The crisped cool December air in Hasetsu left a rueful taste of nostalgia. It wasn't as cold as Russia. No, - 10 degrees Celsius was nothing compared to what Rodina (Motherland) could be like on a day like today.

St. Petersburg would be a winter wonderland blanketed in thick powdery snow by now.

Mila, Georgi and the others would be messing around in the rink, doing stunts they would never otherwise be allowed to do unsupervised. Paying little to no attention to them, Yuri would mutter darkly at their foolish antics while he diligently practices his jumps at one corner.

And in the instance, they would least expect, Yakov would come thundering down on them, making everyone scramble in a mad, helter-skelter fashion while laughing merrily to escape from his reach.

He remembered it like it was yesterday. But he was pretty sure nothing much would have changed in his absence as a pensive smile tugged at his lips.

As inspiring and exciting it has been in Japan, he wouldn't lie and say he did not miss Russia. Especially on a day such as this, - when Christmas is observed worldwide, reminiscence of his earlier years with his rinkmates would try to sneak into his thoughts.

When Yakov was still married to Lilia Baranovskaya, she would serve a feast like no other on this day, although technically the Russian Christmas was not celebrated until the 7th of January. How he missed her juicy oven roasted Buzhenina.

Not that there was anything wrong with Katsudon, but after a while his taste buds would long for the familiar taste of a hearty beef Stroganoff.

The lesser-known gluttonous side of him salivated as the platinum grey haired living legend mentally ticked off an invisible list of food he missed so dearly while making his way to Hasetsu Ice Castle.

'Coulibiac... Pelmeni... Borscht...' happily he counted off.

Yet out of complete nowhere, - 'Medovik...' was thrown into list.

Viktor Nikiforov came to an abrupt halt as the mental note pulled a heartstring that he never thought still hurts. He should have long forgotten by now, when he last had the Russian honey cake. Still, the bittersweet memory was adamant not to fade with time. Not even after 7 long years.

And today, of all days.

Slender fingers clenched at his chest over the dull ache at his heart.

'Vitya... you promised to let go and move on...'

Her voice; - even if only it was all in his head, hearing the familiar mellifluous voice disapproving with disappointment in him was truly too much to bear.

"I tried!" Like a mad man haunted by his own figments of memories, he argued back, "In 7 agonising years, I tried... Don't' say I didn't..."

It took him a second to realise he said those words out loud. It took him another second to catch onto the cloudiness in his eyes that threatened to spill.

'No, no more...' he scolded himself as he fought back the quivering start of a breakdown. Fisting his fingers tightly into a ball, he screwed his blue eyes shut; sealing away the tears he promised never to shed again.

Searching within for the discipline indoctrinated over the years, Viktor drew in slowly a shaky breath of cold air. Hardly the most effective method against anything but at the very least the chilliness numbed away the frazzled nerves.

Schooling himself again, the celebrated figure skater threw all thoughts into the wind as he stomped with ground-eating strides to the ice rink.

---------------

Viktor stretched his supple body to remove the stiff kinks as Mahler's Symphony No.5: Adagietto reverberate gradually across the rink.

Refusing to allow his mind to dwell in any thoughts further, he threw himself into a series of jumps.

'Starting with basics...'

Gliding effortlessly across the ice, with no pre-empt he launched the left forward outside edge...

'Triple axel,' - 3½ rotations in mid-air before landing skilfully on the right back outside edge with his arms lifted.

'Next...'

His signature Quadruple Flip; - forward outside 3 turns, reaching back to pick with the right foot to vault into a series of 4 rotations into the air. The gold blade of his left skates landed steadily on the back outside edge.

The platinum haired living legend went on with his routine jumps, combinations, spins and step sequence, getting lost in the familiar rhythm.

As Mahler came to an end, he was going to reach for the remote at the edge of the rink when the beginning of Schindler's List's main theme started.

Once again within the same day, Viktor found himself startled to a stop. It was also 7 years ago he last heard Itzhak Perlman's violin play to John Williams' haunting tunes.

He had no idea how this song made it to the current playlist. It had always stayed hidden in the long list of songs he had.

Yuuri must have accidentally hit shuffle, he concluded, - slightly annoyed.

However, even with the remote in his hands, the man just couldn't make himself stop the music.

Nor could he have stopped himself from being captivated into flitting across the ice to the program that was choreographed for this composition.

The very program he created with 'her'.

Hearing the song once again brewed a mix of complicated feelings within, but it could not be easier to lose himself in it.

'Just for today, Katya...' he unwillingly surrendered.

Like a reacquainting a long-forgotten memory, Viktor Nikiforov allowed himself this one reprieve as he allowed his body the move with the same practiced ease as though he last performed to this music yesterday.

---------------

7 years can be a very long time. But when memories refused to leave you, even a decade could not feel nearer.

Viktor Nikiforov was already in the limelight of the professional skating world, at the height of his fame. Creating history with his personal best scores, the young man was unbeatable at his game.

Yet, what everyone saw was merely the façade they wanted to see. Lost in the praise of his unrivalled talent, no one saw the beginning of depression sinking its claws into the man from all the stressed built up from no one else but himself. The expectation to surprise his audience, the perfectionist's need to execute with flawlessness; - all that was eating up the young man who barely turned 19.

Alone, he stared into nothingness at the edge of his home rink in St. Petersburg. He had tried all sorts of choreography, every technique he knew in his head to come up with even something he remotely thought interesting.

But nothing. His mind was completely blank of thoughts.

He should have been frustrated, however the physical stress he had been punishing himself with was taking a toll on his mind as well, that he could no longer feel joy, anger or even agony.

Just a deep abyss of desolation.

Emptiness. Nothingness.

Void.

...

Until a voice called out to him.

'Under the spotlight, you are brighter than a star. But you know what they say, the brightest star burns quickest although it's the most beautiful...'

Viktor remembered turning around to the voice to find 'her' sat cross-legged on the bench directly behind him.

Surprised to say the least, he had no idea how long she had been sat there. He didn't even realise he was not alone. Mentally, he had to slap himself for not noticing.

"Don't beat yourself up, Viktor Nikiforov," she added on, winking lightly at him.

"How did you...?"

He never got to finish asking his question how she knew who he was, but it had to be one of his dumber moments when she pointed behind her, - a fairly large promotional poster of him for the next season's Grand Prix.

"Oh..." Like a fish out of water, his mouth fell open into a perfectly formed 'o'. Dumb, but still perfect.

Humoured by his lack of higher brain functions, her laughter filled the silent ice rink.

Nevertheless annoyed, Viktor was hardly ever the subject of provocation.

"You do know that this rink is reserved for competition skaters,"

"I do," she replied almost too cheerfully for his taste.

One delicate brow rose into past his bangs, as though he was silently questioning her credentials.

"No, you silly goose..." she said knowingly, "I'm not a skater."

"But I do have permission to enter!" she quickly added on before he could toss her out, - holding up a pass for his inspection.

It was most definitely a name he recognised, - Lilia Baranovskaya.

"Lilia is my mentor. The last few months had been really tough so, she thought I could use a change of scenery. She didn't say the great Viktor Nikiforov was going to be here..." she explained, adding a slight hint of cheekiness to the last statement.

"But since you are here, why don't you give a lesson on all those beautiful jumps on the ice? I have a pair of skates here," Her enthusiasm was truly remarkable, even when faced with a balking Viktor at the thought of teaching someone else.

Whether she feigned ignorance or just plain oblivious, she went on putting on her skates and strolled eagerly with Viktor in tow, heading straight for the ice.

"Wai-" he was going to stop her from rushing headlong first. But as soon as they hit the smooth surface of ice, she slipped straight off her butt dragging him down with her!

While the young skater often kissed the ice, - one body part or the other from practicing jumps, - this was the first time in for as long as he could remember, that he slipped on ice just stepping into the rink!

"Do you even know how to skate?!!" he bellowed at her.

Yet, instead of apologetic tears, he was met with mirthful tears as she broke into fits of laughter.

To his horror, "No," she replied simply between laughter, without even an ounce of remorse.

But there was something in her jovial personality that was contagious, because any trace of anger or frustration he had before, faded with her laughs.

Chuckling at the mess of limbs they were in, "Come on," he said getting to his feet, before offering to help her up.

"Let's learn how to balance on ice first before we even talk about jumping..."

And that was the first time, Viktor Nikiforov - 19-year-old extraordinaire met Lilia Baranovskaya's 21-year-old Mariinsky Ballet dancer Katya Mikhaylova.

Since that fateful afternoon at the end of spring, Katya's petite form was a regular sight by the edge of the rink. She would sneak around hopping to catch Viktor off-guard, but often her familiar long, blond ponytail would give her away. And whenever they could, they would run away from practice to traipse all over town.

Yakov was fuming mad, to say the least, - but not even he had the heart to take away the joy that had returned to his star pupil.

The elderly coach was no blind man. He knew that the platinum-haired skater was slowly falling into a depression.

But while he was grateful for Katya's intervention and her involvement in improving Viktor's state of mind, competitions weren't going to wait till the duo finished frolicking around!

"Vitya! Have you finally decided on the song for the free program for next season's Grand Prix?!" the coach was close to blowing his tops with his prized student.

The un-repented one merely blinked his eyes in recollection of his forgetfulness, "I guess I forgot..." - rubbing the back of his head absentmindedly in his usual mock apology.

"Vitya!!!" Yakov knew all those screaming and shouting was getting nowhere with this child but he sure knew how to push his buttons!

Scurrying away before another lecture could start, Viktor skated across the rink, spinning around his other rink mates while he was at it before reaching Katya at the edge.

"Sheesh! Yakov can go on and on..." he grumbled under his breath while accepting a face towel from her.

"It's not like I don't understand where he's coming from... The assignments will be in before you know it."

Dragging the towel down his face, the young man sobered up, "It's not as if I hadn't been looking for the right music," he admitted, "But I just can't find the one that would resonate feelings in me to skate to."

Biting the corner of her rosy pink lips, her brows furrowed together as Katya contemplated with much deliberation.

"Katya... you have that constipated look. What is it?"

Even then, she pondered to herself a good half a minute before throwing her idea out there for his consideration, "I'm working on a piece privately, not for the Ballet - just because I happened to like the song. But strangely enough, the song might suit you."

"Oh?" An eyebrow rose enquiringly.

Her seriousness turned sassy, as she looked him with a twinkle of amusement in her eyes, "Tell me, - have you ever heard of Schindler's List?"

---------------

And that was how a world-classed ballerina and an Academy award winning original score became entwined with a platinum ice skating prodigy.

It never occurred to Viktor how easily it was for him to translate the haunting melodies into moves and elements he could relate to. While the whole world was waiting for an energetic and lively performance from him, he had the world moved to tears instead.

The beauty in the performance did not lie in the execution of his multiple quads, nor the fancy costume designed for it. No, - Viktor captured the very fundamentals of the song in the allure that lay hidden within the depression he understood so well.

To the sound of violin, he would glide on ice in search of solace that was never found. Golden blades would take off fluidly in axels, flips and loops with the flow of the masterpiece. A spread eagle, an outside Ina Bauer followed with little to no effort.

It wasn't often he performed a hydroblade, but this element felt right at home with this song. And to conclude, spins that rotated in dizzying speed; the layback spin, and lastly the Biellman.

Viktor was practically out of breath, holding his last pose at the end of the strenuous program.

But sadly, no one will ever see it again.

Nor did many people remember the stellar performance. Because in competition, it was only ever exhibited once.

---------------

Rostelecom Cup, 24th October 2009.

The crowd went wild as Viktor Nikiforov took to the ice. Earlier yesterday during his short program, the platinum skater stole the hearts of the audience with his interpretation of Má Vlast: Vltana, a classical piece by Czech composer Bedřich Smetana. Another season's best (SB) was added to his repertoire.

But the best has yet to come.

Schindler's List the movie, for the lack of better word, - was thought provoking historical drama. As the director Steven Spielberg so aptly put it, -

"What would drive a man like this [Schindler] to suddenly take everything he had earned and put it all in the service of saving these [Jews] lives?"

Although Viktor Nikiforov would not be known as the first skater to ever perform to the score, his arrangement told the story from a very different perspective.

He wanted to capture the quintessence of the protagonist.

He would be Oskar Schindler on this day, the selfless man who tried desperately to save the Jews from the horror of war.

He would be the rescuer of thousands.

...

But who would rescue him from despair?

...

Compared to his usual flamboyant costumes, the platinum-haired skater took centre stage with a subdued costume resembling a timeless 3-piece suit to echo his character's magnanimous sacrifice of all his fortune for others.

Taking his starting stance, the skater gracefully lifted his head to the sky to say a silent prayer.

'A tribute to you, sir...'

As the music played, his supple body moved with fluidity across the ice, - just like how he had practiced with Katya.

A small smile toyed at his lips at the thought of the ballerina.

He never knew how much they were complementing each other until they started choreographing this piece together.

While she still sucked at skating, Katya Mikhaylova was the personification of grace on dance floor. During practice, while he worked on perfecting the elements for this piece, she would do the same in ballet right next to him along the outer side of the rink.

Even now, - knowing that he was the person on ice performing, Viktor felt as though she was right there beside him.

'Katya...' He would whisper her name wordlessly as he continued to dance in sync with the figment of his imagination of her.

Her manifestation represented the hope for salvation from the helplessness he felt, not only in character, - but the truth he was unwilling to admit about himself.

Viktor Nikiforov was a legend.

However, Vitya was a lone man shouldering the crushing weight of fame and expectations.

Eyes were on him all the time, watching with anticipation what he was going to do next. How he was going to outdo his own masterpiece. Everyone wanted the Viktor Nikiforov that could create heart-stopping surprises.

With every program he choreographed, the audience wanted more and more out of him.

Higher jumps...

More rotations...

Faster spins...

If only he was God... But even then, it wouldn't be enough.

Skating was becoming less enjoyable, and more stressful. Nobody saw the light went out of his blue eyes.

Until the blond ballerina came along.

She made him forget that he was some heaven-sent prodigy, - that he was just an ordinary person just like anyone else.

That, while he willingly give his all, - he was not perfect either.

The one thing he needed most, Katya Mikhaylova gave readily, -

Forgiveness.

She forgave him for being human

...

He opened his eyes, gasping to catch his breath as the song came to it heart rendering end, - not realising that he had performed for the past 4½ minutes in complete oblivion.

He had no recollection of his performance, but the crowd gave him a grand standing ovation nonetheless.

The skater couldn't' be quicker bowing and waiving in gratefulness of their appreciation. He couldn't thank them enough for their support.

But at this very moment, there was something more important than his performance, or the reaction of his audiences. Neither did the scores matter.

Because realisation finally dawned on him that there was only one person mattered most right at this moment.

And there she was, standing behind Yakov at the receiving corner.

The petite blond ballerina.

Her impossibly green eyes were crystal-like clear, and trusting. Her little nose and cheeks flushed with rosy pink from the cold. Slightly chapped, her rosy lips pulled a big smile across her unblemished face, framed by the long silken blond hair.

But the biggest constituent of her beauty was her heart.

She had openly embraced his imperfections with no prejudice. Made him forget that he was Viktor Nikiforov and allowed him to just be Vitya, - the flawed man.

For that, she could not be any more beautiful the way she was.

With a few powerful strokes of his blades across the rink, he had her lithe body in his arms in no time, - ignoring Yakov and all congratulatory from others around.

He caught her by surprise. "Vitya..." she exclaimed softly. The nickname normally reserved for his families and close friends had never sounded so heart-warming than from the lips of this woman.

He buried his face in the nook of her neck and shoulder, breathing in deeply the scent that was distinctively hers.

Comprehending that he wasn't going to let her go any time soon, "You were beautiful out there, Vitya..." she said, returning his bear-like hug.

There was a long pause before he pulled apart enough to look her in the eyes with all seriousness, "No, you are the one who's beautiful..."

Viktor never gave her even a moment to register what he had just said. With the same agile swiftness he was known for, he dropped in for a long, amorous kiss.

The rest, - like they said, was history.

---------------

Or so it should have been.

...

The next time Viktor was scheduled to perform Schindler's List was for HomeSense Skate Canada International, approximately one month from the Rostelecom Cup.

But he never got to dance to the choreography, - ever again.

...

Two days before the skater had to leave for Ontario, Canada, - the unthinkable happened.

---------------

St. Petersburg, 17th November 2009.

In spite of the upcoming competition, the air surrounding the St. Petersburg ice rink was relatively calm and surprisingly jovial. But when you have the world reigning champion in your palm, would you be worried?

When they should have been practicing, the starting team could be found toying around in the rink. Mila and Yuri were mercilessly teasing the helplessly heartbroken Georgi - again, while Viktor stood aside, laughing so hard till tears were rolling off his cheeks.

Tired of his hopeless rink mate, "Hey Viktor! Check my quad toe loop!!!" yelled the Russian Punk, skating away from the group.

"Sure..." He started, but caught himself quickly when he spotted a familiar silhouette coming through the door.

"On second thought, Mila, - you watch him instead."

Yuri Plisetsky was indignantly hollering for him to come back, but Viktor's attention remained undivided towards his impending guest. Though, the smile on his face faltered as brows furrowed in perplexity when he saw his blond muse, - visibly pale and worn being escorted in the arm by her mentor.

The white bandage around her head wasn't very reassuring either.

The platinum skater started with a slow stoke across the ice before breaking into a dash.

Before he could even reach, Viktor had called out to her from two-thirds away from the edge. "Katya?!" He tried not to jump to conclusions, but the alarm and concern were poorly concealed in his voice.

The fright he felt must have been evidently displayed on his face, because she had replied knowingly before he could even ask.

"I'm all right... I really am..." his ballerina said pacifyingly, as she subjected herself to an extensive examination by the skater as soon as he could get his hands on her. His blue eyes scanned her once over, taking inventory of all the new appendages.

There was another bandage at her right ankle to match with the one around her head. Bruises were beginning to form on her right arm. And that was only what was visible.

No longer being able to hold his augmenting fear and apprehension, "What happened?!"

"Vitya, I'm all right!" Katya tried again to assure him, but he just wasn't convinced.

"Lilia, what happened?"

The elder woman hesitated momentary, looking a little torn. But she said it anyway.

"... There has been an accident today at the theatre, Viktor..."

"Lilia!" the dancer protested, but she was altogether ignored.

"They were in the midst of practice when the guys on the fly tower above the stage loss control of one of the lightings on the grid. It fell and crashed..."

"What?!!!" Bewildered, Viktor's eyes became impossibly wide.

"It did not fall and crashed on any of us!!" Katya was quick to jump in to explain, knowing very well how it sounded to him.

"No, it didn't..." Lilia concurred, but her grim expression hardly lightened, "In the process of avoiding the falling light, all the dancers scrambled out of the way. But in the midst of all that chaos, Katya collided with another dancer and fell off the stage."

At that point, he wasn't sure if he feeling unsteady because his feet were still on ice, or this story was becoming more and more terrifyingly absurd by the second.

"We brought doctors to examine all of them immediately. Most escaped with minor cuts and scrapes," - Viktor couldn't really be bothered to know about the others, though he did bite his tongue from saying anything too scathing, as he listened on.

"Katya had it worst of the lot. From the stage, she crashed into the orchestra pit, hitting quite a number of chairs and stuffs along the way." Hearing the ballet mentor's recount earned a sharp inhale from the skater.

Knowingly or otherwise, his embrace over her tightened to the point she visibly winced.

Lilia's woeful gaze settled over her young charge, "Although the doctors have cleared her of anything life threatening, from the collision with her fellow dancer, she sprained her right ankle. The head bandage and bruises came from the fall into the pit..."

He couldn't bear to listen any more.

Holding her closer to his chest, "Katya, dorogAya moyA..."Viktor's silent whisper held desperation as he spoke the words endearment by her ear, "...If I could re-live today again, I would never have let you near the theatre."

"You couldn't have possibly stopped an accident from happening.... Even if the light did not fall today, it could have fallen any other day. Are you telling me never to set foot in the theatre again?" Although Katya was touched by his concern, she couldn't hide the slight annoyance if she were to be treated like a glass figurine on a wall.

"If I could have you safe..."

Scoffing at the irony, "Be reasonable, Vitya... That's like me saying you should never attempt jumps again because you might break a bone or two!"

He flinched as she touched a nerve. But even so, Viktor Nikiforov could be rather unyielding as the pair locked gaze in stare down.

"Katya! Viktor! - Stop this nonsense..." Lilia eventually reprimanded them, "Katya, you should be resting. Not off picking a fight. And you too, Viktor. You have a competition in three days. Katya did not wish for you to be distracted, that's why she would not have told you about this incident herself. But now that I made the decision to tell you, do not make me regret telling you in consideration of your relationship together."

The chastised pair had the decency of looking embarrassed by their own childishness.

Lowering the anxiety in his tone significantly, Viktor enquired again, "Are you sure you're all right? No aches or pains? Headaches? Fever?" - albeit a series of it...

"Yes, I'm fine... and no, I do not ache or feel pain anywhere..." Though exasperated, Katya was amused by his effort.

"All right..." he begrudgingly conceded although he was far satisfied, "What would you like to do now? Would you like to go home? I can send you home..."

"No, I would like to stay and watch you practice..."

"Really? Cause I could use the excuse to escape though..."

At his attempt to lighten the mood between them, Katya bit back a smile and tossed her younger lover a sassy brow, "You're just being lazy, Viktor Nikiforov. Now, stop using me for an excuse and get your butt back on the ice..."

"Sure I can't entice you to come home with me? Not even if it's my home...?" the skater whispered suggestively by her ear, hinting at a romantic evening just between the two of them.

It wouldn't hurt to spend more time more time with his loved one, on top of caring for his injured ballerina. He should be allowed this little indulgence at least, - considering that he was going away in two days for almost a week... right?

"Nice try, Nikiforov..." Katya said in utterly deadpan, bursting his happy little bubble, "Now off into the rink, you go while I plonk my ass here. My practice session was unfortunately short-lived so I'm pretty cranky that I didn't get a challenge the 32 fouettés en tournant. The least you could do is give me a grand performance of the Schindler's List...."

"You mean you rather have a long program than my ass handed to you on a platter?" he asked, feigning affronted.

"That means, I rather have another gold, the Grand Prix Final gold and the Championships gold around your neck for our piece first, then I'll have your ass on a silver platter at your home," Katya said winking coyly, as she shooed him back into the rink.

Lilia who had remained silent, spoke in hushed tones for her student's ears only as they took a seat on the bench, "Are you sure you are all right, Katya?"

Unable to hide the pained wince from showing on her face, "Just a little headache," she admitted with a feeble attempt of a smile.

"The doctors did suspect that you might have a concussion from the fall," the elder lady let out a long-suffering sigh, "Why didn't you stay longer for them to properly diagnose you?"

"I don't want Vitya to worry unnecessarily. He'll be leaving in two days. We can always go back to the hospital when he's away."

"Till then, I hope nothing happens..."

"You worry too much, Lilia. But thank you..." Katya said, with heartfelt warmth and love for her teacher.

"Now let's enjoy the show," she said, returning her loving gaze on the beloved skater as he took his stance in the rink, with the first few strings of Schindler's List being played.

Gliding on ice with precision, his performance was nothing short of an art. But his mind was still bothered. The sight of Katya hurt had unsettled him enough to admit that he loved her too much to lose her.

Would it be too premature to ask if she would marry him?

The thought of marriage should have scared the living daylights out of the 19-year-old Viktor Nikiforov. At the height of his career, it really shouldn't be an idea to even consider.

But he could not imagine a life being better without her.

The determination to put a ring on her finger as soon as he could, ignited so much power in his jump that unknowingly he landed a Quadruple Axel beautifully, - a feat that no one has ever accomplished successfully in a competition.

"Viktor...!" Everyone spectating exclaimed in wonderment.

All but one, "Katya!!!" Lilia's sharp voice rang not of surprise, but horror.

Halfway across the rink, Viktor could no longer see the familiar blond on the bench. The icy grip of fear froze his heart with foreboding dread.

His golden skates cut the ice in deep and powerful strokes as he called out to her tentatively, "Katya..."

But no reply.

When he got to the edge, he saw Lilia kneeling over her unconscious charge on the floor. Viktor could not understand the helplessness he felt when his brains refused to compute and his body withheld movement in spite of the desperate cries in his head for him to go to her.

"Viktor!... Anyone! Call for the ambulance! Please!! Hurry!!" Lilia pled roused him out of stupor.

He ran for his mobile by the bench, but his clumsy hands were shaking so badly that the phone fell to the ground.

"Go to her, Viktor. We'll get the ambulance," Yakov said, coming from behind him, - urging him to the fallen ballerina as he whipped out his own phone to make the call.

Dropping to his knees by her side, "Katya... Love... You said that you were all right..." the skater said dumbly, still trying to regain higher functions of his brains as he held her small face in his palms tenderly.

"She said it was just a headache..." Lilia recapitulated with an unsteady quiver in her voice, "... At one point it got so bad that she was holding her head in pain. She tried to wave it off as nothing. She got really excited when you landed the jump... But as soon as she jumped to a stand at the end of your jump, her step faltered and loss all consciousness as she fell to the ground..."

"How could this have happened? Didn't the doctors clear her?!" Viktor could feel the hysteria clawing at the last strand of sensibility.

"They suspected that she might have a concussion, but since she wasn't displaying any symptoms of blurred vision, confusion, light-headedness or even nauseous, they decided that she should get some rest at home..."

"But she didn't..., did she?"

"Don't-... Don't blame... Li- Lilia..."

Startled by her voice, -

"Katya!" they both cried out in unison at the rousing ballerina.

"I'm sorry..." she apologised, smiling weakly, "... Should have listened to the doctors..."

Viktor was too afraid to move her, despite longing to hold her in her arms, "Katya... love... Can you tell me if anywhere still hurts?"

Green eyes locked gaze with his blue ones, "Vitya, if anything were to happen to me, - I want you to let me go and move on..."she said, with the sombreness that he didn't like one bit.

"Katya, that's not what I asked..." the skater replied, impatiently.

"Promise me, Vitya..."

"NO!!! - I will NOT make that promise!" Viktor blew his tops vehemently, "What I will promise you is a ring on your finger that says you are mine. I will only make a promise to a lifetime with you forever..."

A series of audible gasp followed his declaration, but he paid no heed to them. Only the one before his eyes mattered.

"Say yes, Katya... Say yes that you'll marry me..."

Viktor was renowned for being the master of surprises, but this one took the cake.

Her eyes were brimming with tears of joy that shed freely, unreserved - as he took her hands to his lips to drop a kiss in place of where his promised ring will go.

"Marry me, Katya... I will never be complete without you..." Viktor beseeched again.

Perhaps it was only seconds that flew by, but to Viktor it took an eternity before she finally dropped a demure nod in agreement.

"God, I love you..." he said, throwing himself on her reclined body on the ground as she reached around his back to return the hug.

Congratulatory cheers erupted around the rink as though the Russian team had already won on all accounts of the Grand Prix Final and the Championships.

And two days later, the team were off to bag their gold at the Skate Canada.

---------------

HomeSense Skate Canada International, 20th November 2009.

Things were going great when the team got to Canada. All the Russian skaters were in excellent state of mind, - Viktor, more so than others as he went rattling on and on to others of his grand wedding plans.

"... and then, Katya said we must have Medovik for our wedding cake, seeing that it was the first cake we shared together..." the celebrated skater repeated, - for the umpteenth time to Yakov which was wearing the elder man's last nerve thin.

"You can have all the Medovik you want when you win me that gold," the coach snapped irritably.

"Aww... Yakov, you're the best!" Viktor gushed, throwing the man a big bear hug.

With that said, Viktor Nikiforov made good of his promise by rewriting the history of short programs with his total segment score of 104.45.

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But the next day, the master of surprises outdid himself again, - with a completely unannounced, disappearing act.

By the time Yakov made it, running to his room, only the Sport-Express from that morning was found laid spread-out across the bed as though someone has been reading it and that someone would return shortly to continue.

But no one will.

And he didn't need Viktor to tell him why in person. The headline of the page left opened said it all, -

'Principal ballet dancer of Mariinsky died after falling into a coma 12 hours prior'

As soon as Lilia called to inform him that the news had somehow leaked to the press and Viktor could possibly find out from the papers, he was already halfway out his hotel room, half dressed.

But the platinum skater beat him to it.

Passport, clothes and bags were all gone.

Viktor Nikiforov had foregone the Skate Canada to be with his lover. That was the only competition Viktor Nikiforov was not seen on the podium, hence losing his place to be in the Grand Prix Final that season.

And no one has ever seen him dance to Schindler's List, again.

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Her death had been very anticlimactic.

Viktor remembered standing in front of her gravestone, still unable to register that she had suddenly just decided to up and leave him high and dry.

He remembered being really angry. The night he was awarded over 100 points, - the first of the many hundreds to follow, - he was dying to tell her all about it. He had really wanted to tell her that he had skated for her, and the 104.45 points was all thanks to her.

However, that very evening itself, he couldn't get through to her. Not even Lilia's phone was available.

Viktor had his nagging suspicions back then.

But to find out the passing of your fiancée in the newspaper was just a cruel joke.

In a whirlwind, the skater had his bags packed and boarded himself the next plane back to St. Petersburg. Yet, no matter how soon he could have gone back to her, Katya Mikhaylova had already died of second-impact syndrome.

He remembered stroking the softness of her blond hair lovingly.

He remembered fingering the new single-diamond, gold-banded engagement ring on her finger.

He remembered the feel of her cold lips on his as he kissed her one last time.

He remembered begging to see the green eyes that will never open for him again.

He remembered all that, - but he couldn't remember shedding a tear.

Until the day Katya was buried, Viktor was still in denial.

...

But now, over 7,000 km from St. Petersburg, more than 2,500 days since she has left, - sat in the middle of the ice rink, Viktor Nikiforov could finally shed the tears he had been holding back since.

Not that he had reasons to, but he knew he couldn't let go. He really did not want to acknowledge her death.

He had been denying the fact for so long that even after 7 years, it wasn't easy something he could just forgets.

'Katya... forgive me, - I couldn't let you go before...' he pled silently.

But as his fingers swept rolling tears after tears from falling, a glint of gold caught his eyes. The ring Yuri gave him stopped him short and the thought of the Asian skater warmed him.

He had no idea what had possessed him to drop everything he had ever worked for, for this man. Nor did he understand why he was so enamoured by the younger man. But Katsuki Yuuri was the one who reminded the Russian what it was like to feel again, - to be excited of the unexpected, to be cherished and loved by another.

Unknowingly, the younger man had begun filling the void Katya left, with all his love.

Kissing the top of the gold band, he whispered his name in the winds, "Yuuri..."

It must have been by the hands of fate that the said man was only standing at the edge of the rink.

"Viktor...?"

At his name, Viktor looked up, - tears still streaming freely. A smile was growing amidst the sadness when he saw the dark-haired skater in all the blurriness.

"Viktor, are you hurt?"

Yuuri must have been alarmed to see the older man in a teary mess as he hurried across the ice.

But as soon as he was within reach, the five-times world champion pounced on him, pinning him down to the ice-cold ground.

"Ouch..." Yuuri yelped as he got slammed on his back unexpectedly.

But more unexpectedly, was Viktor resting heavily over Yuuri's chest as he pressed his ear close to the latter's heart.

"Thank God you are alive..."

If Yuuri found his comment weird, he kept to himself. He didn't exactly understood why Viktor had tackled him to the ground, but if it made his coach happy, - what is a little ice on his back.

They remained unmoving in the same position for quite some time; to a point that Yuuri was beginning to worry if Viktor was unconscious or something to that effect.

"Viktor...?" he called out hesitantly.

Unable to see the other's face, it wasn't until Viktor answered that Yuuri at least knew the other was still with him. "Yes, Yuuri?"

"Are you ok?"

"As long as you're here, I'll be ok..."

It wasn't often Viktor sounded so melancholic. While a part of the Japanese skater wanted to know, he settled for holding the Russian for now.

"Hey Viktor..." Yuuri called out again, caressing the older man's platinum tresses.

"Hmm...?"

"...Happy Birthday..."

...

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