Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was, on reflection, really not how Viktor thought he’d be spending the night after his free program at Skate America. He had assumed, quite reasonably one might argue, that he and Chris would at this point be getting drunk to celebrate their respective gold and silver medals having successfully snuck away from Yakov and Josef and revelling in the brief chance to actually relax before flying back to their respective homes and getting straight back to work for the looming final.

He leaned back, lightly surprised given the circumstances that his brain was supplying him with the information that it was over three months since he had last seen Chris and would be almost a month before they would likely meet at the final. Or possibly not so likely, considering the fact that currently Viktor was bound to a chair in an unknown warehouse in Chicago.

Possibly Chicago.

He had at least been in Chicago recently. The journey had been hazy and… long? Probably, he had been semi-conscious.

His head hurt. He tried to hold on to the surprise at missing an innocent night out with a friend. The burn at the back of his throat didn’t feel quite so much like irritation anymore. It was starting to feel a little more like fear.

Yakov was going to kill him. That felt slightly better, reassuring somehow.

Viktor was well and truly stuck. Several hours ago (maybe?) he had been the usual untouchable ice king, but despite the various threats and stalkers he had received and ignored over the years, he had never once been attacked like this. He was pretty sure that he had just been kidnapped. He was also suspicious that there was bleeding somewhere. Probably his head that might explain some things. His hands were bound, bent awkwardly behind his back. The one detail he had managed to process about the room he was in was the figure all in black carrying very casually one of the largest guns he had ever seen in his life. It seemed almost hilariously American. Almost, was the oversized gun not angled just towards Viktor’s feet. The man with no discernible features visible behind such a classic ‘bad-guy’ costume might have seemed quite amusing if the lack of features and complete inability to see an eyeline wasn’t in fact, terrifying.

There really wasn’t any blood getting to Viktor’s hands. He wished he had his training gloves. Wished he didn’t feel like he’d just fallen, hard, on the ice. Wished his head would stop pounding and his throat would stop burning and the cold would please go away for just a moment.

He glanced up at the guard, considered actually breaking this awful nothing silence. He wondered at what point Chris would decide he had fallen asleep in his room, when he might decide he’d run off to get drunk without him, when he might decide Viktor had forgotten their plans. Wondered if he would tell Yakov before Yakov started his barrage of screamed voicemails in the morning as Viktor missed his flight.

“Excuse me.” Was what he intended to say, what actually came out was an odd rasp and cough as his throat decided to stick.

“Excuse me, can I…I don’t suppose I could have a blanket? Or something…” He gave a weak smile as the words trailed off, media smile failing without the pretence of the usual cameras and reactions.

The silence seemed worse after having been broken. The guard seemed somehow even less friendly in the aftermath.

Viktor swore really quite impressively in his head, not daring to disturb the ‘peace’ of the room anymore and flexed his hands trying to get some circulation back and maybe warm the ice blocks at his back. He pitched forward as his attempt worked and the pain shot straight up his arms and created a miserable sort of echo in his head. He focused on his feet, breathing slowly. Somewhere in between the drumming in his head he cursed his hands for betraying him like that, cursed his probable concussion and whichever of these costumed idiots had given it to him, cursed the cold of this stupid warehouse in what might be Chicago, cursed the gold medal that was sitting right below his ribs under his jacket making him only colder, and then ran out of steam and cursed Yakov for good measure.

Ah that burn in his throat was back.

Chris sat in the hotel lobby for once not loving the attention he was receiving from the hopeful traffic passing through. He had been there for quite some time and the fun flirting he had expected from the night was not supposed to come solely from the hotel lobby.

He had been really quite impressed with the speed Viktor had managed to give Yakov the slip after the press conference, nothing but a wink in his direction as he bolted for the shuttle. By the time he followed out the arena he had a text from 10 minutes ago with a 1-hour deadline for meeting in the lobby, several kisses and a winky face. He had laughed under his breath as he caught the next shuttle to creep through the traffic back to the hotel.

It was honestly the first time in a long time Viktor had been so keen for a night out, actively seeking Chris out, even texting him titbits and in the last couple of weeks once they’d found out their assignment crossover. He had been happy, pleased to see his friend with some of his old spark coming back. Wondering if a ‘what’ or a ‘who’ had something to do with it and terribly keen on finding out all the awful gossip that might bring. He had in fact managed to dress and apply makeup in half an hour (quite a feat considering how tight and thin some of what he was wearing was) and arrived in the lobby with an impressive 5 minutes to spare, stopping as seemed fair, in the bar to see how many drinks he could get in before Viktor appeared and dragged them across half the bars in the city.

He was about to order his third when something low in his gut turned over.

Viktor was somewhat unsurprisingly late.

He slid out his phone, brought up the chat, stared for a moment then turned it off.

Viktor had very surprisingly already ignored two of Chris’s calls.

He looked back towards the lobby, just able to see the glass doors from the bar.

Minutes passed and Yakov walked in, Mila in tow, she must have finished up her press. Yakov would be sure to yell at Viktor if he caught up to him in his room, probably kick up a fuss about irresponsibility going out drinking mid-competition season. Chris smiled, well that might speed him up at least.

He didn’t get a third drink, just didn’t want to get too far ahead, especially with Viktor’s ridiculous liver.

Viktor wasn’t answering his phone. It was unlikely he had fallen asleep, even less likely he hadn’t been woken by Yakov after his escape act from the press. It was almost unthinkable that he’d already left, he was fairly sure Viktor had never even been to Chicago before and would most likely get lost crossing the street. The only reason he discounted getting lost on the way back to the hotel was because the shuttle would have taken him directly to the front door. Viktor hadn’t forgotten. He had given him a deadline, an irritatingly short deadline meaning his eyeliner was basic at best and had had to make up for it with some iridescent highlighter. Chulanont would be offended. He was actually considering finding Yakov.

Chris had abandoned the bar half an hour ago and was now sat in the chairs facing the front desk with a side view to both the doors and the lifts. He was also feeling an odd clench in his stomach that he was determined to not label as concern. He wasn’t succeeding.

Oh there was Chulanont, had the night out still seemed likely he would have asked him to join, maybe he could get some eyeliner tips. Actually didn’t Phichit live not far? Yuuri’s flatmate so must be Detroit. That was close-ish, close for America, maybe he had some recommendations. Maybe he could ask Yuuri to introduce them, actually Yuuri probably has the secrets to eyeliner already, that man is a minx and no one living with them could keep such secrets to themselves, surely.

He watched as Chulanont walked past wearing a different outfit to what he had on several moments before. Wait. He checked his phone. Ah another half hour had gone past; Viktor was almost 2 hours late and not answering his phone. Chris leaned back in his seat, he has absolutely no idea which room Viktor was staying and doubted very much the desk would be willing to freely divulge that information. There were quite a few very popular skaters staying here, he was one of them. Unless he could prove himself part of the Russian skate team that didn’t seem like a likely avenue.

He brought his eyes back down and watched Coach Celestino stop with Chulanont and clap him rather forcefully on the back. He must be pleased, this was the Thai’s second year in the senior division, he might not make it to the final but he’d placed fourth tonight and seemed stronger than last year. Lucky bastard was probably getting tips from Yuuri.

Wait.

Celestino might possibly have Yakov’s room number.

Actually Celestino very likely has Yakov’s phone number.

Come to think of it, Josef might also have Yakov’s number, though Josef was likely asleep and not best pleased with Chris for sneaking off early.

Celestino it is.

Phichit walked along the hotel corridor tapping away at his screen. He didn’t medal tonight and could feel the lead starting to creep into his legs, tiredness ticking at his eyelids. It had been a good skate but the others were better, for now. He scrolled past a clip of Chris’s skate watching the spin into his final pose. Scrolled down, several freezeframes of Viktor seeming suspending in the air. He grinned, sending one to Yuuri who would appreciate waking up out of his study stress coma to that.

He was comparing his jump components to Chris’s and trying to tally up the difference when he almost tripped over the very same Chris standing immobile in front of an open hotel room.

“Oops hahaha. Sorry Chris didn’t see you there.” No reaction. “Um, you good?”

Phichit became increasingly concerned as Chris slowly opened and closed his mouth several times before breathing in and starting to hyperventilate.

This prompted Phichit to peer around the door.

"Hia."

“…”

"Fuck."

The two men stood in the doorway.

“Chris.” Silence. “Chris. What the fuck.” Silence. “Chris whose room is that?”

This at last seems to snap Chris back to himself. He looks at Phichit and breathes out, “Viktor.” Phichit’s eyes widen.

They both start as steps are heard behind them, words are muffled through the door opposite.

Phichit jumps forward, pulling Chris into the room and quickly shutting the door behind them.

Chris stumbles forward, catching himself on the dressing table. Pulling his hands back immediately and staring at the surface. Phichit turns from the door, surveying the room and feeling panic rising in response.

Viktor’s costume from tonight’s free skate is thrown over the back of a chair, there’s several shirts strewn over the bed and a kit bag dumped messily in the middle of the room. There is also blood on a cracked mirror, broken glass next to the remains of a light and a bullet sitting on the dressing table next to what looks like a lock of silver hair.

Chris starts rambling, “He was supposed to meet me two hours ago in the lobby, he’s not been answering his phone. Phichit he’s gone. What the fuck. Viktor’s been kidnapped.”

“Chris calm down.” Phichit was not calm.

“Viktor has been kidnapped.”

“Chris calm down.”

“Phichit what the fuck Viktor has been kidnapped.” Chris maybe did need to calm down.

“Chris calm down.”

“Phichit!” They look at each other, eye’s wide.

“I might also need to calm down.”

“What do we do?”

Phichit grabs his phone and as Chris begins to pace. “Fuck, the police! Of course we need to phone the police. FUCK we need to find Yakov.”

“Chris calm down we’re not phoning the police.” This very effectively stops him in his tracks.

“What the fuck do you mean we’re not fucking phoning the police??”

Phichit blinks. “That sounded bad. We need to not phone the police, we weren’t supposed to find this.”

“WHAT?” Phitchit winces.

“Ahh… Look, someone’s taken Viktor and left a bullet, they left a BULLET Chris! First of all that is cliché and kind of terrifying. Second of all, they left that for someone as a threat so someone here was supposed to find this. If the police get involved now Viktor might get hurt.”

Chris looks stunned. “How do you even… What if the message is for the police Phichit don’t be ridiculous the slower we are the longer he’s out there somewhere with… What do you mean someone here was supposed to find it?”

The room is awkwardly quiet as the two stare at each other.

“Ah. Haha. I um… may have had some issues before. Detroit was a bit messy last year. Someone gave me a hand and um… told me things… to be careful… or… to like… a couple of things… to look out for. So as not to piss anyone off?” He laughs nervously.

Chris stares. Phichit tries to smile reassuringly. It’s not hugely effective.

“Okay. Okay. Merde. Okay.” Chris paces, running one hand through his hair before stopping, turning and locking eyes. “This someone.” He stops, not quite believing how the night had derailed. Not quite sure of the words in his mouth. Very sure his friend was alone and needing help, any help. He runs his hand over his face, willing something to look different after being wiped away. “This someone that helped before, gave you a hand.” His drops to a whisper, “Can they help Viktor?”

Phichit nods.

“I mean he- they can try. They’ll know how to try- they’ll be willing to try!”

Chris nods. Closes his eyes.

“What do we do?”

“I’ll um… need to phone them.” He waves the phone held tight in his hand.

“Oh…”

Chris looks around the room as Phichit pulls up a contact and dials. His eyes catch on the spiderweb cracks in the mirror, on the blood in the centre, the small shards on the carpet below. His mind is trying to make sense of the fact that Phichit Chulanont, international figure skater apparently had some American mobster on speed dial. What the hell had happened that his reaction to a kidnapping and threatening message was not to call the police but call up a… what- a friend? Who the hell was this friend? Why should Chris trust this unknown man with Viktor’s life? He traced the empty cracks in the mirror where the glass had fallen. There was one short line where some blood had run down in a drop. He felt sick.

“Ah hello? It’s me.”

Chris’s eyes pick up, not sure if this was something he was allowed to listen in. Not sure if he cared. Still really not sure how he felt about all of this.