Chapter Text
Sara meets Mila Babicheva, and is never quite the same afterwards.
Sara doesn’t really remember much of what happens in the days after Mila’s death. The funeral is small and quiet, and passes by in a whirlwind of grey and goodbyes. She spends most of her time after in bed, sleeping or staring blankly at the walls, trying not to think (thinking means remembering and Sara can’t handle it). Eventually, she tries not sleeping, too. Sleeping means not-thinking, but it also means waking up, and for a tiny, miniscule moment after she wakes, Sara forgets that she won’t ever see get to make Mila tea in the morning again, and everything’s okay. But then she remembers, and remembering hurts so much it’s not worth the relief sleep brings. So she tries not to sleep and tries not to think and only eats when she remembers to. It’s not healthy, but it helps, so Sara pretends like it’s okay.
(She turns off her phone. It’s just easier not to talk to people.)
She spends a week and a half like this, not dead but not really living, either. She would’ve spent longer, she thinks, if not for Yuri.
Sara wakes up from a (unintentional) mid-afternoon nap to the sound of an angry banging at her bedroom door. When she doesn’t answer it, the pounding doesn’t stop. It occurs to her that she should probably be concerned that someone is in her apartment, but she lacks the energy to feel fear, a direct result of how devoid of sleep and sustenance she is in her current state, so she opens the door (maybe it will make the noise stop) and finds Yuri Plisetsky on the other side.
“Why haven’t you been answering your phone, dumbass?!”
Sara blinks. She just feels so tired , and it’s as if everything has slowed down. Yuri’s sudden attack doesn’t help, and it takes her longer than it should to process his statement. “What?” She winces when she hears herself, her voice rough after being unused for a while. The blond skater sighs, and deliberately emphasizes each word when he repeats his question: “Why. Haven’t. You. Been. Answering. Your. Phone. Dumbass.” Feeling a twinge of annoyance, the purple-eyed skater responds in the same manner, saying, “It’s. Turned. Off.” “Why?” Yuri asks, genuine curiosity masked by irritation. Sara only shrugs in response. She doesn’t know how to explain the mess of emotions she feels.
The blond skater sighs again, but doesn’t question it further. He takes a moment to observe her, to see the changes that’ve occurred since he saw her last. “You haven’t been sleeping. Or eating,” says Yuri. It’s not a question and something that sounds a little like anger weaves itself in his words. Sara shrugs and replies, “Well I was napping before you barged in. How’d you even get here anyways?” “I had a key,” he says flatly. “But let’s go back to the you not sleeping or eating thing. Why aren’t you taking care of yourself?”
Sara tries to think of an answer, of something worth saying. Nothing comes to mind though, and as the silence in between them grows, so does Yuri’s anger, until finally, the skater snaps.
“Well answer me, goddammit!” Sara looks at the floor. “Mi-” she begins, but is cut off when Yuri growls, “Don’t you dare say it’s because of her.” She doesn’t have anything to say in response, and it only makes Yuri madder. “Don’t you dare say it’s because of her death. Because you killed her, and you’re the only reason she’s not here right now. All you had to do was love her. You just had to love her to save her and you didn’t . Everything that’s happening right now? It’s your fault. And you know what? She died for her love for you, so don’t you dare throw that away now.”
The Italian skater doesn’t realize she’s crying until the fury in Yuri’s expression is dimmed, replaced by poorly-concealed worry. “Sara…?” He says quietly. “I didn’t mean to mak-”
“But you’re right!” Sara bursts out. “She died because of me! But I didn’t want her to die and I tried to love her; I wanted to love her! But it didn’t work and I don’t know why, because she was the only person I could ever even imagine spending the rest of my life with. I thought I loved her. I thought it was enough. But now she’s gone and it wasn’t enough then and it isn’t enough now and I just can’t remember anything and she’s gone and what if I jus-” A fresh wave of tears racks her body, and she curls up into herself, unable to talk through the tears. Yuri stands awkwardly in front of her, unsure if he should try to comfort her or let her cry it out. A pair of arms suddenly wraps around her then, and Sara pulls away in surprise. It’s not Yuri; it’s Yuuri . Spinning around, it’s only then that she realizes that somehow, her fellow skaters under Yakov’s tutelage have piled into the apartment.
“What are you guys doing here…?” Sara asks, suddenly incredibly aware of how thick her voice is. She wipes away a stray tear. Victor gives a sheepish smile, and says, “Well, we were going to surprise you with food but Yuri got here before us,” shooting a glare at the smaller skater as he tries to explain. “When we got here, the door was unlocked so we let ourselves in-” “Sorry about that!” Yuuri pipes up. “-and we got here in the middle of your conversation,” finishes Victor.
“I’m guessing you don’t want to talk about it too much?” Georgi asks gently, when the food has been safely stored in the fridge and everyone is squashed into the kitchen. Sara nods, not trusting herself to speak and not immediately dissolve into tears again. “We don’t have to talk about it,” Victor says, “but I want you to know that none of us blame you for what happened to Mila.” Everyone affirms his statement, even Yuri, who looks remorseful, possibly due to the lecture Georgi has been discreetly delivering to him. True to Victor’s words, they don’t say anymore about the subject, and just do their best to enjoy each other’s company.
(It’s hard to ignore the fact that Georgi isn’t wearing any of his usual make up, that Victor and Yuuri cling to each other more than usual, that sometimes Yuri has to hide his face behind his hair. But at least they’re trying to pretend everything’s okay, right? And if they can do it, maybe Sara can, too.)
A month after Mila’s death, Sara still feels awful. She still can’t sleep in Mila’s old room like she used to. She still can’t remember exactly what Mila’s last words to her were and she still hasn’t stepped foot on the ice again. Sara never makes tea anymore and she hates violet tulips now. But she’s trying to take care of herself and she even called Mickey the other day, so she’s mending. Things might be okay again.
Sara meets Mila Babicheva, and loves too late.
Two months after Mila’s death, Sara feels slightly better. Today, she even feels well enough to go to the park. Gazing at the blue blue sky, it hits her suddenly, that Mila would’ve loved a day like this. The thought brings a sad smile, and surprisingly, a cough as well. Feeling something drift from her mouth, Sara catches it in her hands, and brings it closer to her face, so she can see it better. Somehow, she’s not surprised at what she finds in her cupped hands. Dropping her hands to her sides, Sara walks on and doesn’t look back.
(A single red petal falls to the ground.)