew I was here!? How many people do you think would've left if I thought Yuri was unfit to compete after his accident and then decided not to compete without him? Why do you think the ISU let Phichit compete in Leroy's place?"
The registrar seemed unmoved.
"I hate talking about myself like this, but I know who I am and I know what my legacy is." The angry Russian went on, looking at the man indignantly, "What do you think the fans are going to say when they find out you're refusing to let me on the ice?"
"What's going on...?" Yuri's voice wondered suddenly, the younger skater coming up from behind. He spotted the dubious look on his husband's face and was immediately worried, "They're not saying no, are they?"
"Apparently they are." Viktor answered.
"What? Why?" He questioned, standing next to his partner as he came to the front of the desk and put his hands on it, looking at the man sitting behind it, "You can't be serious."
"I've said it to him and I'll say it to you. He willingly and purposefully withdrew from the competition. It doesn't matter that he did so after winning Gold. As far as the record is concerned, he was never here, and only those who competed can be in this Exhibition."
"Even if he pays the fee?" Yuri wondered nervously.
Viktor just held up his hand where his arms had been crossed, showing off the small wad of money he'd withdrawn earlier where he held it in his fingers, "I came to the table ready to pay it. He's been looking at me like he considers it no better than a bribe."
"His words, not mine." The registrar insisted, holding his hands up defensively, but then lowering them and weaving his fingers together, "Look...I'll holler at the top brass, and see if they'll make an exception...but I can't make any guarantees. So just sit tight for a bit, okay?"
"We'll take whatever we can get." Yuri answered for them, moving quickly to usher his perturbed husband away from the table as the older man stood up to find his phone. Pulling his partner aside so they wouldn't be so obvious, Yuri reached up with both hands to caress that pale, angry-looking face, "Ochitsuke, Viktor."
The Russian was half-ready to make an obscene gesture, but stopped and planted his hands on his hips instead, looking down bitterly, "It's just one thing after another. This is starting to make me really mad. What else is going to happen? The RSF kicks me o-"
Yuri's hands were over his mouth in a split-second flat, and he gave that look, "Don't you even say it."
"Mmmhhhhhhh..." Viktor growled to himself. His eyes turned when he heard the sound of the registrar's voice speaking a small distance away, but couldn't make-out what was being said.
"Not one more word. It's going to be fine." Yuri said firmly, "Whatever happens, it's going to be fine."
"Mphbophmeaknfphskphp?"
The younger figure moved his hands aside and quirked a brow, "...Eh?"
"...But what if they don't let me skate?"
"What are you going to do with all your worry when they do and you realize you got all worked up again for nothing?"
"...The same thing you usually do when that happens...?"
"N-nani...!?"
Viktor slid in closer and hugged the man nervously, "Have a cry and ask you to make me feel better."
Yuri grimaced at that, but realized it was entirely true, and raised his arms over his anxious husband's shoulders, "I'm getting too predictable."
"I really like making you feel better though." The Russian mused, letting the soothing feeling of that embrace attempt to cleanse him of his nerves, "Almost as much as I like morning sexy-time."
"...Almost?"
Viktor pulled back and nosed his husband adoringly, "It usually doesn't start with you being upset about anything. But it is nice to know that I'm the one who helped you stop feeling that way."
"Okay..." The registrar called, waving the two skaters back over for the verdict, "They're going to let you in. Something about celebrating good sportsmanship. I can take your payment now."
Yuri side-eyed his partner, but then gave a sly, wordless 'I told you so' sort of look.
Viktor snorted an unimpressed exhale, the whole thing having been too much of a hassle already for him to be able to show any kind of appreciation. He simply pulled his hands free and held up the small wad of money again, licked the tip of his right middle finger...and counted out a single $20 bill. Then the second. Then, slowly, a third. The look on the irritable Russian's face said it all...he would count out those bills at a glacial pace as punishment for making him go through the ordeal in the first place.
"Viktor."
A sixth bill was counted into the second stack; $120. Not even halfway there.
"...Viktorseriouslyjustgivehimthemoneysowecangetdownstairs."
The silver legend kept moving along slowly, only to suddenly find Yuri getting in front of him in an attempt to swipe the cash. Instinctively, Viktor raised his arms up and flailed, even as the younger figure kept reaching.
Unable to secure the money, Yuri simply started pushing the Russian away, muttering something about how he'll take care of it if Viktor couldn't. Viktor, however...wasn't one to be undone once he had his mind set to something. As he was being shoved off, he started throwing individual $20 bills at the desk, leaving a small rain of green and grey paper flittering down to the cover-cloth. He even gained ground against his partner and managed to stomp a few steps closer again rather suddenly, tossing every bill in his hands into the air. Rubber blade-guards on Yuri's skates had no traction to stop the man.
All 15 notes had scattered around the unimpressed event staffer...who simply watched as Yuri pushed the exasperated, medal-less World Champion over towards their gear, and the last of the currency landed on his table.
"...Figure skaters can be so dramatic..."
.
.
.
Ja ne mogu ponjatʹ, čto ty govoriš. = I can't understand what you're saying.
Po anglijski govori, ja ne ponimaju. = In English. I can't understand you.
Čego ty hočešʹ? Deneg? = What do you want? Money?