((Addendum in the light of one commentator (at a different platform) on this chapter that didn't seem to grasp what I was saying in the first A/N: My note at the outset DOES NOT mean I have nothing to warn about. It means that there are warnings that WOULD apply but I actively opt out of giving them because I feel they're spoilers. I don't like warnings as a reader and I don't use them as a writer so ALL my fan fiction gets a caveat lector note when needed. Please deal with that. Thank you.))

2. My Fiery Heart Shrinks, Aching

Yuuri was shaking like a leaf. In the past couple of hours, he'd let the split second of horror pass through his head over and over again. Time had drawn itself out all of a sudden, taunting him with the illusion that it had slowed down enough for him to do something. His inertia felt like his own fault, the voice of reason insisting that no human being could have been quick enough stifled by gnawing guilt. He'd heard something earlier, a sound that shouldn't have been there, quiet but breaking the familiarity of sounds he knew to expect. That he could have reacted to, but he hadn't, he'd ignored his instinct saying something was wrong. Viktor had landed his jump – they both had – but had fallen after that, his hand slipping from Yuuri's after unbalancing him. He'd landed hard and slid into the boards, and Yuuri hadn't been able to stop or change direction, hadn't even be able to think of it before he crashed into his fiancé.

Everything after that was a haze. His head hurt, but he hadn't passed out, had fought the darkness that tried to swallow him with all that he had. Leaving Viktor unconscious on the ice had felt wrong on every possible level, but he had to call an ambulance. And once he'd done that he'd returned, hadn't dared pull Viktor into his lap because he had no idea what had happened to him apart from seeing that there was blood, and had waited.

A nurse talked to him but the words didn't register. 'I-I'm sorry, I …' he swallowed. 'Is he all right?'

'Viktor Dmitrievich is still with Doctor Pyotr Ivanov. Yuuri Katsuki, please, we need to look at you, too.'

He shook his head. The last of his will draining from him, he followed her. This was his fault. It was all his fault. He'd wanted this and Viktor hadn't and now he might have killed him. How he should live with that, Yuuri had no idea. Viktor's casual statement what he'd do if he killed him came back to him, and although he knew he hadn't meant that, a nasty voice wondered if the Russian thought he didn't deserve to live past this. The doctor asked him questions and he answered obediently, but he didn't care about himself in the slightest. His head was pounding as if some small monster were sitting inside it with a hammer. 'Yuuri Katsuki, I'd like you to stay overnight for observation,' he heard her say and nodded because it didn't matter.

'Wait, no,' he said then. 'I've got to go home to Makkachin. Our dog.'

'Do you have anyone who can look after him until tomorrow?'

The doctor's sympathetic voice made him feel even worse. He couldn't even look after Viktor's dog while he was here. He was useless. 'I can call Katarina. She's the landlady's daughter. Not that that matters to you.'

The doctor blinked at him. 'Maybe tomorrow you'd like to talk to …'

'No.' He swallowed. 'I'm good. I'm just … You'll tell me when you know something? I need to know how Viktor is.'

The woman squeezed his arm. 'Of course. You'll be the first to know. Now please, let's get you situated for the night. Maybe we can send you home tomorrow.'

Ϡ

The sharp scent of antiseptic filled Viktor's senses and the light was way too bright when he opened his eyes. Hospital. He was in a hospital?

He sat up abruptly and regretted it instantly. His head felt as if it had cracked in half, his stomach roiled, and he sank back down with a groan. He heard footsteps growing fainter, then voices, then more footsteps. His thoughts, sluggish and hard to keep on track, went to Yuuri, but the person through the door was his landlady.

Wonderful. His only friend worth the name was the woman who owned the apartment he rented. 'Yuuri,' he ground out, his voice sounding foreign. 'Is Yuuri all right?'

A nurse emerged from behind the woman's impressive girth. 'Yuuri Katsuki is fine.'

Viktor let go of a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. 'Thanks. Can I go home?'

The nurse shook her head. 'Please, Viktor Dmitrievich, wait for the doctor. He can tell you when you can leave. Ah, there he is.'

Doctor Pyotr Ivanov Bunin, according to his name tag, smiled. 'Don't worry, you'll be all right in no time at all.'

'What … exactly happened? I don't remember getting here.'

'You were unconscious when we brought you in. What do you remember?'

'That I was waiting for Yuuri, we were going to use the skating rink in Admiralty Embankment.'

'You did, but you had an … accident.' Viktor didn't like the doctor's brief hesitation one bit. 'The police are currently investigating for foul play. Apparently, there was a third person in the rink with you. You'll be all right, don't you worry. You have three broken fingers with one severed tendon, a broken rib, and a severe concussion. We could send Yuuri Katsuki home this morning and if you take it easy, you'll recover quickly, too.'

'Yuuri has a concussion? Is he fine? You're sure?'

'No, he doesn't. You do. He went home.'

'When can I go? Will he pick me up?' The way Linda's face fell didn't appeal to Viktor at all. 'What aren't you all telling me? Am I dying or something?'

Doctor Pyotr Ivanov raised his hands. 'I don't think …'

'No, no, no, I want a straight answer right now or I'm leaving and it'll be your fault if you have to mop me off the parking lot!'

Linda placed a hand on his shoulder that did nothing to make him feel less frightened. 'Viktor … Yuuri was completely distraught. He blamed himself. He said he's cursed you. He's going home to Japan.'

'Cursed me?' Viktor hated the hysteria in his voice. 'That's it, I'm leaving.'

Linda was about to intervene, but there was no need. The moment Viktor had his feet on the ground, the room started to spin around him and he sagged to the floor. He swore soundly while two strong pairs of arms helped him back into bed. 'Did you even try to stop him, Linda?'

'What do you think? He wasn't listening. I told him he was breaking your heart, I told him you wouldn't blame him, hell, I tried telling him he'd be needed as a witness. You know him better than I do and even I knew I wasn't going to stop him.'

The doctor looked rather unhappy. 'I'm sure this can be settled when you are better. The poor man was in utter shock. He needs a while to recover.'

Viktor deflated. He had no strength to fight them. 'He won't.' He'd agonise himself into a bundle of misery and getting him out of that would be hard for everyone involved. 'Couldn't you have sat on him until I come to?

Linda offered a vague smile. 'I would have, but seeing how I'd have crushed the life out of the poor darling, I thought that might not look good to the people investigating who tried to hurt you two.'

'Tried? They did a pretty good job, I'll say. Linda, is my phone anywhere?'

'In your drawer.'

'Thanks. And … Makkachin …'

'Katarina is walking and feeding him. You know he adores her. Don't worry. Yuuri called us to make sure he's taken care of.' She hesitated. 'I don't think Yuuri realises that I was watching him when he saw you. He wouldn't settle down before they let him. He loves you, Viktor. He didn't leave because he wanted to. He just panicked and you two will be fine in no time at all.'

'I know. I hope so, at least.' Swallowing past a lump in his throat, Viktor nodded. 'Maybe I can reach him before he leaves the country.' Trying to move through the cloud in his head, he reached out to get his phone.

'Viktor Dmitrievich, you should limit your activity until …'

'I am going to call my fiancé, thank you very much.' Not that he had much hope that Yuuri would pick up his phone. The screen in front of him swam apart into illegible blotches when he looked at it.

'You need to give yourself time to recover.' The doctor plucked the phone from his hands and placed it where it had been. 'It will be all right, but right now you're only making it harder for yourself. A concussion may not be dangerous, but it isn't something you can ignore, either.'

'I'll try to call him,' Linda said. 'Hold on.' She punched something into her phone and let it ring for a small eternity before she shook her head. 'I'm sorry, Viktor, he isn't answering.'

'Thank you, Linda. For … everything.' Feeling weak and broken, Viktor lay down again. 'When can I go home? Please, I need to … I need to fix this and I can't do it from here.'

'I want to take another thorough look at you tomorrow. We need to be absolutely sure you don't have any intercranial haemorrhages. We'll keep checking in on you and ask inane questions. Please put up with them and answer earnestly, even if it feels pointless. If you notice any changes, if you start feeling confused or your headache gets worse, or anything at all that doesn't feel right with you, call us immediately. Don't wait because you want to be a good patient. Will you do that?'

'Is any of this likely?'

'Not likely, but it's a possibility. Please, Viktor Dmitrievich, promise me you will help us make sure you can leave as soon as possible.'

'Yes. I plan to survive this, you know.'

'Good. Are you nauseous?'

'Mildly.'

'Your vision isn't ideal, is it?'

'That's one way to put it.'

'That is common. Don't worry about it, it will pass.' The doctor made a note before he continued. 'I'm not giving you clearance for air travel as long as you have any acute symptoms. And even after I need you to come back for your hand. We had to repair your tendon and you'll need physical therapy after the splint is removed. The fractures will be healed sooner, in fact, but you'll have to wait working on those until you can move all fingers.'

Viktor swallowed. 'Is any of this going to be lasting?'

Doctor Pyotr Ivanov scowled at him. 'You're lucky. The snapped tendon is an extensor, so it'll heal well. You need the splint for six weeks. If you run off to Japan in a hurry and neglect your recovery, it won't look as good.'

'But if you stay for six weeks, Yuuri will be even more convinced that it's his fault,' Linda said helpfully.

'They have doctors in Japan, too, you know. But I can't go right now anyway.' Viktor closed his eyes. 'I … I'd like to be alone for a bit.' He heard them leave and thought about his options. But no matter how little he worried about himself, he wasn't sure that Makkachin should be on such a long flight anymore – and leaving him for a longer time wasn't an option. He was locked in a stalemate and there was no getting out.

Ϡ

Viktor sat on the hospital bed, his right hand – only bruised, nothing broken – holding the strap of the bag Linda had brought with a few personal items. He'd be allowed to leave in a minute, but the doctor wanted to give him his papers yet. He'd need them if he left the country and continued treatment in Japan. Whether he'd go, he hadn't decided.

He had tried calling Yuuri – without any success. At first, he'd just waited for what felt like an eternity without an answer. Then he'd been kicked straight out of the line, which wasn't a good sing. A part of him wanted to run after the anxious man because he knew what this was. A part of him wanted to stay here, wallow in what he'd lost, and rationalise that this would happen time and time again.

His phone rang, and Viktor fumbled for it clumsily, trying to use his free hand, which was in a cast. Splint. Whatever. Seeing Katarina's number, Viktor picked up. He'd barely managed to get out a greeting, when he heard her sob.

'Viktor, I'm so sorry. I got to your place and the door was open and I checked if anything was missing and … I'm so sorry!'

'All right, calm down.' Viktor didn't feel very calm himself, but there he was. 'Whatever it is that's gone, it's not the world, I'm sure.'

'No, Viktor, nothing's been taken, but someone got in and they … Makkachin …'

Going cold all over, Viktor stood abruptly. 'Katarina. Katusha. What …'

'I'm so sorry, Viktor.'

Feeling dead inside, he hung up. She hadn't said the words, but he knew anyway. He heard a clatter. Doctor Pyotr Ivanov was standing in the door, talking to him, but he couldn't understand a word he was saying. As if controlled by an exterior force, Viktor walked past him, barely noticing that he almost walked into the man. He needed to go home. He needed to … he needed to get away from the person trying to hold him back and keep him here. He needed to be alone. Then he'd be able to shake the delusion that he mattered.

((Катуша - Katusha is a diminutive of Katarina.

Here's the thing. Under normal circumstances, no Russian would call anyone 'Mr Last Name'. They'd either use the first name and polite verb form, which English doesn't have (except it does, technically, it doesn't have an informal address anymore, but that doesn't really matter) or, in a formal setting, they'd use your first name and patronymic. The patronymic is the father's name, obviously. We don't know that, so I picked one. Regarding Yuuri, I have no idea what they'd do with someone that doesn't have a patronymic. Would they use his first name? First and last? I went with the latter on a whim, but I've never been a patient without a patronymic in Russia. So if this reads like one of the weirdly formal Russian novels, I apologise. Maybe this is genetic.

The next time we meet Russians, it will be almost entirely informal. I promise.))