A/N: Hello. Good morning. Well, I'm starting this in the morning. I have a freshly cracked Red Bull at my side. And I'm prepared. Shall we then?
"Mama," Yurio sat perfectly still for me as I finished getting him ready for our special program.
"Yeah, baby?" I continued with the intricate braiding on the side of his head, still buzzing inside from Victor's…our final performance.
"Are Victor and Uncle Chris going to et divorced?" It's always nice when this kid threw me curveballs like that. I didn't even know. Victor never told me that far in advance. Chances are, that kiss was the nail in the coffin of their marriage. But Chris and Victor understood. Chris tried to settle down with Victor, but to no avail. Chris is too much of a free spirit.
"I'm not sure, Yuri," I tied the last one off. The little braids made him look like he had an undercut. Honestly, it worked for him, "Probably."
"Does that mean me and Yuri have to pick which one of them we have to live with?" Yurio asked, having been through this song and dance before.
"That choice has already been made for you," I assured, "You're both staying with Victor."
"Well…Lesser of two evils, I guess."
I smiled at my beautiful son in the mirror, "Trust me, Yuri. There won't be any evils."
"What do you mean?" Yurio stared me down in confusion.
"Sweetheart," I kissed his little, round cheek, "More than likely, I'll be moving back in."
"Really?" he jumped up, throwing his arms around my neck, "Are you really moving back in, Mama?"
"Only if Victor says it's ok," I stipulated.
"If he doesn't," Yurio pouted, "I'll never forgive him. You shouldn't have gotten another condo in the first place."
"You're right," I hugged him tight, a lump swelling in my throat, "And for that, I'm so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?"
He was completely dumbfounded. In Yurio's eyes, I could do no wrong. He held me on the same pedestal Victor did. I could see it in his big, green eyes. He had no idea how to react, "Of course, Mama."
"Thank you, Dovahkiin," I pulled him into my lap, "Are you ready?"
"I think so."
"Alright," I stood Yurio up on his feet and followed shortly after, "What do you say we go kick some ass?"
"You said a bad word, Mama."
"Mama's a grown-up. She can say bad words."
"Ok," Yurio was suddenly all full of energy. That's my boy. We were both as ready as we were going to be. He looked cuter than hell. I looked fantastic. It was time for us to become the primadonnas we were here to be.
The rink had gone dark as we skated out to the middle. That was the thing about the special programs. They were nothing but vanity. Perfect, considering our subject matter. But then, the song started. First, Yurio's spotlight flipped on. Then, he threw it over to me, making the crowd go nuts. They had no idea what they were in for. In the first half of the song, I had two triples and a double planned. Yurio had two doubles and a surprise triple. That's just the first half! If we're both not totally beat, we were both going for a quad lutz at the end.
The special programs were nothing but the skaters putting on a show. A lot of skaters I knew used this as a time to feed their egos. A certain Canadian asshole came to mind. But this particular special program wasn't for our egos. It wasn't even to give the good people of Rome a show. This was just me screwing around on the ice with my son. And to a song that started him on his ice-skating career in the first place. As long as he didn't hurt himself on the final quad. That may put a damper on the evening festivities.
We used each other to build up our speed, preparing for our grand finale, spinning each other around. Once in a while, I'd toss Yurio in the air only for him to land on his feet. Then…We were ready. Yurio and I knew how we were doing this. A countdown from three. We'd always count in Russian at practice. Well…Here goes nothing. Tri…Dva…Odin! A little sloppy on the landing, but we still landed it, dammit! And I'd expect nothing less from us. As the song came to its end, Yurio jumped into my arms and we fell to the ice.
"Mama…" Yurio panted in my ear.
"Yeah, baby?" I sighed out, feeling his pain. Our landings took a lot out of us.
"What should we do next year?" I love this child so much.
"Let's get off this season's ice first," I insisted, "Then, we'll worry about next season."
"Ok," Yurio laid his head in my shoulder, letting the roar of the crowd turn to white noise, "Good. Because I don't want to start until tomorrow."
I love my one-track minded son. Even though he's exhausted, he still wants to skate. I admire his drive, but it'll end up killing him. The two of us skated off the ice and took a seat on one of the benches. Where was the father of my adoptive children? I needed a shoulder to lay on, too. By the looks of it, he's probably getting ready for his won special program. So, in times like these, a certain Italian man needed to be my leaning post. And guess who I happened to sit next to?
"Well," Celestino put his arm around me, "Ciao, Violet."
"I'm tired, Coach," I groaned, "Do I have to skate anymore?"
"No," he kissed my sweaty forehead, "You're done. You can take a break for a while."
"Awesome," I wanted a nap and a hot tub. Not necessarily in that order.
But then, things got quiet again. The Men's Grand Prix winner this year was about to take center ice. Why did I have a feeling this was going to hurt me? But in a good way? Or it could possibly be painfully adorable to the point where I may have to hit something. Victor could be kind of a wild card like that. Especially with the way he is now. I couldn't get a good read on his current mood.
My lover's got humor…She's the giggle at a funeral.
Huh…Interesting. Victor doesn't often do somber routines, but this one seems…Different. HOLD THE GODDAMN PHONE. The song…The choreography…Something about this felt weirdly familiar. Like this has happened before…VICTOR NIKIFOROV, YOU PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE LITTLE SHIT! USE YOUR OWN CHOREOGRAPHY!
When I started skating by myself again, everything was nice and quiet in our home rink in St. Petersburg. I was alone with my thoughts and was in a state of pure bliss. This was before I decided to make my comeback. Around the time I even gave a comeback consideration. Was that what this was all about? That's exactly what it was. Not just me making a comeback, but my comeback being the rebirth of Victor's career, too. I remember him coming in after I finished the song. We danced together that night. Suddenly, I could feel my heart ready to burst. That was my husband. I married him right here all those years ago. And I should know better than to doubt Mama Cialdini.
After an uneventful post season banquet (and my annual drunk hit on by one Jean-Jacques Leroy), Chris and Victor parted with a kiss at the airport and the four of us flew back home. It's weird. I thought Chris was going to take my condo, but he said he had some things to take care of in Switzerland and family to see, so we gave him his space. I knew he was going to miss having his regular booty call on hand, but he knows how the arrangement goes. And he's welcomed any time.
A few weeks after we got settled back in, Victor and I realized we were living on bare cabinets. Sometimes, it was nice to stay in and…Well…We do need to eat to survive, so the two of us went to the grocery store together. Yuri and Yurio were off playing with their new little friend. Thank God I have the sweetest bodyguard in the world that was totally willing to take the boys off our hands for a bit. Yuri and Yurio did take quite the shine to Sophie when Gino and I took the three of them skating last. I'm sure those two were begging for another trip to the rink. My boys were workaholics like their mother and father before them.
We didn't need all that much. Yuri's shrimp chips. Yurio's apple juice (and coffee creamer…Oops. Mama may have made him a little caffeine addicted. It's only a matter of time before he starts slamming Red Bull.). A gallon of milk. Aside from that, we really don't need all that much. Just some trivial things. But none of that mattered. It was when we got to the register that things got interesting. Sometimes, Victor and I needed to speak in code just to keep our conversations private. Or in this case, in a different language.
"Violet…" Victor gave me a nudge, pointing at the cover of a certain sports publication. One that was just slandering my…well…at the time, it wasn't exactly my good name. But things got better! Although, instead of me falling over myself, trashed out of my skin, it was a shot of Victor pulling me over the wall at Grand Prix Finals. My heart melted, "Ty vidish' eto (Do you see this?)?"
"Aww…" I gushed, "Eto my…My takiye milyye (It's us…We're so cute.)."
"Vot tak (That's right)," Victor smiled, kissing my cheek, "Prodolzhit…Prochitay eto (Go on…Read it.)."
"Excuse me," the kid behind the counter asked, "Do you speak any English? Because I may have to get my manager."
"We both do," I confirmed, thumbing through Skate Weekly Magazine. And my name was in a big, bold headline across a two-page spread. Huh. Good for you, Doyle Wallace. You deserve it. Just like how your career deserves to be supported. I dropped the magazine on the belt.
"Skating enthusiast?" he tried making small talk. That's cute.
"You could say that," I smiled. Do I be that guy and say that's us on the cover or do I let him figure that one out for himself?
"Hold on," the cashier stopped us, shooting glances at the man standing next to me, "Are you…You have to be."
"Is there something on your mind?" Victor wondered.
"Are you…" he twitched a little, "I'm sorry. I don't gush often, but are you Victor Nikiforov?"
"No," Victor lied through his teeth, "You have me mixed up with another painfully attractive Russian man."
"You are Victor Nikiforov!" the kid freaked, "Oh my god, I'm such a fan!"
"That's very kind of you," Victor soaked up the attention like a sponge. Diva.
"And if you're Victor Nikiforov…" he looked over to me, "Then that must mean…"
"Yeah," I caved, patiently waiting for the same love and admiration. Or the deep loathing that a lot of Victor's fans gave me. Either or.
"You're his assistant!" Shot through the heart…And the cashier's to blame, "You must be living the dream, being around him all the time! I'd kill to be in your position!"
Awesome…Gold medalist and I'm his damn assistant. Fortunately, my alleged boss was kind enough to step in, "She's not my assistant. She's my partner. And the best one I've ever had."
Alright. I'm back to being a puddle again, "OH! You're Violet Plisetsky!"
There's what we were looking for, "Yes, I am."
"I'm so sorry," he melted, "I'm so, so sorry. You just…You look so different than you did at the beginning of the season. It's good to see you're doing better. Congratulations on the Grand Prix win!"
"Thank you." Victor and I gave the kid a quick picture and the two of us headed back home. As soon as we walked in our condo, I jumped over the couch with the copy of Skate Weekly Magazine in my hand. Color me curious.
From Russia with Love: The Rise and Fall and Rise of Violet Plisetsky
By Doyle Wallace
Alright. Straightforward. All business. I like you, Doyle Wallace.
Over the past year, professional figure skater Violet Plisetsky has been the apple of the tabloids' eye. After being spotted falling over drunk in seedy S&M clubs, with her ex-husband's new husband, nonetheless, her squeaky-clean divorce at the end of last season, and becoming a complete and utter recluse, she was ripe for the picking. The cherry on top? Her entire program, dripping with sex and sin, hiding something deeper from the rest of the world. Her overwhelming emptiness. Many journalists, myself included, have been able to benefit from this.
Alright, Doyle Wallace. You may want to back your ass off my dick here.
However…
You bet your ass, however…
With Ms. Plisetsky being such a media pariah, she has also made one of the most incredible comebacks anyone has ever seen. Being able to watch her go from gutter to gold medalist again has been a roller coaster. And personally, I couldn't be proud prouder of her. This past season didn't just mark the return of Violet Plisetsky. It was the rebirth of one of the greatest partnerships to ever grace the sport. Hopefully, she will not be skating alone next season.
After meeting both Victor Nikiforov and Violet Plisetsky, the two of them are individually some of the biggest powerhouses in the skating world, with their children also making a name for themselves. I have from a reliable source in the Junior Grand Prix that Yuri Nikiforov and Yuri Plisetsky will not only be skating in next year's competition, but are possibly considering choreographing each other's programs.
Phichit Chulanont, if figure skating doesn't work out for you, you'd make one hell of an investigative journalist. Because I can just about bet the family farm that Phichit is Doyle Wallace's reliable source.
I hope we see bigger and better things from the entire Nikiforov-Plisetsky family next season.
"Hey, Victor!" I called out, "Could you get me my phone?"
"Sure," Victor came back with my phone in hand, "And the guy at the grocery store thought you were my assistant."
"You do come in handy," I teased, "Can I keep you?"
"I insist upon it," he sat on the arm of the couch, "Who are you calling?"
"You'll see," I assured, scrolling through my contacts.
"This is Doyle Wallace," the other end answered.
"You and I need to have a word, Doyle Wallace of Skate Weekly Magazine."
"Violet!" Doyle chimed, "Hi! I haven't heard from you since Rome. How are you?"
"Again," I reiterated, "You and I need to have a word, Doyle Wallace."
"And why's that?" he wondered.
"I just picked up a copy of Skate Weekly Magazine," I told him, "And I'm curious as to what the rise and fall and rise of Violet Plisetsky is all about."
"Have you read it yet?" Doyle asked, his voice full of excitement.
"I just finished," I smiled, "It's nice to be painted in a positive light for a change."
"You did that, Violet," he pointed out, "I had nothing to do with it. But you also got me promoted! And you got me a raise!"
"You're welcome."
"Thank you," I swear Doyle Wallace was going to come out of his skin, "Thank you very much."
"You do know," I assured, "When Victor and I get married again, you're invited to the wedding."
"Awesome!" Doyle squeaked, "You're not inviting any other press, are you?"
"You're the only one I know, Doyle," I settled him, "Of course not. But you're not there as press. You're there as no more than a friend."
"It's nice that you think of us as friends," he awed, "I remember the days when you wanted to kick my ass in a back alley."
"People change."
"You're living proof of that." Oh, Doyle Wallace. Someone better snap you up before I do, "So, when's the wedding?"
"You'll know when you get your invitation," I promised, "Victor's here, too, by the way."
"Hi, Doyle!" Victor smiled, waving toward the phone.
"Hi, Victor!"
"Doyle says hi," I told him.
"I have to go, Violet," Doyle chimed, "I got a meeting with the editor in a few minutes."
"Alright," I let him go, "You do you. Good luck and Godspeed."
"Thanks, Vi."
"Bye," I ran my finger across my phone screen, hanging up the call.
"So?" Victor asked, pulling me into his arms, "What do you think? Should we go get the boys?"
"Probably," I laid my head in his shoulder, not really wanting to move. But I didn't want to leave Yuri and Yurio with Gene for much longer. It'd be nice to have the family back together. Even though Chris is still in Switzerland. As far as I knew anyway. But then, I heard some creaking above us. Maybe we got a new neighbor. Fun, "Why? Why do we have to have a floor above us?"
"I'm sorry, dorogoy," he kissed my forehead, "You could go upstairs and complain."
"I could," I sighed. Then, I caught a second wind, "You know what? I'm going up there. I'm going to go up there and bitch about it."
"You do that," Victor let me go, "I'll be waiting down here."
"Ok," I got up from the couch and headed upstairs to my old condo. Someone was about to be on the receiving end of me mildly irritated. I knocked on the door, not thinking things through. I didn't care. I could take care of things if I had to.
"The door's open, Violet!" a familiar Swiss accent chirped on the other side. Wait a second…Cautiously, I opened the door, "Sorry about the noise. I thought I'd move a little furniture around."
"CHRISTOPHE!" I jumped into his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist.
"Hi there, sweetheart," Chris hugged me tight, "This is unexpected."
"What are you doing in my old condo?" I wondered, "I thought you moved back to Switzerland."
"I was just finalizing some things," he shrugged, putting me back on the floor, "Besides, you are going to need someone to keep an eye on Nadya since Victor can't be around her, aren't you?"
"And to think I was going to come up here and bitch," I beamed, "Are you sure this is ok?"
"Violet," Chris put his finger in my face, "Don't do that. You know this is how it's supposed to be. Victor and I have our open relationship. You two are getting remarried. It's the way it's always supposed to be."
"Thank you," I kissed his cheek, "I really do appreciate that, Chris."
"You two are better together than you are apart," he pointed out, "I read that in a magazine somewhere recently."
"Skate Weekly, perhaps?"
"That one!"
"Well," I rocked back on my heels, "Victor and I were going to go get Yuri and Yurio from Gene. Care to join us?"
"I'd love to," Chris nodded, "But I have plans for tonight. I apologize in advance."
"Thank you," I can't believe he stuck around, but damn, I'm glad he is, "I'll see you later."
"You will," Chris sent me off and Victor and I ran to get the boys. I'm not surprised where we found them. Even if I didn't get a text from Gene telling us, there was no way they could stay away for long. Like I said, workaholics like their parents before them.
"Hey, Vi," Gene threw his arms around me, "How've you been, hon?"
"Can't complain," I looked over the ice, noticing his daughter holding my oldest son's hands to stable herself, "How are they?"
"Yurio's kicking ass and taking names," he reported, "Yuri has just been helping Sophie out. It's been so sweet to see them like this."
"If I didn't know any better," I raised my voice a bit, "I'd think my boys didn't know how to take a day off!"
"Mama!" Both their heads snapped toward me.
"Come on, guys," I called it, "You guys need to know when to take a break."
"I can't!" Yurio shot me down, "I have to keep my kill streak up!"
That's the one I worry about. That's the one I pray for. Yuri skated over with Sophie holding his hand. She has been getting better. Her footing is a lot better than I last saw, "Mama, will you and Daddy skate for us?"
I looked over at Victor, hoping he could get us out of this, "I don't know, Yuri. That means us getting rental skates."
"And?"
"Well?" Victor asked for my permission, "Violet, may I have this dance?"
How can I say no to that face? How could I have ever said no to that face? To make matters even worse, I had two other faces that I couldn't say no ganging up on me. I love my boys. But who was I to say no to them ever again?
A/N: Well, friends. That's it. That's the end. Violet and Victor are getting remarried. Chris is living above them and things are cool on that front. Everything is looking up for the Nikiforov-Plisetsky family. Even Doyle Wallace of Skate Weekly Magazine is down to one name and doesn't have a target on his back! And we got some unscheduled skating by Victor and Violet and Yurio. Yuri opted out of it. He's the only one that didn't take gold home this year. And he's ok with that.
Now, is there going to be another? I don't know. I mean, if you want me to do another one of these, I'll consider it. But things are pretty buttoned up. It's been nice hanging out with you guys, though. It's going to be a while before I post another YOI story, but everyone deserves a break. Even me. So, it's been nice knowing you. And I'll see you later. xx