"It's been a while." That was what Yuri had said when he'd met Otabek at the altar. It had been tiny, tear-choked, and barely intelligible through the smile so large it had threatened to split his face in half, but Otabek, as he always did, heard Yuri.

"Never again."

His meaning couldn't have been clearer, even if he'd been yelling it at the top of his lungs, even if his face had been characteristically stoic and his voice steady instead of his words nothing more than the gentlest of whispers and the softest of smiles resting on his features.

Never again will we be apart: never again will we be separated: never again will we sleep alone.

That was what Otabek had meant and Yuri had heard it clear as day, nodding after his throat closed up and tears ran tracks down his cheeks because he was too happy not to cry.

He had believed it too, wholeheartedly, swear-on-both-of-their-lives believed it.

And, for some reason, that was what Yuri was thinking about at 12:37 am as he stared at the wall, unable to shut off the circular whirring of his mind.

He really should've been asleep by now: he had to be up at six again tomorrow -- today, really -- and nowadays he was exhausted just about all of the time; getting less sleep wouldn't help that.

Yuri rolled over, shifting his weight as he repositioned onto his left side. He was met with cold, empty sheets as he rested on the mattress, facing the side of the bed that hadn't been slept in in 91 -- 92, now -- days. Yuri shut his eyes, blocking out the whispering darkness of the bedroom.

Yuri couldn't sleep.

***

Yuri had been right: he was exhausted the next day, and by the time he finished with his rescheduled (thanks to the rink screwing up) Learn-To-Skate class at 8:15, he felt more than inclined to just curl up with Potya and go back to bed. Even if he'd been able to do that, though, -- for he found that insomnia was quickly becoming well-known to him -- he couldn't: he had to meet Otabek in forty-five minutes.

Yuri was late, -- having had to wait with a child for fifteen minutes after class before their mother collected them -- walking into the cafe at 9:07 and automatically glancing toward the table Otabek always occupied. He wasn't there.

Yuri checked the time on his phone.

9:08
Otabek was never late, in fact, he was never even on time: he always arrived early: before Yuri. Something must have hindered his progress to the coffee shop.

Yuri took his place at their usual little table in the corner of the cafe, planning on using the extra time to work on his lesson plan for his Senior Pointe class. The class had been invited to audition for the Mariinsky Ballet's training academy, -- a very prestigious school -- and Yuri had a lot to cover with them before the call next week. He had just enough time to take out his phone, though, before the little bell above the door tinkled, and Otabek stepped into the shop.

"Look, Isaac," he was saying, his phone pressed to his ear and distracted. "I need to go-- just, can you at least try to fix it?... It's been broken for weeks...-- well then call a different plumber." He sighed, before looking up and seeing Yuri. "I've got to go; I'll call you back." Otabek said hastily into the speaker before hanging up and making his way to the table. "Sorry I'm late," he said as soon as he sat down, "I lost track of time."

Yuri nodded, and, by the psychic power they seemed to possess to know when their presence was unnecessary, a waitress came over.

"Everything okay?" She asked Otabek, smiling, as she approached the table before glancing back toward the door, "That didn't sound like a fun conversation."

Otabek nodded, "I'm fine."

"You mentioned a plumber? I know one if you're on the market." The girl lightly set a hand on Otabek's upper arm.

The term was in the market. Not on.

"It's nothing." Otabek's voice was quiet, but firm, "My water's been out for a few days; no big deal."

She nodded sympathetically, "That happened to me once -- I had to shower at my friend's place for over a week! Of course, my water still worked; it was only cold, but, I swear, if the water isn't hot, I refuse to get in it!" She laughed airily, "I can give you the number if you want-- the plumber's, of course."

Somehow Yuri doubted that, should Otabek accept the offer, he would be receiving the plumber's number at all, more-likely was the instance that he'd receive the digits of a slim, pretty brunette instead.

"I'm okay, thanks," Otabek replied, monosyllabia his strong suit, as it always was. "Can we put in our drink orders? It's humid outside and we have some business to attend to."

"Oh," the waitress seemed unruffled, taking the hint and removing her hand from Otabek's arm. "Of course-- let me just write them down for you." The girl took the blatant rejection gracefully, seamlessly going back to her job. Efficient and helpful as she might have been, though, Yuri couldn't quite shake the bitter taste in his mouth when she came near.

***

It was nearing the end of the meeting -- there were only a few more things to discuss that day -- when Yuri excused himself to use the bathroom. He'd been doing that more often lately: according to his most recent doctor's appointment, it was because he was 'carrying low'-- something that he'd been told would make the rest of his pregnancy exponentially harder. Great.

Yuri's vision swayed as he stood from his chair and he caught the side of the table to help steady himself. Play it off as he may try, though, Otabek caught the movement immediately and reached out instinctively to steady Yuri. Catching himself just in time, he withdrew his hand and surveyed Yuri with a glint of concern in his eye instead.

"You okay?"

Yuri nodded. "Fine."

***

Tuesday was worse than Yuri had expected, Yuri having, again, gotten little rest the night before. Yuri had been roused from sleep before his alarm that morning and had all but thrown himself onto the bathroom floor before the toilet, the nausea that had long since receded deciding to come back for a most unwanted encore. By the time he was able to rise, he felt half-dead, and the prospect of having to face hours of dance class -- not to mention the fact that everyone in Senior Pointe was buzzing with energy about tomorrow's audition and were made that much harder to teach -- was not an inviting one.

Yuri's vision blurred as he stepped into the studio, the light bouncing off the floor to ceiling mirrors making spots dance before his eyes. His morning classes had proven true to his morning's prediction: they had been hell: Yuri had dragged himself from the rink, to the attached gym, to the studio, and by the time afternoon arrived and Senior Pointe began warming up, he could feel the last dregs of his energy slip away.

As Yuri lead the class through warm-ups, he lengthened the floor portion considerably, explaining that the class most-likely wouldn't be able to use a barre to stretch at tomorrow's audition, so they'd have to achieve what they normally would on the barre either standing or on the floor. It was true, though Yuri's ability to justifiably sit while working was a factor in the decision.

As they finished the warm-ups at last, Yuri's vision tilted as he stood from the floor; he placed a hand on the barre behind him to steady himself. This action was lost on the class, but Ekaterina, whose place in the warmup was dead center of the front line, caught it.

"You okay?" She asked, quietly enough that it wasn't noticeable to the majority of the students, who were still slowly rolling up from the ground.

"Fine." Yuri returned, before clapping his hands to draw the class to attention.

***

In hindsight, today's lesson plan had been a terrible idea, Yuri mused: or at least, he amended, it was a terrible idea for today.

Since tomorrow's auditions would consist majorly of a Mariinsky choreographer teaching the dancers a new routine on the spot and seeing how quickly and how well they could pick it up, Yuri had long ago decided that today's class would essentially be the same thing: Yuri would teach short combinations and have his students perform them individually, in groups, different pieces scattered in between to test their memories. Now, however, he was not eager to dance the pieces himself. But he knew, resignedly, he'd have to if he wanted to give his students the best chance he could for the audition.

As Yuri began the first piece, a slow, technically-challenging number, he could feel the lag in his limbs, but, knowing that no one other than Lilia Baranovskya could notice, ignored it, secure in the knowledge that he'd won competitions feeling worse.

As Yuri turned, his stomach did as well, and he fought to keep the newly reappeared nausea at bay. He'd skipped breakfast that morning in hopes of achieving said end, but apparently his efforts had been futile, for he now felt moments away from throwing up.

Yuri finished the first piece, and, giving a quick, nonverbal hand gesture for his students to parrot him, took a long, slow draught from his water bottle. He kept his breaths steady and even, and, once his students were halfway through their assigned piece, he felt safe enough to walk through them, making corrections, without stopping dead and puking on the polished wood floor.

Yuri was deeply worried about his two demonstrations to go, but knew at least that his face betrayed nothing of either his discomfort or his apprehension.

As he started the second piece, he was relieved when his stomach didn't protest too much about him dancing, and, even when the turns came and the nausea ratcheted up a notch, he was able to finish the choreography gracefully. His students remained none the wiser.

As Yuri began his third and final demonstrative piece, he could feel his body slowing down, rebelling against the motion: his head pounded with every step he took, and the dizziness fogging his brain made a mess of his alignment. The pointe shoes he wore chafed against overly-sensitive skin and Yuri was regretting saving the most complicated piece for last. Still though, as he moved he felt light, and it was almost as if he was watching someone dance instead of dancing himself. He moved through the air at a lower concentration of gravity, each jete reinforcing that feeling of weightlessness.

As he turned his final combination, Yuri squinted at the light being reflected off the mirrors, throwing cloudy smudges into his vision. Yuri began his Scorpion turn combination and gritted his teeth; as he raised his leg and arched his back so his nose was a close parallel to his knee, something twinged. And then, something broke.

Yuri fell from his turn, leg retracting and body curling in on itself as he hit the floor, pain flaring just beneath his ribs. His eyes squeezed shut and his hands flew to the upper right of his abdomen, clutching at it; it felt as if he were being stabbed. Around him, a flurry of voices chorused, and some part of his brain knew that he must've cried out, but nothing registered now. Yuri remained unresponsive on the ground, mind clouded with pain.

***

Yuri laid in the hospital bed, head simultaneously swimming and pounding, having a very hard time focusing as he was spoken to.

"--overexerted yourself, what were you thinking?"

"I'm fine," Yuri mumbled, fluorescent light burning into his eyes as he turned to Yuuri. "I need to get back to class--"

"You're not going anywhere," Victor's voice was firm from where he stood next to his husband, "not until we find out what's wrong."

"I'm fine," Yuri repeated, blinking in an attempt to un-blur his vision, ignoring how his voice wavered, "I just haven't eaten today: I had a sugar crash, no big deal."

"You haven't eaten today?" Yuuri's voice was sharp and Yuri internally winced, "Yuri, I thought you finally got back up to weight, what were you thinking?"

Yuri shook his head, exhaustion settling deep into his bones. It was another reason he needed to get out of bed and get back to class: if he didn't get up soon, he probably wouldn't be able to. "I threw up all morning," he muttered, tired, and head aching, "I couldn't keep anything down and couldn't risk something happening in class."

Both Yuuri and Victor raised their eyebrows, glancing at each other ironically.

Yuri's abdomen started doing that stabbing thing again, though to a lesser degree than the first time, and he moved his hands to it, gritting his teeth and closing his eyes as he tried to soothe the pain. Once it had receded and he was able to open his eyes once more, Yuuri and Victor were looking appropriately mollified and left their interrogation unfinished: Yuuri merely put a hand on Yuri's shoulder and offered a sympathetic smile.

"Try to rest," he murmured, "the doctor will be back soon and he'll let us know what's going on; I'm sure it'll be alright."

"But for now," Victor added, still stern; but this time instead of scolding, his voice was warm, "you are absolutely not going back to the studio, so relax."

The prospect of leaving his dancers unprepared for tomorrow's audition was still a stressful one for Yuri, but he was exhausted, and maybe with some sleep, he'd be able to function better once the doctor cleared him and let him go back to class. It was a while yet before the doctor had said that the tests would be ready, and after that, they'd let him go back to dance.

With a weak nod, Yuri let himself shut his eyes.

***

Yuri hadn't slept much, insomnia, his clingy friend, having traveled with him to the patient room and remaining at his bedside, not allowing him to get in more than fifteen minutes of disrupted rest before Yuri gave up the attempts and just laid in bed, staring at the juncture where ceiling met wall and attempting to ward off the sporadic pains in his abdomen.

The doctor hadn't returned yet and it had been over an hour-- it was only twenty-five minutes until Senior Pointe would be dismissed for the day and Yuri felt anxious: he needed to get back to them; they had a major audition tomorrow and they couldn't be distracted by their teacher falling apart at the seams.

There was a noise from the doorway and Yuri looked toward it, hoping to see the man in the lab coat who had taken his blood, ready to tell him that he was fine and could go back to the studio.

It wasn't the doctor: Yuuri looked nervous, hovering in the doorway and conversing under his breath with Victor, an air of tension and anxiety about them.

"What?" Yuri asked, more groggily than he would've thought after his failure to sleep, and Yuuri jumped.

"I thought you were asleep." He said, giving Victor a look that seemed to decide something before the latter left and the former entered the room, coming to Yuri's bedside.

"I couldn't," Yuri said, gingerly scooting up in bed so he could speak to Yuuri more easily; there was a major bruise on his hip and thigh from where he'd fallen on them. "What's wrong? Have the test results come back yet?"

Yuuri shook his head, "No..."

"Then why are you so worried?" Yuri was struggling to understand, brain feeling foggy, "Are Luci and Elliot okay?"

Yuuri nodded quickly, "Yeah, they're fine. It's just--" he broke off, sighing, "how are you feeling?" He asked instead, and Yuri shrugged weakly.

"I'm fine," he firmly ignored the headache biting at his temples. "What's wrong?"

Yuuri sighed again, "Otabek's here." He said, wincing as he did, "He's your emergency contact so the hospital called him before Vitya and I could tell them not to. He's really worried; he wants to see you..."

"Oh," Yuri hadn't been expecting that.

"Yeah." Yuuri replied heavily, "Do you want us to tell him to go? It would be fine: the hospital wouldn't care as long as Vitya and I are here."

Yuri hesitated: he knew how much Otabek worried on the best days... "It's okay," he said after a pause, "you can let him in."

Yuuri nodded slowly, "Are you sure? You're feeling up to it? I don't want to make anything worse; you don't have to see him if you don't want to."

Yuri shook his head, reminding himself of the headache throbbing throughout his skull. "I'm fine. He has a right to be here: it is his child, of course he's worried about it."

Yuuri pursed his lips but nodded, "I'll go tell Vitya to bring him up; they're in the waiting room right now." Yuri nodded and watched as Yuuri left, "And, Yuri?" He turned back, his every appearance that of a man acting on a spur-of-the-moment decision. "He hasn't mentioned the baby once."

***

Otabek's knee bounced continuously as he sat in the sticky, vinyl chair; his elbows rested on his knees (and were also bouncing, due to that) with his fingers laced in the space between them, head bowed. Ever since he'd gotten that call from the hospital, his heart had been racing and it had yet to slow down. It wouldn't until he saw Yuri and decided with his own eyes that he was alright.

God, how had he let this happen? He'd been with him two days ago; he'd known he hadn't seemed right then, but, and Otabek wanted to punch himself, he hadn't done anything. This was his fault.

The hospital had said that Yuri'd collapsed? That he'd been clutching at his abdomen in pain before he passed out? Was he okay? Was him passing out a fluke like low blood sugar or something?

No, it wouldn't be; Otabek shook the suggestion from his head. If it had been low blood sugar or dehydration or something, then Yuri's abdomen wouldn't have been in pain and he would've been up in seconds-- he'd fainted once or twice before from overtraining and that had always been the case. It had taken a while to revive him, though, Otabek had been -- grudgingly -- told by Victor. Maybe stress, then?

Just the thought made him feel ill: if it was stress, it was his fault. Honestly, he was already blaming himself for this whole thing anyway, but, God, if he had been the direct cause, he didn't know what he would do. He wouldn't be able to look himself in the mirror if he had hurt Yuri.

Again. A nasty little voice in his brain provided. Hurt Yuri again, because he'd already hurt him, badly, and Otabek would never stop hating himself for that. God, what was he going to do?

"Vitya?" Otabek's head snapped up and he rose from his seat, despite it not having been his name called. Yuuri stood a few paces away, glancing anxiously between Victor and Otabek, biting his lip. "He said okay," Yuuri addressed Victor, "you can bring him in."

Victor's eye twitched but he nodded, striding to Yuuri's side from where he'd stood at the same second as Otabek had, giving a quick jerk of the head for Otabek to follow, not even looking at him. Not that Otabek blamed him.

Otabek followed the couple at a trot, his pulse pounding in his ears; he wouldn't be able to relax until he knew Yuri was okay, probably not even then. As they rounded a corner and Yuuri, walking slightly ahead of the other two, disappeared into a room, Victor turned around, stopping dead and leveling Otabek with a downright dangerous glare.

"I have so much to say to you," he said, his voice deadly quiet, the dark look in his normally bright eyes promising pain. "But for Yuri's sake, I'll hold my tongue." He looked as though he was about to contradict that statement now, though. "It's unfathomable to me that you would cheat. From what I'd seen of you two together, it was a shock, to say the least.

"I never thought that you of all people would turn out to do that. You have no idea what you've done to him," Victor snarled, "how much you've hurt him. He never smiles anymore, never shows any type of emotion-- he's depressed, Otabek. He finally managed to crawl out of that hole and you shoved him right back into it. You did that. When you married him, I thought you were perfect for each other," he let out a bitter, venomous laugh, "Only now can I see how wrong I was." His pupils widened and his stance, towering over Otabek at 6'2, grew menacing. "But, trust me, I will never make that mistake again.

"Now, for whatever reason, Yuri is still letting you within six feet of him, but I'm warning you," and oh, did it sound like a warning, "if you go in there and upset him, confuse him, break him further, I will personally make sure that you never see him or the child again." He was leaning dangerously close to Otabek, his fists curled and shaking with the effort it was presumably taking for him not to hit Otabek. Otabek really didn't blame him. He was right about all of that: this situation was entirely Otabek's fault, but--

"I'm going to go see Yuri." He said, sidestepping Victor's furious gaze and walking toward the room Yuuri had disappeared into. His voice was firm but barely-contained anger resided within it nonetheless-- he knew he shouldn't be angry, knew he deserved everything Victor hurled at him and more, but he was still so damn angry at this situation; it was eating him alive.

Otabek stepped into the room, his heart clenching as he saw Yuri; pale, small, and terribly fragile-looking in bed, Yuri looked completely exhausted, and, as recently-always, conveyed no emotion at all. Otabek was at his bedside before he knew he'd even moved, barely stopping himself from taking Yuri's hand between his own and kissing him on the forehead.

"How are you?" He asked, "The hospital called, they said you passed out?"

Yuri nodded wearily, "I'm fine." His voice was so quiet, he looked so tired--

"Do they know what happened?" Otabek asked, careful to keep his tone easy and slow, not wanting to overwhelm the frail figure before him.

Yuri shook his head, the very motion slow and fatigued, "They're running some tests."

Otabek nodded, "Yuri," he began, anxiety thrumming through his veins about how what he was about to say would sound, "I'm worried about what this is doing to you. The separation," he clarified when Yuri didn't seem to have grasped his meaning, looking almost dazed, "You're under so much stress right now--"

"Stress didn't cause this," Yuri said, but his voice was still soft and weary, like he was barely awake, "the doctor said--"

"I know," Otabek interrupted, still gently and calmly, though with a hint of a plea seeping into his voice, "but dealing with divorce is hard at the best of times, and now..." He trailed off, "I don't want you to get hurt." He said at last, "Just until the baby's born, could we postpone the separation?" Otabek could feel Victor's glare burning holes in the back of his head, but he didn't care: this was too important.

"I'm fine, Otabek," Yuri said again, "there's nothing wrong with me."

Otabek nodded, "I know that but--" he gazed at him beseechingly, "Please, Yuri? Just for a few months,"

Yuri looked at him for a long moment before, finally, "Okay." His voice was soft, and he looked so completely drained.

Otabek gave a tiny smile, and it took everything he had in that moment not to kiss Yuri. "Thank you."

A knock sounded and four heads turned to the doorway; a man in a white lab coat stood there, smiling at everyone and flipping through a clipboard.

"Plisetsky?" He asked, and,

"Yes." Victor, Yuuri, and Otabek had all responded before Yuri'd even had a chance to open his mouth.

The doctor chuckled, "We've got your blood work back," he said, before sobering a bit.

"It's just low blood sugar, right?" Victor asked, and Otabek's heart sank. It wasn't: Otabek knew that. Low blood sugar, in any other situation, would make sense, but with the pain in Yuri's abdomen and how long he'd taken to revive, Otabek suspected something different entirely.

Ever since finding out that Yuri was pregnant, Otabek had been learning about it: how it would affect him, how to combat some of the symptoms, how possible complications could arise; the list went on and on. Ever since learning that Yuri had collapsed, Otabek had been racking his brain trying to find some benign reason for it. The results he got were worrying, to say the least.

There were so many conditions that Yuri could have, going by the flag symptom that was the pain in his abdomen. It came with many illnesses: Eclampsia, issues with his liver or gallbladder, Gestational Hypertension; it scared Otabek deeply that something might be wrong with Yuri.

"I'm afraid not," the doctor said, giving him a kind smile, "Mr. Plisetsky, Yuri, you display all of the symptoms of ." Both Yuuri and Otabek gasped while Victor just looked blank. Yuri hadn't moved.

Yuuri turned to look at Otabek, obviously surprised that he understood the meaning and connotations of the term as well.

"What's that?" Victor spoke, looking worried, "Is it dangerous?"

The doctor tilted his head. "It can be," he said finally, "if left untreated it can lead to , or even be fatal." Victor paled. "When caught and dealt with, as we have and will do, the risk decreases significantly, and, while difficult, Preeclampsia is entirely manageable."

"Can you cure it?" Victor asked, his face growing steadily more anxious. Otabek winced at the question.

"The only cure is to give birth, I'm afraid," the doctor looked sympathetic, "and even then the symptoms can last for 1-6 weeks afterward."

"What exactly is this?" Victor asked, "You mentioned symptoms? What are they?"

"Preeclampsia is a pregnancy-induced high blood pressure disorder," the doctor explained, "it's categorized by increased swelling in the legs, hands, and feet, and excess protein in the urine. The more common symptoms include severe headaches, dizziness and fainting spells, shortness of breath, nausea, fatigue, sensitivity to bright light, changes to vision, and abdominal pain in the upper right quarter, like you described, Yuri."

"Is Yuri's case severe or mild?" Otabek asked, speaking for the first time since the doctor had entered the room, "Severe, right? Since he had the pain in his abdomen?"

The doctor regarded him with an intrigued, mildly impressed look while Victor glared suspicious daggers at the back of Otabek's head.

"Severe, yes," the doctor confirmed and there was a sinking feeling in Otabek's gut: that was very much not good. The doctor sighed, "which brings me to some more difficult news."

"More difficult?!" Victor looked panicked and Yuuri, temporarily disregarding his (again, totally deserved) loathing of Otabek, shot him a glance.

"I'm afraid so," the doctor said, "if your case was mild, Yuri," he was speaking directly to him now, "we would be able to treat it with increased rest and more frequent check-ups in addition to changes to your diet to include more protein. But since it's severe," Otabek and Yuuri looked at each other, dread unfurling icy tendrils within both, "the safest treatment plan is to deliver."

Yuri was very white.

"We've delivered successfully at 24 weeks before," the doctor continued, "there would be some time spent in the NICU for the baby but it would be much safer for you to give birth now. Normally I wouldn't suggest this course of treatment so early on, but since your case is severe, I believe that it's the best option available."

"No," Yuri's voice was tiny, barely audible, "she's too small," his hands made their way to the bump in the covers that was Yuri's swollen abdomen, resting over it protectively.

"I understand your hesitation," the doctor said with a kind smile, "but this is the safest possible treatment plan."

"No," Yuri looked terrified, "you said there were options; what are they?"

"Yuri," Victor's voice was gentle, pleading, "it'll be okay, calm down, let's hear the doctor out--"

"No. Every day she stays inside she's safer. I can deal with the symptoms; I won't let her go until she's old enough." Yuri's voice was stronger now, but he was still very pale. "I won't do it: I'm not delivering until it's safe."

"Yuri," the doctor said gently, kindly, "I realize how scary this is for you, but the best option for your health is to deliver."

"No!" There were tears in Yuri's eyes, "I won't let you do it. I can take the pain, I can handle it. What do I have to do?"

The doctor sighed again, sizing Yuri up, before, "37 weeks," he said after a long, loaded pause, "37 weeks is considered full-term-- will you consent to deliver then?" Yuri nodded. "Fine." He said, "Now, I still have several reservations about this, so I'll ask that you implement some changes in your lifestyle to make this as easy as possible on you." Yuri nodded and the doctor continued, "You said that you're a dance teacher and a figure skating instructor?"

"Yes?"

"No more skating."

Yuri looked stunned, "But--"

"No." The doctor's voice was firm: he was immovable on this. "Should you have a fainting spell on the ice, the consequences could be disastrous, not to mention that with the difficulty of an adjusted center of gravity while skating, it would be easy to slip and fall, and we don't want that."

Yuri sighed, nodded.

"Good." The doctor said, before moving on through his clipboard, "You can remain an instructor for dance, providing that you don't demonstrate yourself and sit while you teach, or at least at intervals." Again, a defeated sigh and a nod. "The last things I'll request of you are that you don't drive," he said and Yuri looked up,

"What?"

The doctor nodded, "Again I say, a fainting spell while on the road could be catastrophic, and, for fear of anything similar to that around the house, I ask if you live alone."

Yuri nodded hesitantly, "I do."

"You don't." replied the doctor.

What?

"Pregnancy is hard enough as it is and Preeclampsia is difficult; the conditions for you delaying giving birth stand: you cannot live alone."

"Well," Victor began, glancing to Yuuri for confirmation, "You could stay with us, Yuri: we could convert the guest room--"

Yuri shook his head. "I'm not living with you," he began, before looking back to the doctor, "Is there nothing I can do?"

He shook his head, "You're going to need a support system," and when Victor and Yuuri began to speak, "a live-in support system."

Yuri sighed, looking past exhausted. "I don't know," he said, "how I could do that. There's no one--" he stopped, taking in a small breath before turning to face Otabek.

"Yuri--" Victor began, his face darkening,

Yuri looked to Otabek still, completely ignoring Victor, and made as if to speak, but no sound came out. "Would you," he began, trailing off into a heavy silence where he seemed to be thinking something over, breath rather shallow. "Is there any way--" He tried again, looking at Otabek still, "How long does your lease extend?" He asked instead.

Otabek knew exactly where he was going with this, "I can either extend it by three months or move out within two weeks." Otabek replied, truthfully. He'd been arguing with Isaac, his apartment's super, about it for weeks. Isaac refused to fix his water until his favorite plumber came back from vacation -- which was in three days' time -- and said that if Otabek didn't like it he could just move out, citing the all-but expired lease as an incentive.

"Well," Yuri said hesitantly, "since it's up anyway, would you mind moving back for a few months? Just until she's born?"

It was one of the hardest things Otabek had ever had to do to stop his smile, and from him, that was saying something. "Yeah," he was relieved to hear that his voice sounded casual, "absolutely."

The doctor smiled at the pair before glancing back down to his clipboard. "Now, with that settled, I have a few questions about your medical history..."

***

"But, Yuri," Victor's voice was very close to a plea, "are you sure about this? It really doesn't seem like a good idea: it'll be hard--"

"I'm sure," Yuri returned wearily, head pounding. Something of his exhaustion must've shown in his manner, for Victor sighed, relenting. "It'll be fine."

Victor shot a venomous glance at Otabek who stood just outside of the glass patient room door. He'd taken over giving Yuri's medical history when it became apparent to everyone that Yuri was utterly exhausted and desperately needed to rest. "I hope so."

**A/N**

Hey guys! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I apologize for the admittedly terrible portrayal of Preeclampsia. But, hey, here is where the "medically inaccurate" tag comes in, so I feel justified. If you want any further explanations about Preeclampsia, where I fictionalized it for the purposes of this story, or want to talk in general, feel free to comment, message, or write me on my board! 

Thank you so much for every read (we reached 100: yay!!), every vote, and every comment (if you feel so inclined to leave one), and I want to know what you think will happen next! Any ideas about how Yuri and Otabek living together again is going to go? Let me know!

TL;DR -- If anyone wants to talk/ask about Preeclampsia or anything in general, feel free to reach out! Comments and votes make me happy, and I'll see you next chapter!

***Further Information***

To read more on Preeclampsia (because my in-story explanation sucked): https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/preeclampsia/symptoms-causes/syc-20355745

To read more on placental abruption (because I didn't explain it in the story at all): https://www.google.com/search?q=placental+abruption&rlz=1C1CHBF_enUS858US858&oq=placental+a&aqs=chrome.0.0j69i57j0j46j0l4.2971j0j7&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8