CHAPTER FOUR HUNDRED FOUR

The view of Hasetsu Castle coming into range was one of the most welcome things either men could think of seeing since returning from NHK nearly a month prior.

"Is it weird that I feel like we haven't seen this sight in years, even though it was only yesterday…?" Yuri wondered reluctantly, pressing his shoulder to the glass.

"Nope, I'm there with you..." Viktor agreed, leaning as well, "The castle sitting atop a city by the sea, like a beacon."

"You're so dramatic." Yuri laughed, brushing the man back again. He drew in a weighty breath and relaxed against the back of his chair, then tilted his head towards his partner, "So, do you want to stop by Yu-Topia before your appointment?"

"Mmmhhhh...not really. Minako said she was going to go straight to your mom."

"Oh, right..."

.

"...I need to talk to Hiroko before Mikhail gets here with the rest of the clan..." Minako said quietly, phone pressed to her ear as she stood in the lobby of her hotel, waiting to check out, "I don't know that I could stand to bring it up after everyone's in Hasetsu. The first time someone tries to touch my stomach, I'm going to dropkick them into low orbit."

Yuri nodded and looked up to where Viktor was still getting dressed, then down again to where his phone was set to speaker on the bed, "So you'll be leaving right away..."

"Yeah. I mean, thanks for inviting me anyway." The ballerina went on, "I was just going to grab a coffee and get going. I just…want to get this done and over with."

.

"She left two hours before we did though. You don't think she's done already?" Yuri wondered.

"I can't speak for her, but I imagine that won't be a fun conversation, given what little she's said to us about it."

"That's true..." The younger figure shook his head, "What a weird situation. I can't even imagine what she's going through. Not even taking her age into consideration, but...knowing her all my life, she's always kind of had her own plan for things. Her own way of doing stuff. This would change everything."

"Mh."

"...And my mom would probably have the complete-opposite reaction," Yuri went on, thinking about that very scenario, "Considering the genes being mixed, it's practically the next-best way for my mom to get grandkids...and the way all your cousins look alike, with your same silver hair, I wouldn't be shocked if-"

"...I'm trying not to think about it." Viktor interrupted softly.

"...Oh."

"Izvinite, moya lyubov'." (Sorry, my love.) He added, rubbing his thumb where he still held his husband's hand, "I don't know that this topic won't always be a touchy subject for me."

"Guess I can't blame you for feeling that way." Yuri settled again, "I think about it more from Minako-sensei's point of view, but I guess you're stuck with Mikhail's."

"I don't see anything from his perspective." Viktor shook his head, fingers tightening slightly. Buildings started whizzing past the windows as the train came down from its elevated rail platform on its way toward Hasetsu Station, "I just…feel like he betrayed everything that I trusted him with."

Mikhail does have the right to live his own life… Yuri thought, But...at the same time… Viktor was so sure that the guy had the sense to talk to us before just deciding to move here. Hasetsu isn't that big and we share the same social circles, so it's really only one step down from moving into our house with us...

"I guess there's some horrible part of me that's grateful Minako's just as unsettled by this as I am." Viktor continued quietly, "But I hope she figures out what she's going to do sooner rather than later."

"Do you think you'll be okay with her choice?"

"I think it'll just take one more unknown out of the future." The Russian answered, sort of, "I can start to focus my mind towards whatever she decides to do."

"And if she decides to carry on with it?"

Viktor grit his teeth slightly, keeping his eyes on the back of the seat ahead of him, "My support for her hasn't changed."

"I meant your view of the kid that'll be here at the end of it."

"...I'm extremely apprehensive about the idea of it right now. I won't lie." The silver Russian sighed, feeling a bit guilty about his honesty. He turned towards his partner as the train started to slow down, "You?"

"I'm torn." Yuri answered, "My first thought is to agree with you, since not one person involved seems to be all that excited about it...and you'd think we would be. But then...I wonder...if maybe I'm the only one who could be, other than my mom. Whatever the circumstances..." He paused, shifting in his seat slightly so he could lean his weight against his spouse's arm, "...I can't help but get a tiny bit excited at the idea of a little version of you running around. I start to feel guilty when I think about it though, because I know how unhappy you are about the whole situation."

"...So...it doesn't matter to you that it would still technically be my Uncle's kid."

"Not particularly."

"Mh..."

"...Maybe it's because of the age difference…" Yuri offered, bracing himself slightly as the momentum of the train stopping forced him to lurch forward a little, "Mikhail's old enough to be your dad, but this would be a newborn...and you're old enough to have kids of your own by now. I mean, it's like I was saying earlier...this baby would likely have your family's silver hair, mixed in with mine and Minako-sensei's Japanese looks. It'd be like…our kid, almost."

Viktor stayed quiet.

"I dunno. Maybe I'm just saying stuff that doesn't make sense. I just want to consider all the differences this go 'round. We'll be here for the whole thing, you know? It won't just be another Rozovsky popping up like all your cousins did...heck, if Minako-sensei never agrees to reinstate the engagement, the baby might actually be an Okukawa."

People started shuffling by, and Viktor rose up to his feet, tenderly getting out of the aisle to find their bags and hand a few off to waiting hands. He passed through the small-town terminal and out into the parking lot, looking for his volcano-red hotrod. It was impossible to miss, though it was covered entirely over in snow.

Yuri busied himself with quickly brushing everything away so the doors could be opened without the interior being flooded, but once he was done, he hesitated to open the driver's side door briefly, "...Are you sure about this? We could ask my dad to pick us up..."

"It doesn't hurt if I extend my foot straight." Viktor clarified, "Only if I turn it out from side to side. I'll take it slow and easy, I promise. If I feel like it's not going well then I'll pull over."

"So...home to drop off Jiro and our stuff, then to the doctor?"

"Da."

"Alright..." Yuri accepted tepidly, pulling on the handle to open the door. A moment later, the driver's seat was put forward to make room for suitcases, and he started carefully hoisting them in over the blanket that had been put over the back seats. When all that was left was the puppy and the skater, Yuri paused, blocking the Russian's way for a moment. He took the leash from Viktor's hand, only to wrap both of his arms around his partner's chest, and pressed his face into the man's scarf.

Viktor didn't need a prompt; he returned the hug quickly, "It'll all be fine. We're home."

"I was about to say that exact same thing." Yuri huffed, then lifted his head, pulling his partner into a kiss before finally letting him go to get into the car, "I love you. I don't want to see you under so much stress. It's not good for you."

"Mmhh..." The Russian sighed, making a bit of a reluctantly-quibbling face.

"What is it?"

"...The..." He started, hesitated, drew a breath, and then came out with it, "...The way you put it earlier, about the kid being an Okukawa maybe, and how we'd be there the whole time, and that you're kind of, sort of, wanting to be excited about it... Maybe I can let myself feel that way too, since it is Minako. I may have found solidarity with her in the moment, but...I don't want her to make this choice while my shitty attitude is hovering over her like a storm-cloud, either. She already has enough to think about. The worry that I might be disappointed with her decision should be the last thing she considers."

Yuri blinked up at him, but then smiled and jumped back for another kiss, "Look at you, adulting all over this situation."

"Adulting is hard." The Russian sighed, finding yet one more kiss while his partner was close, "But...it's easier with you around."

Feeling like his heart was floating, Yuri smiled wide, "Subarashī." (Wonderful.)

.

With Jiro and the gear safely stored at home, and Viktor's ankle behaving for the drive, the next stop was the Sports and Rehab hospital. English was basic there, and the forms were all in Japanese, which left Yuri to do the bulk of the talking and writing despite it being his husband's injury. He set the ID and healthcare cards into the small box on the counter, swiped a number-tab from the pin next to it, put it into his pocket, and moved aside, seeking for the bottle of hand sanitizer. He squished a dob into each palm and made his way back to where Viktor was sitting, paperwork clipboard under his arm.

The room, other than themselves, was occupied by perhaps a dozen or so people, all with varying different injuries, and number tabs of their own.

"How much is there?" Viktor wondered, looking at the clipboard, but unable to see how much of the stack was actually needing to be filled in rather than just read and signed. He held one hand up and watched the clear goopy blob fall into it from his partner's, and they each cleaned their hands.

"Enough." Yuri teased, nudging the man with an elbow as he turned and sat down, an arm coming across the back of his seat to press over his shoulders, "Bunch of questions about your medical history that I never really thought about, but I imagine most of it will be blank."

"Mh. I'm healthy as a horse. Gotta be in this sport."

"Deshou?"

A few minutes went by - other patients being called - with Yuri scribbling in answers, mumbling a few questions to things he didn't completely know for sure, "...Have you ever smoked in your whole life?"

"Nope."

"Illicit drug use?"

.

"...Russian skater, Viktor Nikiforov, decided at the last second to give up his Gold. With his withdrawal from the line-up, Japanese skater Yuri Nikiforov got upgraded from Silver, Khazakstan's Otabek Altin moved up from Bronze, and Russia's Yuri Plisetsky managed to take a spot on the podium after failing to defend his title from last year."

"I wonder why he gave up the Gold medal like that?"

"Given the doping controversy after the Sochi Olympics a few years ago, maybe he had something to hide?"

Yuri was immediately incensed, "Viktor would never cheat. Why is thatthe first thing these Americans think of when something like this happens? Is good sportsmanship really such a foreign concept here that no one can offer a gesture without people thinking there's some catch?"

.

"Nope."

Yuri sighed slightly, but moved the pen away from the paper, and set his free hand down against his husband's leg, "You'd tell me if the RSF made you do something, right?"

"They tried. I said no." Viktor answered simply, his posture unchanged from where he'd been relaxed earlier, "I made a huge scene about how they were risking my career by even suggesting it. I was pretty angry. Not just because of the moral implications, but because it was like they said I might not win Gold unless I did it."

"And you won Gold anyway. I watched every event."

"I told them that if I went clean and got on the podium, they'd never pressure me again. Short of kidnapping me and doping me against my will, they couldn't do anything. In the end, the argument boiled down to something like...they won't let me compete if I don't go through with it, and me firing back that they won't get Gold at all if I stay behind. I went, I won...now, we're here."

"Skating for the JSF." Yuri nodded, feeling more sure than before that he could mark off the 'No' box honestly, "Did anyone else get pulled into it?"

"Yes."

"I wonder if the Olympics people will say something about it..."

"...Ni-juu ichi, Nikiforovu Bikutoru-san onegaishimasu."

Both heads lifted to the sound of a nurse coming through the doors, scanning the room for foreigners and landing on them half-way around. Yuri stood first, and offered his arm to help his partner up, and they moved towards the petite woman. Her face flushed at the sight of them towering over her, especially Viktor, but she let them through politely and bid them follow her onto a raised area of the floor. Shoes were stowed away at that point, and slippers were put on to replace them, and they continued on to the 'second' waiting area, where they sat...and continued filling out paperwork.

After a few more minutes, and the final paper was signed by the Russian's hand, they were called again. A different nurse took them to an exam room, where the doctor was already waiting for them, going over something on a computer while the trio entered. Yuri passed off the clip-board to the nurse who'd brought them in, and dropped the number tab into the glass jar on the doctor's desk, then went back to sit with his partner.

The room was small, but cozy enough, with a big wall-length window on one side that gave them a pristine view of...the parking lot, from the 3rd floor. As the doctor finished reading on an old-fashioned computer screen, he reached for a tablet, and turned in his chair towards his 'victim.'

"So you hurt yourself." The older man said, his English rather good given the lackluster mastery of everyone else they'd run into so far, "Slipped on the ice?"

"...Unfortunately." Viktor answered, "Got carried away in the moment and forgot I had the guards on, so my feet went right out from under me."

"Did you still win?"

"Yes; this happened after I finished."

"And you?" The physician turned his eyes to Yuri, who jumped slightly from the surprise of being called out.

"Oh! Uhm, well, I won Bronze, so it's okay I guess. You know us?"

"Who in Hasetsu doesn't know about Yuri and Viktor Nikiforov by now? Back in the day, 'Yuri Katsuki' was all this town was known for, after all."

"Ah, that's true..." Yuri's face flushed, "It must be kind of annoying to everyone to see and hear about us all the time..."

"It's not that bad." The older man laughed, "But anyway, we need to get your partner in working condition again. Can't have him fall off the Olympic wagon so soon after getting onto it."

"Yessir."

Gloves went on, and a small four-legged stool came out, and the physician wheeled his chair around to sit in front of the silver Russian, setting the platform down in front of that bared right leg, "Set your foot here please."

Viktor did so quietly, watching as the old man looked at it from all sides. He kept his arms crossed closely across his chest, ...I hate that I'm getting déjà vu to Sophia right now... I don't want to be thinking about her...

"How's the pain at this point, Viktor-san?"

"It's not bad." He answered, "It was pretty sore the night of the injury, but it settled down by the next morning...enough that I had the option of being stupid and ran on it."

"Not a good idea."

"I know that now," Viktor sighed, letting his leg get pulled out, calf set across the physician's knee as fingers started prodding for all his tender spots, "We've been icing it a lot. I can walk, though slowly...and I was able to drive us here. The swelling's a lot better now too...and right now it only hurts if I turn it out."

"This way?" The man asked, everting the foot so the Russian's sole faced away from his midline, but only enough to make the point.

"Yessir. That's about as far as it'll go before it starts to- AH."

"Right there?"

Viktor winced, ready to jump out of his chair, "...Yessir." He cringed as fingers went probing around all the worst-feeling deep bruises. He reached for his husband's hand and clamped down on it.

"Well, it's easy to say I can corroborate the diagnosis made in Osaka." The doctor explained, giving Viktor his leg back as he went to the tablet. Gloves were cast aside and the older man's fingers started tapping on the screen, "You've got an eversion sprain of the medial ligament; the bit there on the low inside part of your ankle that I touched when you jumped. The good news is that it's a low ankle injury, which is easier to recover from than the high counterpart. Most low ankle sprains are from the other side, so you found a way to hurt yourself in a unique way."

Yuri huffed a quiet laugh, "Always have to be special."

"...This isn't a surprise I did on purpose." The Russian half-argued, then turned back to the doctor, "So now we're off to scan it?"

"X-rays and an MRI."

"...Why both?"

"X-rays can tell us if you fractured anything. Sometimes ligaments will pull off the surface of the bones they're holding together and take their anchors with them, kind of like how certain kinds of tape will peel away the paper, too." The older man answered, putting in the diagnosis for the imaging orders, "The MRI will show us if there's any soft tissue damage...tears and swelling, that sort of thing."

"Are you worried about fractures...?" Viktor asked, nervous suddenly.

The physician pushed back from his desk slightly and looked the man over, gesturing down to the offending limb, "You have some pretty good tenderness in there and bruising. I would be remise in my duty of care if I didn't check for everything possible, even if from my exam, I don't think you've done that much damage."

"What's your suspicion?"

"Somewhere between a grade 1 and 2 sprain. Once we figure out where it's at, we can formulate your treatment."

"We're going to Russia this coming weekend," Yuri interrupted, "Will it be okay...?"

"How long will you be gone for?"

"Ten days total. We're leaving on Friday and we'll be back the Monday after Euros."

"He's not skating, is he? He's JSF now." The doctor gestured to Viktor like he was just a poster.

Yuri shook his head, "No way, we're just going as spectators to show support to our European friends."

"Oh, okay...that's a relief. I'd have put him in a cast before he leaves if you said otherwise."

Viktor scoffed, "...So much for possibly doing the Exhibition."

"Eh?" Yuri blinked up at him, "What are you talking about?"

The Russian just pouted, "There was some talk about maybe us doing an Exhibition since someone we know spilled the beans about us maybe going for fun."

"...Yurio?"

"Christophe Giacometti."

"He knows we're coming?"

"I did say I was going to try and arrange for Euros to be a good event for you, didn't I?"

"...Oh, right... I thought you were just going to wing it."

The doctor cleared his throat to get their attention back, and rose up from his seat, "Whatever you do to that ankle between now and your next competition will likely determine if you keep winning them or not." He warned, "If you want to keep winning, suffer now and get it over with."

"...Yessir..." Viktor nodded sullenly, getting his sock, brace, and slipper on again before pushing to rise up as well. Yuri followed.

"Head on down to the imaging department. They'll do your pictures and scans, and then you'll come back here. I'll show you the results and tell you the verdict. If you're lucky, you'll walk out of this building the same way you walked in...if not, well..."

"Please not surgery. My ego couldn't take it." The Russian whined.

"...Your ego?" Yuri echoed skeptically, "Why that specifically?"

Viktor grit his teeth, "I don't need he who shan't be named in Canada howling about how this is karma for Detroit."

"...Oh."