Chapter Text
Mari doesn’t know when she stumbled into the family habit of being too clever for their own good, but it probably has something to do with that time she rather crassly told Councilor Hashimoto what for that time he’d been sighing about some bill or another over a bottle of sake in the dining room. She’d paid attention in her government courses and watched the news semi-religiously since it always came on during her shifts at the bar, but apparently was the only one really understanding the intricacies of her own country’s government.
A week later she sees Councilor Hashimoto on the news, reporters praising the thought that must have gone into his new bill.
A day after that, she receives a bouquet of flowers with an unsigned thank you card attached.
It becomes a habit, after that, and the number of businessmen and high-profiling political figures that come through the doors of Yutopia Katsuki make the neighbors wonder if the Katsuki’s have started working for the Yakuza and Mari would laugh at that if she didn’t have all the local wakagashira on speed dial “in case you need anything Mari-dono” but that’s neither here nor there, really. She’s just a Katsuki doing what Katsukis do best. She knows for a fact that her father’s been playing the stock market like a fiddle and giving most of what he earns from those deals back to local charities. Her mother, though she married into the deal, could probably beat Bobby Flay if she so wished – the world of Top Chefs and Iron Chefs is lucky she prefers onsen life, in Mari’s humble opinion.
Yuuri, though, Yuuri’s gift is smothered under layers and layers of anxiety and other interests. The kid could probably be an astrophysicist if he so chose but instead he turns his interests towards the ice. “There’s physics in figure skating, too, Mari,” he says one day as they both walk home from the rink. He’s been applying to colleges in America, hoping to take Celestino Cialdini up on his coaching offer next year. “I mean, jumps and spins are all about angles of entry and exit, inertia and velocity and momentum, it’s… thrilling.”
Yuuri’s face is bright and shining, but Mari can’t help but smirk. “Not as thrilling as seeing Viktor Nikiforov do it, though,” she says, and Yuuri sputters, face flaming red with embarrassment. But he nods, shyly, and Mari can’t hold back from ruffling his hair.
“You’ll get there, little bro,” she says. “How’s that essay going?”
And Yuuri groans, embarrassment over Viktor forgotten for his embarrassment over his truly horrendous writing abilities. “I could tell them all about the exact amount of force needed to complete a perfect triple axel, but I have no idea what life experiences I’ve had that will make me a good fit for their college. What does that even mean?”
Mari snorts, drawing out a cigarette and lighting up as they wait at a crosswalk. Her little brother, going off to America. Damn, she’s so proud.
She’s… not less proud of her brother when he comes back home from America, but she’s definitely more concerned. She knows that Vicchan’s death was her fault and in a way therefore so was Yuuri’s loss at the Grand Prix Final, but she knows her brother too well to think he’d blame her for either of those. In all likelihood, he’s only blaming himself.
“It’s my fault,” he says later that night when she finds him sat in front of Vicchan’s memorial, she stands silently by the doorway and just listens. “If I had called more, or come back, maybe he wouldn’t have kept trying to run out and find me. I want to be angry at the car driver, because in most of the simulations I’ve run in my head the only way to have done that much damage to a healthy dog of Vicchan’s age and size is to have been going way beyond the speed-limit but I just can’t help thinking that it’s still my fault. Vicchan went looking for me. If I hadn’t left him alone for so long then maybe…”
And Mari sighs, stepping into the room to sit beside her baby brother and put a consoling hand on his trembling shoulder. “Vicchan wasn’t alone, Yuuri,” she says because it’s true. “He had me and mom and dad and everyone in the onsen looking after him and loving him just like you did. He missed you, sure, but you can’t shoulder all of the blame like that. I was the one watching him, it was my choice not to put him on a leash. Had I taken him out five minutes earlier, or five minutes later, or put him on a leash, or noticed that he’d gotten into the road, then Vicchan would still be here.”
Yuuri takes a shuddering breath, and Mari can do nothing but try her best to keep him from falling apart at the seams. “It does neither of us any good to worry about what-ifs, Yuuri,” she says. “What’s been has been, and now we need to move on.”
Yuuri takes a hiccupping, sobbing breath before he turns and collapses into her lap, sobbing his eyes out into the front of her shirt. She wonders as she strokes her fingers through his hair whether or not he’s truly let himself fall apart since he heard the news. The grip of his hands on the fabric at her back suggests that maybe he hasn’t, maybe he’s been grieving without release for months and her heart breaks for him.
“It’s alright, Yuuri,” she says softly, “it’s alright. Let it all out and then start fresh, Vicchan would’ve wanted you to smile.”
Yuuri sobs louder, but the line of his shoulders relaxes ever so slightly.
Mari will take what she can get.
A few days later, as she talks LGBT+ rights with Councilor Miyamura, she hears a scream from the hot springs and wonders vaguely if anyone thought to tell Yuuri that Viktor Nikiforov was in there.
“Anyway, Councilor,” she says as the voices down the hall become increasingly concerned-sounding, “you should really consider pushing for this. I know a lot of legislators who would gladly support you, but you’ve gotta be the one to make the first move.”
Viktor Nikiforov is not what Mari expects. She finds she doesn’t mind that much.
She also finds him halfway to drunk off his ass one evening when she comes into the dining room on her way to put up the last load of folded laundry. He looks up when she walks in but his attention is quickly reclaimed by the laptop in front of him and the very familiar figure skating across the screen.
When she comes back through his head is in his hands and she figures what the hell, Viktor Nikiforov’s problems couldn’t possibly be harder to figure out than Japan’s current socio-political climate. In the end, Viktor makes the first move, looking up as she sits down across from him with a look of bewildered anguish across his otherwise pristine features. Dammit if Mari doesn’t want to know what he uses to keep his skin so smooth.
“I don’t understand,” Viktor says, and yeah, Mari could’ve figured that out on her own, but she senses more to follow and stays quiet. “He’s practically flawless in practices, nailing jumps that even I don’t have a 100% accuracy on like it’s nothing but you put him in front of the smallest crowd and poof! All that talent, just gone up in smoke.”
Mari nods. This is not news to her either. “He gets sucked into his own head,” she says, but Viktor just sighs explosively.
“I know that,” he says. “Everyone and their Minako won’t shut up about Yuuri’s anxieties and I may be ditsy sometimes but I’m not stupid. It just… feels like more than that.” He tinkers with his laptop for a bit, turning the screen so that she’s faced with a still of Yuuri mid-jump. Viktor points at his face and says, “That’s not the face of a man whose thoughts aren’t focused. I know what that looks like, I’ve been pouring over hours of footage with that face. This face, though, it’s like he’s… like he’s too focused.”
Mari hums and nods because it’s true and she’s really fucking impressed that Viktor picked up on it. Viktor himself just scowls at the screen a bit more, apparently satisfied with having ranted about his confusion to someone willing to listen, but Mari’s decided that while he may not be a Katsuki by blood, he’s at least showing signs of being clever enough to be welcomed into the fold.
“Viktor,” she says. “There’s something you need to know.”
Yuuri wakes up the next morning with a very excited Russian on his chest bouncing up and down in what he assumes to be excitement. “Yuuri!!” he screeches, “why didn’t you tell me you had a Ph.D in… what did Mari call it…”
“Applied Physics and Kinetics,” Yuuri automatically supplies, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he sits up. “Wait, why were you talking with Mari about my degrees?”
“Because I needed to figure out the face!” Viktor says, as if that explains anything, before – thankfully – going on to explain it. “You make a face when your skating sucks that isn’t your Anxious Face and I couldn’t figure out what it was! Mari helped me! It’s your Physics Face!”
Yuuri blinks. “I guess I do have a tendency to overthink my starting speed and angle of entry so much that a botch everything else…” He blinks again. “Huh. I never thought about that.”
Viktor nods, triumphant, and throws his arms around Yuuri’s neck. “You Katsuki’s are all geniuses, aren’t you,” he says, and Yuuri is helpless but to agree.
“Yeah,” he says, hand coming up to pat Viktor on the back. “I guess so.”