Yuri stood in the doorway of the nursery, looking inside at the half-painted interior. The walls were a soft, muted pink with an accent wall bearing a shade of grey so warm and light it made the room apparently glow.

The nursery's construction had been underway for a few days following a slightly uncomfortable conversation about design preferences to which Yuri had been entirely indifferent and that resulted in Otabek essentially picking the colors and anxiously hovering while Yuri confirmed.

So far, Yuri had been barred from helping with the room's construction; as the paint fumes would be harmful to him and he was unable to lift heavy objects, there really wasn't much he'd be able to do. Nevertheless, he had been reminded twice to stay away-- once, vaguely awkwardly but gently, from Otabek, and again, firmly and almost reprimanding, by Victor, who had come over to help.

Currently, the latter two were taking a break while the first coat of paint dried, taking the time to scrub the pink and grey from their hands and have lunch, cooling off from painting.

While the house was climate-controlled, the raging inferno that was the heatwave had yet to let up and, for the first time, Saint Petersburg was able to sympathize with the Southern hemisphere, wondering how they ever got anything done in the heat.

At the telltale sounds of Otabek and Victor returning upstairs, Yuri moved away from the doorway of the nursery, retreating into the office. He'd been working on choreographing a routine for his Beginner Pointe class, hoping to familiarize them with more difficult types of turns while up en pointe, and needed to adjust a few counts for it to be dance-ready.

Though he'd been hesitant to introduce the turns at first, knowing that for this type of lesson demonstrations were essential and that he was in no position to give them, since Ekaterina was a helper and had expressed eagerness to demonstrate when he'd asked her, he'd decided that he'd give it a shot. His students had been asking about the turns anyway, and if they were that excited, he figured, he may as well harness the energy and use it for something productive.

Yuri sat down at the desk as, across the hall, Otabek and Victor returned to their work, deeming it time for a second coat of paint.

Otabek dipped his paintbrush into the pot of pink sitting at his elbow, finishing the edging where pink met the grey of the accent wall before he started with the roller. Victor, on the other side of the wall, had taken the opposite tack and had chosen to use the rollers first, recoating the grey wall slightly haphazardly, using far too much paint on certain sections and going back to the paint tray with every other stroke.

Otabek fought a surge of annoyance as he looked on; there was a reason he had assigned Victor a third of his own task: the man could not paint. Several years ago, when Victor had tried to paint Luci's nursery, he'd done such a bad job (drips everywhere, the siding smeared, the walls splotchy enough to resemble leopard print) that Yuuri had eventually banned him from the task and had called Yuri and Otabek over to fix it. The paint war they had gotten into had taken hours to clean up, but eventually, all of the purple had been gotten out of Yuri's hair and the paint job had ended up pristine.

Fighting a sigh at the leopard print-esque job Victor was doing now, Otabek returned to his own work, fully resigned to the fact that he'd be repainting the wall once Victor had left. In truth, he fully wished that Victor wasn't helping at all, but apparently the man had so little faith in him that he didn't trust him to paint walls correctly. There had been no dissuading him, and, after a few aborted tries that had resulted in straight-up growling from Victor, Otabek had given up and 'accepted' (as if he'd ever had a choice in the matter) his help.

Finished with his job of the edging and Victor finally smoothing out his rough second coat, Otabek grabbed his paintbrush to wash it before moving on to use the roller.

"Are you finished with the tray?" He directed the question to the back of Victor's head. "I'm ready to switch if you are."

Grunt. Nod.

Otabek moved over and collected the paint tray, planning to rinse the grey from it so he could refill it with pink, and was at the open door when he heard a growl of frustration and several choice curse words erupt behind him. Looking back over his shoulder, Otabek saw a large smear of paint on the sheeting they'd put down over the carpet; Victor had evidently forgotten that Otabek had taken the paint tray and had put his roller down on the plastic.

With another internalized sigh, Otabek left Victor to clean up his mess, retreating to the bathroom.

A little over an hour and several venomous glares from Victor later, the second coat of paint was done, and, finished for the day, the two were working on moving all of the painting supplies to the center of the room so they could see the full picture unobstructed.

"Is this closed?" Otabek asked Victor, gesturing to a full can of pink paint beside him.

"What does it look like?" Victor snapped, rolling his eyes at Otabek's apparent idiocy.

With the smallest of eye rolls, Otabek stooped to grab the paint can, moving to set it in the center of the room with the rest. As he did, though, he forgot about Victor's paint splotch on the sheeting, the man having repeated his mistake and refreshed it several times more. Otabek's foot slid in the paint and, before he even hit the ground, he was covered, head to toe, with pink paint.

Otabek was still for a second, motionless, before wiping the paint from his eyes and mouth.

"The can was not closed."

He stood, walking out of the room, away from Victor whose eyes were huge and shocked, and, of course, came face to face with Yuri, who was leaving the office, in the hallway.

Yuri just stared at him for a second, eyes moving slowly from his face to his boots and back up to his face again, taking in the pink-covered figure before him. He was at an absolute loss for words, mouth slightly open and stunned.

"The paint wasn't closed." Otabek muttered, moving past him to the bathroom, hoping to get most of the paint off in the shower, and feeling his <strike>ex</strike>husband's eyes follow him all the way.

***

That Wednesday, Yuri came home more exhausted than he had done in a long time. Wednesday was one of his longer days to begin with, as it and Tuesday each held at least four classes -- subbing not included --, among them the Junior Ballet class, Yuri's most tedious and time-consuming lesson by far. It was normally manageable, however, especially with Ekaterina's help as the assistant teacher to get the children to behave: so, for the past few months, Yuri had been handling it fairly well. Today, however, he did not.

Even from the morning, everything had been worse than usual. Ekaterina was out that day, having been asked to an interview at the Mariinsky ballet, its director having been very impressed with her audition for their academy a while back, which meant that Yuri was alone dealing with his classes.

Yuri didn't realize, it seemed, how much Ekaterina did until she was gone.

Ekaterina had one day, without being asked, taken over the chores that Yuri usually did before the studio opened. They were nothing big; sweeping the floor; cleaning the mirror; setting up the music station, and such, but Yuri hadn't done them in several months, and a lot had changed since he last had.

Safely in his third trimester, Yuri's abdomen had grown from being a mere hindrance to a downright liability, throwing off his balance badly enough that he found himself clinging to the barre and going down into a split to be able to sit without risking a fall. Getting up was more of an issue, but Yuri managed it all the same, returning less than gracefully to his feet after several minutes too long of aborted attempts, red-faced and humiliated even though he was alone in Studio C.

The point was, though, that the opening chores suddenly seemed so much harder to do than they had been, and by the time Yuri's first class rolled around, Yuri's back and feet were aching, though he still stubbornly refused to occupy his chair during class.

Intermediate Broadway, Intermediate Lyrical, and Beginner Pointe passed easily enough, though they were still fairly draining for Yuri, and he was already looking wistfully forward to the end of the day and soaking his feet before he had even started his final class. It was only when his Junior Ballet students filed rowdily into the studio, though, that Yuri realized the real challenge had only just begun.

Yuri had remembered distantly that Junior Ballet had been a handful before Ekaterina, but, as he seemed to constantly be finding today, it was so much worse now.

Yuri called instructions hopelessly into the bedlam that was a bunch of five to seven-year-olds in leotards and ballet shoes, and murdered his feet further in his attempts to round the children up and get them into their lines so they could warm up. An hour and a half, three tantrums, four sets of tears, and innumerable screams later, Yuri all but cried in mingled pain and relief as the class finally ended, dropping into the chair in Studio C and accepting his imminent death.

His imminent death which, unmercifully, did not come, as the closing chores had to be completed before Victor gave him a ride home and Yuri had not sunk so low as to ask for or accept help.

When Yuri, at last, arrived in a state not unlike a pile of goo at home, there were only three items on his mental agenda: food, soak his feet, and sleep.

The first, -- of course, because his day hadn't been awful enough -- was complicated greatly by Otabek's presence in the kitchen when Yuri entered it. As of yet, Yuri had been able to avoid sharing the kitchen with Otabek, the former eating directly after getting home from the studio and the latter often dining later in the evening. Today, though, Yuri's exhaustion had rendered him slow and he'd gotten home far later than he normally would, so it really shouldn't have been such a surprise to find Otabek in the middle of meal-prep when he arrived.

It was, though, and Yuri, who was quite sure that if he didn't have dinner now he'd fall asleep before he was able to, resigned himself to the fact that he wouldn't be able to evade Otabek's presence forever, and made himself known in the kitchen.

Otabek glanced up as Yuri walked in, doing his best to suppress the waddle that was steadily growing harder and harder to force out of his gait.

"How was class?" Otabek asked tentatively, "I noticed that you're home later than usual."

"Fine." Yuri gave the response he always did, and tried not to wince as a spurt of pain shot through his abdomen. The Preeclampsia symptoms had lessened somewhat, but the sporadic pains in his abdomen remained and seemed to take pleasure in wreaking havoc on his daily activities-- especially when he was feeling particularly worn out. Luckily, though, this jolt was mild and he was able to suppress any facial acknowledgment of it as he made his way to the fridge.

Hopefully, there would be something quick to heat up so Yuri could be on his way, Yuri thought as he opened the fridge door, though he felt his heart sink as he spied the contents.

Yuri hadn't cooked in a few weeks, the constant back pain ailing him making cooking a nightmare, and therefore hadn't replenished his stock of leftovers in the same amount of time. Still, though, he hadn't thought he'd eaten all of them.

Hopelessly, Yuri scanned the fridge and found it bare of anything he could eat. While in actuality it was highly stocked, Yuri refused to take any of the premade food from within it. He had always been very clear on the fact that he could take care of himself, whatever Preeclampsia said to the contrary, and had therefore outright refused to accept Otabek's help in any of the household chores.

While in matters like vacuuming Otabek was able to get around that rule, Yuri staunchly would not accept help in culinary matters, declining Otabek's offers of sharing whatever he had made for lunch and cooking for himself.

Now was no exception, especially with Otabek in the kitchen with him, and, only slightly wanting to cry, Yuri grabbed several ingredients from the fridge, intending to prepare the fastest, easiest variation of solyanka known to man.

Seeing that Otabek was using the counter below the cupboards mounted to the walls to prepare whatever he was making, Yuri chose to work at the island, his back to his husband.

Pulling the cutting board from where several stood on the counter, Yuri caught a whiff of whatever Otabek was making-- shashlik, apparently.

Yuri had to force himself away, practically salivating at the scent and sight of the beef kabobs, warm and juicy and sauteed beautifully with onion and vegetables surrounding the meat. It was probably just the cravings that came with pregnancy, Yuri decided, but he suddenly wanted them so badly. And they were already done, too, Otabek pulling the tray from the oven and stacking the kabobs on a plate.

Yuri, ravenous as he was, noticed painfully that Otabek had made far too much shashlik for one person-- easily enough to feed two, likely three, and Yuri knew that Otabek had done it for him, hoping that he'd cave and accept help.

And it would be so easy too, Yuri's brain betrayed him, there were so many kabobs: surely, once Otabek left and the leftovers were in the fridge, he wouldn't notice if Yuri ate a few. But, Yuri reminded his mutinous stomach as he sucked in to contain its growl, it wasn't about that. Yuri didn't need help; he could do it himself; he was and would be fine without Otabek, once he left again.

Yuri's chain of thought was broken by his stomach emitting a loud, embarrassing growl, and, note to self, sucking in did not work while pregnant. Dammit.

Otabek glanced over to where Yuri was chopping cabbage to go in his soup, cheeks now flaming red and hair falling forward to hide it.

"Um," Otabek began, "if you don't want to wait, there's plenty of shashlik here-- I made too much."

Yes!

"No," Yuri gritted his teeth, "I'm making solyanka. Thank you."

"Oh," Otabek looked disappointed, Yuri saw out of the corner of his eye, but the former turned quickly to hide it. "Of course. No problem."

They went back to working in silence, Otabek completing the tray of shashlik with a spread of garlicky sauce over each kabob as Yuri finished chopping potatoes and dumped his ingredients into the pot of broth simmering on the stove.

Yuri had just turned his attention to dicing tomatoes to go in the stew when Preeclampsia decided to rear its ugly head again, and Yuri let out a whoosh of air through his gritted teeth. His exhaustion from the day, the persistent throbbing in his feet, and the unignorable tension in his back made quite enough discomfort to be covering up, especially when he had just barely crossed the halfway point in his recipe and was painfully aware of the fifteen intervening minutes before he could sit down to eat, and, with the Preeclampsia pain taking him by surprise, Yuri momentarily dropped his facade, forgetting that Otabek stood only a few feet away, and put down the knife he was using on the tomatoes, rubbing his abdomen and hanging his head to take deep, slow breaths.

The pain flickered in his face, not as bad as it had been before but severe enough that he had to set a hand on the edge of the island to ground himself, bracing his palm against the marble and closing his eyes, making a concentrated effort to breathe slowly and evenly.

"Yuri?"

Of course, Otabek had noticed: he always did.

"Are you alright?" The question was hesitant, as though its owner was afraid of stepping past boundaries but concerned enough to risk it anyway.

"Fine," Yuri returned, voice just slightly strained, "it's just the Preeclampsia pain. I'm fine."

"Can I do anything?" Again, the offer was tentative, afraid to overstep, but Otabek moved a bit closer, coming to stand a few feet behind and to Yuri's right, though he didn't touch him. "Why don't you take a break? I can finish this-- you've been on your feet all day."

"I'm fine." Yuri's tone brooked no arguments, and, though the pain still spasmed in his abdomen, he moved from the island, turning his back to Otabek to stir the solyanka still simmering on the stove.

Otabek bit his tongue, watching Yuri with no small amount of anxiety, but did as he wished, and left him alone.

***

A few more days following The Paint Incident ™, it was Friday, and, Victor having picked Luci up early for some reason or another, Yuri headed to the home office, mulling over a few adjustments he wanted to make to Beginner Pointe's program. With Ekaterina's assistance, the lesson on advanced spins en pointe had gone over fairly well-- only a few stumbles and no broken ankles, not that Yuri had seriously been expecting them.

Slightly bolstered by this success, Yuri had been contemplating adding in a Pencil Leg Turn to the routine for his students, fairly confident that they'd manage it-- if less than gracefully.

Still lost in thought, images of turns chasing each other around his brain, Yuri had stepped into the office before he'd fully registered what he'd walked in on. Otabek, sitting at the desk and working on a laptop, headphones on and facing away from the door, startled as Yuri walked in, and Yuri, not having been expecting him, froze where he stood.

"Sorry," Otabek said immediately, pulling his headphones off, "do you need the room? I can go-- I was just finishing something."

"No," Yuri said, a little disoriented at finding Otabek working in the office. When had he gotten home? "I just needed my notebook, I didn't mean to disturb you."

"You didn't," Otabek was quick to assure him, "I, uh, actually needed to find you. I finished 'All I Ask of You'" he said, hesitating slightly, "I imagine you want to review it?"

Yuri really hadn't expected to be confronted with his both husband -- ex-husband? He honestly didn't know anymore -- and the love song to their failed romance just by walking into the home office. He nodded slowly though, and tried to seem like he had any idea what he was doing at that moment in time. What had he even come in here for, again?

"Yeah," Yuri replied, "I do."

As Otabek spun slightly in his chair, trying not to turn his back to Yuri but attempting to cue something up on the screen, Yuri stepped closer to the desk, leaving the middle of the room and coming to stand behind and to Otabek's right.

Otabek made an odd, spastic movement at Yuri's motion, as though he was going to stand and offer Yuri his chair but had thought better of it, and hastily tried to cover it up by pointing at something on the screen.

"I followed everything you wanted done," he said, gesturing to some arrangement of notes and keys on the screen that Yuri could barely make heads or tails of. "And I added another bridge, too, if that's okay. I have another version without it if you don't like it."

Yuri nodded, and, after waiting a second for a further reaction and being deprived of one, Otabek hit play.

Yuri's heart swooped. God, had it really only been a few weeks since he'd last listened to this? It felt both like forever ago, and only seconds.

It was only when the third verse began that Yuri became aware of the eager pounding against the walls of his abdomen, having been too caught up in the whirlwind of emotion that always overcame him when listening to this song to notice. Of course, the baby had caught on. She'd been kicking up a storm ever since she'd first heard Phantom of the Opera and had been even more so after Yuri had stopped working on it. Even now, weeks later, she had yet to give up hope that she'd hear the song again and had continued in terrorizing Yuri's attempts to sleep to the best of her ability. Yuri shuddered to think what she'd be like as a toddler.

In any case, though, she'd gotten what she'd wanted (if inadvertently so) and was now doing backflips on Yuri's bladder, apparently overjoyed to hear her favorite song again.

Out of habit more than anything, Yuri put a hand on his stomach, hoping to soothe her movements so they'd grow a bit less painful, and ran his thumb absentmindedly over it.

The seventh verse built and it was here that Yuri heard Otabek's impromptu bridge. He wasn't well-versed enough in music to be able to articulate exactly what he was hearing, but he knew enough to hear that a harmony line had been threaded in, winding around the two voices and-- oh. That was Otabek's voice. That was Otabek's voice on the harmony, quietly lifting and adding to the set melody until the entire stanza flowed around that line.

Subtly but powerfully, Otabek had changed the song enough to bring emotion out of the hardest of hearts. Yuri thought this might've been the best of all of Otabek's pieces: a display of quiet mastery at work.

The last note built and then fell, trembling vibrato fading out, and Otabek stopped the track, turning in his seat to face Yuri.

"What do you think?" He asked quietly. And maybe he knew that Yuri was struggling not to cry, not to let what he was sure were his hormones take over and bring him to kneel at emotion's feet.

"It's," perfect. Painfully, beautifully, heartbreakingly perfect. "It works."

Yuri's voice was flat, if a bit strained, and he looked slightly down, unable to meet Otabek's eyes for fear of breaking down then and there.

"Good," Otabek said, just as quietly as Yuri had; the song had done a number on them both. "I'll email it to you for your class."

"Thank you." Yuri replied, and turned, hopefully not too hastily, to move toward the door. He was gone by the time Otabek noticed the spiral notebook sitting on the desk a few feet away from the keyboard, and Yuri didn't reply when Otabek called after him.

***

For the rest of the day, the kicking didn't let up: the baby, having been given a taste of what she apparently so desired, had either been tantruming for more or showing her gratitude by way of her tiny, yet ridiculously powerful, feet-- Yuri wasn't quite sure which.

Either way, it had been hours and, though she'd grown tired and had taken breaks, the baby was still pounding away on Yuri's insides as he got ready for bed.

Dressed only in a raggedy old T-shirt Yuri was steadfastly pretending was not Otabek's, Yuri eased himself down onto the mattress, slipping his legs under the comforter left peeled back. At 29 weeks pregnant, Yuri's mobility was severely hindered by the twenty-pound abdomen he was hefting around, his balance a thing of the past and a non-painful back a mere fantasy.

Shifting over in bed so he could rest his abdomen on the maternity body pillow he'd been forced to acquire, Yuri twisted his arm behind him to switch off the lamp. He was just drifting off to sleep, exhausted from watching Luci and the emotional turmoil that had musically followed it, when--

"Mph," Yuri, having been nearly asleep, was caught by surprise when a powerful kick landed right beneath his belly button. Yuri let out a little groan of pain as the storm descended-- of course, the baby had woken up. Why could she never sleep at the same time he did?

With a vaguely foreboding feeling about what life would be like once she was born that Yuri's brain was too sleep-muddled to work out, Yuri ran his hands over his abdomen, stroking it and hoping against hope that his daughter would quiet and let him get back to sleep.

Another vicious kick, this time to the cervix, sent a lightning bolt through Yuri's body and he let out a hiss of pain, too exhausted to try to be quiet or hide his distress.

Outside in the hallway, Otabek paused. He had just finished brushing his teeth in the bathroom (he'd always been someone who went to bed early, whereas Yuri had been a night owl until adopting the aforementioned habit when he became pregnant, exhaustion driving him to need more sleep) and had been passing the master bedroom to get to the guest room he currently occupied when he'd heard a small whimper from the other side of the door. He stayed still for a moment, listening, and had just decided that he must have heard an animal outside when another, more distinct, hiss came from the bedroom.

Concern mounting, Otabek considered his options. He didn't want to be invasive or nosy, but ever since Yuri'd been diagnosed (and, honestly, before the Preeclampsia he'd been worried, too) he'd found it difficult to assuage his anxiety for Yuri's wellbeing. And what if something was wrong? It sounded like Yuri was in pain, especially as another little groan was heard from within the bedroom, and Otabek knew that, even during the best of times, Yuri had been reluctant to ask for help: there was no way he'd tell Otabek if he needed anything now.

Unable to wait any longer, Otabek knocked quietly on the bedroom door. "Yuri?" He called softly, trying to keep the worry from his voice and come off as nonchalant as possible. "Are you alright?" Okay, so maybe he was failing. Sue him.

"I'm fi--" a very sleepy voice answered from the inside, but broke off abruptly with what Otabek knew was some sort of pain.

"Yuri," Otabek called again, his hand hovering over the doorknob. Would it be intrusive to ask-- "Can I, uh, come in? Just so we can talk more easily?"

A pause on the inside, and Otabek's heart beat into overdrive. Why had he said that? It was a stupid idea: he knew it had been a stupid idea-- what had he been thinking? Now Yuri was creeped out and probably uncomfortable and--

"Okay." A small, exhausted voice came from the inside, and all of the air left Otabek with a whoosh.

Slowly, Otabek opened the door, a crack of light from the hall illuminating the darkness-shrouded bedroom and Yuri's face from where he lay on the bed. Yuri blinked in the bright light, eyes squinting to adjust, and Otabek hurried to shut the door, leaving them wrapped in darkness once more.

On second thought, that might not have been the best idea, standing in the dark with his eventually-ex husband when he was obviously uncomfortable with his presence. Before he got a chance to dwell on that fuck-up, though, Otabek's attention was drawn by a small, and obviously attemptedly-muffled, breath from the bed.

"I just wanted to ask if you were okay," Otabek said, hoping not to seem as nervous as he felt, "it sounded like you were in pain."

"I'm fine," Yuri answered too quickly, and they both took a second to wince at that. "It's just the baby," Yuri amended, voice resigned, "she's kick--" he groaned quietly, obviously trying and failing to suppress the noise. "--ing." He finished, and, just for a second, his voice sounded like it used to, like Yuri had bruised himself in practice and, while trying to downplay how bad it was, had been caught out. The thought brought a small smile to Otabek's lips. "I can't seem to get her to settle," Yuri continued, a sigh in his voice, and Otabek was sure that Yuri must've been remembering as well, otherwise he never would've elaborated as he had.

Otabek nodded sympathetically, though much good it did in the dark, and, as casually as possible, "Can I, um... try?" Otabek gestured vaguely towards Yuri's abdomen (real useful in the dark, dipshit) and let his gaze fall.

Wow, he was really trying to get Yuri never to speak to him again, wasn't he? "I just," he said quickly, hating himself for even suggesting it. Yuri had given him an inch and he was taking a mile-- Yuri saying that the baby was kicking wasn't an invitation to ask to touch it! "I read somewhere that, uh, other family members can sometimes help-- or, um, anyone who the baby is accustomed to having nearby." And there was the nervous babbling. Great.

The seconds stretched into what seemed like infinitely, and Otabek was about to retract his request, plead insanity and show himself out, when a tiny "Okay," parted the air.

Trying not to look too relieved that Yuri hadn't yelled at him to fuck the hell off (though, honestly, had he gotten that reaction out of the monosyllabic, unemoting Yuri, Otabek would've been very surprised), Otabek moved slowly over to the bed. He had to lean over it some, as it was a queen (he and Yuri had always slept tangled in each other's embrace anyway, so they had never needed much space) and Yuri lay on his side, facing him and made farther from the door by Otabek's-- the other side of the bed.

Trying his best not to make Yuri feel trapped or crowded in, and avoiding outright sitting down, as that might make Yuri feel like Otabek was attempting intimacy to which he had no right, Otabek put his right knee awkwardly on the bed and leaned his weight on it while his left leg remained stretched to the floor. The whole position was really rather precarious, and Otabek put his right hand down on the bedspread to steady himself.

Slowly, making it very apparent what was coming and giving Yuri every opportunity to move away, Otabek stretched out his left hand to where Yuri's abdomen rested on the maternity pillow Yuri was wrapped around.

Otabek held his breath. He didn't reasonably know why, but some part of him felt that it was appropriate, and he didn't really have much choice in the matter anyway-- his lungs seemed to have just stopped working.

Slowly, ever so slowly, his hand shaking slightly, Otabek's fingers, then palm, made contact with Yuri's abdomen, the fabric of his T-shirt soft and worn thin under his touch, and Yuri's skin warm beneath. Otabek was having trouble processing this; Yuri's abdomen was hard beneath his hand, skin stretched and drawn taut over where the baby grew, with a gentle curve, rounded and full beneath Otabek's palm.

A strong kick landed beneath Otabek's hand and an involuntary smile curved Otabek's lips. His daughter. His little girl. And just before Otabek could float off into absolute heaven, Yuri gave a small wince, and Otabek, terrified that he'd hurt him in some way, retracted his hand as though burned.

Yuri's reaction was immediate and he gave a tiny cry of pain as, at the loss of contact, the baby kicked hard, hard enough to, even in the dark, visibly raise the skin of Yuri's abdomen. Yuri's hand shot out and he grabbed Otabek's, pressing it again to his abdomen and breathing deeply, painstakingly, as a volley of movements attacked where Otabek's palm rested, before slowly dying down to friendly, little flutters of curious, excited movement.

Yuri let out a sigh of a breath, eyes shut and looking relieved in the darkness, as the attack on his insides was reduced to a gentle hammering.

They stayed like that for a minute or so, Yuri glorying in the relief and Otabek enchanted by his daughter, touching her for the first time ever. All too soon, though, Yuri seemed to come back to himself and realize what was going on, eyes flying open to stare at Otabek, only to be averted an instant later, Yuri's body filling with tension under Otabek's touch and his hand, having been keeping Otabek's in place on Yuri's abdomen, moving sharply away.

"Uh," Yuri mumbled, looking over his own shoulder, as far away from Otabek as possible. "Thanks."

"No problem," Otabek replied, equally uncomfortable now, "so, uh, how long should we do this?" Otabek was loathe to remove his hand, to leave the room and likely pretend that this had never happened, to let go of his daughter with the full knowledge that he likely wouldn't be able to touch her again until after she was born, but Yuri was obviously not happy with his being here, and he wouldn't make it harder for him by staying any longer than was necessary.

"Probably until she falls asleep," Yuri answered, a flurry of emotions fighting within him, not in the least longing and something all-too-familiar that he refused to acknowledge. "She's, uh, still kicking now and she'll probably get mad if you leave."

Otabek nodded, he could feel it as she kicked, the little pattering of thumps against his hand. It filled him with a sensation he'd never experienced before, and, even though the atmosphere was so palpably tense, he had to fight a smile as another wallop landed directly beneath his hand. "Okay. So, we'll wait."

"Yes, we'll wait." Yuri agreed with a short nod.

They stayed there for a bit, both pretending not to be as uncomfortable as they were, and, eventually, Otabek shifted slightly, readjusting his position; his right arm was going numb.

Yuri, to Otabek's abject horror, noticed immediately. "You can, uh, relax if you want." his voice was forcibly level, if a bit strained.

Otabek, deciding a verbal response would likely make the entire situation more painful, just nodded (Yuri, so close in the darkness, could see him-- that was, he could if he turned his head from where he was still trying to pull an Exorcist and look as far away from Otabek as possible, his own shoulder be damned).

Repositioning carefully, Otabek ended up, not lying down, but with his body and legs forming an obtuse angle, the former propped up on the pillows, and his hand in its customary position upon Yuri's abdomen. Relaxed like this, the exhaustion of the day hit Otabek full force, and he became acutely aware of the danger of reclining as he was. He made a conscious effort to stay aware, his thumb rubbing aimless, looping patterns into the warm flesh of Yuri's abdomen. Yuri went rigid at this at first, but, after a few, tense moments where neither of them moved and Otabek was too afraid to stop, grew accustomed to the admittedly nice sensation, and was able to relax his body.

More than relax his body, actually, as Yuri realized dimly a little later. With his head finally in a natural position (slumped on his left shoulder) and his body loose and warm under his husband's gentle ministrations, his eyes were fluttering shut, and, though somewhere, far off, he knew that he shouldn't let himself drift off, he was weak to the bliss of it now, and fought no battles, allowing himself to fall happily into sleep.

***

Yuri woke slowly, peacefully, warm and content in the quiet of the morning. For the first time in months, neither nausea nor borderline-sadistic kicking plagued him, and he drifted in and around the edges of sleep, lulled and comfortable for the first time in what seemed ages. It was only when Yuri felt willing to open his eyes, that reality set in.

It seemed about mid-morning, if the way the light streamed through the white, gauzy curtains and gently illuminated the room was any indication. For a moment, Yuri was confused that he'd woken by himself-- where was his alarm? And then he realized that it was Saturday, and that the next 48 hours were work-free, though he had been invited (forced into) going to the Katsuki-Nikiforovs' for dinner that night. He wondered vaguely if Otabek had been invited too, though it seemed unlikely. Victor had been so mad at him recently for no-- oh. Oh. Otabek.

And Yuri's eyes, which had been drifting shut again, unseeing, snapped open like someone had electrocuted him. Otabek, in the night. Otabek, touching his abdomen. Otabek, in his bed.

Otabek in his bed.

And with horror crashing over him and threatening to drag him into the cold, unforgiving undertow, Yuri realized that his head wasn't safely resting on his own shoulder anymore. It had, apparently during the night, traveled to lie nestled into Otabek's chest.

Yuri raised his head carefully, fairly certain that his husband/lover/ex/whoever the fuck he was, was still asleep, and took in how they laid together.

Yuri's head was on Otabek's chest, his abdomen resting on Otabek's pelvis, somehow having moved itself off of the maternity pillow that was now squished down by their legs. Otabek had one hand still resting on Yuri's abdomen, and the other wrapped around him, holding him protectively in a close embrace, while Yuri's right hand curled into the former's chest.

Now more than awake, Yuri felt his throat tightening, unwelcome emotions and memories hitting him like waves, buffeting his body and infusing the unrelenting need to escape into the forefront of his mind.

This was too much, so far past too much that Yuri couldn't even begin to think of a classification that befit it. This wasn't real, wasn't supposed to be happening. It had been 152 days since Yuri had last shared a bed with his husband, 156 since his side of the bed had last been occupied, and in all that time Yuri had never once touched that side of the mattress, only ever going as far as to smooth the covers over it when he made his side of the bed each morning. The shock of finding it occupied again, of finding himself curled up with his husband, as though nothing had happened, as though they were still happy and in love and blissfully, excitedly expecting a baby, was too much to bear.

Yuri could take a lot of things. He could take living in the same house as the man who had forsaken him; he could take the snide remarks on the state of his marriage from the children at the dance studio; he could even take the constant reminder that he was to be alone in the form of his daughter begging to hear that song that caused him so much pain, but this, waking up in the way that he'd so dreamed of, that he'd prayed he would and that everything over that last five months had been some terrible nightmare, that he would wake up in Otabek's arms and be kissed and held and assured that it would all be okay, was something he couldn't handle.

Tears welled in Yuri's eyes as, carefully, he tried to extricate himself from Otabek's hold, roll over so he could escape the confines of this bed and all that could've been but wasn't. Pushing Otabek's hand off his stomach, suddenly nauseous at the otherwise tender sight, and trying to subtly lift himself off of Otabek's body, Yuri held in the tears desperate to cascade down his face and force him into the act he promised himself every time that he was done committing. Yuri's hands shook as he unwrapped Otabek's arm from around his waist, trying not to wake him and make everything worse, and he let out a quiet, little gasp as they only encircled him more tightly.

Otabek, evidently roused by Yuri's actions despite his caution, blinked hazily, and his eyes grew wide once he registered the position he and Yuri were in. Far from scrambling away, though, a smile curled at the edges of his lips, hope and unadulterated joy filling his eyes. His eyes which, only a second later, found Yuri's and immediately filled with concern.

"Yuri," he murmured immediately, and tried to pull him closer, to comfort him, to hold him and reassure him, and it was all too much. This wasn't the dream. This wasn't what Yuri so desperately wanted it to be. Nothing could be what he hoped for and it all hurt.

Yuri pulled away, breaths coming more quickly than he'd like as he tried to hold onto some semblance of composure, even as he felt it slipping through his grasping fingers more quickly than the sands of a beach in Barcelona.

"No," Yuri whispered, desperately reigning in the impulse to fucking claw his way out of Otabek's hold, and slowly, deliberately, pulled away. Otabek, for his part, upon realizing that Yuri wanted out, immediately let him go, backing off.

The second the arms that had bound him receded, Yuri moved away from Otabek, shuffling awkwardly across the bed, eyes downcast to hide the tears filling them, and abdomen, as ever, weighing him down and making his motions jerky and uncoordinated.

"I'm sorry," and even though Yuri refused to look at him out of blurry eyes, Yuri could see the pain and regret and overwhelming disappointment painted across Otabek's face. Yuri kept his gaze down, his hair falling forward to shield his face, and mentally thanked for it when the first few tears fought free of his eyes and slipped down his face. "I must have fallen asleep..."

Yuri just nodded, and inched backward across the mattress, away from Otabek.

Otabek noticed.

When he spoke, his voice was pained, "I'll-- I'll just go, then..." He trailed off, as though he were hoping that Yuri would contradict him, tell him to stay. Yuri wouldn't: he'd sworn to himself that he would never ask that. Never again.

"Yes," Yuri's voice was quiet, strained, struggling to get past the blockade in Yuri's throat. "I think that would be best." As much as he tried to harden his voice, to be impervious, to let it all bounce off him as he had done for so many months, he couldn't: his voice shook, laced audibly with unshed tears.

Otabek paused, was very still, silent, and Yuri could hear his internal battle of wills. Stay, or go? And then a small intake of breath, the mattress rose, and heavy, sad footsteps creaked across the floor; the door opened before--

"Yura..." At the name, the name, the one only Otabek was allowed to call him, the sound which he'd been yearning for for months, the one he thought he'd never hear again, a quiet sob wrenched itself free from Yuri's chest, tearing out of his throat and into the open air. Pitiful.

"Please," Yuri's voice shook, cracked, and, slowly, the door shut.

Yuri gripped the pillow, and cried.

***

It was over an hour until Yuri left his bedroom that morning, and when he appeared in the kitchen, no mention was made of what had happened, of the sobs that had to have been audible drifting from Yuri's room.

Later, Yuri went to dinner, and the subject was buried.

***

For the next few days, Yuri was unable to sleep, both due to insomnia and the baby's renewed kicking. The irony of it all was that during the night spent with Otabek, Yuri had slept better than he had in months. He refused to consider why.

In the desperation brought on from four nights of near-sleeplessness, though, Yuri began to rack his brain for how that one night had helped not only him but the baby sleep well. Yuri tried music, and learned that a nightly rendition of "All I Ask of You", just before bed, would settle the baby enough to enable Yuri to get to sleep.

Deep down, he knew it wasn't what the baby, what either of them, truly wanted, but what other option did he have?

**A/N**

Is it possible to hear the disappointment of another? I think so: I can hear all of yours right now.That scene (and you all better know which scene I'm talking about) was one of the very first I came up with for this story. I really hope I did it justice. ♥I would really love to hear what you guys thought of this chapter, and I greatly appreciate any and every comment given. ♥

NEXT UPDATE: AUGUST 21ST