Work Text:
There was nothing more nerve-wracking than competing in the Olympics – not only for the athletes, but for the coaches, too. Yakov had attended seven of them – once as a competitor for the former USSR, and six more as a coach – and it never seemed to get any easier. So much rode on that opportunity that came along once every four years. Every competitive skater dreamed of winning Olympic gold, sacrificing so much of their life to train for that elusive goal, but, in the end, only one would stand atop the podium and hear their national anthem play.
This year was even worse than usual, as Yakov had four skaters competing in Pyeongchang. If he left South Korea with any of his already thinning hair intact, he would consider it a miracle. He didn’t have to worry about Mila tonight, thank goodness, as the ladies’ event didn’t begin until next week, but he coached all three Russians who were competing in the men’s event.
Georgi and Viktor had already skated their free programs. Georgi wasn’t considered a podium threat, but he had skated very well, seemingly at peace with the fact that surpassing his lifelong rival Viktor would never be in the cards. He had informed Yakov that he intended to retire after the Olympics at the beginning of the season, so he was pleased to see Georgi end his competitive career on a high note, satisfied with his performances. Yakov had a feeling the team gold he had won earlier with Yuri and Mila when Viktor had decided to sit out the team event in favor of solely coaching Yuuri Katsuki for Team Japan had lifted much of the pressure off Georgi’s shoulders.
As for Viktor, he had been brilliant as usual, of course, although not quite good enough to keep the lead after his own pupil and fiancé, who had just finished skating quite possibly the finest Olympic men’s free skate of all time, received his scores, smashing his own world record. The crowd’s cheers had yet to die down when Yuri took the ice, the last to skate.
Damn it, I knew it was bad luck when Yura drew the last spot, Yakov thought, noticing the way Yuri was uncharacteristically fidgeting, tugging at the sleeves of his elegant black lace costume and fussing with his ponytail. Yuri already knew he had dug himself into a hole with the step-out on the triple axel in his short program, leaving him in third. At least if he had skated his free before Viktor and Yuuri, he could believe that he still had a slim chance at the gold, that the other two might make enough mistakes to drop behind him in the standings, but hearing Yuuri’s score, Yuri had to realize that gold was out of reach. Even if he skated perfectly, he simply didn’t have the base value to overtake Yuuri with no jumps harder than a quad salchow in his arsenal.
“Yura, look at me,” Yakov said, Yuri for once obeying him the first time he was asked. The look in his green eyes was far from the fierce “Ice Tiger of Russia” he knew so well, reminding Yakov more of a lost kitten. No matter how tough Yuri acted, at heart, he was still only a sixteen year old boy, competing at the biggest, most important competition of them all. “Don’t do anything reckless. Stick to what you’ve been practicing, and you will make the podium.”
“But if I switch the program around –”
“The program is fine as is,” Lilia declared. Yakov had almost forgotten his ex-wife – and Yuri’s free skate choreographer – was there, standing beside him at the boards. “Changing the order of your elements will only ruin the integrity of the piece.”
Some of the usual Yuri returned, his eyes narrowing as he glared at Lilia. “This is the Olympics, not the fuc–”
His curse got cut off by the announcement of his name, signaling that it was time for him to get into position. Yuri blew his nose, then tossed the crumpled tissue over the barrier, ignoring Yakov’s and Lilia’s final words of encouragement before skating to the center of the ice to take his position.
Sighing, Yakov bent down to retrieve the used tissue and tossed it in a nearby trash can.
“Do you think he will be okay?” Lilia asked, arms crossed over her chest as an Astor Piazzola tango started playing. To a casual observer, she would probably appear calm and collected, almost disinterested, as she watched Yuri begin to skate his program, yet, after so many years together, Yakov knew her well enough to know it was the exact opposite. From the way her manicured nails dug into the puffy fabric of her coat to the tenseness in her jaw, Lilia was very much invested in Yuri’s performance.
He grunted. “Your guess is as good as – Damn it!”
Watching Yuri pop his opening quad salchow – his favorite jump – into a triple, Yakov hit his fist against the top of the barrier. Almost six points lost in base value, and the program had barely begun! At least it was a good triple, worthy of at least +2 G.O.E. due to his Tano arm variation and difficult transitions into it, but Yuri could not afford to make any more mistakes like that if he hoped to remain in podium contention.
“Come on, boy,” he muttered to himself. “Get your head back in the game. Don’t be stupid. Stick to the plan.”
It would be just like Yuri to try for the solo quad salchow again in the second half of his program, hoping the extra ten percent bonus would help make up for the earlier mistake. If it had been any other competition, Yakov might have been in favor of it, but Yuri had three more quads (including another quad salchow in combination) planned for the second half, already a lot to ask of him when he didn’t have the stamina of Katsuki. It was too much of a risk, with little to gain. Silver was out of reach, too.
Yuri glanced over at Yakov and Lilia as he did some crossovers near the spot where they stood. The lost look had returned to his eyes.
Yakov shook his head. It was either the bronze or nothing. He needed to play it safe.
With a curt nod of understanding, Yuri turned his concentration back to his skating, then landed a beautiful triple axel, the jump that he had flubbed in the short program. Yakov breathed a sigh of relief.
It was only then that he realized that somebody was holding his hand.
He looked to his left. Lilia was still focused on watching Yuri, her sharp eyes taking note of his every move, yet she had relaxed her arms, her slender fingers threading with Yakov’s as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
At one time, it was.
He wondered if she even realized she was doing it, or if she had simply fallen back into old habits, reminded of another Olympics when they had watched another talented teenager skate for gold.
Yakov shook his head, turning his attention back to Yuri. This was no time to reminisce of happier times. He needed to concentrate on his skater.
Perhaps the popped salchow was a blessing in disguise. From that point on, Yuri skated with attack, his intensity a perfect match for the tango music. It wasn’t perfect – his footwork had been sloppy, and he had perhaps slightly two-footed his triple loop – yet Yakov was proud of him. Yuri never gave up, even knowing he had no chance of winning. That determination would bode well for his competitive future.
As Yuri took his bows at center ice, Yakov and Lilia released their hands, sharing a private smile while they joined in the audience’s appreciative applause. They met him over at the gate, Lilia handing Yuri his bright purple skate guards as he stepped off the ice.
“Damn it!” Yuri swore before Yakov could say anything. “Yeah, I know, I know. I fucked up the quad sal.”
“Language, Yuri Nikolayevich. There are cameras,” Lilia said.
If it was anybody else, Yuri would have rolled his eyes and probably flipped them off for good measure, but Lilia somehow was the only adult the boy actually listened to, with the possible exception of his grandfather. He frowned at the scolding but didn’t talk back, accepting his warm-up coat from Yakov and putting in on over his costume.
“Anyway, other than that, how did I do? Do you think it was enough to at least beat that assho–” He glanced over at Lilia, who raised an eyebrow, and corrected himself. “I mean, that jerk, JJ Leroy?”
Lilia smoothed down a few flyaway hairs from Yuri’s ponytail, the faintest hint of a smile on her lips.“I still say that a balletic piece would have suited you better, but the tango… It was not bad.” High praise indeed, coming from Lilia.
“Yeah, you did good, Yura,” Yakov said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s get your scores.
He led Yuri over to the nearby Kiss-and-Cry. As only coaches were allowed to sit with their pupils at the Olympics, Lilia had to stay behind.
Truth was, Yakov wasn’t sure if it would be enough to beat Leroy. The Canadian champ had shockingly fallen on his trademark quad Lutz and stumbled out of a bad triple axel, but he had still started with a bigger base value than Yuri, the gap which became larger with the popped salchow. It would be a close call, especially considering how close they were after the short program, less than a point apart. Yuri’s free program and spins were better than Leroy’s, in Yakov’s opinion, but the judges tended to love Leroy’s huge jumps and excellent skating skills, inherited from his Olympic champion ice dancer parents.
“You should’ve let me go for the damn quad lutz,” Yuri said as they sat down on the bench provided. “If I had that, then maybe –”
“Next season,” Yakov promised. “Learning a new jump when you’re in the middle of a growth spurt is idiotic and dangerous.”
“Whatever.” Yuri gulped down some water from the bottle Yakov handed him, then sighed. “Why aren’t you yelling at me for fucking up the sal?” he asked in a softer voice, twirling the bottle between his hands.
“You know you made a mistake.” Scooting closer to Yuri, Yakov wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Look, there’s always 2022,” he reminded Yuri. “You’re only sixteen, about to be seventeen next month. There’s still plenty of time for you to win an individual gold.”
“Yeah, I guess…”
He must have been more upset than Yakov first imagined. Normal Yuri would have shrugged his arm away, brushing off his attempt at comfort with harsh words and faked bravado. Instead, he was discreetly wiping back tears with the palm of his hand, shaking his head when Yakov offered him a tissue. Uncertain how to deal with a Yuri like that, Yakov patted his back a couple of times, then looked up at the screen where the leaderboard was posted.
The scores are taking too long, he thought with a frown. That was almost never a good sign. That meant the tech panel was reviewing some of his elements, making certain Yuri had fully rotated his jumps and received the correct levels on his spins and step sequence. It was the step sequence that worried Yakov the most. Yuuri Katsuki had been helping Yuri improve his edges by teaching him old-fashioned compulsory figures, but it was like he had forgotten everything the other Yuuri had taught him while out on the ice. Definitely not Level 4 material, maybe not even good enough for Level 3.
“We’ll work on the step sequence for Worlds,” Yakov said.
Yuri nodded. He seemed to appreciate getting some criticism.
A couple of seconds later, his scores were finally announced. “The free skate score for Yuri Plisetsky of Russia is 208.59. He has earned an overall total of 312.75, and he is in…”
Third place. Bronze, by just a hair. Only seven hundredths of a point separated him from Jean-Jacques Leroy, who had beaten Yuri in the free skate.
He stood and forced a smile to his face as he waved to the audience, but the smile disappeared as soon as they left the Kiss-and-Cry, Yuri shoving the tiger plush he had been clinging to into Yakov’s arms before storming off backstage. His best friend Otabek Altin, who had ended up in sixth place behind Christophe Giacometti, followed after him.
“Yura, wait, get back –”
Someone placed a hand on his arm. “Let him be,” Lilia said in a soft, yet firm, voice. “Best to let him get it all out of his system before the medal ceremony later tonight.”
“But the press will want –”
“I think the press is otherwise preoccupied at the moment…”
She nodded her head toward Yuuri and Viktor a few feet away. The new gold and silver Olympic medalists were being interviewed by a mob of reporters, Viktor bragging about how beautiful Yuuri’s free skate was and how amazing their upcoming wedding in Hasetsu, Japan was going to be. Beside him, Yuuri had yet to lose the look of disbelief on his face since he realized he had won the gold, only saying a few words here and there when prompted.
Watching Viktor talking so animatedly with the journalists, a sparkle in his eye that had been missing the past couple of seasons, Yakov scoffed. “That idiot is the happiest silver medalist I’ve ever seen.”
Lilia arched an eyebrow. “Bitter that none of your students took the gold?”
“No.” He sighed, stuffing his free hand into his jacket. “Vitya… He’s not such a bad coach, after all.”
“Well, he learned from the best.”
Yakov grunted, leaning back against the wall. “Maybe at one time.”
An image of Yuri fighting back tears in the Kiss-and-Cry flashed in his mind. Maybe he should have let Yuri train the quad lutz like he wanted. He’d been too cautious in his strategy, knowing full well that Yuri would have no chance at gold unless Viktor and the other Yuuri made mistakes. The lutz would have been risky, but…
The feel of Lilia’s lips pressing against his cheek took him by surprise, Yakov’s eyes widening.
“No, you’re still the best, Yashen’ka.”
Stunned, he brought a hand to his cheek. “Lilyenka?”
She brought a fist to her mouth, softly clearing her throat. “We should have a drink together – tonight, after the medal ceremony,” she suggested. “My treat.”
“Y-Yeah, that’s sounds good,” Yakov said, unable to hold back a grin. “Really good.”
Maybe tonight wasn’t such a loss after all.