Chapter Text
As Viktor drives away from Sochi, he cannot stop thinking about Yuuri and his blue eyes. The eyes of a Circle, one of the Blue Controllers, and Peter's partner.
His lips twist in anger, and his hands tighten on the steering wheel. He has to tell himself to calm down before he wrecks, not wanting to disturb his precious ward. The idea of Peter, of all people, having access to Yuuri during those long weeks they were apart, and managing to transform him into a Circle... not just a Green Circle, but a Blue Circle... it sickens Viktor. He hates that he couldn't protect Yuuri.
He failed Yuuri, and Yuuri has suffered for it -- more than Viktor can imagine, far too much. How Viktor can even face him after the torment he brought to Yuuri's door...
Yet Yuuri doesn't seem to blame him at all. He only feels relief at being with Viktor again, as if they were never parted. Viktor wonders what Yuuri would think of his guilt; likely, he would feel guilty for making Viktor feel guilty.
The thought stings him a little, while bringing a small smile to his lips. Dear, sweet Yuuri, always worrying about other people and never about himself.
In the passenger seat, Yuuri stares out the window, unaware of Viktor's wallowing. He is wearing a pair of boots Viktor found for him a day or so before he broke into Peter's compound and a brown jacket, his hair hidden by a blue knit cap, much like Yuuri liked to wear back in Hasetsu. Before he planned out his invasion, Viktor took the time to buy them both clothes and supplies, wanting to be ready to run with Yuuri as soon as he rescued him.
As noon approaches, hours after they left Sochi, Viktor turns onto an old farm road, driving for a while until he comes upon an abandoned farmstead. The roof of the house has caved in, just as Mila reported, but the barn is stable enough. When Viktor stops the car and turns it off, Yuuri stirs, turning his head toward Viktor in confusion. Viktor leans over to brush Yuuri's hair from his cheek, smiling a little as Yuuri meets his eyes.
"Hey," Viktor says quietly.
"Hey," Yuuri whispers, leaning into his touch. As he focuses, his eyes glow brighter, the circuits around his heart speeding up. Viktor aches to hear it but doesn't let the sadness touch his expression.
"We need to rest for a while. I'm going to check inside the barn to make sure it's safe for us."
Yuuri hesitates, his head twitching a bit as he leans toward different sounds outside their car. Viktor once again changed cars when he fled Sochi, and Yuuri fell asleep as soon as they were on the road, too exhausted to stay awake any longer. Viktor wonders when he last slept, when he last ate. He hasn't had a chance to ask Yuuri anything about what happened.
He hasn't dared ask Yuuri about the blue glow to his eyes. He knows what it means, and he can barely cope with the knowledge that he brought this upon Yuuri. For Yuuri to become a Circle... and a Blue one at that...
Yuuri's gaze jumps to the window past Viktor, but Viktor doesn't hear anything but a woodpecker in the nearby woods. The transformation must have happened recently, if Yuuri is this jumpy. Gently, Viktor leans in to kiss Yuuri's forehead, then releases him and opens the car door.
"Viktor," Yuuri whispers, then shuts his mouth, biting his lip anxiously.
"I'll be just a moment," Viktor murmurs, then climbs out of the car, all the while hating the nervous expression on Yuuri's face. He knows that nobody is anywhere near them, but he turns on his circle anyway, listening closely to his surroundings as he approaches the building.
The door swings open silently. The floor is thankfully dry, though the air in here is stale. It will do for now. Viktor checks the walls and crevices for any sort of recording devices, then judges everything to be safe enough to stay. He spends a few moments putting together a pile of straw, then laying a nearby blanket over the whole thing, for a makeshift bed.
He returns to Yuuri shortly. "Come on, I have something for you," Viktor says quietly, gathering his backpack and one of the shopping bags out of the back of the car. Yuuri slowly follows, his hand already reaching for Viktor, looking around them warily. Viktor has parked behind the barn, so that anybody who might drive up will not see them. He ushers Yuuri into the building and closes the door behind them.
He turns to see Yuuri standing in the middle of the barn looking lost, holding the jacket close around his thin figure. It burns Viktor to see Yuuri so thin and ragged, dark circles under his eyes, his long hair limp around his face. The soft body of a life well-lived is gone, replaced by angular hips and visible ribs.
Viktor approaches him slowly, bringing his hands up to hold Yuuri's thin shoulders. Yuuri lifts his head, some of the weariness in his expression slipping away, warming with affection. Viktor still does not understand what he did to deserve that affection, but his greedy heart drinks it in anyway.
"Close your eyes," Viktor says quietly. Yuuri blinks at him, the blue glow briefly interrupted, then obeys with a small sigh. His eyes flutter open again after a moment, and Viktor smiles in amusement. He reaches up and covers Yuuri's eyes, slipping his hand down to nudge them closed again. "Keep them closed. It will help."
"Okay," Yuuri whispers. Giving up his sight for a few moments relaxes him, his shoulders dropping under Viktor's touch. Viktor cannot resist touching his face, stroking a thumb fondly over Yuuri's cheek, before he busies himself with his task.
He pulls the hat and jacket off first, dropping them aside, then kneels down to untie Yuuri's boots, helping him slide each foot out and setting them aside. He pauses to gaze at Yuuri's toes, frowning a little at a scrape on the underside of his foot. His heels are rubbed red from the boots, the rough leather unkind to his skin. The marks will fade soon from Yuuri's nanocytes, but Viktor hates to see them regardless.
Yuuri realizes what Viktor means to do and lifts his hands a moment too late. "You don't have to..."
"I want to," Viktor interrupts, silencing the protest before it can be voiced. He needs to take care of Yuuri, to see for himself that Yuuri is safe. Yuuri gives him a tired expression, but the warmth in his face speaks of his desire for Viktor to look after him.
"Okay," Yuuri mumbles, giving in. Viktor spares him a smile, before he reaches up to Yuuri's waist.
His movements are methodical and gentle. He pulls the simple cotton pants down, revealing plain military-issued underwear. After helping Yuuri step out of the pants and tossing them aside, Viktor reaches for the underwear. Yuuri stops him this time, his face flushing a beautiful red.
"Viktor," Yuuri says feebly, his eyes staying closed, but his cheeks glow with embarrassment. Viktor sighs a bit in disappointment, earning himself a frown, before standing up and continuing his plan. He nudges Yuuri's shirt upwards, revealing inch after inch of pale, unbruised skin. The worst of Yuuri's injuries have already healed.
After Viktor sets the shirt aside, his eyes are drawn to a faint line over Yuuri's chest. Something hot and angry flashes through him, and he has to keep the emotion from overtaking his expression. Some idiot doctor cut into Yuuri there, implanting a device that has caused Viktor years of nightmares and pain. Now Yuuri has faced the same trauma.
He touches the scar. Yuuri drops his head, something unfathomably sad passing over his face.
"I'm so sorry, Yuuri," Viktor whispers.
The barn is thankfully dark. If Viktor wished, he could turn up his sight to see every inch of Yuuri's skin, to see each rib and scar, but he does not want to hurt himself with such knowledge. Eventually, yes. Once they reach their destination, Viktor will force himself to look.
Yuuri shakes his head but says nothing. He reaches up to cover Viktor's hand, pulling it downward and squeezing gently. Something else enters Yuuri's expression then, and Viktor only has an instant to realize what it is before Yuuri leans up to kiss him.
Love. Viktor has never felt this emotion so clearly, not before Yuuri came into his life and taught his heart to beat again. Not since he was a small child and felt love for his caretakers and friends, and that was a simple love of a child. Twenty years without love... and Viktor cannot let it go, now that he has love in his grasp.
The ache he feels, the need for Yuuri's smile, his happiness, his safety... Viktor would do anything for him. He would kill for him; he would live for him. More than once, Viktor has considered leaving this foul world, between the atrocities he is forced to commit and the struggle to find anything good around him.
Yuuri is good. For him, Viktor will continue to fight. Whatever Yuuri wants to do after they survive this, Viktor will be there at his side.
"I missed you," Yuuri whispers against his lips. His eyes have remained closed, but they open slightly when Viktor deepens their kiss to hush him, revealing crescents of glowing blue. Viktor threads his fingers through Yuuri's hair and tilts his head up, deepening the kiss, exploring what he wished to have months ago but refused in Yuuri's house.
He wants all of Yuuri. Yet he resists, because he knows Yuuri is not ready. Yuuri is tired and afraid, and he deserves tenderness, the comfort of safety. Reluctantly, Viktor draws away, and Yuuri opens his eyes after a moment, a smile touching his lips. He looks calmer standing in the shadow of Viktor's body, small enough to be drawn in further.
"I missed you more than I can express," Viktor says honestly. Yuuri's startled smile warms him. He basks in the glow of Yuuri's love for a moment, then focuses on his task, caressing Yuuri's cheek once more before drawing him over to the pile of straw.
"I'll help you change into these clothes," Viktor says, pulling out a bundle of clothing from the bag. Yuuri frowns slightly in protest.
"I can do it..."
"You will rip them, my dear," Viktor replies, hoping to soften the blow with the pet name. To his relief, Yuuri blushes at the words, though he sees sadness creeping into Yuuri's mien, which bothers him. "Your strength is too much for you right now. Let me, sweetheart."
The blush worsens, and Viktor has to fight the urge to kiss Yuuri again. He focuses on unfolding the jeans he bought and ripping off the tags, before kneeling down and holding them open so that Yuuri can step into them.
"Only until I figure out how to control it," Yuuri mumbles, then carefully steps into the pants. Viktor draws them upwards and zips them up, his lips twitching slightly as he realizes how close his hands are to Yuuri's dick. He ignores it for now, as well as the interest twinge from his own body, and buttons Yuuri's pants.
He frowns then, realizing that the pants are too big on Yuuri. They almost dwarf his figure, which makes Viktor think of how thin Yuuri is. He has to ignore the thought, lest he grow angry again. Instead he focuses on unrolling the t-shirt he found, black with a figure skater on the front in a Russian flag print.
As he helps Yuuri put the t-shirt on, Viktor listens to his heart. Still erratic, fast with anxiety. His circle is activated and will likely stay online until Yuuri can calm down. Even here, in this empty barn far from the roads and towns, Yuuri does not feel safe.
Viktor tugs the black cotton down over the scar on Yuuri's chest, a little too gently. When Yuuri is clothed, Viktor wraps him up in his arms and holds him tightly.
"Is it okay to sleep here?" Yuuri's voice is only a whisper against his neck. Viktor wishes suddenly, fiercely, that he could take Yuuri far away and never see Russia again.
Soon.
"I will protect you," Viktor promises. Yuuri breathes out a soft sigh at that, his grip tightening on Viktor's shirt. When Viktor lays them both down on the bed of straw, he curls into Viktor's taller form and drifts off quickly, despite the circle in his heart telling him that nowhere is safe.
Viktor closes his eyes to rest, relieved. Yet when he sleeps, he dreams.
~*~
Years and years ago...
Far above the sea, a crow flies, wings spread as it coasts with the wind. The sea is quiet, the sun's rays gone for the day, leaving everything cold beneath the wind's bluster. Already the lights of the city cast long figures across the water. The waves seem to glow, and the crow dips low to fly close to them, a mere shadow above the water.
Watching the crow is a young boy of eight, nearly nine, wrapped in a coat and thick scarf. His hands are buried in his pockets, gloves long passed to smaller hands that grow cold more easily. His keen blue eyes follow the crow as it rises again toward the clouds.
"Vitya! It's time for dinner!" calls Father Pavel, and the boy turns away.
"Coming!"
Vitya, better known as Viktor, takes off running down the beach. For a moment his dark scarf flairs out behind him, like the black wings of a bird. He catches up to a tall man with a thick beard and a high black collar, a priest of the Orthodox faith. The man shakes his head and nods toward a tall building up the hill, made of stone walls and tall windows, a single cross rising up above the roof.
"Off you go, rascal," Father Pavel grumbles, watching as the boy takes off running up the path. He glances back at the sea but sees nothing that would capture the attention of a clever boy. With a sigh, he walks up the pathway after Viktor, sending up a prayer that the children will behave during dinner.
The crow lands on the cross, long black claws grasping the metal. It watches the boy until he disappears into the building, greeted with light and young voices, then lets out a caw and flies away.
~*~
"Father Pavel, it's nearly my birthday."
"I know, Vitya."
"Since I will be turning nine, which is a very important age for a young boy, my present should be just as important, right?"
"Get to the point, Vitya," Father Pavel says, not looking up from the papers on his desk. Viktor huffs, his bright eyes narrowing in a pout, before it fades beneath boyish excitement.
"I would like a book for my present. Did you know that a new bookstore is opening near the market? For my birthday, I would like to go to this bookstore and pick out a book, any book I like! Please, Father? I'll be ever so good! I'll take cleaning duty in the kitchens for a week! No, the washrooms!"
Father Pavel lifts his head, leveling a flat stare on Viktor's pleading face. Viktor tries to put a little more wobble into his bottom lip, certain that Father Pavel will bend to his will if he just looks pathetic enough. After a long moment, Father Pavel heaves a sigh and rubs at his eyes beneath his glasses.
"I will consider it, Vitya. And you will not argue," Father Pavel adds sternly when Viktor opens his mouth to do just that. "That store may be near the market, but that area of the city is not safe for a young boy like you. Maybe if I ask Mr. Yugov to take you..."
Viktor closes his mouth abruptly. "I don't like Mr. Yugov. Coach Feltsman doesn't like him either."
"Mr. Yugov is my friend and one of our most generous patrons. His kindness funds half of the food we eat, the electricity bill, and even your presents." Father Pavel looks tired for a moment. "All he wants is to spend time with the children. After what happened to his wife and child, I see no reason not to allow it."
"The others don't like him either." Viktor frowns to himself, thinking of the younger children who never like to be near Mr. Yugov. As the oldest, Viktor tries his best to keep track of what the younger children like and don't like. He cannot explain to Father Pavel, who likes Mr. Yugov very much, how the older man makes them all feel strange and nervous. Like a snake lying in the grass, ready to set upon a mouse. Not like the creepy perverts that Father has warned them about, the ones that hang around the docks, but something worse.
"He will be visiting next week regardless. Perhaps his visit can be taking you to the bookstore," Father Pavel offers, taking off his glasses to set them on his papers. "I will only have a few rubles for you, but Mr. Yugov may concede to give you more if you ask nicely."
Viktor thinks about it for a moment. If Mr. Yugov takes him to the bookstore, then he will miss much of his visit with the other children, which will make them happier.
"If he buys me a present, I will consider it," Viktor finally allows, then grins at Father Pavel and takes off out the door with a wave. "Thank you, Father Pavel!"
"Rascal," Father Pavel says with a small smile.
Further down the hallway, Viktor slows and lets his smile fall. He does not want to go to the bookstore with Mr. Yugov. Maybe he can sneak out during his hour of playtime and go to the bookstore himself, just to look around. He has walked to the skating rink many times before, and he has even walked as far as the market and bought sweets with his tiny allowance, so why should the bookstore be any different?
Viktor nods with certainty, his decision becoming firm. That is what he will do.
~*~
The week passes slowly. Viktor celebrates his ninth birthday on Friday with a small cake and sweetened milk. He spends the rest of the day in a jittery mess, not thinking about Monday when Mr. Yugov will arrive, but about his mission tomorrow. Coach Feltsman yells at him a lot during skating practice for his distraction.
When Saturday arrives, Viktor escapes breakfast as fast as he can. The other children are allowed to play in the yard, but Viktor may play on the beach as long as he comes back at a reasonable time. Father Pavel and the sisters never pay him attention on Saturdays, which is when they entertain prospective couples coming to adopt.
Viktor doesn't care about being adopted. His parents are long dead, and no one can ever replace them. He would rather live here with Father Pavel and the sisters and the children until he is eighteen, and then he can enter the priesthood. Then he can always look after the children and the orphanage, which has taken care of him since he was four. He can take care of the orphanage and help the younger children skate, and his life will be great.
Viktor peers around the corner, seeing Father Pavel talking with Sister Ludmila. The tall nun, wearing a black frock with a rosary, notices him immediately but merely smiles, focused on whatever Father Pavel is saying. Relieved, Viktor makes for the door, running down the path to the beach and making for the stones where he likes to play on sunny days.
Once he reaches the stones, Viktor slips past them and keeps walking, heading for the road that winds up the hill to the orphanage. He glances back at the building where he has spent over half his life, noticing a black shape sitting on one of the arms of the cross on the roof. He tilts his head at the sight of a crow. Impossibly, far across the sand and grass and stone, the crow tilts its head as well, mirroring him. Viktor laughs aloud, then covers his mouth and looks around, but nobody is nearby. He waves at the crow, then sets off walking again, shoving his hands in his pockets and smiling at the world.
The road to the market is quiet this early in the morning, with only a few cars rumbling back and forth. Viktor checks the small map he made for his mission, having tricked the directions out of Sister Ludmila two days ago. The map says to go right around the next corner, walk a block, and then turn right again; however, Viktor can see an alleyway that leads straight to the road. He brightens and walks toward the alleyway, slipping inside.
As he walks, the alleyway grows darker, as the rooftops rise higher. Viktor cranes his head to look upwards, wondering how people can hang their laundry so high. So distracted, Viktor walks right into a person, earning a grunt and a cuff on his head.
"Watch where you're going, boy," says a man with sunken eyes and a low hat. Viktor stutters out an apology and shifts past the man, but the man grabs his wrist and glares at him.
"What's a little thing like you doing out here? Lost your mama, did you?"
"Don't have one," Viktor says, then thinks better of it. "Let me go."
"Pretty thing like you'd sell well," muses the man, eyeing Viktor's pale hair and blue eyes. Viktor feels something cold come over him. This is the kind of man that Father Pavel warned him about, and Viktor walked right into him. He takes a deep breath, preparing to scream, when suddenly they are interrupted.
"That's enough," says a deep voice, a gloved hand pushing the man back, forcing him to let go of Viktor. Mr. Yugov, tall and dark and terrifying, steps past Viktor and frowns down at the man, who scrambles up and curses, then takes off down another alleyway. "Trash," mutters Mr. Yugov, before he turns to frown down at Viktor.
"Mr. Yugov?"
"I saw you on your little excursion," Mr. Yugov says, his voice somehow softer than Viktor always expects. He doesn't like the way Mr. Yugov is eyeing him -- not like the perverted man, but still dangerous. "Did I mistake my calendar this morning? I believe I was to pick you up on Monday afternoon."
"I snuck out," Viktor grumbles out, scuffing his shoe. "I wanted to see the bookstore."
"As if you ran away," Mr. Yugov says thoughtfully, catching Viktor's attention. "Well... I suppose that is advantageous to both of us. Monday would have been more acceptable, but I just need to make a call. Come this way, Viktor."
Mr. Yugov holds out his hand. Viktor has a bad feeling; something tells him not to take that hand. Something about what Mr. Yugov said sounded wrong, strange; but Viktor cannot understand it. He wonders if Mr. Yugov is going to take him to the bookstore, but by the strange smile on his face, he somehow doesn't think so.
"I'd better go home," Viktor whispers, and Mr. Yugov's strange smile widens.
"You are an orphan, boy. You have no home."
Viktor takes a step back. Mr. Yugov's smile fades abruptly, and he begins to look angry. Viktor considers running; he is probably faster than Mr. Yugov. He starts to turn on his heel, when they hear a door slam further down the alley, making Viktor startle. Mr. Yugov's hand snaps forward like a snake lurching out of the grass, closing around Viktor's arm.
"Let me go!" Viktor cries, but Mr. Yugov only ignores him and drags him away.
~*~
Viktor stares out the back window of the moving van at the smallest glimpse of sky, his bare fingers tucked against his legs. Mr. Yugov is gone, replaced by two men with thick beards. They have said nothing to him except to order him to be silent, and Viktor obeyed, too frightened to argue.
After Mr. Yugov handed Viktor over to the men, they tied his hands and pushed him into a van, forcing him to sit on the cold floor while they drove. They have said little to each other, merely playing the radio to fill the silence, but the songs make Viktor more and more uncomfortable. He isn't often allowed to listen to the radio, since Father Pavel thinks the music is not proper for young minds. These men are not related to Father Pavel, and he does not think Mr. Yugov knows them very well either, except that the men gave Mr. Yugov a stack of bills.
Viktor isn't stupid. He knows that Mr. Yugov sold him. He doesn't know where these men will take him or what they will do with him. He dares not cry, because boys shouldn't cry when they are faced with peril. None of the heroes in Viktor's favorite books ever cried.
The van comes to a stop after long hours of silence, and Viktor is pushed out and dragged across a concrete lot. Here the air is even colder, and his bare hands prickle from the icy wind. Above them stands several buildings that Viktor has never seen before, not even on the television or his books. They are gray with very few windows, and the ones that Viktor can see are dark. Two more men stand at the door to the first building, wearing uniforms, and Viktor abruptly realizes that they must be the military.
"Help me," Viktor blurts out, but the soldiers ignore him.
"Got one for Korotkov," grunts one of his captors. The soldier nods and reaches to take Viktor's arm, holding firmly, yet not harshly.
"Your payment will be arranged in the usual way," the soldier says blandly. The two men glare at him, then mutter to each other before turning away and leaving. Viktor watches them go with his heart in his throat, wanting to cry out and beg for them to take him back, but before he can open his mouth, the soldier drags him into the building.
The hallway inside is cold and brightly lit. The soldier pulls Viktor down the hall to an elevator, pushing him inside when it opens. Viktor resists, not wanting to go into that cold place, but the soldier shakes him.
"I'll beat you if you run," the soldier threatens. Viktor stops struggling, fighting back tears.
The elevator descends.
When the doors open, the soldier escorts Viktor down a long hallway, which is even colder than it was upstairs. Here, Viktor sees several people walking around, wearing long white coats and carrying clipboards. They pay no attention to him, and Viktor slumps with fear, unsure what his future will be if none of these adults care that he is tied up and hurt.
After a short walk, Viktor and the soldier arrive at a door, and the soldier knocks before opening it. Inside an older man with slanted eyes sits, and he turns a smile on Viktor. He looks like he could be somebody's grandfather, and Viktor starts to relax.
"And who is this?"
"Subject to be processed," says the soldier in a flat voice.
"Very well. Leave him here, Lieutenant. I'll handle everything."
"Yes, Doctor," the soldier says, dropping Viktor inside the door and shutting it. Viktor yelps as he stumbles, glaring over his shoulder, then turning to look at the Asian man.
"Doctor?" Viktor finally says, his throat sore from the cold and fear.
"Doctor Korotkov," the doctor says with a smile. His Russian is oddly accented. "And your name is, young man?"
Viktor considers not answering. Maybe if he tells his name, the doctor will realize this is all a big mistake and call the orphanage. "Viktor Andreivich Orlov. I live with Father Pavel at the Orphanage by the Sea in St. Petersburg, and I --"
"Lived," Doctor Korotkov says, still smiling. "You no longer live there, Viktor. Your new home is here with myself and the other doctors. We will take good care of you."
Viktor doesn't like the sound of that. "I want to go home!"
"It looks to me like you ran away from home and got caught up in some trouble." The doctor picks up a clipboard and begins to write on it, not caring for Viktor's growing horror. He scratches out a few lines, then stands and points at a scale by the wall. "Stand on that. I need to take your measurements."
Viktor, stiff with shock, obeys. The doctor weighs him and draws several vials of blood, which he hands to a nurse who comes in to assist. They force Viktor to change out of his blue coat into gray clothes that hang on his small body and heavy boots. They even shave his head, much to Viktor's rage, and he fights against them the whole time, until Doctor Korotkov hits him. Then they walk him through several hallways until reaching a very small room with a bed, a sink, and a toilet.
"This will be your room for the next several years. You are to keep it tidy at all times. Your new identification number is zero-two-three-six. If you try to run away, you will be killed."
They leave Viktor alone in the gray room and his gray clothes with a future that feels bleak and miserable.
He starts to yell. They do not answer him. Nobody comes to check on him, nor does anyone bang on his door when he beats his fists against it, screaming curses that Father Pavel would wash his mouth out with soap for saying. They ignore him completely, and after a while, Viktor's tantrum fades into sobs. He curls up on the gray bed and hides his face in his knees, his fists and chest aching, thinking about the way Sister Ludmila smiled at him before he ran away.
He didn't run away. He was kidnapped.
They'll think he left anyway. Orphans leave all the time. Other children have run away from the orphanage before. Viktor never wanted to be one of them; he wanted to stay there forever, and become a priest like Father Pavel, and...
Who will look for him now? Father Pavel will be too busy looking after the other children. Coach Feltsman will be mad that he will miss his next practice. Yet nobody will care -- he is only an orphan.
He sleeps eventually, but barely.
~*~
The next morning, Doctor Korotkov wakes Viktor early, opening the door with two soldiers at his side. The soldiers tie Viktor's hands together and drag him out of his room, not caring when Viktor threatens to bite them.
"You arrived at a lucky time," Doctor Korotkov tells Viktor with that same grandfatherly smile. Viktor glares at him, tempted to spit on Doctor Korotkov's shoe, but he doesn't want to be hit again. "A little rat like you should be excited for this kind of opportunity, yes?"
"Rat?"
"Orphan," Doctor Korotkov says with a dismissive sniff. "Gutter rat. Whatever you want to call yourself."
"I'm not a gutter rat," Viktor starts to say, but Doctor Korotkov frowns at him, making him shut his mouth.
"You will do well to mind your tongue, boy. Now, the procedure is ready to begin, so do not fight."
The soldiers push Viktor into a large room filled with many of the doctors he saw yesterday, their white coats pale in the bright light, their clipboards and mouths still. They stare at him with dark eyes, and Viktor glares back, prepared to fight every one of them.
The soldiers all but drag Viktor to a bed. Viktor struggles as they lay him on his back and tighten belts over his arms and legs, glaring furiously and spitting at the soldier that comes near his face. The soldier reels back, glaring, and Viktor sneers back, until Doctor Korotkov clears his throat.
"Surgery one will now begin. Begin preparations, nurse," Doctor Korotkov says in a different voice. Viktor turns his head to glare at Doctor Korotkov, and his heart seizes at the sight of white gloves on the doctor's hands, a tray of shining objects at his elbow. The nurse slides a needle into Viktor's arm, leading to a long tube with a bag hanging over a pole. Viktor doesn't know what they are planning, and he wants to move his arm, but the straps hold him down too tightly. He is powerless against them.
"What are you going to do to me?" Viktor whispers. Doctor Korotkov smiles that kind smile, and the sight of it makes Viktor want to cry.
"I'm going to make you into something better. Nurse, give him the injection."
The nurse walks up to him, her face hidden behind a cloth mask, but her eyes are as unreadable as the rest of the people in the room. She presses a large syringe to Viktor's arm and slowly pushes the cold fluid into his veins, which makes all of Viktor's senses go strange and fuzzy. His vision swims, and he closes his eyes.
When Viktor opens his eyes again, his body has changed. He stares down in horror at his chest, which now has a large scar over his heart. His entire body hurts, as if he kept fighting while he was asleep. He is still strapped to the bed, the doctors milling around him and talking in quiet voices. Viktor stares at the stitches in dull horror, not understanding what they did to him. Did they take his heart out?
"The subject is ready, doctor," says the nurse quietly. Doctor Korotkov turns from his conversation with a smile.
"Good, good! Bring over the serum, nurse."
The nurse returns with another tray that holds another syringe, full of a liquid that glows a bright, eerie green. Viktor stares at it in fear, beginning to shake his head.
"No, no -- please, I want to go home," he begs, but the doctors ignore him. "Please, please don't put that in me!"
"Be quiet, boy. If you survive, you'll thank me for this," says Doctor Korotkov.
"Let me go!"
The doctor ignores him and picks up the syringe, putting it to Viktor's arm and slowly pushing the strange fluid inside him. When the syringe is empty, Doctor Korotkov steps back and stares at him, eager and waiting.
At first, nothing happens. Then the veins in Viktor's arms begin to glow bright green. Viktor stares as the pain fades away, his veins all lighting up with that same lurid green, watching the strange color travel up his arm. When it reaches his heart, the numb feeling turns into fire, and Viktor screams.
He screams and screams as the pain wracks through him, the fire sweeping to every part of him and burning away his sense of self, his feelings, his past, his memories. All he knows is the fire, the green fire that overtakes him and threatens to kill him. He could die here; he could die here alone, far away from Father Pavel and Coach Feltsman and the other children. Nobody knows he is here; nobody cares enough about him.
No. Viktor will not die here. He will live. He has to live!
His eyes snap open as his screaming cuts off, and gone are the blue of his eyes, replaced by that eerie glowing color. He does not know how long he lies there as the green sweeps through him, silent, too far lost to the pain of being changed.
After what seems like hours, the fire dies down, leaving Viktor alone. The pain in his body is gone, and he can hear a cacophony of beats, like drums under steady hands. He can see particles in the air, tiny and drifting, spots of dust he would never have seen before. Everything is so clear, and so loud, and nothing hurts anymore.
"Subject zero-two-three-sex," says Doctor Korotkov, sounding much louder than ever before, "has survived the procedure to become a Circle."
Circle?
Viktor glances down at his chest, wondering where his heart is. Beneath his pale skin, where his heart should be, is a glowing green circle.
~*~
He dreams of flying away from these cold mountains, of wind beneath his wings, of the sea on the horizon. He dreams of the sea, waves washing against bone-white sand, while the sun lingers above the horizon, never setting.
Viktor, calls the sea.
He flies above it, not wanting to return to the sea. He wants to stay in the sky where his wings are warmed by the sun, where the world is endless and no one ever chases him. There are hands behind him, hands reaching out of the sea to grab him, and he refuses to be caught.
Viktor.
He flaps his wings harder, flying higher. He can get away, he can escape, all he needs to do is fly farther than those hands can ever reach.
Viktor, wake up.
Viktor opens his eyes. Yuuri is sitting next to him, his dark eyes worried, one hand hovering over Viktor's chest. Viktor blinks at him slowly, feeling for a moment as if he is still flying high in the sky. Then he wakes up more and inhales sharply.
He must have been dreaming.
"You were crying in your sleep," Yuuri whispers. Viktor touches his cheek and realizes that it is wet, and he hurriedly wipes his face. Yuuri watches him as he sits up, his fingers dropping to grip Viktor's shirt. He looks so worried, but Viktor can barely think past the memories, past the old ache of being turned into a monster.
He glances at the glowing circle on Yuuri's chest and suddenly cannot take it any longer. He pushes himself off the pile of straw and hurries to their belongings, throwing Yuuri's old clothes into the bag.
Yuuri approaches him cautiously. Viktor pushes the brown jacket at him without looking, then realizes his mistake and turns to help Yuuri into it. He is gentler than he needs to be as he slides the fabric up Yuuri's arms, apologies in his touch. Yuuri stays silent, his eyes tracking Viktor's face anxiously, but he never intrudes, for which Viktor is grateful.
Viktor pulls away, and Yuuri hesitates for a long moment. Then he takes Viktor's hand, and all of the cold in Viktor's heart melts away, as sudden as the dawn.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Yuuri's voice is soft and worried. Viktor hates that he has upset him.
"Not particularly," Viktor replies quietly. He had buried those memories long ago. Why would they surface now? He has not thought of his old orphanage in years, nor of the day he was turned into Crow.
His gaze strays to Yuuri's chest again, then away. If Yuuri notices, he says nothing.
They walk out to the car together. Yuuri sits in the passenger seat with the door open, watching as Viktor rearranges the backseat, so his weapons are within reach. He stays quiet as Viktor starts the car and drives them away, his glowing gaze on the barn as it disappears in the distance.
"Where to now?"
"Somewhere safe," Viktor promises quietly. Only a little while longer until they reach the dacha, and they will be okay.
~*~
On the outskirts of St. Petersburg, Viktor parks the car behind an abandoned gas station beside a run-down motel. Viktor doesn't even bother going to the front desk. He merely finds an empty room and breaks into it in the dead of night, pulling Yuuri in with him.
"This is a crime, Vitya," Yuuri sighs, but he lets himself be pulled along anyway. Viktor flashes him a grin.
"We are on the run, and there are no cameras or guards to stop us. I already made sure that this place has the most minimal of security."
"Still..." Yuuri follows Viktor into the room, finding the single bed and sitting down with a heavy sigh. Viktor drops their bag by the door and checks the room, before following Yuuri's example and collapsing on the worn but clean blanket.
Yuuri turns to look down at him. At the sight of Viktor's relaxed posture, the glow in his eyes fades. "Have you done this often? Breaking into buildings and hotels."
"It is a valuable skill set for undermining those in power," Viktor tells him seriously. Yuuri rewards him with a laugh.
"How long are we staying here?"
"A few hours. Long enough to shower and sleep, as well as change our identities a bit. Are you hungry?" Viktor asks, ready to get up and dig out some food, but Yuuri shakes his head. His eyes are dark as he turns toward the window -- the same direction he has been looking for days now.
Peter.
"I'm fine," Yuuri murmurs. "Why don't you shower first? I'm going to lie down for a while."
The way Yuuri's eyes light up again, eclipsing that darkness, makes Viktor's chest tighten with old anger. He hates, with every fiber of his being, that Yuuri is connected in a bond so twisted that Viktor wants to find Peter immediately and rip him apart.
Instead of worrying Yuuri, Viktor buries his anger and disappears into the bathroom to shower. He broods as he washes his body, unable to stop thinking about how Yuuri keeps looking in a particular direction. Sensing Peter, drawn to him despite being the very opposite of him in every way.
Viktor hates it.
He has never felt so violent before, so angry -- not when he was turned into a Circle, not when Yuri was taken from his care and pushed to become Peter's partner, not even when he learned that Yuuri had been kidnapped by Koroba. Peter does not deserve to be connected to Yuuri, whose soul is so bright and pure that Viktor fears Peter will tarnish it merely by existing. Though he promised Yuuri differently -- that Peter will never change who Yuuri is -- Viktor cannot help his fears. He wants to keep Yuuri safe, from everything.
Especially Peter.
When Viktor exits the bathroom, Yuuri is curled up on his side, wrapped in the blankets. Viktor aches to see him looking so vulnerable. Instead of pushing Yuuri to shower, he slides into the bed behind him and slips his arm over Yuuri's waist, pulling him close. Yuuri sighs and leans back into him.
"Love you," Yuuri whispers, already drifting.
"I love you too, solnyshko," Viktor murmurs, the ache in his chest sharp. He closes his eyes and rests, though his sleep is anything but restful.
~*~
Years and years ago...
Viktor opens his eyes.
A gray wall meets him, the same as the day before. Viktor grimaces and sits up, running his hand through short hair. He stretches his lanky form, several inches taller now that he is approaching thirteen, but still not tall enough. Slowly he climbs out of bed, shivering and rubbing his arms, and crosses his small room to wash his face and teeth.
A fist bangs on his door, reinforced with steel. Viktor rolls his eyes, hearing only one heartbeat behind the door.
"Doctor Korotkov wants you in his office."
"Of course he does," Viktor mutters, peering closely at his reflection. He scratches his chin, wondering if he will ever start to grow a beard, then sighs and dries off his face. He slides his feet into his boots and pulls on his jacket, waiting for the door to be unlocked before he strides out past Lieutenant Whats-His-Name -- Viktor never bothered to learn.
Doctor Korotkov is not in his office when Viktor arrives, so Viktor sits down in the man's desk chair. He puts his hands behind his head and leans back, listening to the people outside the office. Some of them are muttering about a general, which means that somebody important has come to visit. Not that Viktor ever gets to meet important people. For all that he is their precious Circle, one of a very small number spread across Russia, Viktor is never allowed to do anything interesting, lest he develop a fond sense of freedom and run away.
Viktor would run away in a heartbeat if he could. The prison holds him too well; the guards are too numerous, the traps around the prison too clever for him. He needs to train and get bigger, stronger, before he can take them on and get himself out. He has the entire mission planned out from beginning to end. Once he is strong enough... then maybe he can go home to Father Pavel and the orphanage.
The other thing that stops him is the seven other children in the compound with him, all younger than him. They remind him of the kids he used to look after at the orphanage: small, angry, scared. He protects them as best as he can, and he knows he cannot leave them even if he gets the opportunity to escape.
He'll take them all with him when he goes.
Being a Circle is a strange existence. Viktor is stronger than any man in the prison, but he is still just a boy. He could tear down the prison doors if he wanted. He can hear every person's heartbeat and even pinpoint their location. His sight is just as good, and if Viktor sneaks up to one of the rooms with a window, he can see for miles across the mountains. Whatever the strange serum was that created him, Viktor has never felt better.
Yet Viktor is weak, and he knows it. He keeps losing in combat training despite being stronger and faster than his opponents. He isn't as smart as the doctors who study him. He needs to learn more, to be stronger, and then he will be a force to be reckoned with. He is already thinking of ways to use his powers better -- surely if he listens to someone's heartbeat, he can figure out if they are lying or not? -- and soon he will increase his strength training.
The other lessons are just as impressive. Viktor has learned three languages now in addition to Russian: English, German, and French. He learns faster than when he was in Sister Ludmila's lessons, so maths and science come easily now. Technology is just as easy; Viktor is already learning to program. The soldiers have taught him all sorts of ways to fight, but they can still wipe the floor with him if they team up. Twenty to one isn't fair, but at least Viktor isn't losing against single enemies any longer.
Why he needs any of these skills is beyond him. Doctor Korotkov -- whom Viktor calls Koroba just to be annoying -- insists that Viktor is part of a grand plan of the Velenos Corporation, the pseudo-military operation that owns him. Viktor suspects world domination, but he hasn't argued with anyone about it yet. He prefers to bide his time and gather information, and intel about Velenos itself is scarce.
Two heartbeats approach the office. Viktor smirks a little and relaxes in the chair, knowing Korotkov will be irritated to see him there.
The door opens, and Korotkov walks in, followed by a teenage boy.
Korotkov scowls, but Viktor ignores him, sitting up and staring at the boy closely. The boy is taller than him, already taller than Korotkov and likely to grow more. All of the other children in the prison are smaller than Viktor, younger, but this boy is at least five years older. He has white hair and dark grey eyes, and he fixates on Viktor as soon as he enters the room.
The teenager's eyes flood green, and Viktor sucks in a breath.
Another Circle.
"Out of my chair, Viktor," Korotkov huffs. Viktor leans forward and rests his hands on the table, holding the teenager's stare, his own blue eyes flaring bright green. The tension crackles between them.
"They warned me this might happen," Korotkov sighs. "Viktor, get out of my chair, damn it. This is Peter Malakov. He will be training here for the next six months."
Viktor's gaze cuts to Korotkov, holding his stare for a moment. As always, Korotkov flinches away, not meeting his eyes, and Viktor smiles, satisfied. He stands languidly, returning his attention to Peter and stepping around the desk. With an easy grace, he leans against the side of the desk and crosses his arms, hip cocked.
"Do I have to train with him?" Viktor asks, knowing the answer will be yes.
"Yes, and you will be respectful, boy," Korotkov tells him, hurrying to take control of his desk again. "He is the general's son."
The general's son, turned into a Circle? How interesting.
Peter narrows his eyes at Viktor, as if he senses the amusement curling through Viktor's mind. Perhaps he does; Viktor doesn't know the full limitations of the Circle powers just yet. He eyes Peter for another minute, then turns a flat stare on Korotkov. "What will the training schedule be?"
Korotkov glowers at him. He probably suspects Viktor of messing with his desk. Viktor should do that sometime; it will keep Korotkov on his toes. "Commander Pavlov will have it. Get out of my office, boy. Peter, since you are the boy's superior, you can deal with him however you see fit."
Peter lets out the faintest snort, then grabs Viktor's arm and drags him out of the office. Viktor puts up a token protest, tempted to find out how strong he is against the older boy, but quickly gives in and makes a rude gesture at Korotkov before the door slams shut. They walk toward the training halls together, Viktor reluctantly pulled along. He keeps a sharp eye out for the guards and the other children. After a moment, he tries to stretch his hearing, and he is rewarded with seven heartbeats two floors away where the mess hall is. Still eating breakfast -- good, that means he doesn't have to hold back.
As soon as they are alone in the yard, Viktor slams the side of his hand into Peter's elbow, forcing him to let go of Viktor's arm. He spins away and catches himself on the wall, narrowing his eyes when Peter doesn't even looked phased, slowly turning to stare blankly at him, eyes bright green. Being this close to another Circle is disconcerting; how strong are Peter's senses? As strong as Viktor's?
He wants to know. Yet he hates the idea of asking Peter, who is the son of a general, and already has a much higher standing in the Velenos Corporation than Viktor.
"I'm not allowed to kill you, or I would," says Peter. Viktor stills, blinking once, and Peter smiles sharply. "Everyone says you're a brat, which is true. I need a partner, not a child, and you're supposed to be the best after me. Why don't you show me if that's true?"
"Don't call me a brat," Viktor says without thinking, then shakes his head and strides forward, passing Peter and heading for the double doors at the end of the hall. "You wanna fight? Fine. I'll wipe the floor with you."
Fifteen minutes later, Viktor is flat on his back, wheezing while Peter stares down at him impassively. Viktor glares at him, tempted to kick Peter in the face, but Peter has already demonstrated that he can dodge Viktor's strikes much more easily than Viktor can. He settles for closing his eyes and groaning, hating how easily he lost.
"You lasted longer than the others," is all Peter says, before walking back to the center of the room. "Again."
"You're gonna regret that," Viktor pants, pushing himself up and cracking his back. Peter just took him by surprise. He can last longer.
The sparring takes all afternoon. Nobody bothers them, though the Commander stops by to glare at Viktor. None of the soldiers care to mess with Peter, which Viktor uses aggressively to avoid dealing with their attitude. The soldiers don't often go after Viktor, but they have never been kind, either. Viktor despises them.
He despises Peter, too. Peter has the power of the Malakhov name. He is stronger, faster, and smarter than Viktor, who has never met another boy who could beat him so thoroughly. Viktor wants to wipe that superior look off Peter's face and prove himself better than him.
At the end of the afternoon, Viktor lies on his back, trying not to move too much. His whole body aches; he hasn't felt this much pain since before he became a Circle. All he wants is to crawl into bed and not do anything for a week. Peter's heartbeat moves closer to him, and Viktor opens his eyes halfway, frowning up at the other boy.
"We meet again tomorrow," Peter tells him flatly. "You'll have to do. No one else is good enough to be my partner."
"I won't be your partner," Viktor wheezes, glaring. "Partner for what, anyway?"
Peter is silent for a long moment, something in his mien darkening. "For whatever they want," he says finally, before turning away and striding out of the room. Viktor watches him go, unnerved by the ominous words.
~*~
Viktor opens his eyes and sits straight up, his eyes flaring green. He sees nothing in the darkness, only the face of a boy who tormented him for years, who grew up to become a cruel and dangerous man. That man is somewhere outside of these walls, searching for them.
"Peter," Viktor whispers, then covers his face. Beside him, Yuuri stirs but does not wake, curling closer to the empty warmth Viktor left in the sheets. Viktor glances down at him, watching the soothing rise and fall of his chest for a long time.
He does not think Peter has truly changed from the cold, angry boy he used to be. Though they have met only a few times in recent years, Viktor remembers his voice and face clearly. He remembers every derisive glance cast his way, every intentional cruelty. Yet Peter treated Yuuri gently and gave him reason to trust him.
Viktor does not believe in that trust. He has met snakes before, and though they may shed their skin, they do not become anything other than a snake after the transformation.
Perhaps Yuuri is the only one who can change Peter, like he changed Viktor. Yet Viktor hates that thought, because Peter does not deserve Yuuri's kindness. He does not deserve a connection to Yuuri. He only deserves defeat.
Viktor knows they will meet again, and soon. Yuuri's growing restlessness all but confirms that Peter is closing in on them. Viktor is prepared to destroy him, even at the risk of killing himself in the process, if it will break that connection and save Yuuri from such despair.
The next time Viktor faces him will be the last.