I have a final number of chapters now! Two more to go, thank you so much everyone

We see Victor winning gold in 2006 at the European Championships, but his Grand Prix winning streak starts in 2010, so part of this chapter tries to bridge that gap while still keeping it Chris N Vic

Late March, 2013

"Congratulations on skipping all of the international competitions with this," Victor says, tossing a bouquet of flowers and a box of vegan chocolate onto Chris as he walks into the hospital room. He points at the chocolate; "I hope you know that I went through hell to get those," he adds.

Chris gasps at the vegan chocolate, ripping the box open and gazing at the chocolates and their flavors for a few seconds before popping one in his mouth. "I think you got me these to ensure I stay out of commission," he says, chocolate wedged into the hollow of his cheek.

"I would've gotten them closer to a competition if that was the case."

Victor throws his bag down and sits in the chair next to Chris's bed, letting out a breath and brushing his hair away from his eyes. This is the first time he can remember in the past few hours that his heart rate hasn't been speeding far ahead of his feet, his taxi, his plane. "Are you okay?" he asks, after a beat.

Chris stretches himself out in the bed, eating one last piece of chocolate before putting the lid back on the box and sliding it away from him (he has to show some athletic discretion). His head's sore—there's a bruise somewhere, hidden by his hair—, and there are bandages wrapped around his right foot and ankle, discouraging him from putting weight on them. "I don't have a concussion, and I didn't fracture any bones in my foot or ankle."

"If you knock Chris Giacometti down, he'll just get back up again, hmm?"

Chris snorts at him. "It doesn't count if I knock myself down."

"What did happen, Chris?"

"I twisted my ankle badly and hit my h—"

"Specifically." Chris snorts, and Victor's begrudging smile tells him all he needs to know.

"I didn't land a quad right and almost cracked my skull open. The typical injured figure skater's plight." Chris rolls his shoulders back. "Pretty much the same thing that happened to you in 2008, right? I don't know if you landed on your head, though. Did you?"

"I didn't. I did fracture a bone in my ankle, though." Victor has started to relax now that he's seen that Chris isn't bleeding out on an operating table in a Swiss hospital; the text he'd gotten from Josef had only vaguely outlined that Chris was hurt, and Victor wasn't about to waste any time asking questions. "Why've they got you here, then, if you don't have a concussion or any bone or muscle damage?"

"They're just monitoring me," Chris says, "I can leave tomorrow morning if everything goes well."

Victor nods and lets his eyes focus on a point he isn't focusing on. He still feels the slight effects of being airborne then brought back down to Earth—the slightly stretched out feeling in all of his limbs like he's made of elastic. Victor laughs and halfway buries his head in his hands. "Tell Josef he doesn't need to make me think you're dead to get me to come visit you in the hospital." The comment makes Chris take pause.

"If you thought I was dead, why did you get me chocolate and flowers?"

Victor stares at the chocolate and flowers laid across Chris's bed. "That's a good question," he says. Chris shifts the things on his bed around so that there's a space open next to him. He pats it.

As Victor comes to sit next to him, Chris says, "Be careful with my leg."

Climbing up onto the bed with Chris, Victor lies next to him, touching shoulders. In 2008, Victor had cussed himself blue in the face while getting his ankle bandaged to fix his fracture; he had been roughly brought down from what looked like the start of a winning streak, and while he limped and hobbled around and tried to heal as fast as humanly possible, his only company had been that of Bruiser, occasionally Yakov, and occasionally some physical therapists. Hearing anything about any of the competitions he could have been a part of had he not miscalculated this one jump in just the wrong way made him frustrated and angry, and he felt less lonely as much as terribly cooped up and restrained.

Chris seems calmer than he did in that situation. Then again, Chris is older and less badly injured than Victor was and it's between international competitions, but Victor thought he might have noticed a certain tension leave some part of Chris when walked in—maybe a slight loosening of his shoulders. To fill up the silence, Chris turns his upper body a little bit so he can wrap an arm around Victor and says, "I'm glad you came to see me—all the way from Russia, too. You really know how to make a guy feel special."

"You're in the hospital! Of course I'd come see you."

Chris nestles his head against Victor's shoulder. "Thanks, Victor," he says, squeezing him a little tighter.

Chris isn't used to having friends who would fly across multiple countries to come and see him on a minute's notice. Stépha does that, of course (she'd come bursting in a few hours earlier), but she's his sister and, therefore, doesn't count. He and Victor's friendship is special—so special; he wonders how either of them would be without it.

Victor kisses him on the top of the head and thinks about how lucky he is to have a friend. A friend who—thankfully—isn't too banged up by his fall.

—

Early December, 2015

It really is typical that Victor would lock himself in his hotel room. It's very rare that anyone (especially those who medal) participating in the Grand Prix gets any sleep after competing, but Victor had brushed off interviews early and slunk away from all offers of post-competition partying or drinking to do just that. He's been alone in his room for several hours before Chris gets a chance to come and talk to him.

The hotel is mostly deserted and silent when Chris comes by; people are either sleeping or still out partying, and Chris, who had left a skaters' outing at the bar early (forgoing any drinks), feels almost as if he's the only one around or awake to see it. He knocks on Victor's door.

In his room, Victor, who's asleep, doesn't answer the door, which Chris had been expecting. He knocks a few more times, louder, and then calls, hoping Victor fell asleep with the sound still on his phone. The faint sound of Britney Spears's "Toxic" drifts through the door, followed by several thuds—presumably from Victor trying to grab his phone. Victor answers the phone with a drawn-out groan.

"Let me in," Chris says. Victor groans again. "Victor." A minute or so later, Victor opens the door.

Victor is fully clothed when he opens the door, his hair and clothes mussed and a tired look in his eyes. There was a time when Victor would be ecstatic and running all across the Grand Prix host city in light of winning a gold medal—the medal probably still wrapped around his neck as he went—, but that Victor is trapped a few years in the past. Chris looks him up and down, taking in how ragged he looks. He gently nudges him aside to walk into the room.

He suddenly remembers that he doesn't really have a plan.

"What's…" a sigh, "wrong, Victor?" he tries.

Victor shuts the door behind him and flops onto his bed. He looks at Chris. "Everything I do is kind of pointless, isn't it? I don't surprise anyone anymore. I would've surprised people if I hadn't won tonight, and what's the point of competing if not to win?" Chris sits next to him and runs a hand through his hair. "What am I supposed to do after this year?" he asks.

"You always ask that," Chris says with a frown—'always' meaning the past two years or so.

"I know I do," Victor says, closing his eyes. "You didn't have to leave the bar for me, you know."

"I wanted to."

Victor shifts a little on the bed. "How mad do you think Yakov would get if I didn't go to the banquet this year?"

"I don't think that would be very good for his health, Victor." Victor sighs; Chris starts to poke at his cheek.

"Don't get too worried about me, Chris: I have to act happy for Yuri and Mila at the very least, anyway. They're so young. Sometimes I feel like I don't remember ever being that young. They still have so much inspiration."

"You'll get over this slump, Victor. I know you will." Victor sighs and shrugs as much as he can in his position on the bed. "How about I stay in here with you for the rest of the night?" Chris asks. Victor tells him he can use his toothbrush.

In the same very hotel, Katsuki Yūri sleeps a dreamless, disappointed sleep, and neither he nor Victor knows what's going to happen in a few days.

bonus points headcanon: chris n vic will drop everything for each other in most situations, but I guess we've already seen a lot of that, haven't we?