Chapter Text
Skate Canada was his first significant competiton of the season and the thrilling excitement had been rushing through his veins for days. He'd already aced his qualification in St. Petersburg by a wide margin a few weeks ago and spent every breathing second perfecting his programs afterwards. Now that he'd gone through warm-ups and changed into his costume, he could barely contain the impatience anymore. He was ready to make his audience gasp and tremble, to drown in the sweet syrup of their applause while his own heart seized and quivered with exhilaration.
“You're up in two minutes.”
The harsh voice of his Coach and his demanding knock against the doorframe forced him out of his headspace, not dampening his enthusiasm in the slightest. He checked the ties of his new skates one more time, making sure they were tight without restricting his movement. Then he got up from the bench, smoothed out his costume and tucked a short strand of hair back into the neat ponytail. It would probably come loose again within minutes, but he'd forgotten to bring anything besides the three elastics he always wore around his wrist.”I'm ready", he finally answered and slipped back into his team jacket.
He knew he was supposed to concentrate on his short program while he followed Yakov back into the heart of the stadium. Yet, he couldn't help getting distracted by the mere thought of the surprise on their faces once they realised how much he'd grown since his debut. He'd worked hard on his step sequences and spins, but nothing had been able to beat the delighted bliss that had swept through him when he'd been able to add two more Quads to his programs. He'd make this season his own, continuing the glowing streak he'd started two years ago until he won every single gold medal.
“Bonne Chance là-bas, mon amour.”
He blinked several times before he caught sight of Chris who'd passed them in the hallway. He'd drawn first for his group and had already put on a magnificiet show. “Watch and be amazed", he retorted and flashed him a bright smile. It had taken him most of last season to get used to the careless coquetry of his swiss rival, but by now they fell into an easy rhythm of teasing remarks and honest wishes for good luck when they ended up in them same competition. It was probably the closest thing to a real friendship he had experienced since he'd taken up professional skating. “Stop getting distracted and move, Vitya.” Yakov sounded exasperated this time, spurring him back into action. “We'll have dinner at the hotel to catch up?”, he asked and hurried after his Coach once Chris had confirmed and waved him off with one more suggestive phrase.
The cheers and applause crashed over them in pleasant waves once they stepped out of the catacombs and his heart started beating fast and steady. “Stick to the program this time, da? No sudden changes because you feel inspired”, Yakov chided in advance once the music died down and the skater on the ice whose name he'd forgotten finished his performance. Victor didn't comment on that and bent down to remove his skateguards. Once the ice had been cleared and the speakers announced his name and the title of his short program, he slipped out of his jacket and took the ice with even strides and everlasting confidence.
He circled the rink with open arms before gently stopping in the middle and taking up his starting pose. Silence settled over the stadium until the first soft tunes floated over the shimmering surface. He stopped thinking and dove into the symphony, allowed it to wrap around his senses and enclose his whole existence. Cheers erupted from the bleachers when he landed his first toeloop with ease, accompanied him as he transferred into a spread eagle and his second combination. He became weightless, slipping out of the heavy bonds of gravity.
Everything was perfect until he leapt into his quadruple Salchow. A deafening crack echoed through the stadium, shattering his concentration into thousand glistening shards. For a brief, disoriented moment he still felt like floating over the smooth surface of the ice. Then gravity caught up to him and pulled him towards the ground in a terrifying spiral of colours. His heart skipped a beat when his blades came down in the wrong angle and he was thrown off his centre of Rotation. He ignored the pain vibrating through his ankles and came to the worst, most desperate split-second decision of his life. In an attempt to break his fall by touching down and to save some of his technical score, he threw himself in the opposing direction. He could already feel the cold beneath his fingertips and –
His left skate slipped, the toepick caught the ice and his consciousness exploded in white, hot pain when something in his knee gave way. He didn't even get the chance to panic or become aware of the horrified gasps from the audience before he hit the ground hard.
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The edges of his consciousness were lined with pain, throbbing and writhing beneath the surface. His thoughts kept slipping through his fingers like the fine sand on the beach of St. Peterburg and there were voices just out of his reach. He felt too exhausted to push through the heavy veil that seperated him from the world and had already decided to slip back into the soft darkness, when an urgent voice reveberated in his skull. “Vitya...?” He knew that voice, but he'd never heard it this worried. It was enough to give him a sense of dread and he actually tried to respond to his name despite the exhaustion. All he managed was a feeble sound that caught in the back of his throat, but it seemed to be enough to get the message through. “He's waking up", the voice stated and someone shuffled around to get on his other side. “Victor, was it...? I know it's probably hard, but I'd like you to open your eyes for a second.”
He still struggled to regain more than a vague sense for his body and it took up most of his concentration to blink his heavy eyelids open. The dazzling white light flooded his vision, igniting his existence in searing pain. “You're doing great", the voice praised him even though he couldn't even make out the shapes of his surroundings. His eyes slipped closed on their own accord while gentle hands moved along his throbbing skull and jaw, finally pressing something soft against his sticky temple. The blessed silence that came with the touches didn't last though and he flinched when the voice spoke up again. “That's going to be a nasty concussion, but his bones are fine. I'm more worried about his leg.”
The meaning of those words sunk into his consciousness like a stone despite the trouble he had with seeing beyond the haze of pain that still lined the edges of his awareness. It settled heavy in the pit of his stomach, right besides the undefined dread, and left him reeling like a captured animal. The concerns and questions his muddled head couldn't quite form left his throat as a low groan. “It's alright, Vitya.” He'd never heard such soft words from his Coach. Yakov had always been screams and shouts. If he hadn't been in this much pain, if his heart hadn't been racing, he would've laughed at the absurdity. Especially when a warm hand gently rubbed along his arm in a gesture that was supposed to be reassuring. Instead it only made him aware of how cold the ground in his back felt. “Try to relax, you'll come out of this just fine.”
He really tried to believe his Coach, if only to stop focusing on the discomfort and the nausea that had started to creep up on him during the brief interaction. Instead he ended up getting distracted by the crackling sound of tearing plastic, before the second voice gave him a quick warning: “This is going to hurt for a second, but I promise to make it quick.” He didn't even have time to prepare for the sharp sting when they inserted a cannula into the vein on the back of his Hhnd. He tried to pull his arm away on instinct, but someone caught his wrist. When a whimper made it past his lips, Yakov started rubbing his shoulder again. “Calm, Vitya. They'll give you something for the pain in a minute. It'll be just fine", he muttered while gentle hands slipped a mask over his face, easing the strain on his burning lungs that he hadn't even registered yet.
“Alright, we're good to move him off the ice. On the count of three.”
Several pairs of hands eased him off the solid ground, causing new waves of pain to crash into his senses. The unexpected jolts did nothing to help the uneasiness curling in his stomach either and he found himself heaving and choking on bile while his mind still tried to catch up. “Deep, slow breaths. Can you do that for me?", someone asked as steady hands rolled him onto his side. “You'll feel better in a moment, okay?” If he'd been religious, he probably would have prayed that they stayed true to this promise and eased his suffering. Instead he allowed his thoughts to slip away, giving in to the blessed darkness.
○○○
The world wasn't as clouded anymore when he stirred awake again. The cold lights were still too bright though and his stinging eyes teared up once he'd managed to pry them open. The strong scent of disinfectant hung in the air and reminded him of the dull queasiness still lingering in his middle. At least the pain was bearable and he felt a bit more in control of his body. When the ceiling finally came into focus, he tried to sit up straight and find out how he'd ended up in a hospital bed. The last thing he remembered clearly was taking the ice for his short program. Then there was nothing but excruciating pain, soft darkness and a few fragments of conversations.
“Don't.”
Heavy hands settled on his shoulders and prompted him to turn his head to the left. Yakov settled into the plastic chair once he'd relaxed back into the pillows, but kept watching him like a hawk. “You don't want to sit up with that head of yours, trust me", he added with a tight smile and picked up the paper cup he'd abandoned on the side table. The dark liquid had apparently cooled off already and he grimaced at the unpleasant taste.
“What happened to me...?”, he finally managed to ask. His throat felt raw and his voice was barely more than a whisper. Yet, it was enough to visibly make Yakov cringe. Which in turn was such an uncharacteristic reaction, he probably would have been amused in other circumstances. Considering he'd been taken to a hospital without being able to recall any of the events leading up to his current situation, it only gave him a certain sense of dread.
“There has been an issue with the technical equipment of the rink", his Coach started to explain, searching for the right words to break the news to his student. “One of the floodlights overheated. Due to the high difference in temperatures, the glass burst while you were in the middle of your performance.” Yakov stopped talking for a brief moment and heaved a Sigh, probably hoping he'd recall the events on his own. But his mind still came up blank. “You fell out of your Salchow and hit your head on the ice. Hard.”, he finally added. “That's probably the reason you don't remember much.”
His pulse sped up and he didn't say anything as he tried to work through the new information. The concussion he most certainly had acquired with this involuntary stunt would keep him off the ice for weeks. In addition, he'd flubbed his short program and wouldn't be allowed to perform his free skate. Catching up on the other competitors to still make it to the finals was pretty much impossible even if the ISU moved him to another competition since this whole mess technically wasn't his fault. They'd have several weeks to refine their programs while he was forced to stay off his feet.
He almost choked on the growing frustration. This season would have been his key to the Olympics if it hadn't been for the faulty equipment of the stadium. Yet, he forced the trapped oxygen to leave his lungs in one long breath and relaxed his muscles. He wasn't a child anymore and unlike Yuri, he'd never felt the need to throw a tantrum when things went wromg. Instead he’d bare his teeth and work through this throwback as he'd done many times before.
“That's not all, Vitya.” His eyes snapped back to Yakov, who seemed even more uncomfortable in his own skin now. “You twisted your leg when you took the Fall.” His heart skipped a beat and he forgot to breathe for several seconds. Shuddering, he shifted his gaze to his propped up left leg. “It's not as bad, right?” He couldn't help sounding lost and desperate for any reassurance. Depending on the extent of the damage, this injury could easily end his career in Figure Skating. Suddenly flubbing his short program and missing a few weeks of training didn't seem quite as bad anymore. But Yakov remained silent.
He still tried to gather the courage to ask about the inuries again when a soft knock echoed through the room. A nurse in blue scrubs entered and flashed him a bright smile. “It's good to see you awake”, she stated and checked the monitors and his IV. “How're you feeling, darling?” Victor only stared at her with a blank expression, still trying to comprehend the previous conversation with his Coach. He only snapped out of his thoughts, when the nurse tilted her head to the side and carefully touched his hand to get his attention.
“Okay, I guess", he muttered without much heart. His voice still sounded too rough and small for his liking, almost as if it didn't belong to him anymore. “Yeah? Do you need anything to relieve the pain?” This time he merely shook his head and she added a quick note to the chart that had been clipped to the bottom end of the bed. “That's good. The doctor should be with you shortly to discuss your treatment”, she explained. “Then we'll get you settled in a room and you can catch some sleep. If you need anything in the meantime, there's a red button under your pillow. Press down on it and I'll be around, alright?” He nodded his understanding and looked after her as she slipped back into the hallway and the heavy silence settled over them again. He really wished this was nothing but a nightmare.
He couldn't even be bothered to pay much attention to the doctor while he greeted his coach and asked him a few simple questions. “I’ve just assessed the results of your MRI”, he finally started to explain and dragged Victors mind back to the present. He couldn't even recall getting an MRI in the first place. “The good news is that there's no sign of brain haemorrhage despite the high impact when you hit the ground.” Yakov breathed an audible sigh of relief, but Victor just felt numb. Since the positive outcome was about the concussion, he was really afraid for his leg now. He didn't know what he'd do if his career ended today. He hadn't even turned 18 yet.
Apparently sensing his tension, the doctor searched for his gaze and only continued once he'd caught his eyes. “Besides that you suffered from something known as unhappy triad, which means you tore the ACL and TCL as well as your medial meniscus in your left knee.” He turned the clipboard he'd been holding to show him an anatomic sketch and pointed at the ligaments in question. “It's not an uncommon injury in professional sport and usually happens due to forces of different direction impinging on a joint. In your case it's been twisting your knee while bearing your full weight on it.” He struggled to keep breathing and his heart hammered against his ribcage. The anatomical sketch started to become blurred. He'd already heard of these types of injury, of course. But he'd never anticipated it could happen to him, especially not during a competition when he performed a program he'd ingrained in his muscle memory for months. He'd had many hard falls during the years he'd spent on the ice, but none had led to such serious injuries.
“What's the prognosis?” Yakov was the first to find his tongue and ask the vital question just as the heavy silence became unbearable. “Since he’s a professional athlete, I hightly recommend surgery to reconstruct the joint”, the doctor continued the explanation. “Conservative treatment might be successful, but the chances are high that his knee remains unstable in the long run.” His breathing became more ragged by the minute and a few silent tears slipped down his cheeks while he tried to keep listening. “On the other hand, the recovery process after surgery will take more time. His knee will be immobilised for four to six weeks before we can start working on regaining his strength and range of motion. It may take up to twelve months until he's back on the ice.”
The last few words were Victor's last straw and his uneven breathing turned into a full-blown meltdown. He'd be benched for the remaining season, miss the Olympics and in the worst case, he'd never make it back on the ice. Five out of six listed jumps relied on the left leg. What if he'd never regain enough strength and mobility to land his Quads?
“Breathe, Victor.” The sharp command somehow made it through the panicked haze that dulled his senses. He tried shoving it back into a dark corner of his consciousness, with no success. Instead of breaking the surface to catch his breath, he kept choking on the devastating news. “We'll figure this out, but you got to calm down first, alright?” Steady hands guided him into a sitting position until most of his weight rested on his bent arms. The only sound he managed was a desperate whimper. “Try to match my breathing, da? You got to slow down or you'll make yourself sick.” Despite the urgency seeping into his words, Yakov kept his own breaths slow and steady until Victor managed to follow his lead. “Good, keep that up.” He kept muttering reassurances and rubbed his back, watching him carefully. “You'll be perfectly fine. We'll find you the best orthopedic surgeons and you'll be back on your feet before you know it.” He clung to that promise, forcing himself to believe in his Coach even though deep down he knew Yakov couldn't do much about his actual recovery.
“You're strong, so don't you worry about not making it.” He wiped the tears from his face and guided him back onto the pillows when all of the emotions had bled out of his student and there was no immanent danger of him choking on his own breaths again. For once Victor didn't protest. His head throbbed, his lungs were scraped raw and his limbs felt like they'd been weighed down with lead now that the panic was gone. “Rest up now. We'll talk about all of this once you caught some sleep.” Calloused fingers brushed through his Hair and he allowed his eyes to close, while Yakov returned his attention to the soft conversation with the doctor as if notjing out of the ordinary had happened. His mind slowly drifted back into the blissful darkness to escape the inconsolable sorrow that settled deep inside his chest.