Archive of Our Own ^beta

Phichit hopped from one foot to the other as he waited for Yuri to finish wiping the snow off of his blades. Yuri had never seen anyone who was so eager to get to the campus dinning hall.
Yuri carefully removed the remaining snow using his hand towel. “You can calm down. This is America, it's not like they'll run out of food.”
“But it's spaghetti night.”
Phichit's parents were from Thailand. Yuri guessed that his housemate had grown up eating a large variety of flavourful curries. He did not understand why Phichit was losing it over the dinning hall spaghetti bolognese. The Wayne State University cafeteria's rendition of the dish consisted of over-cooked noodles floating in a watery mixture of tomato and meat that barely met the threshold to be considered bolognese sauce.
Yuri stood up and put on his backpack just as their coach, Celestino, appeared in the doorway.
“Good, you boys are still here...”
Phichit's face fell. Celestino's tone implied that it would be a while before he would be able to savour his long-awaited spaghetti.
Celestino said that he just received and interesting phone call from the director of international relations at United States Figure Skating. “You've both been invited to participate in a skating showcase that is going to be held in Moscow at the beginning of February. That de la Iglesia kid's also been invited. I think that you should both plan to attend.”
Celestino's disdain for the California branch of the United States Figure Skating elite program was evident from the way that he talked about Leo.
“Moscow?!” Phichit elbowed Yuri in the ribs. “They're really letting us go there?”
“I guess that they were inspired by those hockey games with the Canadians back in September.”
“Who cares how they got the idea, I'm in. People almost never get invited into the Soviet Union.” Phichit jumped up and down on the spot, spaghetti forgotten.
Yuri was more pensive. He wondered over the legitimacy of the trip.
“I know what you mean.” Celestino replied. “Some part of me thinks that this is just a ploy to get a sneak peak at everyone's programs before Worlds. If it bothers you that much you can just use something old or an exhibition piece.”
The showcase would be judged but each skater's score would come from a single free program only. It meant that they were not obliged to use the programs that they had been working on for the World Championship.
Yuri was still thinking of saying no regardless when his thoughts began to drift in a different direction. A trip to the Soviet Union would likely give Yuri the chance to see HIM and, if he skated well enough, the chance to actually have a conversation.
HIM, also known as Victor Nikiferov, was Yuri's long-time idol. The legendary man from the Soviet Union had won the four previous World Championships. Most figure skating aficionados had him pegged to repeat at this year's event in Czechoslovakia. Yuri hoped that his coach and teammate did not notice his eyes glazing over. While he had been at the same events as Victor in the past, the Soviet athletes were always surrounded by secret service men. They had never had the chance to interact.
“I'm in too.” Yuri figured that he would do anything, including something as crazy as travelling to the Soviet Union if it meant that he might get to talk to Victor Nikiferov.
Yuri's decision was met with a high five from Phichit. Celestino promised that he would contact United States Figure Skating and start the process of securing visas for himself and his students.
Celestino turned to face Yuri and Phichit just before he left the dressing room. “I expect nothing but complete dedication from the two of you. We will stick it to those Commie bastards if it is the last thing that any of us do.”
“Do you think that its true that they don't have pasta in the Soviet Union?” Phichit contemplated the starchy mass that was impaled on the end of his fork. To Phichit's great delight, they had managed to reach the dinning hall before the spaghetti had sold out.
Yuri shrugged. He never knew what to believe when it came to the Soviet Union. He had heard reports of gulags and having to wait in line for everything but he had no way of knowing if any of it was true. The Soviet athletes seemed to be more or less like anyone else. America might pride itself on being free and open but Yuri guessed that the average American did not know much more about what life was really like in the Soviet Union than the average Soviet knew about life in America.
“Are you excited yet?”
Yuri turned to face Phichit who was sitting in the seat beside him. The airplane had not even taken off yet and his friend had already managed to ask him six different versions of the same question.
Yuri smiled despite himself. He looked down at the small piece of cardboard that he held in his right hand. He really should have packed it in his suitcase but a certain child-like joy compelled Yuri to keep the card close to him.
“You're hoping to get that signed, aren't you?”
Yuri nodded. He had managed to secure a Victor Nikiferov trading card while he was competing at the Sapporo Olympics the previous winter. The story was a bit embarrassing as he asked his older sister, whom his parents had insisted accompany him on the trip to Japan, scour the athletes' village for the card while he was practising and competing. Mari had lived in Japan as a toddler while Yuri was born a few years after his family had immigrated to the United States. Mari claimed that she had used her Japanese skills to win the card off of a die-hard old lady that she had met in the stands. Yuri guessed that she had just traded for the two Georgi Popovich, the Segei Kolashnikov and the Christophe Giacometti cards that he had managed to collect prior to sending Mari on her mission. Either that or Mari really had fought off the old woman and kept Yuri's other cards for herself.
“It's silly but I'm thinking that, maybe with this thing taking place in Moscow, Victor won't be surrounded by body guards the whole time.”
Phichit laughed and wrapped his arms around Yuri's shoulders. “A boy can dream. Just be careful that you don't end up like those guys in the video.”
Phichit was referring to the travel safety video that the international relations coordinator at their university made them watch. The black and white film had instructed them to stay away from the women who were sure to be prostitutes and spies and to avoid exchanging anything with a Soviet citizen. They had also been given a long list of 'sensitive' topics that they were to avoid discussing. The exercise was enough to make a man paranoid.
Yuri was sure that approaching a fellow competitor at a competition would be alright.
A rickety tram pulled up next to the plane shortly after they landed in Moscow. They were directed to exit directly onto the tarmac and climb aboard. The vehicle performed a few laps of the airfield before stopping in front of the terminal. Most of the passengers were directed to the right while Yuri, Phichit and Celestino, along with Leo and his coach who were on the same flight, were accompanied by two guards and instructed to walk in the opposite direction.
They were taken to a sparsely furnished room that was occupied by Emil Nekola who was stretched out and sleeping on one of the sagging couches and Michele Crispino who was hunched over next to the radiator which, judging by the temperature of the room, was decorative at best. A pile of luggage was stacked in the corner.
Celestino strode over, picked up his red leather suitcase and went to talk to the two burly women who were standing next to the exit.
“We've spent the past two days in an airplane. Can we get a ride to the hotel?”
The women shook their heads. The implied threat that further complaint would get him sent somewhere else compelled Celestino to sit down.
“It figures that the Commies would try to pull a stunt like this.” Celestino muttered as he took a battered soft cover novel out of his bag. “You might as well get comfortable boys.”
Yuri and Phichit had been playing cards for a couple of hours when the doors opened to admit the obnoxious Canadian skater, Jean Jaques Leroy, and his parents.
“They've managed to turn purgatory into hell.” Celestino grumbled with a nod towards the group of people that had just arrived.
Celestino's comment brought Yuri back to the summer of 1971 when JJ was a student at Celestino's training camp. The teenager's loud personality and insistence on things being 'JJ Style' had worn Celestino's patience to the point where the figure skating coach decided that JJ would be better off training with Yuri and Phichit than ruining the experience for the rest of the campers. Celestino had marketed the decision as being character-building for Yuri and Phichit but everyone knew that Celestino had just wanted to be as far away from JJ as possible. Yuri was sure that, had Celestino been rich enough, he would have paid for the necessary upgrades so that whatever middle-of-nowhere town that JJ came from could keep their ice during the summer months.
JJ finally noticed Yuri and Phichit after he spent several minutes speaking loudly to his parents in French.
“Hey!” JJ strode over, offering both men high fives before flashing his signature JJ Style hand gesture. “How excited are you to kick some Commie ass?”
Yuri and Phichit exchanged glances. JJ has just moved up to the senior division last year. He was an idiot if he thought that he had a realistic chance of beating Victor Nikiferov, Georgi Popovich or even Sergei Kolashnikov.
Phichit flashed a huge smile. “Yeah JJ. I'm definitely ready to stick it to those Commies.”
Yuri had to force himself not to laugh over Phichit's appropriation of Celestino's expression, but the remark earned Phichit another high five from JJ.
“Mind if I join you?”
Yuri was about to ask JJ to wait for their round of crazy eights to end when the Canadian picked up the discard pile and began to shuffle.
“We can play my favourite card game, war.”
Phichit looked at Yuri in a way that said 'you mean the game that requires no skill and is one hundred percent based on chance?'.
Yuri's subtle nod that said 'suits him' earned him a wink from Phichit.
The pair, not seeing how playing war with JJ could make their situation any worse, both accepted a handful of cards.
The door to the holding room slammed open. Yuri jumped, scattering the his cards across the low table. Two airport police officers clad in unwashed grey trench coats and threadbare ushankas stomped in dragging Christophe Giacometti between them. Chris' coach and his manager stood behind them carrying luggage.
The man who held Chris' right arm yelled something at the women in Russian. One of them picked up the black receiver of the wall-mounted rotary phone and dialed a number before yelling at everyone to pack up.
The repurposed city bus took them past large blocks of low-rise concrete buildings that were interspersed with stretches of older architecture. The winter darkness, light snow and general lack of street lights meant that Yuri was not able to discern much about his surroundings through the dingy windows. Stops at intersections allowed him to catch glimpses of Soviets citizens. He spotted human-like forms clad in brown and grey clothing emerge from the darkness and shuffle down the street. Hunched-over figures clutching brooms swept snow off of the paved sidewalks. One stop revealed a group of people who were standing in a long line. Yuri was not able to read the Cyrillic writing on the building but he decided that whatever they were waiting for must have been worth it for so many people to spend their evening standing out in the cold.
Yuri peeled off the scratchy quilt. He regretted the action as soon as the cold air of his hotel room made contact with his lukewarm body.
“It should be illegal to keep hotel rooms this cold.” He mumbled as he walked towards the wardrobe.
Phichit turned over in his single bed on the other side of the room. “Could you grab mine too please?”
Yuri obliged by unhooking Phichit's winter coat and tossing it towards his friend's bed. He put on his own jacket and walked back to his own bed. As amateur athletes, Yuri and Phichit were used to staying in budget-friendly places when they travelled for competitions, but the Intourist Hotel was by far the least accommodating.
The hotel kitchen had served them a 'welcome' dinner which consisted of three courses: lukewarm beet soup, smoked salmon on toast and a selection of pickled vegetables with crackers. Nothing was too objectionable but the experience had made Yuri promise Phichit that he would never make fun of his penchant for their school's cafeteria food again. The guest rooms felt like they were barely above freezing. Yuri deduced that this strategy only worked because the bathrooms, which were shared between blocks of rooms, were located out in the hallways where it felt several degrees warmer.
Yuri woke up the next morning feeling less than perfect due to the hours that he spent laying on his lumpy mattress. He put on his glasses and looked across the room to see that Phichit's bed was empty. Yuri had gotten up and made the transition from pyjamas and jacket to street clothes and jacket when Phichit entered the room.
“I advise against showering. The hot water's out.”
“Is that your fault?”
“I don't know. Even if it is, I suffered too. It cut out partway through my shower. I was practically rinsing off with ice.”
Yuri thanked his friend for the information and suggested that they head down to breakfast. He had a feeling that they would not be served if they missed their group's dinning room time slot.
“This is not JJ Style.” JJ glared down at the bowl of porridge and toast with salmon that had been set down in front of him by a hotel staff member.
JJ's parents cast sideways glances at their son. Yuri guessed that having your eighteen year-old son complain about the food in a public setting was embarrassing. Mrs. Leroy attempted to waive down the breakfast attendant to ask if any other food was available but was turned down. Apparently this was breakfast and JJ would be forced to eat it or wait until lunch.
To everyone's surprise, the bus that was to take them from the hotel to the rink arrived on time. The driver took them directly to the Luzhniki Palace of Sports, where the competition was scheduled to take place the next day. The trip was going so smoothly that Yuri was ready to attribute yesterday's airport situation to a momentary lapse in judgment on the part of their hosts. He was therefore surprised to find thirty children occupying the rink where they were supposed to be practising.
“Typical.” Exclaimed Emil's coach before he stalked off to find someone to complain to.
The guide who had come over with them from the Intourist Hotel rounded up the remaining foreigners and herded them into their assigned dressing room to avoid losing any more of his charges.
The Czech coach returned a few minutes later with a man in Soviet military uniform who claimed to be the arena director. He explained to the group that there had been a scheduling conflict between the children's skating class and their practice. No one really believed him but he promised that the kids would be off the ice soon.
Celestino looked down at his watch. “These shenanigans cost us twenty minutes of practice time. We're only here for two hours.”
“Maybe they will let us stay longer?” Suggested Phichit.
Celestino shook his head. “We have a tour of Moscow scheduled. The Commies are not going to let us miss out on a chance for them to tell us how great their country is.”
The director had been telling the truth in the sense that they were allowed on the ice once the children had exited but he refused to have the ice re-surfaced despite pleas from the coaches.
“We do not have enough kerosene. It will be good practice for the competition.”
“You heard the man JJ.” Said Alain Leroy. “Get on the ice.”
The Canadian teenager looked back at his father with a petulant expression on his face. “But papa, it's all scratched up. How am I supposed to practice my triple Axel?”
Alain switched to French meaning that Yuri was unable to follow the rest of the conversation. He walked past JJ and Alain and stepped on to the rink. The surface was rough as if hundreds of people had attended a public skating session. There was no way those kids could have done this unless they had been at the rink for hours. Yuri figured that there could be some truth to the lack of kerosene story.
Yuri skated a few laps to loosen up his legs then decided to do a run through of the program that he planned to perform in tomorrow's competition. He had taken Celestino's advice by deciding to use his exhibition program from the previous season. Yuri had made some modifications to comply with the time limit and regulations for the free skate. He was about to go and practice his new jump combination when he sensed a presence behind him.
Yuri turned, expecting to see Phichit but was instead face to face with Chris.
“Hey Yuri.” Chris placed one hand on Yuri's shoulder and the other on Yuri's hip.
Yuri looked around as they glided over the ice. He was not sure how the Soviets, or his coach for that matter, would react to him ice dancing with Chris. “Is there something that you wanted to tell me?”
“Not much, just how much I'm loving our little vacation.”
Vacation? Is that what Chris thought this was? Celestino had all but told Phichit and him that they were at war.
“Seriously Chris?”
“There's nothing wrong with having a little fun at the expense of our hosts.”
Yuri thought back to Chris' entrance at the airport the previous day. “They could throw you in a gulag for that.”
Chris let his hands fall to his sides. “You Americans are not very much fun.”
Celestino used his hands to signal to Yuri and Phichit that he wanted to talk to them, literally saving Yuri from having to engage any further with Chris. He skated over to join Phichit next to where their coach was standing at the boards.
“That stunt with the buses yesterday and the kids at the rink today, I think that the Commies are trying to get into our heads. They are trying to break us psychologically before you even get on the ice.”
Great, Yuri thought. Instead of having to deal with Chris who wants to push the boundaries of the Soviet Empire, he has to deal with his paranoid coach. If anyone was going to make him crack prior to the competition, it was bound to be either reckless Chris or psycho Celestino.
Yuri told his coach none of this but Phichit, who had a much weaker filter, laughed in Celestino's face.
“I'm serious boys. You saw Leroy at breakfast. The kid is starting to come undone.”
Yuri glanced over his shoulder at JJ who was talking with his parents. He had not paid much attention to the Canadian skater during the open practice and was unable to confirm Celestino's theory. Yuri was beginning to get the impression that Celestino was projecting.
Despite the questionable sandwiches and the imitation coffee that their guide distributed after they had gotten back on the bus following practice, Yuri had to admit that the tour of Moscow was kind of fun. They were taken to the Red Square, an immense open plaza bordered by several Russian landmarks. Phichit insisted that they get pictures with every single one.
Phichit roped Christophe into acting as his personal photographer, requesting pictures of Yuri and himself in front of the Kremlin, Lenin's tomb, the GUM department store, various statues and most impressively St. Basil's Cathedral. The fantastical coloured domes rose above the clouds of light snow mixed with city grime to illuminate the grey sky. Yuri had never seen anything like it. It was hard to believe that it was a real building, made of brick and mortar, as opposed to a fairy tale composed of candy and gingerbread.
They were allowed to visit parts of the church, now a state-owned museum, and the department store. Phichit kept his trusty Kodak in his pocket, under threat of it being confiscated, so Yuri had to commit the intricate floral designs and bold religious icon paintings to memory as the group strolled through the chapels that were open to the public.
“This might be the one thing in this hellhole of a country that's actually impressive.” Celestino whispered to Yuri as they studied a wall that contained so many iconographic paintings that it was practically gold.
“The guide said that it was built in the 1500s.”
“That figures. I'm mostly surprised the Commies didn't have it repurposed for firewood or as building materials for that subway system that they won't shut up about.”
The last stop on their tour was the GUM department store. It was another interesting building. The limestone facade that faced the street concealed three stories of shops that were connected with an arched glass roof complete with skylights. Although the original architecture had been preserved, the building that had been created for trade and commerce now hosted a single vendor: the Soviet State. Many Moscovites were lined up in the building with some lines extending out into the square. The stores apparead to be well-stocked but their contents were limited to the meagre variety of food and drab clothing that Yuri had already begun to associate with the Soviet Union.
The vendors took a keen interest in the visiting skaters. Their guide was able to circumvent the long lineups giving them priority access to many of the stores. Staff members crowded around the foreigners, telling them that one item or another was the best in the world. Yuri felt overwhelmed as he had been offered the chance to buy the 'best' jacket, jar of pickled beets and set of golf clubs. He glanced over to Phichit who seemed to be enjoying the attention, while he haggled over how many souvenir spoons he could buy for five American dollars.
Yuri sliped out into the hall for some peace but the change in scenery offered no respite. Several people offered to trade him money for his bright red coat. It was true that Yuri's jacket stood out amonsgt the browns, greys and blacks that the Soviets wore but he was in no mood for an exchange. It was freezing outside, in the bus, in the hotel and pretty much everywhere else in this country. Yuri communicated that he was not interested in parting with his coat when another man appeared to ask about buying his jeans. Yuri refused the offer. He was not about to walk around without pants or trade for the less than clean garments that his interlocutors were wearing.
“You didn't buy anything?” Phichit looked at Yuri. His eyes were wide with shock. “How?”
How was an adequate question. The sales people at GUM, and even the regular shoppers, were very insistent on acquiring American currency. Emil was the only other person who exited empty-handed which was understandable given the current state of Czech-Soviet relations. Phichit had purchased souvenir spoons in one of the stores and had managed, despite the significant language barrier, to trade pins with a few teenagers whom he had met in the square.
Yuri knew that Phichit was going to give him a hard time if he admitted it, but the only souvenir that he really wanted was Victor Nikiferov's autograph. A medal from the competition would be a nice bonus.
“I didn't really need to buy anything. I must be in at least one hundred pictures, right Phi?”
“You're in eighty seven by my count but we can check after I get them developed.”
A piece of paper announcing the starting order for the competition was pinned to the doors of the dressing rooms that were assigned to the foreign skaters when they arrived at the arena the following afternoon. Yuri and Phichit, along with Celestino, were sharing a dressing room with Leo, JJ and their respective coaches.
Celestino stood by the door as he studied the list. “Who on earth is Otabek Atlin? I've never heard of the guy. Did the Commies just make up a skater to mess with us?”
“I know him from juniors.” A small voice called out from the corner of the room.
Celestino turned and locked eyes with JJ who was sitting on the bench between his parents. His back was hunched as he rested his elbows on his knees. JJ leaned against his mother's shoulder as he added the Otabek Atlin was one of the Soviet skaters.
Yuri noted that the atmosphere inside the Luzhniki Palace of Sports was different from what he usually encountered during competitions. The most obvious discrepancy was that the arena staff had still not managed to resurface the ice, but there were other oddities. People in military uniforms were interpersed throughout the crowd. Police officers were stationed at the exits. Despite the heavy atmosphere, the weirdest thing of all was crowd. They sat silently and impassively regardless of what occurred on ice. Successful triple jumps, even those preformed during warm up, were usually met with cheers and applause. That was not the case here. The appearance of the Soviet skaters: Victor, Georgi, Sergei and the elusive Otabek did nothing to lighten the mood.
Emil successfully landed a triple Lutz. The crowd stayed silent. Chris' sensual routines usually got a warm reception from the ladies. The Soviet women were unmoved. JJ completely bombed his program and no one even booed him. The experience was surreal.
Yuri felt Celestino's hand rest on his back as they watched Phichit skate. His friend had landed his triple toe loop and then transitioned to his combination spin. Phichit was doing well but Yuri did not expect him to be rewarded for it. Chris, Emil and Michele had all put up solid performances which had been systematically under-scored. JJ down graded almost all of his jumps but had not been scored much lower than the three Europeans.
“This competition doesn't mean much.” Celestino whispered in his ear. “Your national pride might be the only thing that you can fairly fight for with the way the the judges have been grading. At least that Leroy kid won't look too bad, relatively.”
Yuri knew that Celestino was right but he could not lose hope. He held the mental image of himself standing on the podium next to Victor. Yuri did not care if he had to confront a rigged scoring system to obtain it in real life.
Yuri stood at centre ice. He told himself that he could beat Phichit and Leo if the judges decided to remain consistent if not exactly fair in their evaluations. It was encouraging but Yuri would still have to beat at least two of the Soviets if he was going to achieve his goal of standing next to Victor on the podium.
Double flip, double loop, back spiral to outside spread eagle...
Yuri skated in perfect synchrony to his music. He heard nothing from the crowd, not even when he landed his triple Salchow. He did not care. Yuri was not skating for them or even to impress the judges. Yuri only had one man in his thoughts as he skated over the deeply scarred ice.
Yuri could not help it. He was so excited that he hugged Celestino who was sitting beside him in the kiss and cry. He currently sat in first place. He expected that the judges would be much more generous with the Soviet skaters though.
Yuri watched Otabek closely. He had never seen him skate before. Yuri guessed that this friendly competition was a test to see if the young man was ready to make his international debut in the senior division. Yuri could see that Otabek had a lot of energy and technical skill but his execution could use some polishing and a lot more emotion. He hoped that the judges would account for Atlin's lack of artistry when they evaluated their countryman.
Yuri accepted a high five from Phichit when Otabek's score was announced. The young Soviet was ranked one place behind Yuri. He did not want to wish any of his competitors ill, but Yuri was acutely aware that only Sergei and Georgi stood between him sharing a podium finish with Victor Nikiferov.
Sergei's performance, a disaster from start to finish, was shaping up to be the true test of the judges' favouritism. The music cutting out partway through then restarting at what was obviously the wrong point was not the skater's fault. But a series of down-graded elements and two falls definitely were. Mr. Kolashnikov had performed worse than JJ. He had been scored better and had the privilege of skating on ice that had been resurfaced prior to Otabek's performance when the staff had 'miraculously' found another cylinder of kerosene, but that fact remained that Sergei had managed to thoroughly screw up his routine.
Yuri was aware that he was being unsportsmanlike-like when he smiled as Sergei's score was being announced. He did not even care about what Georgi Popovich did. There was now no one who could prevent him from sharing the podium with his idol.
The testy ice resurfacing machine was coaxed out on to the rink prior to Victor Nikiferov's entrance. It was fitting that the freshest ice would be reserved for the reigning Soviet and World Champion. Yuri's eyes were glued to Victor as the Soviet man glided across the ice. Yuri had not seen Victor perform live since the previous years Olympic Games where they had been competitors. Yuri's seventh place finish meant that he was nowhere near the podium and had no way to talk to his idol. He had had to content himself with the cardboard trading card that Mari had allegedly won off of an old lady.
This time was going to be different.
Victor was skating a program that Yuri had never seen before. He watched transfixed as Victor landed a triple loop jump just meters away from where he was standing. There were rumours among members of the international skating community that the Soviets were working on triple Axels. Some had dismissed this as speculation because none of them had ever done one in competition.
Victor stepped out of his spiral position, turned backwards and did a few crossovers. He then turned to face forwards and jumped. Yuri watched as his idol rotated three and a half times in the air before landing cleanly on his right foot. Even the stoic Soviet crowd seemed to have realized that they had witnessed something monumental. The chilly atmosphere was replaced with whistles and cheers. Victor skated the rest of his program cleanly but Yuri felt like he could have done whatever he wanted. The triple Axel alone was enough to secure first place.
Yuri shared the podium with the stone-faced Georgi Popovich and the equally expressionless Victor Nikiferov. Victor's expression and the general lack of media attention made it hard to believe that Victor had just achieved the feat of being the first person to land a triple Axel in competition. Yuri himself made the effort to appear just as non-pulsed. He did not want to draw any undue attention from the assembled Soviet government and military officials.
Yuri survived the ceremony and the cold handshakes that he received from the representatives from the Figure Skating Federation of the Soviet Union. He got the impression, based on the fact that it had taken several minutes to locate an American flag, that they had planned for a Soviet podium sweep. But, as far as Yuri was concerned, if he had managed to score what he did with what was likely a corrupt judging system, then he deserved to be here just as much as anyone. It was not like they could send him to the gulag for beating their system.
Yuri saw his chance just after the medal ceremony. The Soviet team coach was talking to Georgi while Victor stood off to the side by himself.
“Hello?”
Yuri did not like the way that his voice quivered. He felt stupid over how nervous talking to Victor made him, especially since he did not know whether Victor even spoke English.
Victor turned. Yuri hoped that he was not imagining the smile on Victor's face.
“Hello!” Victor wrapped an arm around Yuri's shoulders. “Yuri Katsuki from America, right? You skated very well today.”
Yuri could only nod in response. At least Victor had been paying attention during the award ceremony.
“You speak English?”
“Of course. I have a degree in foreign languages. I expect it to be very useful in my future career with the military.”
Yuri did not know how to respond. Victor was very cute but Yuri did not understand how someone could be excited by a career in the Soviet military.
Yuri pulled his Victor Nikiferov trading card out of his pocket. “Could you please sign this?”
Victor accepted the card and a felt-tipped pen from Yuri.
“Thank you. It was great to finally get the chance to skate on the same ice as you.”
“The same ice?” Victor stared back at Yuri. His eyes were alight with something that Yuri could not quite read.
“You are staying at the Intourist Hotel, yes?”
Yuri confirmed that he was. The international skaters were attending the Moscow Circus that evening and would be leaving the Soviet Union the following morning.
Victor smiled. “How about I show you the kind of ice that I usually skate on. I can't bring you back to the training facility but I know a nice substitute close by.”
Yuri froze. He wondered if it was possible that Victor was actually proposing that they go skating together.
Victor replied that he was more than serious. Yuri countered that he needed to tell his coach.
“Alright Yuri. Meet me next to the dressing rooms. Remember to dress warm. It is quite chilly outside.”
“You want to do what?”
Celestino went red in the face when Yuri informed him of his plan to go skating with Victor Nikiferov.
“Relax, it's just skating. Victor said that he would take me back to the hotel after.”
“You believe him? Seriously Yuri, I don't want to have to be the one to tell your lovely parents that I left their son behind in the Soviet Union. People disappear here all the time.”
“Yeah, Soviet people.” Phichit added.
“You're not helping.”
“Yuri's responsible. I say that he should follow his heart. Victor's just a skater. He's not Brezhnev.”
Celestino remained skeptical. Yuri promised both his coach and teammate that he would not end up arrested.
“It's not every day that you get invited to skate with Victor Nikiferov.”
Yuri was not sure but he thought that he heard Celestino whisper 'thank God' to Phichit when he grabbed his coat.
Yuri met Victor in the hallway as promised. They were alone with the exception of two men in black trench coats. Yuri glanced around nervously, thinking that he might have been too hasty with his promises to avoid ending up in a Soviet prison.
“Don't worry Yuri. These are just my babysitters, Vanya and Fedya.”
Yuri did not think that 'Vanya' and 'Fedya' were adequate labels for the two imposing men who stood about ten feet back from Victor.
“Trust me.” Victor linked arms with Yuri. “They will not be giving us any trouble. It's not as if I can defect in Moscow.” Victor smiled.
“They are also my ride back to camp.” Victor added in a low voice.
Yuri began to regret trusting Victor when he was lead outside as opposed to being shown another skating rink within the Luzhniki Palace of Sport complex. They trudged down darkened streets. Yuri pulled his jacket tighter around his body to combat the icy blasts that assaulted him whenever they passed in front of gaps between the buildings. Yuri kept his apprehension at bay by reminding himself that skating with Victor was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
“It should be just up here.”
Yuri looked up. Victor was pointing at an illuminated square in the distance. Yuri's first thought was that the street lights indicated a parking lot but, as they came closer, he realized that Victor had instead pointed out a playground.
Yuri followed Victor as they trudged through the ankle-high snow that had fallen on the park path. Vanya and Fedya were shadows behind them. Their total silence suggested to Yuri that the pair of men were used to Victor's antics but some part of him hoped that he was the only person that Victor had ever invited out for an impromptu skating session.
They had been walking for a few minutes when Yuri found himself facing a large outdoor rink, complete with flood lights and waist-high wooden boards. The ice surface was less than pristine but it had been cleared of snow despite the inch or so that had fallen earlier in the day.
Yuri was not sure if he was just tired from competing, but his legs felt unsteady as he made his way across the inhomogeneous surface. The ice was perfectly smooth in some areas but lumpy in others. A slightly uphill section lead Yuri to assume that the topography of the patch of grass upon which the rink sat was mostly to blame.
While Yuri progressed from careful forward skating to confident backwards skating, Victor was on the smoother side of the rink performing an elegant camel spin. He glided out of the spin, lowered his leg and called for Yuri to come over.
“You really practice outside?” Yuri shivered. He was beginning to lose feeling in his toes.
“We only have outdoor rinks at our training camp. We come to the city a few times a week to skate inside.”
Yuri wondered how anyone could stay warm enough to train.
“You must keep moving. Come”
Victor grabbed both of Yuri's hands.
“It becomes easier when you are used to it.”
Victor skated backwards as he pulled Yuri across the rink.
“Move your feet. It will make you warm.”
Yuri and Victor skated hand-in-hand for a few laps when Victor let go and asked Yuri to follow him. Yuri did as he was told. It took about thirty seconds for him to realized that Victor was going through the program that he had performed at the competition.
But that meant...
Yuri glided off to the side after the telltale two back crossovers. He stood still as he watched for what he knew would come next.
Yuri cheered as Victor landed a perfect triple axel. The outburst earned him menacing looks from Vanya and Fedya but Yuri did not care.
“Victor, you landed a triple Axel on this!” Yuri pointed to the ice at his feet. “That was absolutely amazing.”
Victor shook his head. “As I said before. We often train outside.”
Victor explained that he had wanted to debut the jump back in Sapporo but that his coach wanted him to have a ninety percent success rate in training before he would let him use it in a competition. Yuri now knew that that meant long hours out in the cold, taking off and landing on a rugged surface. Yuri thought that it was a wonder that Victor had not lost any fingers or toes to frostbite.
Yuri realized something as he skated around with Victor. Victor Nikiferov was not a good skater despite having limited training facilities. Victor Nikiferov owed at least some of his prowess to training under less than ideal circumstances. Yuri wondered what Celestino would do if he suggested training at a local park or on a frozen pond.
No matter how much Victor insisted that it was possible to stay warm if one kept moving, Yuri had gotten to the point where his frozen feet had had enough. He made his way over to the benches on the other side of the boards and proceeded to removed his skates.
Victor skated over to where Yuri was sitting and hockey stopped in front of the boards. “Do you need a drive back to the Intourist? Fedya picked up the car.” Victor pointed at a black Volga sedan that was parked across the street from the park.
Victor's proposition was terrifying. Yuri had no idea whether Fedya had anything else in mind other than driving Yuri back to his hotel before making the trip back to the training facility with Victor. All of the warnings about kidnappings and gulags came rushing back to him. Getting to meet Victor Nikiferov was one of Yuri's happiest memories but it was not worth being stuck in the Soviet Union for the rest of his life.
Yuri swallowed. The problem was that he did not have much of a choice. He had no idea where the park was relative to his hotel, no way to contact Celestino and he did not speak Russian. The last point made the prospect of catching a bus or taxi back nearly impossible.
“Um...”
“Don't worry so much.” Victor put his hand on Yuri's chin and turned it up so that Yuri was forced to face him. “As much as I would like to keep you for myself, I know that you need to go back to America.”
Victor's expression made it impossible to tell whether the part about keeping Yuri for himself was a threat, a joke or a compliment. Still, Yuri knew that he had to agree. Going on a drive with Victor's guards was preferable to dying of exposure on the streets of Moscow.
Yuri and Phichit sat in Phichit's bed after they had returned from their trip to the Moscow Circus. Both men wore their winter coats and were wrapped in the quilts from their respective beds. While acrobats and dancing bears were exciting, Phichit only wanted to talk about one thing.
“How was it? Did he take you to the biggest, best skating rink in the world? Did he confess his undying love for you and then take you out to the one place in this god-forsaken city that has decent food?”
Yuri brushed off Phichit's questions. “No, it was nothing like that. He took me to an outdoor rink in a park. It was freezing and the ice was rough, but guess what Phichit.”
“What?”
“He did it. Victor did the triple Axel on that ice, lumps and all.”