Yuri stood just outside of Studio C, leaning against the doorframe as he took in his class, heads bent as they ran through the final leg of their warm ups. It was strange to be back in the studio: at once it felt incredibly natural, like a limb had been reattached, and as though everything had changed. Though, Yuri couldn't help but concede himself, it had.

It was Ekaterina who noticed him first, though Lilia's lips had been twitching subtly as she stood at the front of the room before the mirrors, checking positions with her bird's eye focus and preying on un-turned out feet and the residual tension of the shoulders. Normally, it would be strange that Yuri stood there for a solid two and a half minutes before any of the students became aware of his presence, but Yuri wasn't surprised: he remembered well the laser focus and concentrated precision that came with dancing under Lilia; one didn't break their form long enough to even contemplate looking up.

There were no stray eyes, all focused exactly where they should be as the students devoted themselves mind and body to the stretches, and so it was only when the dancers were rolling up from their hanging stretch (bent at the waist, allowing their entire upper body to relax) and their eyes travelled over the mirrors that there were several gasps, and Ekaterina spun on the spot to face Yuri.

Yuri remarked to himself, with more than a little badly concealed amusement, that the change in position had been less than graceful, Ekaterina still having been curled over at an 120 degree angle when she'd moved, but her dancer's grace saved her and she showed no sign of imbalance.

"Yuri!" She cried immediately, eyes glowing, as the rest of the class turned, more smoothly, to face Yuri, as well. "You're back!"

Yuri rolled his eyes, something he would never try with another, younger class, but that he felt he could get away with, with this one. (Lilia tutted, all the same, and a few of the dancers chuckled.)

"I am not back," Yuri said firmly, though he pushed off from his position leaning against the doorframe, all the same. "I'm on maternity leave until March, but I wanted to see how badly you're butchering my programs, before the Christmas show."

His words went unheeded, though, and he watched as his dancers' eyes fell from his face to land at his feet.

Yuri didn't even try to suppress a small, proud smile as he bent down and caught the handle of the carrier, walking into the room and enjoying the excitement drawn by his daughter's appearance. Or lack there of it, really, and Yuri set the carrier down in front of the mirrors before lifting the gauzy, white blanket that had covered its mouth to peer in at the baby inside.

She blinked sleepily up at him, entirely uninterested in whatever he was playing at as he lifted her gently into his arms, and Yuri chuckled as the dewy, green eyes widened slightly, likely intrigued by the light reflected off of the mirrors.

There was extensive cooing as Yuri held the baby carefully before him so all of his students could get a good look. Many of the girls appeared delighted and many of the boys appeared bored (Yuri couldn't blame them: he'd been the same way) and praise was rained down on the infant who was thoroughly preoccupied with staring at a point on the ceiling, wholly fascinated. She was already so much like him, Yuri thought: she preened under attention but would never show it. He could tell she enjoyed the admiration, though, and she pulled out her party trick of yawning and scrunching her little nose so everyone "aww"ed.

Lilia came up beside Yuri and her eyes crinkled very slightly at the corners-- her way of smiling. She had already met the baby, of course, had visited barely two days after she was born, and was taking to her role of unofficial but pretty-fucking-official grandmother excellently. Yuri loved that she openly adored his child (even though Lilia remained loath to smile among aspiring dancers) and hadn't yet missed the spark of pride in her eyes when she watched him with his baby.

"She's so beautiful," someone sighed, their voice carrying above the hubbub of similar comments, and Yuri allowed himself a proud, little nod of the head.

"Thank you." Yuri refrained from adding an 'I know' onto the end of the statement. "But she isn't what this class is about."

Yuri moved back to the carrier and carefully returned his daughter inside, buckling her in. He stood and clapped his hands, his dancers snapping to attention, immediately. It was good to be back.

"Starting positions," Yuri called, and watched as everyone shuffled around obligingly, "this had better be amazing-- I've been getting reports, and if I see even one unpointed toe, all hell will break loose." Yuri caught Ekaterina's tiny smile as she froze in place.

***

"By next class, make sure that you have that spin down," Yuri said to Dmitri as the class released their final cool-down stretch. "You're flexible-- milk it for all it's worth."

He nodded, and retreated with the rest of the class as Yuri released them to the locker rooms.

"Ekaterina," Yuri called, stopping the girl in her tracks as she made to file out of the studio with the rest of her class. "Stay back a moment."

She nodded, retracing her steps to the front of the room to stand before Yuri. Yuri waited until the clicking of Lilia's heels had receded to the hallway before he stooped and gathered a sleepy baby into his arms. He didn't think that she'd make a fuss, yet: he hoped that the repeated renditions of her favorite song had put her in a good mood, but he watched her expression carefully for any sign of discontent. Besides a sleepy, little sigh, there was none.

"She's beautiful," Ekaterina said, eyes fixed on the baby's face, chocolate brown hair curling around her ears and green eyes fixed unblinkingly, though they drooped, somewhere overhead.

"Do you want to hold her?" Yuri asked softly, and, a look of surprise flitting across her face, Ekaterina nodded.

Carefully, Yuri lowered the infant into her arms, making sure that the baby's head was nestled safely into the crook of Ekaterina's elbow before gingerly removing his hands. Even after a month of having her, Yuri was still so scared that somehow his daughter would get hurt-- it was a feeling he guessed would never go away.

"There you go," Yuri murmured as Ekaterina began to rock the baby gently, a small smile on her face as the infant snuffled. Yuri smiled, "You look good together," he said and Ekaterina nodded in thanks, eyes still on the baby's face. "Do you want to know her name?" Yuri asked and Ekaterina looked up, confused. "I know that I told the class it was Katya," Yuri said quickly, "but that's just a nickname. Her full name," he waited a moment for dramatic emphasis, the previously dormant, theatrical part of him coming out to shine and terrorize in equal measure. "Is Ekaterina Otabekyzy Plisetsky-Altin."

The elder Ekaterina inhaled sharply through her nose, looking up immediately to Yuri's face. She found only a soft smile, and watched, momentarily lost for words, as Yuri reached out and ran a gentle finger along his daughter's cheek.

"Do you mean," she breathed at last, eyes wide and face awed.

"Yes," Yuri replied, and put a hand on her shoulder. "I couldn't imagine something more fitting. These last few months," he shook his head. "Were the hardest I've ever lived. Your help," he looked her in the eye, almost sternly, "was was more valuable than I could ever explain: I mean it when I say that I couldn't have managed without you."

Ekaterina just stared at him.

"You'll go far," Yuri continued, a proud, slow smile growing on his face, "and there is no doubt in my mind that with your talent and your kindness, you'll be the star of the Mariinsky Ballet."

Finally, a small smile appeared on Ekaterina's lips. "I leave just after the Christmas show. I was hoping I could finish out the season, here, but they wanted me for their spring performance."

Yuri grinned and shook his head; he was so proud of her. "I can't say I'm surprised," he tilted his head, "you've always been an excellent dancer," and then, just to diffuse the tears making their near-inevitable way into the moment, "but if you don't send us tickets to every show, I'm suing."

Ekaterina laughed out loud and glanced down at her namesake in her arms, who had gurgled enthusiastically in the adorable way she did whenever she was excited, "I will."

***

One month later

***

Yuri tugged at the hem of his skirt as he sat down, smoothing it over his lap and wondering again if this was such a good idea. Yes, the babysitter might've been a 35-year-old, fully qualified nanny, and yes, she might've had a masters in child development, and, okay, maybe she had cared for infants countless times and come out with glowing reviews, but Katya was only two months old! Yuri didn't know how he'd managed to leave her behind, at all, that night, and even though logically he knew that bringing a 9-week-old baby to a several-hour-long, evening performance was a recipe for disaster, it was his first time leaving her, and not having her within his sight at all times was just plain wrong.

In an effort to distract himself, Yuri opened the playbill in his hands, eyes skimming the set lists and performance numbers even though he knew them by heart, comprehending nothing. At last, deciding that he'd been good and hadn't texted the sitter, yet, and for that, naturally, he deserved a reward, Yuri grabbed his phone, thinking that he'd content himself with a simple "how's everything going?". He didn't even get as far as the passcode, though, for a hand gently pulled his phone from his fingers.

"She'll be fine," Otabek said and Yuri nodded as if he agreed, ignoring the warmth in his chest at the feel of Otabek's fingers over his.

They weren't back to normal, obviously, and had agreed that they likely wouldn't be able to fix... whatever the fuck was their relationship, for some time, but had made a start and had begun couple's therapy. They wouldn't be returning to anything resembling intimacy for several months, but Yuri couldn't help the small, tentative happiness he felt whenever Otabek did something like this; even if he only brushed his fingers over the back of Yuri's hand when trading Katya for a burping or a diaper change, just knowing that Otabek was right there made Yuri feel better.

The next hour and a half was enjoyable: fun, even, were it not that Yuri couldn't quite banish his worries from his mind (what if Matilda didn't turn off the oven properly? What if Katya didn't go down easily? What if Potya got into the room and sat on her face?!), but when "Instructor Yuri Plisetsky's Advanced Lyrical Class" took to the stage, "performing to "All I Ask of You" from the musical The Phantom of the Opera", Yuri couldn't suppress a nervous, sideways glance at Otabek.

Suddenly extremely awkward, Yuri fiddled with his hair, becoming momentarily surprised when he found it to be silky, freshly washed, and foid of any baby bodily fluids. Yuri smoothed his skirt in his lap, again, a sense of dreadful vulnerability washing over him as the music started and, on stage, Inna began to move.

Four minutes and fifty-two seconds later, Yuri rose, buoyed with the rest of the crowd, to his feet and clapped as his dancers received a standing ovation for what Yuri had to admit was their best performance of the routine, yet. Returning to his seat and making an effort not to either catch Otabek's eyes or appear unapproachable should he wish to comment on the dance, Yuri stared determinedly at the stage, completely ignoring the ten-year-olds in tutus already clomping around on it.

Quietly, after a moment of silence, Otabek spoke. "That was beautiful," he said softly, vaguely unsure but confident enough to speak, nonetheless. Gently, he added, "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Was all Yuri could manage around the soft, warm feeling in his chest.

***

Two months later

***

Otabek made his way through the airport, checking signs and hoping that he'd remembered the number of his flight's baggage claim correctly. It was nearing three am and he was dead tired from travel, wanting more than anything to get back home and see his husband (husband!!), kiss his probably sleeping baby, and collapse into bed for a solid 10 hours of rest; lost baggage or getting lost on the way to said baggage did not factor into the equation.

It was with relief that Otabek caught sight of his flight number on an overhead board, and approached the carousel, every atom in his body singing as he spotted his black, nondescript suitcase trundling toward him on the converyorbelt, only identifiable by the neon pink bag tag Yuri had gotten him years ago and forced him to attach to his suitcase for easier identification during competitions.

Otabek heaved the case off of the carousel and, pausing a moment to grab the suitcase of a pregnant woman, as well, he made his way back through the airport to the taxi bay, not even considering calling for a ride. With a barely four-month-old baby at home, it was safe to say that both he and Yuri were walking zombies, sleep-deprived with the best of them, and, though Otabek highly doubted that Yuri would sleep through the night tonight (Katya was a menace; an adorable menace, but a menace, nonetheless), he most certainly wasn't going to drag him out with a cranky baby in tow just to greet him upon his landing.

Honestly, Otabek felt guilty just for having left Yuri alone, to begin with. Even though he'd only been away for six days, caring for an infant, a particularly stubborn one, at that, was demanding, and, while Otabek had been able to use the time away to catch up on sleep, he knew that Yuri would be doubly exhausted, now doing the work of two people in baby-care and nightly crying-checks-- especially now they were failing to sleep-train Katya. If he were to be honest, Otabek wouldn't have left at all, had Yuri not urged him to.

When Yuri and Otabek had pulled out of going to the Rostelecom Cup as guest skaters on their offer from the ISU after their retirement, obviously due to the 5-week-old newborn in their care, the ISU had asked, instead, if one or both of them would like to make a guest appearance at Worlds, the competition being held, for the first time ever, in Almaty, Kazakhstan. Otabek couldn't refuse.

Or, more accurately, he would've refused, but Yuri hadn't let him. His argument had been persuasive: "When is this ever going to happen again? Are you seriously going to miss the first ever Worlds in Almaty? It's only six days-- we'll be fine." And, after some deliberation, Otabek had agreed. Honestly, he had just been happy to see Yuri so insistent about something.

The therapy and their necessary codependence in the parenting of and survival with Katya, had brought them closer, almost to the point of not-quite-platonic best friends, and, while the life was back in Yuri's eyes, he was still a far cry from the Yuri of a year ago. To see him stubborn and calling Otabek an idiot (they had both been very sleep-deprived; Otabek had a feeling that Yuri's patience had been very thin to say something like that with no second thoughts) for not immediately accepting the invitation was really all Otabek had needed to agree.

Still, though, he had no doubt that the past week had been hard on Yuri, and he fully intended to make it up to him. He didn't think, though, that he would begin doing so the second he unlocked the door and stepped inside the house.

Otabek had barely shut the door behind him when a flying, blond blur appeared on the stairs, and the next second his arms were full of a disheveled, sobbing Yuri. He clung to Otabek, arms winding around his neck, desperately, and cried into his chest, having practically thrown himself upon him on his entrance.

Shocked and immediately terrified, Otabek hesitated only the barest of seconds before wrapping his arms around Yuri and holding him close. They hadn't embraced yet, had barely even held hands, and were deliberately taking things slowly, working out their feelings and their issues, first, before diving back into their marriage. Still, though, even after all of this time apart, it felt natural to have Yuri in his arms, and Otabek tightened his grip around him, worry clouding his mind at Yuri's state.

What was wrong? Had he missed something? Had Yuri called and not been able to get through? Oh, God, what if something terrible had happened? What if something was wrong with Katya? What if--

"I can't--" Yuri sobbed, "She won't-- I can't--"

"Yura," Otabek asked, eyes wide, voice urgent, "what's wrong? What happened? Is Katya--"

"I-I--" Yuri choked, sobbing harder into Otabek's sweater, "I can't do it! She won't-- s-she won't stop c-crying!" And, as understanding dawned on Otabek, he became aware of the high-pitched wailing filtering down the stairs.

"Yura," Otabek said, gently pushing Yuri back from him to get a good look at him. His face was splotchy and red and there were deep, purple bags under his eyes-- certainly worse than they had been when Otabek had left. "When was the last time you slept?"

Yuri just let out a broken wail and shook his head. Otabek sighed sympathetically and pulled him back into his arms, holding him in what he hoped was a comforting embrace. He'd called twice a day every day and Yuri had said that everything was going fine. Otabek shook his head and pressed his lips to Yuri's hair, rubbing his back soothingly as he cried.

After what felt like five minutes had passed, Otabek carefully detached himself from Yuri (though that was the last thing he wanted to do, right then) and said sternly, hoping to reach his husband through the tears and compacted sleep-deprivation, "Yura, go to bed." As expected, Yuri immediately began to shake his head, crying something about the baby, but Otabek interrupted. "You need to sleep-- I'll take care of Katya, just get some rest, okay?" After a second or so, Yuri nodded, and allowed Otabek to guide him upstairs and leave him in the doorway to the master bedroom.

Wanting painfully to follow Yuri when he disappeared behind the door, Otabek continued down the hallway to the last room, entering to find a red-faced, tear-streaked Katya bawling her eyes out from her crib.

Otabek sighed softly, kissing his hope of an early night goodbye, and closed the door firmly behind him, hoping to block most of the noise from reaching Yuri, knowing that he'd never be able to relax, much less sleep, if he heard it.

Walking over to the crib, Otabek leaned over and picked up his daughter, her tiny eyes almost closed with tears flowing out of them as she screamed. Otabek shushed her softly as he held her to his chest, beginning to pace the room. Within half an hour, ten minutes of pacing, and twenty of rocking, Katya was out like a light on Otabek's chest, and he looked down at her soft, sleeping face as he stroked her short, brown curls gently, the touch of his fingers a mere whisper.

When Yuri found him the next morning, asleep in the rocking chair in the nursery, Katya nestled on his shoulder, his arms around her, he gave a worn, exhausted smile and took a picture for the scrapbook.

***

Four months later

***

Yuri hovered in front of the high chair, carefully scooping a baby bite-sized spoonful of coconut yogurt and banana puree mush into the tiny, pink and white, plastic baby spoon in his hand. Otabek stood next to him, making silly faces at Katya while Yuri began the battle that was trying to get the baby food in the baby's mouth and not on the baby's cheeks, chin, chest, or, shockingly, in her hair. How she had managed that, Yuri would never know.

Katya let out a deep, belly laugh (the first time they had heard it, both Yuri and Otabek had burst out laughing, which only caused the infant's infectious giggles to continue) at the face Otabek was currently making (Yuri just knew that he had his hands up like moose antlers on either side of his head and was sticking his tongue out; that face always elicited the belly laugh from Katya) and, once he was sure that she wasn't inhaling, Yuri took the opportunity to gently but firmly push the spoon into her mouth.

At first, the baby frowned, disliking the foreign, plastic intrusion (the little monster was so hard to feed; Yuri loved her more than life itself) and Yuri braced himself to distract her before she could cry, already starting to make a silly face next to Otabek's, but, amazingly, the wrinkles cleared from his daughter's face and she swallowed. Yuri blinked. He gave her another spoonful of the banana/coconut mush and she accepted it, albeit reluctantly. By the fourth taste, she was allowing the spoon without any objection, and Yuri couldn't bite back a grin when Katya smiled, banana and coconut dripping down her chin, eager for more. He turned to Otabek,

"You're officially wrong," he said triumphantly, emboldened by his success with feeding the baby and a particularly good therapy appointment that afternoon (the second they'd walked in, the doctor had taken one look at them and given them a knowing look: she was right, they'd had amazing sex that morning). "She likes coconut, too; I knew she would."

Otabek rolled his eyes, and Yuri knew that he was feeling equally lighthearted through the playful gesture. "You've just conditioned her to be wrong with you," he replied, and, when Katya started cooing and gurgling in her Demanding Way ™, signaling that she wanted more, he just shook his head and murmured fondly, "freaks."

Yuri grinned, blew him a kiss, and turned back to their baby.

***

Two years and two months later

***

"Do you need to go to the bathroom?"

Katya shook her head, curls bouncing.

"Do you need a drink from the water fountain?" Otabek tried.

Head shake.

"Do you remember what we're going to do?"

Katya bit her lip in a look of faux concentration (Yuri had proclaimed loudly the first time he'd seen it that he would never forgive Victor for teaching her that) before shaking her head, her expression Very Serious and not at all like she was trying not to giggle.

Otabek sighed fondly, exasperated with his spirited, stubborn three-year-old, and poked her on the nose. She squealed, jerking backwards into Yuri's lap and covering her nose with small hands, grinning mischievously, all the while.

Yuri glanced up, deftly wrapping an arm around the little girl teetering dangerously on his lap and securing her. He smirked at Otabek, "Apparently Ekaterina has a truly horrendous headpiece," he stated, "she won't send me a picture, though. Do you think I could take back the namesake thing? I think Katya would look good as an Arina."

Otabek snorted, "Peace, really? Her?" As if to cement his point, Katya chose that exact moment to lunge forward, escaping Yuri's hold, and managed to smack Otabek in the nose with a tiny, ineffectual fist before overbalancing and falling into his lap, giggling wildly.

Yuri snorted. "You win," he replied, before going back to his phone as Otabek returned to the little monster in his lap. Another minute or two of tickling ensued, and, in the hopes of calming down, Otabek repeated his earlier question.

"Katya," he said, "do you know what we're going to do?"

She shrugged.

"We're going to watch Ekaterina dance, remember? Your favorite babysitter?" Otabek reminded her, and, with difficulty, held in his laugh when Katya's eyes lit up and she nodded madly. "And what are we going to do while she dances?" Otabek asked.

Katya thought for a second, putting a finger to her lips in another unforgivably-taught fashion.

"Be loud!" Katya cried at last and Otabek rolled his eyes, pulling her into his chest and poking her belly-- in the process, completely forgetting that he had wanted to calm her down.

"No, not be loud, you little monster," Otabek scolded playfully, pretending that he didn't notice as Yuri started recording his vicious tickle-battle with their daughter. "We're going to be quiet. Don't you remember? If we're not quiet, then we can't see Ekaterina dance-- and we don't want that, do we?"

Still struggling to breathe through her giggles, Katya shook her head.

***

Otabek held Katya aloft in his arms as he and Yuri stood with the crowd, beaming at the dancers on the stage of the Mariinsky Ballet-- Ekaterina front and center.

Katya screeched praise, clapping enthusiastically and, eyes searching the crowd, Ekaterina laughed quietly when she found her, high in the air and waving. Subtly, she gave a wave in return, eyes sparkling under the thick, stage makeup and the fabled headpiece resting over her bun.

Naturally, that was the first thing Katya pointed out when Ekaterina approached their little party after leaving the stage.

"You were wonderful," Yuri smiled, pulling her into a hug, though he was careful not to crush her tutu. "Your black swan was one of the best I've seen."

Ekaterina laughed, "Thanks. Those fouettes were killer-- you have no idea how hard it was to keep the hat on, even with the bobby pins." She grimaced and patted her head, "Even with the pins out, I can feel them digging into my scalp."

Yuri snorted, nodding and eyeing her headpiece. "You weren't lying-- that truly is awful." Otabek had just opened his mouth to compliment Ekaterina's performance and defend the hat-- really, it was just black tulle and some... shiny thing-- it wasn't that bad -- when Katya chose her moment to enter the conversation. She let out an audible, dramatic gasp and pointed emphatically to the... garment thingy residing atop Ekaterina's head-- she'd been forced to wear it for pictures, apparently.

Ekaterina grinned, bending slightly at the waist to be on level with her namesake, held aloft in her father's arms. "Do you like it?" She asked, and, eyes wide and awe-filled, Katya nodded slowly.

It was like she was in a trance-- her mouth gaped and she bore a close resemblance to Potya high on catnip, Otabek couldn't help but think.

"I don't think it looks very good on me," Ekaterina said, carefully lifting the crown-like contraption from its place, nestled in an intricate braid structure (Otabek made a note to try that on Yuri), "but," she flashed a smile, "it would go perfectly with your coat. Do you want to try it on?"

Katya nodded excitedly and was very still as Ekaterina gently placed the headpiece on her head. Made to be small and worn on the crown of someone's head, the hat-ish-thing just fit over Katya's ears, and her grin and exclamation of delight had them all in giggles.

Otabek smiled, standing back and watching as Yuri took photos of Katya and Ekaterina side-by-side, grinning into the camera and each holding their leg up as high as they could-- for Ekaterina, up to her head, for Katya, almost level with her hip. Coming to stand next to him, Otabek slung an arm around Yuri's waist, pulling him to his side in a gentle hug. Yuri glanced over, playful, pleasant confusion written on his face, and kissed him.

***

One year later

***

"Beka?" Yuri called down the stairs, shrugging on a light sweater over the baby blue, knee-length dress he wore. Really, it was too cold to go out dressed like that, it being late March, but Yuri had been running hot, recently, and didn't care enough to exert the effort to change. "Can you get Katya's shoes on? Don't let her wear the flats-- it's still too wet outside."

"Yeah," Otabek called over his shoulder as Yuri rounded the corner to descend the last flight of stairs-- why the architect of the house had decided that three were necessary, he would never know, but he certainly wasn't appreciating it, at the moment.

Otabek knelt in front of the couch, just visible from the hall, as he pulled Katya's boots on-- much to the four-year-old's displeasure. She'd been doing her best to convince them that she was old enough to make her own fashion choices, lately, (a fact that Yuri had struggled with ever since she'd declined his proffered leopard-print sweater to select a brown one) but she was still far too inclined towards shorts and sandals to be allowed free agency during the winter months, so she was stubbornly stationed on the sofa, arms crossed, lips pouty, cheeks puffed, as Otabek tried to keep her from swinging her legs long enough to gently force her pink snow boots onto her feet. It wasn't too snowy out, but there was slush and that was enough to warrant boots: there would be no cold, frozen toes on Otabek's watch. Formerly, there wouldn't have been on Yuri's, either, but recently he'd been reallocated from the shoe-typing department to that of hats and gloves.

The boots were firmly in place by the time Yuri reached the ground floor, and, standing while swinging Katya off of the couch and to the floor, Otabek gave him his Disapproving Look ™. It was one normally reserved for Katya, and Yuri was appropriately shamefaced.

"Are you really going to wear that?" Otabek asked, walking toward Yuri with a look of exasperation-- this was a long-fought, long-lost battle, and he didn't expect his complaint to accomplish anything except reestablish his position. "Be an example to Katya-- I wouldn't let her wear her grey dress-- how can I let you wear that?"

"Because you know that there is absolutely no way I am going back upstairs and changing now," Yuri said, moving forward to don his coat as a show of goodwill-- a light, flimsy one, but a coat, nonetheless. "And don't even mention the grey dress. God, she really is your daughter: she chose it over rainbow!"

"It's a pretty dress."

"Rainbow!"

Otabek chuckled and wrapped his arms briefly around Yuri, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Forget the dress. And you don't have to get changed upstairs, you know," he added, smirking as he walked away to grab his coat while Yuri outfitted a protesting Katya with purple, woollen mittens. "You could always pull a Mr. Bean and get changed in the car."

Yuri snorted, "I don't think so," he said, shaking his head at the reference. It was from a stupid British movie, but they had watched it that Friday for their 'movie night' and it had been entertaining-- even if the tank crushing the main character's Mini had made Yuri cry.

"Ready?" Yuri asked his daughter, who was pulling, sullen and halfheartedly, at the tips of her mittens. "Have you used the bathroom?" Potty Training had officially been completed (much to both parents' delight) but Yuri and Otabek still made sure their daughter had relieved herself if they were going to be away from home for an extended period of time. While Katya was good about going to the bathroom when she needed to, at home, she was less vocal about it when they were out, and several accidents had occurred for that reason.

The child in question nodded and brightened, apparently having a Lightbulb Moment. "Are--" she began, interrupting herself in her excitement as small children so often do, "Are we going to see the baby?"

Yuri smiled and nodded, running a hand over her silky, raven curls. "We are," he said, and let his left hand drift to his abdomen, swollen and heavy with a second child. "But only pictures-- we don't get to meet the baby for another few weeks, yet."

Not really understanding but choosing this particular moment to be obedient and not start in on her recent proclivity of 'why?'s, Katya just nodded and reached up to pat the bottom of Yuri's stomach, -- as high as she could reach -- tiny fingers warm and slightly sticky through the fabric.

Ah, so she'd managed to finagle her mitten off without him noticing, Yuri thought, and replaced it-- much to Katya's obvious disappointment, too, if the crestfallen downward curve of her little, pink, rosebud lips was anything to go by.

Katya didn't have much time to brood over this recent injustice, though, for they left the house then, Otabek draping a squealing Katya over his shoulder when she tried to slide around on an icy patch of the front walk. Turning back to (unnecessarily, Yuri would, and did, add) help Yuri over the icy patch without the risk of a fall, Otabek kept a secure arm around the little girl's waist and grinned that uninhibited, utterly bright smile he smiled whenever playing with his daughter. He'd worn it since the first time he'd held her, and Yuri had a feeling that it wouldn't fade until he himself did-- and that it would extend to the little one on the way.

Yuri let a hand fall to rest on his abdomen, smoothing the thin fabric of his skirt over it, and spent the car ride to the doctor's office entertaining Katya with silly, little stories and watching how her eyes crinkled in the exact same way Otabek's did, when she laughed.

They were shepherded into the open, bright waiting room they knew so well, by now, having come to the doctor's office for multitudinous, frantic, why-won't-she-stop-crying-my-baby-is-dying visits, pediatrician appointments, and, both most recently and long ago, prenatal appointments.

The room was the same as it had been that first time-- the same cheery, yellow paint job, portraits of grinning families on the walls, but, with a child and husband in tow, it felt infinitely different. For one thing, Yuri sat down in the pediatric side of the waiting room this time, easing himself carefully down onto the padded bench lining the divide between specialties and swatting ineffectually at Otabek's hand when it made its way to the small of his back to help him down.

"I have yet to become a complete invalid, you know." Yuri snarked, but couldn't quite hold his sarcastic tone when Katya raced like a brown-haired, green-eyed flash across the playplace and dove into the playhouse, a smile peeking out and curling his lips.

Otabek, following his gaze, laughed when the little girl's head poked through the opening again, looking thoroughly put out that she hadn't been followed. Dutifully responding to the call (whine) of "Come play with me!" Otabek shot an exasperated, fond smile Yuri's way as he trooped across the room and, all of a sudden, lunged down to his knees where Katya's head poked out; said head emitted a loud, shrill squeal of joy and disappeared back inside the house.

For a while, Yuri sat and watched their shenanigans, laughing openly when Otabek smacked his head on the entrance of the playhouse and his previously menacing growl had turned into a high grunt of pain. (Katya had become distressed at her father's injury and had lost no time in kissing it better.) Before too long, though, Katya crawled out from her hiding spot, directing a firm 'no' at Otabek when he made as though to start tickling her, again (Yuri's lips were white from how hard he was trying not to laugh), evidently distressed that Yuri wasn't participating.

"Mama," she tugged at Yuri's hand from where she stood beside the bench he was seated on. "Come play!" She pointed demonstratively toward the playhouse in its little niche against the wall, Otabek walking over from it.

Yuri shook his head, "I don't want to play, right now," he said, because matters such as pregnancy and the logistics of kneeling while 36 weeks along would mean nothing to his daughter. "Why don't you play with your dad?"

Frowning, Katya shook her head. "I want you to play!" She demanded and Otabek looked slightly affronted at the lack of allure she apparently felt at his being her sole playmate. "Please?" She even gave the puppy dog eyes she had definitely inherited from Otabek. The little, wonderful, adorable shit.

"No, honey," Yuri shook his head, again, smiling softly. "I'm tired-- why don't you play for me?"

Contrary to Yuri's hopes, though, Katya's eyebrows creased and she frowned. Apparently deciding that she wanted to sit next to Yuri, she began to try and jump her way up and onto the bench. Quickly, before Yuri could intercept her, Otabek lifted her onto the cushion, and, immediately, she snuggled into Yuri's side, wrapping her arms around him as best as she could with his (not so) newfound roundness.

"Katya?" Yuri asked, wrapping his arms around her and exchanging a concerned glance with Otabek. "What's wrong? Don't you want to explore the playhouse?" It wasn't like there was much to explore, but that had never stopped her in the past-- once she'd even found a dime and Yuri had let her 'buy' (he'd paid but had slipped the dime into the tip jar) a juicebox with it from the store they went grocery shopping in, after her checkup.

The little girl shook her head, cuddling closer to Yuri and, oh, okay, that was what was happening. A month or so ago when Yuri had gotten home from the dance studio, exhausted by the terrors that were his Junior Ballet class (different kids, same difficulty-to-handle level-- though Ekaterina's little sister was in his class, which made up for it, some) something similar had happened and Yuri had made the mistake of citing the (quite true) excuse for not playing with Katya that his feet hurt. Katya being the sensitive child she was, had been extremely upset at the notion that Yuri was in pain, and had reacted as she currently was.

Thinking of deterring Katya's train of thought, Yuri pulled her into a tight hug before suggesting, "Do you want to read, instead?" Katya nodded and, with a bit of persuasion, left Yuri's side and went with Otabek to pick out a picture book from the rack of children's literature next to the playhouse. After a minute of a highly selective, highly specific searching process, Katya and Otabek (to whom the task of carrying the book had been delegated) returned, and, with some assistance, Katya was once again nestled against Yuri's side, Otabek on her other, and they began to read.

As he flipped the book open, Yuri smiled at the look of deep concentration on his daughter's face; she was so very like Otabek, he thought, and she'd been able to sit and be read to for hours on end, ever since 18 months. It was a glory of Yuri's and he lost no time in bragging to the other parents in Katya's preschool about this skill-- Otabek, as well, though in a slightly more subdued manner.

That trademark reservation of his died, though, Yuri thought, grinning as he watched Otabek poke Katya in the belly at a funny part of the story and their shared giggles, whenever he was around his family. The baby kicked at that moment, and Yuri laughed, loving that their second child was so eager to join the chaos. After a moment or two, everyone settled down, again, and, Otabek's arm stretching around his shoulders, Katya nestled between them, the baby bouncing on his liver, Yuri was content to stay like this forever.

Not every day was a good day. Some days, Yuri struggled to get up in the morning, to function so much as to pour cereal in a bowl for Katya. Some days, Yuri walked in on Otabek staring at a wall, his face blank, eyes empty. Some days, they just held each other, Katya snuggled up between them, and they both had a hard time following their daily routine.

Most days, though, Yuri was endlessly overwhelmed by his hurricane of a daughter, loving every minute of it. Most days, he and Otabek were woken by the pitter patter of small (or smaller, in Yuri's case) feet and the consequential jostling as those tiny feet left the ground and met the duvet. Most days, (Sundays, especially) Otabek was startled awake by two sets of feet crashing into the mattress, shrieking with laughter and poking cold toes under the covers with screeching choruses 'there are waffles in the kitchen!' and, less articulately, 'get up! Wake up!'.

Life wasn't a fairytale, and it was rarely ever easy, but, as Katya giggled against him and Otabek's deep voice rumbled in an unnaturally high-pitched character dialect, Yuri knew that today was a good day, and, more importantly, that there were many more to come.

Thank you all for coming with me on this wonderful, beautiful journey. I'll see you soon. ♥