A one-shot showing what happens when Yakov returns to visit Nikiforov's following his glowing review of Chef Katsuki's food and Owner Victor Nikiforov's atmosphere. Takes place one year beyond the main story line of Be My Chef, Yuuri. (a completed restaurant AU. The deleted smut scenes are posted on Ao3 under my same user name).

This is a gift to the incredible getaway_machine who made my heart so happy with wonderfully detailed reactions to each chapter of BMCY! Mention was made of wanting to see Yakov interact with everyone, so I made it happen :)

To all the other readers who grew to love the Nikiforov Restaurant family as much as I did, please feel free to send me ideas for more of these little stories! Tumblr: n3rdlif343va or Twitter: NeRdLife4Eva

"YuuriyuuriYUURIyuURI!" Victor yelled as he burst into the kitchen, dodging Aniya and promptly stepping on his own foot. As he hurtled through the air, Victor braced himself for the sharp strike of the tile floor, the yelp of helplessness pathetically cutting through the noise of the kitchen.

No such collision came. Instead Victor felt himself cradled in strong arms, laughter callously vibrating around him as his brand new fiancé gracefully dipped him toward the floor. Smiling up at Yuuri, Victor momentarily forgot his panic and accepted the offered lips into a sweet kiss.

"Damn that was smooth!" Phichit whistled, getting an acknowledging wink from Yuuri.

Still holding Victor at a dramatically tipped angle, Yuuri grinned down at his adorably clumsy fiancé. "What has you tripping all over yourself, love?" Yuuri adored the way Victor blushed with every use of the pet name and had quickly adopted it into frequent use. He didn't resist the urge to kiss Victor's pink cheeks as he waited for an answer, ignoring the beginnings of protest burning in his arms from Victor's supported weight.

Wide blue eyes shimmered in Yuuri's direction as the three words that could stop the heart of any chef tumbled out of Victor's perfect mouth, "Yakov is back."

Yuuri promptly dropped Victor on the floor.

"That," Otabek flicked a finger between the two of them, "was not smooth." His deadpanned tone was betrayed by the amused twitch of Otabek's lips as he slipped from the kitchen. Even the stoic, expertly quiet waiter had been affected by the love of Victor and Yuuri. It seemed that their love had the power to inject anyone with hope for the same, a fact that normally left both members of the couple a little smug.

Helping Victor from the floor, Yuuri peered between his tousled fiancé and best friend. "I wonder why he is back. He doesn't usually visit the same place twice." Yuuri watched as Phichit shrugged and Victor's face became increasingly destroyed with nerves. "I-" his thought was interrupted when Yurio repeated Victor's exaggerated entrance into the kitchen. When Yurio tripped over Aniya's heel, Yuuri found himself catching another member of his staff. Laughing, he placed Yurio firmly upright and patiently waited for Yurio to catch his breath.

"That guy…" Yurio clutched a hand to his chest, hand still gripped on Yuuri's arm, "the one that wore the bad wig, Fellsman or whatever, he is out there!"

Yuuri smiled warmly at Yurio, patting the heaving shoulder with his free hand. "We know, Victor the clumsy tornado beat you to the news." He chuckled when Yurio scowled at Victor.

"He is asking for you," Yurio smirked at this tidbit, as Yuuri's eyes went wide, flicking to Phichit in a request for support. Yuuri hadn't spoken to Yakov Feltsman since the day of his last final, avoiding a conversation during Yakov's review as to not seem needy or desperate. "And he is dressed like a guy, no giant dress or anything." Yurio was now standing with a cocky tilt to his head, self-satisfied smile settling over his face with the effect of the news.

Yuuri and Phichit worriedly huddled together near the entrance to the walk-in fridge. "You have to go out there with me!" Yuuri pleaded with Phichit who was shaking his head with a force strong enough to pop it off of his neck.

"Nah uh, ol' Feltsy hates me, you know that!" Phichit backed away, apologizing as he collided with the back of one of the dish washers.

Victor huffed, his bangs floating up from his forehead. "That's ridiculous, how could anyone hate you?" Phichit was easily the most lovable person Victor had ever met, with the exception of only his Yuuri. Anyone who disliked Phichit was not a good judge of character.

"One word…" Phichit leaned forward over the prep counter as if telling the world's most important secret, "turducken."

Laughter hit Yuuri like a truck full of clowns as he recalled Phichit's final exam and the gloriously detailed description of the chicken stuffed into a duck stuffed into a turkey and then cooked with loving care for hours. Phichit had been dead serious as he sang the praises of his absurd dish, and Yakov had looked close to exploding. There hadn't been a single greater moment in their culinary education, and Yuuri continued to wheeze with laughter as Phichit launched into his explanation of the dish to Victor and Yurio.

The horrified expressions of everyone in the kitchen had Yuuri struggling to breathe through his laughter. He had never considered putting Phichit's signature dish on the menu as the chef's special, but his mind was definitely already adding it to the list of possibilities. It was a pity they didn't have the ingredients nor the time to recreate it immediately. The look on Yakov's face would have been worth the inevitable retraction of last year's review.

Clatter at the kitchen door had them turning to see Minami, whose attention was split between the dining room and the kitchen. "Yuuri, Victor, you better get out here." The nervous tug Minami assaulted on his own hair put Yuuri on edge.

Taking a deep breath, Yuuri snuck a kiss onto Victor's cheek and strode from the kitchen, falsely conveying a confidence he didn't possess. Yakov was returning to his restaurant. Yakov was asking to see him. All of Yuuri's nerves buzzed at the surface of his skin making him feel like his was twitching with the nervous energy. Pausing only briefly in the hallway, Yuuri breathed deeply and forced his feet to carry him forward into the dining room. The scene in front of him brought him to an immediate halt.

Yakov sat at a two seater table, his back currently to Yuuri which made his bright red ears easily visible from Yuuri's position. Between where Yuuri stood and Yakov sat, was the (now defiled) table of old women regulars. For a change, they didn't immediately descend on Yuuri as he entered the loud room, their focus currently zeroed in on the grouchy old man who had been Yuuri's favorite professor. As their comments flowed from their table in Russian, Yuuri was thankful that his knowledge of the Russian language was conversational at best. He knew enough of the words being said to understand Yakov's blush, and he was eternally grateful that his knowledge stopped there.

Suppressing the urge to chuckle, Yuuri weaved between the tables, approaching Yakov with a bow of his head. "Professor Feltsman, it is a pleasure to see you again." Yuuri accepted Yakov's offered hand, with another nod. Yakov had barely aged since Yuuri had last seen him, and Yuuri smiled with genuine pleasure as Yakov shook his hand.

"Yuuri Katsuki. I needn't remind you that you have been given previous permission for less formality. Wonderful work you are doing here." Yakov's chin set as more whistles were fired in his direction. "Except for them. Them, I could live without."

Yuuri caught the words "sexy" and the phrase "all night long," blushing to himself at his own familiarity with these particular words. He knew that the older women, who had made a habit of taking pictures of his butt, were feisty, but it wasn't until that moment that he understood how much so. Rotating his head only slightly, he saw the oldest of their crew pulling on Georgi's arm and pointing toward Yakov's back with a devilish grin. Part of him wanted to intervene and prevent whatever embarrassment was about to befall his beloved professor. A more sadistic part of him, which remembered Yakov's malicious tendency to throw entire entrees in the garbage without tasting them, wanted to see exactly what his favorite regulars were up to. Bringing his attention back to Yakov's frown, Yuuri chuckled lightly. "They are harmless. All of them are regulars, they come every week. I am happy to share some of their attention." Yuuri chuckled again as Yakov's face became a deeper red.

A hand on the small of Yuuri's back had him jumping. Looking to his right, Yuuri smiled into the nervous face of his fiancé. "Professor Feltsman," Yuuri paused as Yakov cleared his throat, "I'm sorry, Yakov, this is my fiancé and owner of the restaurant, Victor Nikiforov." Yuuri's smile was face-breaking as he watched Victor nervously place his hand in Yakov's.

"Yuuri shouldn't be so modest, this restaurant is also his. Along with my other partners, Mila Babicheva and…" Victor trailed off as Phichit pranced toward the table. Phichit's joyful expression was a distinct contrast to the fearful concerns his sous chef had expressed moments earlier. Glancing behind Phichit's bobbing form, Victor grinned as Chris held up a clear bottle and several empty shot glasses. Leave it to Chris to find alcohol as a quick answer to any problem.

"You," Yakov's eyes darkened as they leveled on Phichit's cheerful approach.

"Feltsy!" Phichit threw a jovial arm over Yakov's shoulders, shaking the older man while winking at Yuuri. "Did you miss me?"

It appeared as if Phichit's hesitations had disappeared. Scanning back toward the kitchen, Yuuri raised an eyebrow as Chris waved a bottle of scotch high in the air. If liquid courage is what it took to get Phichit out of the kitchen, then Yuuri would personally thank Chris later. For now, he held his breath waiting for Yakov to react.

"How do you like our restaurant? Yuuri and I are kicking some serious ass in that kitchen!" Phichit waved a wild hand which easily conveyed his nerves.

"You are the fourth partner?" Yakov narrowed a dubious look between Phichit, Victor, and Yuuri, scoffing when all three of them nodded. "Good luck to you all." There was a trace of humor in his statement and Yuuri felt relaxation returning to his shoulders. "Mr. Nikiforov, your father would most certainly be proud of this place. Your mother as well. I hope my review was to your liking."

Victor vaguely noted that Yakov was speaking to him in Russian, his brain trailing a second behind each word, slow to process their meaning as he took in the kind words. "Yes," Victor gulped the lump of emotional nerves in his throat, "the review was a big hit around here. It is framed above the bar actually." His vague hand waved toward the bar, accidently smacking Yuuri in the forehead. Yakov's words filled his heart, swelling it to a painful throbbing ache in his chest as Victor's hand returned to his side, embarrassment leaking into his joy.

Mila's laughter trickled into the group as she joined them, patting Yuuri's shoulder as he rubbed his forehead. "Yakov, this is Mila, restaurant manager extraordinaire." Yuuri dropped his hand from his assaulted forehead to place it on Mila's shoulder. Simultaneously, he squeezed Victor tighter to his waist, feeling the quake of Victor's body against his own. Later, when they were alone, Yuuri would encourage Victor to talk about all of the emotions that were flickering over his fiancé's face. Right now, Yuuri forced his mind to stay on Yakov and the situation at hand.

"You keep them in line?" Yakov was eying the men with a judgmental stare, his tone reflecting deep sympathy for Mila's assumed struggle.

Laughing again, Mila shook her head. "It sounds as if you have some idea of what I go through. Their combined silliness makes life interesting." She smiled down at Yakov as a small tut of laughter escaped him.

"Hey, handsome!" None of the restaurant owners resisted the urge to look toward the voice. "If you don't order something to eat soon, we're going to order a man-sized doggie bag and take you home for dessert!"

All four of them burst into uncontrolled laughter, as Yakov muttered under his breath about the lack of sense in the absurd statement. Twisting completely while finally releasing Yakov's shoulders, Phichit winked at the table. "I'm sorry ladies, at Nikiforov's we only serve the tenderest meat, and this old guy is as tough as they get."

Yuuri choked on nothing and shoved his face onto Victor's shoulder to avoid further laughter. Phichit wiggled his eyebrows at Mila who squeaked, immediately turning on her sharp heel and fleeing toward the hostess stand away from the growing awkwardness. Yakov turned several shades of purple before clearing his throat and snapping his menu open. Quickly folding it back to form, Yakov placed it calmly on the table, fury and embarrassment quietly burning across his face. "Yuuri, please serve me what you think is best tonight, and quickly. And have your wine server bring me a matching wine please, he was such a delight last time."

It took Victor a moment to remember who Yakov was talking about. Yurio was currently across the dining room, clearing a table while glancing back at the small group every few seconds. Remembering Yakov's high compliments of Yurio's manners, Victor raised a hand calling Yurio over with an exaggerated wave. As the gawky body wound toward them, Victor returned his shaky gaze to Yakov. "This is Yuri Plisetsky," Victor draped an arm over Yurio's shoulders, wincing at the elbow that grazed his side, "wine aficionado and world class figure skater. Nikiforov's actually sponsors all of his training and provides anything he needs for competitions." The sponsorship had been Yuuri's idea, but Victor had run with it full force, writing a check for everything from competition fees and plane tickets, to new skates and designer costumes. He went to every competition with Yuuri by his side, thoroughly embarrassing Yurio at every given moment. Figure skating cost a fortune, and Victor had never been so happy to spend so much money on anything.

"How old are you?" Yakov's eyes narrowed curiously at Yurio, who was now an even height with Yuuri, but still long and lean in his youth.

"Age is just a number," Yurio quoted, in a voice that didn't sound like his own. Yuuri and Victor stared at him with raised eyebrows while Phichit hid his giggles behind his hand. "Have you chosen your dish for tonight yet? There are several excellent choices."

Yurio sounded professional and calm, and Yuuri felt disoriented trying to take it in. "Ah, Yakov has requested that I pick his dish, however, Yurio, if you would like, I would pass that honor onto you." Yuuri's smile stayed lopsided as he saw the excitement flash in Yurio's eyes. In between his busboy duties and his training, Yurio spent all of his extra hours haunting Yuuri in the kitchen. In turn, Yuuri had given the young man all of the knowledge he craved, letting Yurio become a protégé without declaring it aloud.

"The katsudon piroshky is new to the menu, we added it after your review. It is simple, but combines all the best from Japan and Russia. A real reflection of…" Yurio gulped, looking up at Victor and Yuuri, wide eyes hesitating to finish the thought. "It is very unique."

"Alright," Yakov seemed lost in thought, "what shall I drink with it?"

Yurio shot a glance at Yuuri who was trying to subtlety mouth a suggestion when Georgi hesitantly approached the table. In his hands was a bright multi-layered drink topped with a comical amount of cherries and a neon pink umbrella. Placing it on the table, Georgi wiped his hands on his apron, nervously stuttering, "compliments of your admirers." His face radiated heat as it flushed.

The whistles and catcalls restarted, making Yuuri and Victor avoid eye contact as to not return to their irrepressible laughter. Yakov poked a finger at the umbrella, eyes moving slowly from the swirling liquid to an anxious Georgi. "What is this monstrosity?" His voice dripped with displeasure as Yakov firmly crossed his arms over his chest. Georgi mumbled, head hanging toward the table.

"Didn't catch that," Victor prompted, teeth digging into his bottom lip to suppress his laughter.

"Sex on the beach," Georgi blurted, face rivaling the redness of the brightest fire engine, "it is a sex on the beach." For a breath none of them spoke, the silence broken by Yurio's stunted giggles, a hand clapped over his mouth by Yuuri.

Phichit slumped against the wall, letting the laughter roll out of him. "Well, Feltsy, you still got it!" Yuuri shoved Phichit toward the kitchen, gaining more laughter from his best friend. "Come back again and I will make you some more turducken!" With the last line, Phichit fled for the kitchen, unfortunately missing the rage as it flashed through Yakov's eyes.

"We will…" Yuuri caught himself, breathing deeply to stop the laughter from coating his words, "we will prepare your dinner immediately. Thank you for coming back to Nikiforov's, I hope you enjoy your meal." Snagging Yurio under the armpit, Yuuri swung toward the kitchen.

"Yes, I hope you come back again sometime," Victor jumped when more cackling erupted behind him, "just… um… may I suggest returning on a different night?" He threw a sympathetic nod at Yakov. Shaking the rough hand once more, Victor followed his fiancé and busboy toward the kitchen. Yakov was nothing like Victor had pictured him to be, and a large part of him hoped that Yakov's presence would become more frequent. Shoving back into the kitchen, Victor grinned at the sight of his fiancé bent over a mixing bowl, barking orders at Yurio who was chopping vegetables.

"I don't understand why I have to help!" Yurio protested, although the excited way he was prepping conveyed a different sentiment.

"Because, young grasshopper…" Yuuri smiled, winking at Victor and making Victor's breath catch. "Ice skating won't last forever. I want you to have something to fall back on." Yurio's non-committal noise made Victor snort.

His shoulder jostled as Phichit nudged him. "Yuuri almost looks like a dad, doesn't he?" Victor felt Phichit staring at the side of his face. "Not a bad sight is it?" When he didn't respond, Phichit moved away filled with scotch-fueled chuckles.

Leaning against the door jamb, in the same place Victor always stood to watch Yuuri work, he let the idea of children roll through his mind. He could easily replace Yurio's surly form with younger, excitable children and mentally morph the surrounding kitchen into his own kitchen at home. For a second time that night, Victor felt his heart swell with unconstrained emotion, this time not as a memory of the past, but with hope for the future.