育つ sodatsu verb
1. to raise a child
2. to be brought up; to grow (up)
It was three days before the hospital released Yuuri, and Akari along with him. Which was good for the family—Yuutopia was shut down for a week. Mari helped create a temporary bedroom for Yuuri ( and by default, Viktor) downstairs in one of the banquet rooms.
The transfer from hospital room to home was more stress than a relief. Viktor looked like he should be admitted himself—he hadn't left the hospital since Yuuri had been admitted. He had taken to sleeping on chairs, then on a hard couch the pitying nurses had dragged into the room.
The day they went home the sky had cleared. While it was a delicious blue, the earth below it still lay under a heavy layer of humidity. Leaves dropped tears into already-soaked soil. The news carried stories of mudslides on the edges of the prefecture. But the Earth had already moved under Viktor's feet. He kept a hand on Yuuri every step from the room to the car. He buckled Akari into her carseat bassinet, but let Hiroko carry her down to the van.
"Be careful—" Viktor nearly bit off his tounge as Yuuri pushed himself to the center of the backseat of the van. The doctor had stressed that Yuuri lift no more than 4 kilograms worth of weight for another six weeks. The car seat put Akari over the limit.
"I'm not going to tear my stomach open." Yuuri said, leaning over the bassinet buckled next to him. Akari didn't do much than sleep, and occasionally open her eyes. It seemed like she stared blankly, but Yuuri decided to focus on how big and huge the world was to her. She wasn't focusing… she was merely taking everything in.
"Not if you're careful." Viktor climbed into the van last, buckling Yuuri in before settling himself. Yuuri slumped into him before they were even out of the parking lot. It smoothed one of the sharp edges of anxiety that sat to the left of Viktor's stomach. His Sleeping Beauty could sleep anywhere, and the familiar weight was comforting. Every second that Yuuri spent doing it made up for the hard first months in Hasetsu. It erased the discord Viktor lived with between the banquet night and the day Yuuri trusted him enough to stay close.
The three days in the hospital had been even harder than that.
Yuuri was dozing when they pulled up the gravel driveway of Yuutopia. He stirred with the jolt of the parking break, but wasn't truly awake while he stretched across Viktor.
"Who's that?" He mumbled sleepily, not quite reaching their shared language. Viktor found it adorable, but not as cute as the time he mumbled in soft Russian.
Mari raised her hand and bowed her head in an uncomfortable I'm sorry signal. But really, Viktor couldn't blame her. He knew the old man standing next to her—silver hair, washed with white, carefully combed over a high forehead. He looked old, his wrinkles and creases on his skin showing he was an unhappy man.
Good. Viktor wanted him to be unhappy.
"My father."
Viktor tried to keep the venom out of his tone, but he knew he failed when Yuuri's face fell.
"He has bad timing." Yuuri sat up, gingerly adjusting the seatbelt over his lap.
"I'll get us a hotel room." Viktor sat up, reaching for the keys, unbuckling and preparing to climb over the center console room.
"Viktor!" Yuuri snapped, at a loss for words. "No! Hotels aren't for babies! This is Hasetsu, you know there aren't any hotels here."
Viktor stopped. It was true. Love hotels weren't exactly for hiding from your past with your three-day-old daughter.
"How much does he know?" Yuuri evened out his voice after they sat in silence. Toshiya and Hiroko sat in the front seat, lost but concerned at their son's reactions.
" That I've told him? That we're married."
"Through you or the media?" Yuuri frowned.
"I sent him our best wedding pictures." Viktor smiled. He had them printed on the best paper, every happy shot. One for each year he had lived, disowned.
Yuuri bowed his head. "Then what's my excuse for being in the hospital?"
"Yuuri, don't be ridiculous, you just gave birth to our daughter!"
"I'm too tired to come out to your father, who you never talk about." Yuuri moved to unbuckle the baby.
"Definitely not. I started living with Lilia and Yakov after I came out. He doesn't deserve any piece of you."
"Viktor." Yuuri growled, leaning over as much as he could, considering the surgical incision across most of his core. "Akari didn't come out of a peach. She has your mouth and nose and we're not pretending the past year didn't happen." Yuuri's tone turned incredibly dark.
Hiroko took the initiative and stepped out the car, doing the traditional guest-greeting. Mari spoke in rushed and nervous Saga-ben while her father took after the cue, leaving two men alone in the car.
Viktor slid the van door open, taking Yuuri's hands and guiding him to a secure footing on the driveway. He reached to take the carseat out of its cradle, but Yuuri wormed around him, scooping Akari out of it.
"Vitya," Mikhails voice was just as strong and rich as it had been 15 years before. "I seem to have arrived too late."
Yuuri looked helplessly up at Viktor. He was six months out of practice and a dictionary away from understanding the old man's Russian. He didn't speak as carefully as Viktor did, or anyone else Yuuri had crossed paths with. He suddenly felt sorry for his sister, in charge of the man for who-knows-how-many-hours.
"For once you are right. You're years too late." Viktor's own language lost any polish of politeness or respect. Yuuri shrunk, taken aback, before placing a hand on Viktor's arm.
"Let's talk inside." Yuuri spoke in careful Russian, relieved when shock flitted over the old man's face.
Mikhail's shock continued when instead of fighting, Viktor nodded and moved toward the front door. He steadied Yuuri as he slipped off his shoes, arms curled protectively around Akari, who lay against her father's shoulder.
With the banquet room taken up by their bed and dressers, Viktor went for the family dining room. It looked exactly the same as it had when dinner had ended a lifetime ago. He sat down, pulling out a chair and easing Yuuri into it. Mikhail sat across from him, folding his hands on top of one of the fabric placemats. His hands were rough, dry and calloused, spotted with the beginning of liver spots.
They sat in silence.
"Thank you."
The shock hit both of them. Viktor expected more of the same—abomination, sinner, rebuker of God—but a thank you?
"I visited Yakov. I was hoping to see you, but by that time you had already left St. Peterburg."
Viktor folded his arms across his chest. There was already two empty tea cups on the table , probably from Mari's efforts at hospitality. Now the coffee pot was bubbling, and Yuuri could hear the clink of a spoon against a glass.
"Are you dying?" Viktor said shortly. Hiroko set a class of Calpis, Viktor's favorite yogurt drink, in front of him. Yuuri got the same, while a mug of black coffee sat on a coaster for the stranger before them.
"Do I have to be dying to repent for my sins?" Mikhail sighed. Viktor didn't touch his drink.
"That's how it goes in the church." Viktor said shortly
"Yakov told me everything."
"Ah, how happy I am, with the love of my life? A total ten gold medals, a family.."
"About your….family." Mikhails eyes fluttered to Yuuri, and the bundle in his arms.
"I'll have to talk to him about our boundaries." Viktor growled.
"So…." Yuuri met the eyes of his father-in-law, who had appeared like a ghost. "Why did you come?"
The man took a deep, wheezing breath. He looked worn, and older than he should have. His eyes were dark, the opposite of Viktor's in color and light. They lacked vitality, soaked in age and severity.
"I decided that not understanding is not an excuse in this world."
Viktor laughed humorlessly.
"I wanted to try. I already lost my wife, and I didn't want to die having lost my son." Mikhail unfolded his hands, wrapping one around the mug Hiroko had given him.
"What priest told you to do this?" Viktor bit out, before meeting Yuuri's eyes.
"Viktor," Yuuri turned to his husband, grateful for their mostly-frustrating cross-lingual-cultural relationship, speaking into his native language. "I don't like seeing you angry."
"Then make him leave." Viktor could tell Hiroko was trying to eavesdrop.
"Are you going to let Akari do this to you in thirty years?" Yuuri could tell the words stung by how Viktor's mask slipped.
"We need a day or two. Yuuri is still recovering, and I want time with my daughter." Viktor said evenly, forcing himself to stare directly at his father.
Mikhail nodded solemnly.
They both sat on the edge of the bed, staring in the cradle.
It had taken three hours for Akari to stop crying.
Viktor had fallen asleep with her on his chest, before being prodded awake by Yuuri, terrified that he'd roll over and suffocate her.
They had swaddled her.
Changed her diaper.
Held a bottle to her lips for an hour straight.
Viktor had sang a lullaby to Akari after Yuuri broke down.
She finally slept, in the early hours of the morning, without arms holding her.
Yuuri slid back into the bed first, lying down without changing out of street clothes. It felt strange to lay on his back, the weight and pressure gone, replaced by the pull of sutures and surgery.
Yuuri still remembered every detail from the chapter 'After Delivery' in Viktor's book. He had expected for a few things to Not Apply—sore breasts, breast feeding. The book had even warned about spotting, which Yuuri had yet to see after the surgery.
What the book hadn't addressed, was the strange feeling that came after delivery.
How it felt like part of himself was now four feet to the left of him, instead of nestled close.
Viktor curled around Yuuri, careful to avoid Yuuri's stomach. Another New Thing that made Yuuri feel hollow. Viktor had always been obsessed, baby or not. Logically, he knew it was just taking care, but the buzz in the back of his head sang a different song.
"Vitya?" Yuuri's voice came out sounding weaker than he hoped it would sound.
"Mmm?" Yuuri could feel Viktor's voice vibrate into his bones.
"Am I still…."
"The sexiest katsudon." Viktor interrupted before Yuuri could finish his thought.
"That's not what I was asking," Yuuri frowned. It kind of was, but the fact that Viktor replied so easily struck a nerve.
"What are you asking then?"
"I….I feel…different." Yuuri couldn't twist the words into a question. It was a statement. A confession.
"Me too." Viktor moved his arm to lay across Yuuri's chest. But the weight stifling Yuuri's chest dissipated with those few words.