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"I can't fucking believe you," Yuri said. "'He's trying his best?' Freakin' really?"
"Well, you were," Mila said. "I mean, what was I supposed to say? 'He's fallen twice, let's hope it's not a third time?'"
"Don't condescend to me, hag. Just because you're not on the fucking ice any more--"
"I'm supposed to be diplomatic," she said. "I can't say the Ice Tiger of Russia looks more like the House Cat of Russia, can I? Besides, it was just your short. You can pull it together tomorrow. You usually do."
Usually he didn't fall on his ass at all, much less three fucking times. "If you talk like that tomorrow--"
"I won't talk like that tomorrow," Mila said. "Because you're not going to skate like that. I'm surprised Yakov didn't beat you to a pulp with his cane."
Yakov had, as always, confined himself to yelling, but he had turned bright tomato red. Yuri knew he deserved it. He just hadn't been able to pull it together. The music got ahead of him, his feet refused to land right, and his takeoffs had been garbage. Everyone knew it. He was lucky that Mila had been as generous as she had been.
Still. Trying his best. Fucking insulting.
"It wasn't my best," he said.
"It was the best you could do on the ice that day," she said. "Don't try to tell me you weren't fighting out there."
"Yeah, what would you have said if I'd fucking told somebody you were doing your best?"
She paused. "Okay. You might have a point there."
"I'm right and you know it."
She paused. "Okay," she said. "You want me to make it up to you?"
He stood there for a second, his arms crossed over his chest. "Fine," he said.
Mila liked working for Telesport. Mostly people liked what she said on the air, even Yuri. The only time it really felt stressful was if one of her old friends or rinkmates were struggling.
And Yuri had certainly struggled on the ice. Age was catching up with him the same way it had caught up with her, but he still had a few good years left, or so she'd thought. He'd gotten shaken up early in the routine, though, and never got it back. By the third time he hit the ice, she'd felt her own heart beating too fast. She'd willed him to pull it together, to just get the final seconds right, but it never happened. When the final scores were in, he was twenty points down and well below what he should have been. Rostelecom was supposed to be the easy one, but it'd be a miracle if he got on the podium.
But she'd seen Yuri pull off miracles before. She still remembered his senior debut, collapsed and sobbing on the ice, one world record shattered behind him and more to come, when no one had guessed how much strength and dedication he could find inside himself. He was older now, though. Now the miracles hurt. And so did the falls. She saw the way Yuri winced as he walked to their table, the stiff way he held himself when he sat down. She knew those pains all too well.
She missed the ice sometimes, but she didn't miss that part. Not one bit.
Yuri didn't want to retire yet, and Mila knew that. He'd cut his own arm off to win one more time. She'd always loved that about him, even when she'd teased him about it. Especially when she'd teased him, honestly. He'd get so angry he puffed up just like a cat.
Not that she'd tease him now. He was too raw. He hadn't ever teased her when it had been this bad, either. There were lines.
"So," she said. "Bad day on the ice, or something else."
"Grandpa," he said. "He's--he's okay. He just fell, and it's a sprain, and he'll be fine, but--" He paused as the waiter came. She ordered a salad--the pasta looked good, but she couldn't quite bring herself to eat it in front of Yuri--and Yuri had chicken and steamed vegetables.
"Just a sprain?" she said, when their privacy was more or less restored.
"Yeah," Yuri said. "But--that means he's not here. And I just...I know he's getting weaker. I know he doesn't want to admit it, but--"
"It's scary," Mila said. "I'm sorry."
She'd met Yuri's grandfather a few times, but she'd almost always seen him at Rostelecom, cheering from the sidelines or wrapping Yuri up in a bear hug. Yuri had always lit up when he saw his grandfather; he looked more like his own age, less driven. Happier. Nikolai Plisetsky had always been Yuri's rock. No wonder he'd been so shaken today.
"I'm going to take an extra day after and go see him," he said. "He says not to, but--"
"No," she said. "You should. He'll be happy to see you, and you'll feel better if you see him."
"Yeah," Yuri admitted. "I will."
"And you remember to ice all that tonight," she said. "You're not as young as you used to be, all those falls are going to hurt like a bitch in the morning."
He sighed. "I know, Hag. I know."
She grinned. He never had liked being babied. She figured poking that independent streak might get his spirit back up a little. "Well, you always told it to me when I'd had a fall."
He sighed. "Yeah. I did."
She had to tease him a little for that. "Not so easy now you're the old skater, huh, brat?"
He flipped her off, just as a well-dressed couple went by. Mila was pretty sure the woman wearing the fur coat was a sponsor. Oh well, if they weren't used to Yuri being an obnoxious brat by now they hadn't been paying attention.
"Trying," he muttered. "Fuck."
"You don't want people talking about your career, retire," she snapped. "You don't want to retire, quit complaining." She smiled at that. "If you're capable of shutting up, that is."
"I don't have to sit here and take your crap."
"I'm paying, remember?"
A decade ago he would have stormed out, free meal or not. He flipped her off again instead.
She smirked. Pissing Yuri off was still a good way to get his competitive spirit going. Hell, she'd beat him arm wrestling if she thought it would fix his FS.
"You know, you don't have to bully me into getting it together tomorrow."
Mila shrugged. "It's always worked before."
He shook his head.
"I miss teasing you," she said. "It was always so easy."
"I'll be all right tomorrow," he said. "I just got in my own head. You don't have to--baby me."
"I've never babied you."
He opened his mouth to tell her off, but she was right, and she stared him right back down.
"You're younger than me. I didn't pretend we were the same age. That's not the same thing."
A little fight went out of him at that.
"I've been there," she said. "You know I have. It doesn't mean I think you're a baby."
For a second, he looked like the preteen she'd first met, angry and beautiful and in way, way over his head. But he wasn't as angry any more, and he sure wasn't in over his head. And he was still beautiful.
Not that she was dumb enough to tell him that.
"Okay," he said. "I mean. Thanks for...trying, I guess."
"You're still my rinkmate," she said. "Always."
"Yeah," he said. "And you're still bossy."
They didn't talk about skating much after that. There was too much other stuff to catch up on, including the latest gossip at the rink and on the international scene. They both had different information now, and it was fun to compare notes. He had cheered up some by the time the food came, and by the time they had coffee they had moved on to Victor and Yuuri, now semi-retired in Hatsetsu and working on some kind of exhibition project that neither of them could make sense of.
By the time they walked back to the hotel, Yuri was still walking carefully, but he wasn't as tense. "Thanks, Baba," he said, when he left her at the door to her room. "You were right. I needed that."
"I know," she said, and winked at him. She disappeared into her room before he could start yelling at her. She figured that was as much as she could do.
Still, the next day when he smashed one more world record and won gold by the skin of his teeth--.4 points, to be exact--she did feel pretty good about it. (And maybe a little smug when, as Yuri took the podium, she said: "At the end of the day, all we can do is try our best. It's just that Yuri's best can be beyond the rest of his competitors.")