A/N: The song that goes with this chapter is "Eye of the Tiger" by Survivor

By the time he had unfolded himself from the cramped economy seat, Yuri was livid. He stomped down to the baggage claim, wrestled his leopard-print bag off the carousel, and then marched out to the waiting taxi. His breath steamed in the early-morning air, escaping his clenched teeth in small puffs. He felt like a dragon. A miniature one, maybe - tiny, but fierce.

Grandpa's flat was locked, but he knew where the spare key was hidden. He didn't want to bother his neighbors this early. He lugged his bag into his old room, smiling wistfully up at the posters of famous skaters and American rock and punk bands that were plastered across his walls, and then set out to look for his cat. "Princess," he called, checking her usual hideouts under his bed and in the closet. "Princess, where are you?"

He frowned when there was no answer. She must have found a new hideout while he'd been gone. He felt a momentary stab of guilt for leaving her here, but brushed it aside. He couldn't very well take her with him to competitions. He'd considered taking her to St. Petersburg, but Lilia was deathly allergic to cats. Yuri shook his head, thankful that he didn't share that allergy. That would be a fate worse than death.

"Princess! Where are you? It's Yuri - your humble servant." He frowned around the sparse living room. Had it always been so empty and dingy? The trinkets and paintings and scattered memorabilia he remembered were noticeably absent.

He was about to try the kitchen when the doorknob rattled and began to turn. Yuri froze, heart hammering in his chest. Grandpa was still at the hospital - he was set to be released today. He scanned frantically for something - anything - to use as a weapon, but there was nothing nearby even remotely suitable. He was just considering ducking behind the couch when the door burst open, revealing a plump elderly woman bundled into tattered coat and shawl. She struggled for a moment with the door, juggling the key, an oversized purse, and a small brown-and-white cat.

"Princess!" Yuri said, breath whooshing out of him in relief. Of course it was grandpa's neighbor, come to check on things. Of course she would be taking care of Princess in Grandpa's absence.

"Oh - Yuri!" she exclaimed, blinking startled blue eyes at him as she pressed her left hand to her chest. Princess squirmed free of her hold and stalked to the kitchen door, tail raised high in affront. "I didn't think you'd be here yet. Goodness - you should have knocked — yes, yes, darling. I'll get your food. Just a moment." She unwrapped her scarf and slipped out of her jacket, following Yuri's cat into the kitchen. Yuri tagged along after her, smiling as Princess began to devour her favorite cat food.

"Thank you for taking care of her, Yelena Petrova" he said, offering Princess his hand to sniff and then settling her gingerly against his chest when she bounded at him with sudden enthusiasm. The elderly woman chuckled.

"Call me Lena, lad. It's what your grandfather calls me - and half this town. You're the spitting image of your mother - it would feel strange to stand on ceremony with you."

Yuri bit his lip, startled at the tears threatening to spill over.

"I'm sorry, Yuratchka," she said, "I didn't think —"

"It's all right," he said, swiping the back of his hand across his eyes. "Its silly to miss her, isn't it - I barely knew her."

She clicked her tongue, but didn't answer, and then drew Yuri into a brief hug. "It's only natural, what with coming here to care for Nikolai. And a good thing, too - he won't listen to me, stubborn bastard."

Yuri sniffed, smile escaping despite his sudden melancholy. "Yes, well. I'm not sure how much help I'll be, but… I'll try."

"Good," Yelena said firmly. "Now, run along and wash up. I'll drop you at the hospital on my way to work, if you like, but we'll have to leave soon."

Yuri nodded gratefully and escaped to the bathroom. A few splashes of icy water and a firm scrub, and his face was clear again - if a bit pink. He thrust his arms through the sleeves of his jacket, tucked his phone into his pocket, and wrapped a scarf tightly around his neck. He had the ridiculous thought that he was suiting up for battle, and he snorted as he walked down the hall to join Lena.

She dropped him off in front of the hospital, as promised, and he spent a long moment just staring up at the imposing building. Grandpa was in there, somewhere. It didn't feel real, somehow.

Someone bumped into him, not-quite-rudely, jostling him out of his thoughts, and he firmed his jaw. Right. He could do this. He took a deep breath and held it, counting to five as Beka had suggested, and then strode up to the doors.

The trick to doctors, he had learned long ago, back when his mother had taken his tiny hand in hers and bent down to whisper her secret in his ear, was confidence. And 17-year old Yuri Plisetsky, with a handful of gold medals and a world record that still stood - he knew a thing or two about confidence. Not to mention he'd spent years now competing against JJ fucking Leroy. After that, he could probably write a dissertation on confidence.

"Ah, Yuratchka, It's good to see you."

Yuri let himself sink into Grandpa's familiar hug for a moment, then gently extricated himself.

"It's good to see you, too, Grandpa. Let's get you home."

Yuri grasped the handles of the wheelchair, sliding his palms absently along the grooves in the rubber grips. "Ready?"

Grandpa craned his neck, scowling at Yuri. "What do you think you're doing? We're not taking this with us?"

Yuri snorted. "Unless you'd rather I try to carry you? I'd rather not. The doctor wants to be sure you give your back time to heal, this time, so - wheelchair it is." He leaned forward, using his body weight to start the chair moving, then easing into a rhythm, testing its momentum.

"This is undignified," Grandpa grumbled. He plucked irritably at the afghan the cheerful nurse had tucked around him, and Yuri smiled. He wasn't really upset, just had to put up a token protest to maintain his dignity. Yuri was willing to give him that.

It took a few tries to get him settled comfortably in the cab, but they managed it, in the end. Yuri folded up the wheelchair, just as the nurse had shown him, and ducked inside.

His mind wandered to Beka, as they sped down the road. What was he doing right now? Was he getting along all right without Yuri there? He snorted. Of course he was. Beka was probably having a grand time. With Mila.

He checked his phone, angling it carefully so Grandpa didn't see. Maybe…

No.

Nothing.

He scrolled listlessly through comments on his last instagram post for a moment, but his heart wasn't in it. He locked the phone and slipped it back into his pocket with a quiet sigh.

He hadn't posted anything since he'd left to come here. It hadn't been that long, really, but he usually posted a lot more often. Well, if anyone commented, he could use Grandpa's injury as an excuse.

If anyone commented. Yuri stared at his ceiling for a moment, then switched the phone off and tossed it into the corner, wincing at the thud it made when it hit the floor. Oops. At least if he broke his phone, he wouldn't have to keep staring at an empty inbox.

He tugged the covers up to his chin, snuggled his favorite stuffed tiger even closer, and closed his eyes.

Nothing.

Yuri switched the phone off again, left it on the dresser. It felt weird not having its familiar weight in his pocket, but he needed to remove the temptation. He'd already checked it fifty times that morning.

"Yuratchka!" Grandpa smiled at him as he wandered back into the living room. The wheelchair had given them a bit of trouble that morning, and Yuri could tell he'd been in pain, but he looked a bit more comfortable now. "It's good to see you, my boy. But, you can't leave in the middle of the season!"

Yuri sighed. They'd already been over this a few times. "The season's practically over now," he said. "Anyway, I've already won gold at my senior level Grand Prix debut, and the only senior-level competitions I've not won gold at in the last three years were because Victor returned to skating, and he and the piggy scraped out a win or two between them. There'll be plenty more chances later."

He frowned around at the empty spaces, noticing them again. "Grandpa, why didn't you tell me you were ill? How long have you been living like this?"

Grandpa looked away. "Ah, well. I didn't want to bother you, Yuratchka. It's not so bad as all that."

"Nonsense. I don't mind. I'll have things cleaned up in a jiffy." Yuri went to get the broom out of the kitchen, but stopped when he opened the cupboard. He frowned. Closed it. Opened the next. They were nearly empty.

"But first," he called, frowning around the kitchen and shaking his head "is there anything you want from the market? There's not much food here."

Grandpa coughed. "I don't eat much."

Yuri stuck his head back through the doorway. "You don't eat anything, looks like. I'll be back soon. Can I get you anything before I go? Some water?"

"Wait - Yuratchka!" Grandpa called, as Yuri shrugged on his coat. "My check doesn't come in until next week. I'm sure there's something in the cupboards…"

Yuri paused with one arm in his coat and leveled a glare at him. "I have money, Grandpa. You think all those gold medals don't come with prize money too? And sponsorships?"

"I don't want you to spend your money on me, Yuratchka. I do all right for myself, you know."

Yuri sighed. "Grandpa. I have far too much money as it is. I don't spend it, you know, like they say. Most of it goes into a savings account."

He was struck by a sudden inspiration and dropped the coat, striding back into the kitchen. He opened and closed the bare cupboards, searching. "Where is your medicine?"

Grandpa wouldn't look at him. "What medicine?"

Yuri closed the last cupboard with a bang. "The medicine the doctor prescribed. The nurse gave me a list while I was checking you out of the hospital."

"Oh. Those medicines."

"Yes, those medicines. Where are they?" Yuri paused, then smacked his forehead. "Wait a minute - we never stopped at the pharmacy, did we?"

Grandpa waved his hand, as if to clear the unpleasant issue from the air. "I'll send Lena to get them next weekend…"

"Grandpa." Yuri glared at him. "You need those medicines now. I'll get them while I'm out. Wait. Those therapy and specialist appointments?"

Grandpa stared straight ahead, lips flattened mutinously.

Yuri massaged his temples. It wasn't even noon yet and he was getting a headache. "Right. I'll call them tomorrow and get everything set up."

Grandpa grasped his arm as he made to walk past him to the door. "Yuratchka. I cannot afford those appointments. I'll be all right without them. You'll see."

Yuri shook his hand off irritably. "I. Have. Money. I will pay for the damn appointments!"

"But your savings, Yuratchka—"

"You're my family, Grandpa. You're all the family I have. That's more important than my bank balance. Anyway, I've more than enough. Let me worry about that - you just worry about getting better."

Grandpa closed his eyes and deflated slightly. "When did you grow up, Yuratchka? I'm used to taking care of you - I'm not sure if I can get used to things being the other way around, now."

Yuri felt his cheeks glow in pleased embarrassment, and impulsively leaned in to hug him. "Hey. You won't need me to take care of you forever. Just long enough for you to get better."

Grandpa looked up at him earnestly. "I'm getting old, Yuratchka. I'm not sure how much better I'll—"

Yuri hugged him tighter.

"Oof," Grandpa said, laughing. "You've gotten stronger, I see."

"You will," Yuri said fiercely. "You will get better. You're still strong, Grandpa. Don't give up just yet."

"How about some piroshki for dinner tonight?" Grandpa asked gruffly.

Yuri smiled brightly, accepting the peace offering for what it was. "Katsudon piroshki?"

Grandpa chuckled. "If that's what you want, why not? You'll have to help me make it, though - do you remember how to make piroshki?"

"Do I remember how to make piroshki?" Yuri muttered as he grabbed the shopping bags and twined his scarf about his neck. "Of course I fucking remember how to make piroshki. Honestly."

He stomped out the door, still muttering.

"Don't forget the pork cutlets, Yuratchka!" Grandpa called after him, still laughing.

"That was once!" Yuri called back, just before the door closed.