Victor's enthusiasm for helping Yuri settle into his new bed rest routine was tempered only by his schedule; when his third alarm went off, reminding him that he had literally ten minutes until his class at the rink started and he had to leave, he dilly dallied for another five before being all but pushed out of the door.

It wasn't that Yuri wasn't grateful for Victor's help, just that, well, he was tired. A bone-deep sort of exhaustion that promised not to fade for a long time to come. And social activity, especially with the ever-bubbly, vivacious Victor, only worsened his fatigue.

"Are you sure that you don't want me to stay?" Victor asked, yet again, as he hovered nervously between Yuri's bedside and the door. "I'm sure Liliana wouldn't mind subbing for my class-- I'd be more than happy to keep you company a while longer."

Yuri shook his head. Victor had appeared promptly at nine that morning, declaring that all of his studio classes were covered and he was free to spend the day helping Yuri adjust to his new routine; to be his 'man servant', as he called it. Yuri had hesitated to bring up the fact that he was far from alone, as Otabek would now be working from home to take care of Yuri (a decision that had been made without his consultation), only due to the fact that Victor had been so hostile toward any mention of him in recent months: Yuri would much prefer several hours in Victor's company to several hours in Victor's company while the latter man repeatedly bashed his husband.

"Liliana deserves a break," Yuri said diplomatically, making an effort that another version of himself never would have to ensure that it wasn't obvious that he wanted Victor to leave. "She's the interim teacher for all of my classes before Lilia can take over; I'm sure she doesn't need any more sub work."

Victor looked conflicted, logic dictating that Yuri was, indeed, correct, but his personal desire to stay and wait on his hand and swollen foot putting up a formidable argument. He had opened his mouth, either to tentatively agree or to feebly contradict, it was really anyone's guess, when a figure appeared in the doorway.

Otabek blinked when both heads swiveled toward him. "Sorry to disturb," he glanced at Victor before they both, oddly enough, looked away, "but, Yuri, I was wondering if you were hungry? The doctor said it would be best to establish the schedule immediately, and this is around the time you would have your lunch break at the studio, right?"

Yuri glanced at his laptop, resting on the small lap desk that had been discarded following Victor's arrival. Was it really two o'clock? Yuri bit back a sigh; no wonder he was so tired-- he would normally have eaten almost an hour ago.

"Yeah," Yuri said, and the baby kicked in agreement. Yuri set a hand on the roundest part of his abdomen and stroked it softly. "It is. I'll start on it in a minute." He glanced at Victor, hoping that he'd take the hint and see himself out. Instead, though, Victor looked slightly alarmed, glancing from Yuri to Otabek.

"But you're on bedrest," he said, "you're not supposed to be cooking-- can't Otabek do that?" He looked challengingly to the man in question, eyes narrowing into their practiced glare, before something strange flickered across his face, and his expression changed to uneasy civility. Yuri blinked.

"Modified bed rest," Otabek explained, addressing Victor's comment. "There are set times to rest and lie down-- as long as we follow the schedule, it's fine." Didn't mean he liked it.

Victor nodded slowly. "If you say so," he said, before glancing at Yuri, "are you sure that you don't want me to stay? I could do lunch for you, so you can stay in bed."

"It's fine," Yuri said as he adjusted his position, lying on his left side on the maternity pillow, to get up. "You need to get to the rink. Didn't you say that Sasha had had a breakthrough with his triple Loop?"

"He did..." Victor looked pained, then sighed. "I'll drop by again at seven, after class. Are you sure you don't need anything before I go?"

"I'm sure." Yuri nodded as Victor raised a hand in farewell, and, after a quick glance back at Yuri, Otabek followed as he left the room.

The door closed downstairs, and Yuri slumped back against the pillows, letting out a sigh of relief. He ran a weary hand over his eyes, and a small smile curled his lips when the baby thumped against the palm still pressed to his abdomen.

"I'm going, I'm going," Yuri murmured gently to it as he felt a second bump, stroking over his navel. "Hold on. We'll eat in a minute."

***

Yuri disliked bed rest. He was stationed in bed, as always, working on his laptop as he sat up against the headboard, and, currently, he was struggling not to chuck his laptop at the wall. Sure, in theory, writing up lesson plans for his classes should have been easy, but because they were so diverse, and he wasn't actually in class to see how and if things were getting done, it had quickly become apparent that the task was an exercise in inefficacy.

Yuri let out a puff of frustration, and, giving in to temptation, closed his laptop. He ran a weary hand over his face, as, with the other, he shoved the lapdesk off of his abdomen and to the side. Gently massaging his temples, hoping to avoid the headache he had a sinking feeling was inevitable, Yuri dropped a hand to rub at his abdomen. He cupped the fullest part (which, honestly, wasn't hard to find; he was fucking huge) and smiled slightly as, immediately, a smattering of light kicks met his touch.

Resting his head against the headboard, Yuri shut his eyes as he played with his daughter. Taking one finger, he drew random, swooping patterns on his belly, and felt it as she chased them, kicking and elbowing a little trail in their wake. Yuri could almost picture them doing this once she was born: him drawing patterns on her tummy and her giggling and screeching as she tried to escape the tickles.

Yuri was brought back to reality when a knock on the door sounded, and he opened his eyes, pulling his shirt back down from where he'd rolled it up to play with the baby. Hoping halfheartedly that it wasn't Victor in the hall, (it would be the fourth time that week) Yuri gathered his remaining patience. While playing with his daughter had improved his mood exponentially, the stupid lesson planning had done a number on him, and he did not want to socialize.

"Come in."

Yuri breathed a mental sigh of relief as Otabek poked his head into the room, and, seeming uncertain if he should enter fully, hung awkwardly over the threshold. "Hey," he said, "I just got back from the store, and I wondered if you needed anything? We have coconut cake," he added, "a fan works in the patisserie and wouldn't let me leave until I took a cake. I don't like coconut, but you do, so I thought you might want some?"

Of course Otabek didn't like coconut-- as if Yuri hadn't remembered. After almost five years of marriage and thirteen of friendship, Yuri knew full well that Otabek abhorred anything the fruit came in contact with.

Equalling Otabek's disdain for it, though, was Yuri's absolute love of coconut. Coconut, milk, coconut bonbons, coconut anything, Yuri practically adored. (He'd even teased Otabek for several weeks about making the wedding cake coconut and just having him eat a cookie or something, before eventually relenting and agreeing to chocolate. With coconut-frosted cupcakes on the side, as per Yuri's conditions.)

In fact, it now seemed unfathomable to Yuri that, throughout all of his lunatic, pregnancy cravings, he had never once eaten coconut since he'd found out. He could vaguely remember having some weird (good, though he would never admit it) coconut blondie in the first five minutes of the Worlds banquet, waving it under Otabek's nose and giggling as he looked pointedly away, but nothing since then. Either way, though, the absolute travesty that was his lapsed coconut intake needed to be rectified, and, with his hormones clobbering him mercilessly over the head, Yuri was sure that if he hadn't been craving coconut before, now, he most certainly was.

Hoping distractedly that the rumbling of his stomach at the mention of cake hadn't been audible, Yuri ran his hands along his belly to soothe the now-very-excited baby. Apparently, she liked the idea of cake, too.

A tiny smile curled Yuri's lips as two firm kicks landed beneath his navel, as if to affirm his theory.

Glancing back up to Otabek to confirm that yes, Yuri needed that cake!! (in maybe less enthusiastic terms), Yuri found the man watching him, a quirk of his mouth, his smile and a sad, resigned sparkle in his eye. Yuri's eyebrows furrowed slightly, but before he had time to examine the expression, to even ask what was wrong (though would he have? Yuri wasn't sure), Otabek's face had smoothed flat again, and Yuri was answering.

"Yeah, thanks--" Yuri's words hung in the air, as if he wanted to add something else, but nothing came. "Thanks." Yuri muttered again, fixing his attention on his abdomen and wrapping his arms around it to hide his embarrassment at his brain's short circuit.

"I'll be right back," Otabek nodded, apparently (mercifully) thinking nothing of the oddity of Yuri's words. He turned on his heel and disappeared from the room, and Yuri's attention was drawn by several excited, slightly-harder kicks to his bladder.

"Hold on," Yuri murmured to his abdomen, though he felt quite as impatient as the baby seemed to be, to get his hands on the cake. "Just wait a second. God, you're going to be a terrible toddler." A strong punch to the lung agreed, and Yuri laughed as he wheezed.

***

Yuri almost moaned aloud at the first bite of cake; Otabek had cut him an extra large slice, likely guessing his intentions toward the confectionary, and to say that Yuri was thrilled would be understating it. It suddenly seemed so long since Yuri had eaten coconut or baked goods of any kind. What had been wrong with him? Where had this cake been all of these months? How had he ever managed without it?

Yuri's eyes fluttered closed as he gloried in the dessert, the smooth, creamy frosting and sweet, fluffy cake. Balancing the plate on his abdomen, Yuri let his head lean back against the headboard, in absolute bliss. The baby, true to Yuri's prediction, also seemed to be enjoying the treat, and excited, little kicks rained down on Yuri's kidneys and liver, though none were hard enough to potentially jostle the plate balanced upon Yuri's abdomen. Yuri couldn't help but smile: his daughter had priorities.

She definitely liked coconut, Yuri was sure, when he felt the baby do a somersault in his abdomen on the next bite; Otabek would be outvoted: they would be having this all of the time. Rubbing his belly with one hand and carefully steadying the cake with the other, Yuri knew that this would be the centerpiece at every celebration; though, maybe, if Yuri and the baby were feeling nice, Otabek would be allowed to have his favored, boring chocolate cake on his birthday.

Yuri froze. His hand stilled on his abdomen; his eyes flew open, his fingers around his fork grew lax.

Yuri swallowed slowly.

Where had that come from? They wouldn't-- they weren't going to be doing any of that. It wouldn't matter if the child liked coconut— their little 'family' wouldn't be together enough for it to even matter. There would be no voting, no cake at celebrations, likely no celebrations, at all-- at least none together.

He and Otabek would have shared custody, that had been specified in the divorce papers they were waiting until the baby was born to sign. They would share big events, not do them together. Maybe when their daughter was still too young to be traded back and forth, they would keep living together, just to take care of her; but once it was possible, Yuri knew that that would end. After all, who would want to live with the other half of their loveless, failed marriage for any longer than was strictly necessary?
Yuri put his fork down. Suddenly, the cake didn't seem so good, anymore.

***

If Otabek had thought that being put on bed rest would finally force Yuri to accept help, he was thoroughly mistaken; every time Otabek knocked on Yuri's door to ask what he wanted for lunch, he instead found him mid-meal prep in the kitchen. And, the worst of it was, Otabek couldn't do anything about it.

Yuri followed his schedule to a T, resting, eating, and sleeping at the set times, and, while he had yet to try to do the gardening (an activity strictly off-limits, as per the doctor's orders), he was still refusing Otabek's offers to do anything that Yuri could technically get away with doing himself. It was frustrating, to say the least.

So, when Otabek skipped checking the master bedroom at 6:30 one night and instead went straight to the kitchen, it was with no surprise but much desperation that he found Yuri seated at the table, peeling potatoes.

Yuri glanced up when Otabek entered the room, before he stalwartly continued peeling his potato, as if preemptively silencing all offers of assistance. Sending the table a look, Otabek found it to be covered in the ingredients he immediately recognized as those comprising piroshki. Potato, beef, onion, and cheese ones, to be exact.

Otabek's brow creased. Yuri hadn't had piroshki in quite some time, at least to his knowledge, which surprised him, now he thought about it, because piroshki was the ultimate comfort food, and the fact that it had been so readily absent from Yuri's diet was vaguely concerning. Now, though, what Otabek was focused on (and he made a mental note to think about the lack of piroshki later), was that piroshki took quite some time to make, and over two hours spent on an arduous recipe was not what Yuri needed right now. Bed rest or not, Otabek would've worried that Yuri might overstretch himself with the dish, but the fact that he was actually on doctor-ordered bed rest only cemented his case.

Otabek moved to the sink, trying to come up with a way to offer his assistance without coming off as patronizing or manipulative. Sure, he'd love to say, 'please, Yuri, think of the baby-- what if she gets hurt because you won't sit down?', but, somehow, he doubted that that would go over well. (He'd actually love to say, 'Yuri, what if you get hurt because you won't sit down?', but he thought that would go over worse.)

As Otabek busied himself with washing the dirty dishes from Yuri's meal prep (small victories), he, as inconspicuously as possible, naturally, cast his gaze over to where Yuri worked at the kitchen table. As he watched, Yuri started to get up, bracing himself with one hand on the table and one on the back of his chair, easing himself laboriously to his feet. He'd only just achieved them when he let out a silent gasp, pain flickering across his face. His hand rubbed at the small of his back (Otabek had read that contractions, real and false, alike, often felt like pressure coming from the back into the abdomen) and he bit his lip.

Otabek had just opened his mouth, impulsively about to ask if Yuri was alright, when Yuri moved, grabbing the potato peelings and waddling across to the island, under which was the trash can. He dumped them in, and repeated his trip, moving back to the table to gather the (now peeled and chopped) potatoes onto the cutting board to bring them back to the island, where the dough was waiting.

Yuri's motions had acted as stimulant (or anti-stimulant, whichever made more sense) to Otabek and he managed to stop himself before he could speak and make things worse.

Dishes done but unwilling to leave the safety of the sink, a good vantage point to survey the kitchen while appearing busy, Otabek's eyes followed Yuri as he began folding the dough over the ingredients placed in the center of the small circle. He was just pinching a third one closed when he grimaced, his hand moving to rub again at his back as his face twisted in pain. Otabek couldn't stop himself.

"Are you alright?" He asked, before he had even registered forming the thought.

Like an actor coming out of a role, Yuri's face instantly wiped clean of the pained expression, and the hand fell from his back. Only the slightest twitch in his eyebrow betrayed him; Yuri wore his press face, the carefully blank expression he had learned to adopt when, A) he seriously wanted to punch someone but couldn't because the cameras were right next to him, trained on his every move, or, B) he was hiding an injury at the Kiss and Cry, every camera in the rink on him. Otabek hoped that this case was caused solely by the latter reason, but he honestly wasn't sure.

"Braxton Hicks." Yuri replied, in a flat tone that brooked no discussion, and moved on to the fourth piroshki bun.

"Oh," Otabek nodded, even though Yuri could not see him. And, because he was a self-destructive idiot, "can I help?" He added, heart rate picking up slightly as he watched Yuri fail to hide another wince of pain as he stood at the island.

"I'm almost done." Even to Yuri's own ears, his voice sounded brittle. (To his own ears it sounded like a lie, too: there was another half hour in the recipe, yet, and that didn't even include the 75 minutes of cooking time.)

Purposefully, Yuri continued pinching the seam of his piroshki closed, making an effort to focus on the squish of the dough between his fingers instead of the pressure in his abdomen. The Braxton Hicks had never been fun, but the further along Yuri had gotten, the worse the pain had grown. Now, barely two weeks away from his due date, they hurt.

Normally, whenever a particularly vicious false-contraction decided to plague him, Yuri found that walking around or pacing could help. (That was the difference between the false contractions and the real ones, apparently: the Braxton Hicks could be eased or ended altogether by motion or a change of position; real contractions couldn't.) Now, though, Yuri was loathe to give any sign that he was in pain, not with Otabek right there, obviously itching to help. He stayed still.

Yuri could manage perfectly well on his own; he didn't need Otabek's help. He would accept the bedrest (grudgingly), and the necessary, unavoidable dependence that came with it (even more so), but anything else, he could do himself. Anything else, he would do himself, and would have to do himself in a few months' time, anyway, when the option of aid wasn't available, anymore. If he was perfectly capable of making his own meals, which he was, he saw no reason not to and was equally blind to what was to be gained by accustoming himself to temporary aid.

Though, judging by the way Otabek hovered nervously at his back, those weren't shared opinions.

Finished folding his tray of piroshki, Yuri was just about to begin rolling out the remaining dough bits, knowing from experience that the extra dough could normally make another two buns, when his body apparently decided to go for the ultimate 'fuck Yuri and his wishes' and a strong, strong Braxton Hicks contraction forced him to let out a little groan of pain, his knuckles whitening on the rolling pin and a hand moving to knead at his abdomen.

The contraction lasted for almost a minute, and, by the time it had fully passed, Yuri was feeling a little weak at the knees. The fact that he was painfully aware of his audience, Otabek very obviously hanging on his every deep, labored breath, didn't make things easier. And, actively making things harder--

"Yuri." Otabek's voice was quiet; and, Yuri realized with a jolt, pleading. He hadn't heard Otabek speak like this, imploring, since they'd first separated. "Please. Why don't you sit down? You don't need to be doing this." Slowly, he held his hand out to take the rolling pin. "Please, take care of yourself."

For several, long seconds, Yuri just stared at the hand. Then, a soft, happy, little kick pattered under his navel.

Yuri knew that Otabek was only doing this for the baby: he wanted to ensure that Yuri didn't screw up again and hurt her. And, as much as Yuri wanted to rebuke Otabek's offer, he could hear the silent plea. "Take care of yourself." Take care of the baby.

Yuri wanted to tell Otabek to leave him alone, that he could take care of himself, that he would be fine without him, but--

But, at the moment, that wasn't what the conversation was about. As much as he'd tried not to see it, tried to carry on as usual, the trip to the ER had been a wake up call. He'd slipped because he had been exhausted, because he had refused to let Otabek help with the laundry and put out the bath mats, because he'd forced himself to make dinner when Otabek was waiting in the other room, practically clamoring to do it for him. The doctor had said that the sole goal of Bed Rest had been to ease the strain on Yuri, to help him carry the baby to term and minimize stress. And now what was he doing? Exactly the same thing as before, only barely following the loosest rules for how much he should be on his feet. How much he should do by himself.

Three powerful Braxton Hicks contractions in fifteen minutes, though, and a few choice words from the normally silent and reserved Otabek, were now finally forcing him to accept the truth.

He was doing this for the baby, and, if something happened to her because of him, he didn't know what he would do. Another tiny, almost timid, kick to Yuri's lung, and Yuri let out a small whoosh of breath, almost a sigh but for the force with which it had been expelled from his lung.

Slowly, Yuri set the rolling pin in Otabek's palm.

***

Yuri wasn't sure if he should be proud of himself or intensely embarrassed that he managed to maneuver himself onto his mattress and grasp the covers, leaning strangely around his abdomen, to pull them over himself in only one try.

Maybe he should be intensely embarrassed that he was proud of himself for completing a basic, human task in getting into bed after only one try. Ah, compromise.

Following his final bathroom break before going to bed (Yuri would love to say for the night, but he knew all too well, by now, that he'd be up at least twice more before dawn broke to pee), Yuri completed the tail-end of his (modified) bedtime routine. Situated comfortably on his side, maternity pillow in place, phone charging on his night stand, and reaching out to turn the light off, Yuri rolled his eyes as an insistent kick squished his liver into what had to be a very odd shape.

"No." Yuri told his abdomen firmly, clicking off the light and nestling into the bed, letting a hand down to soothe the baby. She'd been kicking for the past ten minutes, well after their nightly rendition of "All I Ask of You", and Yuri knew full well what she wanted. That didn't mean he was going to give it to her.

Another kick, and Yuri sighed. "You've already listened to it, calm down." Another kick. Another sigh. Arduously, Yuri rolled over, hoping the adjustment would help to settle the baby down.

Kick.

Apparently, it would not.

After fifteen minutes spent tossing and turning, Yuri had the serious feeling of deja vu, the sleepless nights of months before coming back to haunt him.

As if knowing that he was nearing his breaking point, the baby (apparently using all of her considerable, infant strength, the little shit) kicked Yuri once more, this time deciding that brutalizing his internal organs wasn't fun, anymore, and going for the grand prize.

Yuri gasped as a tiny foot made contact with his cervix, and sent bolts of lightning through his body. Apparently satisfied that she had inflicted enough damage to give Yuri time to reconsider his stance, like a torturer would, the baby wiggled in a distinctly menacing way before going still.

Yuri sighed before reaching out for his phone, in the darkness. Oh well, parenting and discipline could wait until she was a little older.

Wincing and looking away as the lamp was turned back on, Yuri pulled his phone toward him, glancing around the room for the earphones as the song synced up.

Normally, unless Yuri was particularly busy and moving around a lot (which, as of recently, was never) Yuri played "All I Ask of You" through his old, cat ear headphones, putting them on his stomach in a way he had read somewhere was good for the baby. The music mentioned in conjunction with the practice had been classical, but as the baby had seemed completely unmoved by anything other than her favorite song, Yuri figured that this was good enough.

Yuri sighed when he spotted the sought-after headphones from his spot in bed. They sat on top of his chest of drawers across the room, and, honestly, Yuri wasn't so keen on getting up to retrieve them: he'd just gotten comfortable and had apparently found the one position known to man that didn't make his back ache. He was not getting up for anything less than a fire... of having to pee again.

The baby gave a warning kick, and Yuri huffed fondly, rolling his eyes at his daughter's impatience. Yep, she'd be a hellish toddler, but she'd be cute enough to make up for it.

Deciding that absolutely nothing was worth moving for, Yuri pressed play on the track on his phone. He could listen to the song-- it wouldn't kill him. And if it got the baby not to kill him, it was certainly a small price to pay.

The baby kicked happily, (more gently, thank god) and Yuri smiled softly as he let his eyes close, the music washing over him and his hand resting on his abdomen. When Otabek found him the next morning, fast asleep with the music still playing on loop, a tiny smile curving his lips, he was given a lot to think about.

**A/N**

Sincere apologies for the relative shitty-ness of this chapter. Along with mental/auditory ailments previously mentioned, the past two weeks have yielded one family emergency (the grandmother is now fine), another forced-participation, family vacation (staying at a hotel for three days without wifi or cell service; fun), and petsitting three times a day. Needless to say, none of this has been conducive to writing. This chapter was also the least planned-out of any of them and, honestly, just a filler. The next chapter will be back up to our usual quality!

(Also, cue the panicking-- there are only two chapters left! XD)

Comments and kudos give my creativity insanity fuel, so add to the madness, if you wish! ♥
NEXT CHAPTER ON SEPTEMBER 18TH