Love is a Battlefield (Yuri!!! On Ice - Otayuri)

Chapter 7: Shut Up and Dance With Me

A/N: My apologies for the delay. This chapter proved more difficult than I'd anticipated, and I had an annoying possibly-migraine-related-episode-thing that left me unable to use my hands for a week, which delayed any writing and typing. I really need to find some good dictation software for next time this happens. Anyway. I hope you enjoy the conclusion to this little tale.

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Yuri POV

"Morning Grandpa, Beka," Yuri yawned, slumping into his chair at the table.

"Morning," Beka replied, sliding a plate of potatoes and sausages in front of him. It smelled divine, and Yuri dug in with more enthusiasm than he'd been able to muster in days.

He'd been tossing and turning until dawn, wrestling with the impossible situation they found themselves in. He knew Grandpa was steadily improving, and that they'd soon have to make decisions that he desperately wanted to put off. He didn't know what he would do, where he would go; only that he couldn't bear to return to St. Petersburg. He dreaded having to share Beka with Mila, dreaded losing him to her even more. No. He'd have to go somewhere else - the only question was where. As for skating... Well. Maybe he could sweet talk Lilia into referring him to a ballet studio. Somewhere far away from Beka, and everything he'd lost. Somewhere like —

"Yuratchka."

Yuri suddenly realized that Grandpa had been trying to get his attention, and he felt his cheeks heat. "Yes, Grandpa? I'm sorry - I didn't hear..."

Grandpa snorted. "Evidently. I was just asking Otabek here if he'd drive us all down to the rink this afternoon. I've never seen him skate, and I'd love to see your routines in person."

The blood rushed from Yuri's face, and he felt faint. His ears rang, and he was having trouble focusing. The room went blurry, and he couldn't get enough air, and—

"Yura!" Beka's hands closed protectively around his shoulders and he took his weight, supporting and anchoring him. Yuri drew in a shaky breath, and then another, and the ringing in his ears faded as the room shivered back into focus.

"Thanks," he said softly, shrugging his shoulders until Beka's hands reluctantly slipped off. He glanced up through the curtain of his bangs and deflated at the hopeful look on Grandpa's face. How was he supposed to explain that he was never skating again, now? "I don't..." he started, not sure where he was going with it, since the only thing he could say wasn't an option. "That is..."

"It would mean so much to me, Yuratchka," Grandpa said, smiling that rare hopeful smile, and damn, Yuri couldn't deny him that.

"I — hell. Why not?" he said, defeated. "We'll go this afternoon."

"Yura—" Beka started, but Grandpa cut him off.

"No, no, Yuratchka," he said. "You've not been skating at all since you've been here, nor has Beka, here. I'll not have you hurt yourselves on my account."

For just a moment, Yuri allowed himself to hope that he'd escape the humiliation of skating with - in front of - Beka... but then Grandpa continued, blithely ignoring his distress.

"You'll just have to get back to practicing, work up to it. A week or so should do it, right Yuratchka?"

Yuri gave up, submitting to whatever forces were determined to break him. "Yeah, sure."

"Great!" Grandpa beamed at him, and the last vestiges of his resistance fell away. He couldn't deny him, not when he'd been so much better lately.

Beka patted his shoulder, in a gesture that was probably meant to be reassuring, but only sent tension sparking and fizzing though his blood.