On the 11th Day Of Christmas...
...there was an epic ice skating fanfic... no really. :) What's more Christmas-y than ice skating, after all?
Title: Fire On Ice, Chapters 1 and 2
Author: michiruwater
Rating: MA (whole fic), K (chapter 1), M (chapter 2)
Beta: bsg_aussiegirl, who totally rocks and let me bounce all this ridiculous figure skating blather off her.
Word Count: 1,562 (Chapter 1), 6,236 (Chapter 2)
Summary: In 1972, Laura Roslin and Bill Adama were heading to the Olympics with their whole future ahead of them. In 2010, they deal with the consequences from that year.
Author's Note: As pretty much nobody (except aussiegirl) knows, the only thing I am a bigger fan of than BSG is figure skating. Take out the BSG characters, and everything you read (in 1972 in particular) happened - all the people are real, the circumstances, the podium placements, etc. In my mind, Laura skates like Sasha Cohen, and Bill skates like Evan Lysacek, if you want to YouTube them. There are 10 chapters planned. Chapter 3 is completed, and I will post it once I have completed Chapter 4 :) The book they're reading is the hardboiled classic The Big Sleep by Raymond Chandler.
JULY 2010 SKATING MAGAZINE
LAURA ROSLIN - FROM TOP STAR TO TOP COACH
Everyone in the world of figure skating knows the name Laura Roslin. Roslin’s gold-medal-winning performance at the 1972 Olympic Games in Sapporo, Japan is still considered one of the greatest Olympics freeskates of all-time, and her subsequent tearful dedication of her gold medal to her family, victims of the crash of Sabena Flight 548 in 1961, is still engraved in the memories of all who watched her ascend the podium that fateful night.
Roslin enjoyed great success on the professional circuit after retiring from the sport following her win at the 1972 World Championships, performing with Ice Capades for numerous years before setting in Ann Arbor, Michigan, where she is currently coaching at the Ann Arbor Figure Skating Club.
SM: Good evening, Ms. Roslin, and it is a pleasure to be interviewing you again.
LR: Thank you very much! It is wonderful to be here again.
SM: Should we start with the hard questions?
LR: Oh, I fully expected you to.
SM: Kara Thrace’s loss to Yu Na Kim in Vancouver was clearly devastating to her. Was it the loss itself that persuaded her to change coaches?
LR: As you know, Kara and I have been hesitant to talk about this. We do not want there to be any hard feelings. She decided that she had learned what she could in Canton and needed a change of pace. I was happy to give that to her.
SM: Bill Adama has made it clear that the change in coaches was not a mutual agreement.
LR: I don’t know what Bill said. Quite frankly, I have not been paying attention. I am a coach. I was asked by a very talented young lady to help prepare for her Sochi in 2014, and we agreed to give it a go together. I think you will see the benefits of our working together on the ice this fall. I firmly believe that you are going to see a fully rejuvenated Kara Thrace on the Grand Prix circuit.
SM: So you have nothing to say to Bill Adama?
LR: Bill Adama and I have had a cordial relationship for several decades. As I stated previously, I hope there will be no hard feelings, and that everyone involved will continue to be professional.
Several miles outside of Ann Arbor, in Canton, Bill Adama threw the issue across the room, seething. Saul winced as the magazine struck the wall and landed in a heap on the floor, but his friend ignored him, glowering into the floor instead.
“I know how you feel about that woman,” Saul intoned, “but Kara made her choice. It didn’t have nothing to do with your history with Laura fucking Roslin.”
Bill just grunted, still glaring at the floor. “I know that,” he said. “Doesn’t make me feel any better about it, though.”
“Yeah, well,” Saul said, taking a long swig from the flask he kept under his hooded sweatshirt, “you’d better figure it out soon, cause Skate America is in a matter of months, and you’re gonna be face to face with both of ‘em then.”
Adama grunted again, words failing him. Sighing, he stood, his knees popping, and he winced. “Dee and Lee outside?”
“Dee’s outside warming up, yeah. No idea where your damned son is. She’s gonna kill him if he’s late again. Are you even in the mood to coach? I can take it today.”
Bill paused, then slid down into his chair again, shaking his head. “No, you’d better do it. Focus on the twizzles. Their twizzles are a mess.”
“Aye aye, Sir,” Saul said, turning to leave. “And Bill, don’t do anything do stupid.”
“Stupid?”
“Like call Roslin. Again. Won’t change nothin’ that’s happened.”
“I know that,” Bill snapped.
“Alright then,” Saul said.
“Yeah, yeah,” Bill said, waving a hand as Saul headed out of the office. Bill watched through the window as his son appeared at the far exit, hurriedly slipped his skate guards off, and slid onto the ice. Even from here he could tell Dee was about to tell him off. He didn’t feel particularly bad for Lee.
Knowing that it was against his better judgment, he picked up his phone, dialing a number he had memorized decades ago.
********
“No, no, no, Kara,” Laura said, sighing, as she skated over to her charge. “You’re leaning forward way too much. When did this start? I don’t remember seeing this last season.”
Kara slapped a hand against the ice, pulling herself to her feet. Third botched double axel in a row. She sighed, pushing some of her short hair out of her face. “I don’t know,” she confessed. “It seems like starting yesterday I just can’t do it.”
Laura skated around her slowly, frowning. “It’s easier to develop a bad habit then fix one,” she said, an oft-repeated mantra. “Focus on not leaning forward. Your double axel has always been wonderful up until right now, and I don’t want to have to waste time working on that every day when we still need to finish choreographing. Visualize.”
Kara nodded, skating around haplessly as she closed her eyes and pictured herself doing the double axel. She’d been landing this jump for over a decade now. Normally it was her most solid jump - solid enough that she’d briefly tried for a triple when she was 15 and her body worked better. She could see it now, feel it in her bones. She wasn’t sure what had changed.
Just do it like you always did.
Skating away, she moved to the far edge before beginning her back crossovers, gaining speed and momentum as she headed toward the area of the rink where she would do the jump in her long program. Don’t lean forward.
She jumped, up, 2 ½ turns around, and this time landed, cleanly skating a curve out of it.
“There you go!” Laura called, nodded enthusiastically, her arms crossed. “Do a couple more. Get it out of your system. Just keep picturing it in your head.”
“Um, Ms. Roslin?”
Billy Keikeya stood at the edge of the rink, holding the cordless phone, his face suggesting that he was expecting to be yelled at any second.
“Yes?” she responded eyes narrowing.
“I meant to hang up, I swear,” he said, covering the mouthpiece, “but he asked if you were here first, and I said yes, and I know you’re trying to keep this from getting out of hand, so I figured maybe it would be better to take the call…” he trailed off as Laura raised an eyebrow.
“It’s Adama, isn’t it?”
Billy nodded, wincing.
She sighed, pressing her fingers against her forehead as she stroked over to the edge and held out a hand. Kara watched nervously, and Laura covered the mouthpiece as well as she looked back at her. “Double axels, young lady. Go.”
She removed her hand, lifting the phone to her face. “Hello, Bill.”
“Laura. Interesting article in Skating this month.”
Laura sighed. “I recall working very hard to not offend you in that article, Bill.”
“Wasn’t the way I read it.”
Laura waved Billy off, stepping down into the stands area and behind the glass, lowering her voice. “You’re being completely unprofessional, Bill,” she reminded him, trying to keep her anger in check. “It’s a contract. She changed coaches. It happens.”
“I have coached her since she was 7 years old, Laura,” he shot back. “She never even talked to me. Not once. One day she was here, the next her agent is telling me she made a change. It’s absolute bullshit.”
“Then call her about it,” Laura said, pushing her hair back. “I had nothing to do with that situation, and you know it.” There was silence on his end, and she turned her back entirely to the rink, whispering now. “It’s not that she made a change, Bill,” she said, fury emanating from her. “Not just, and we both know it. It’s that she came to me, right? It was 40 years ago, Bill. Don’t you think it’s time we let the past go?”
“No,” he hissed back.
With a beep, she turned the phone off, resolutely handing it back to a shocked-looking Billy. Sighing, she leaned against the glass, closing her eyes briefly. It was a frequent position. Every time she even thought of Bill Adama, she felt like crying.
“Coach?”
She turned back. Kara was waiting on her, breathing heavily. “I think I got it back,” the blonde said, flashing a bright smile.
Laura nodded, skating back to her. “Good. Now we need to put it into your short. Ready for a run-through?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Kara said, still smiling.
“Alright. Center ice, young lady. Billy!”
The boy’s head appeared as Laura skated back to the edge. “Miss Thrace’s music, please.”
She watched as Kara took a lap, clearly visualizing the choreography they’d finished, which was most of the program. David Wilson would be there later that week to finish up the short and, hopefully, the long as well. Kara skated to the center, facing where the judges would be, and struck her starting pose, a cocky grin on her face.
As the strains of Carmina Burana began, Laura still found her thoughts drifting, settling firmly to a time 40 years ago, when she had been on top of the world.
Broadmoor Figure Skating Club, late January 1972
Bill Adama sighed as they pressed yet another red-white-and-blue outfit into his hands and instructed him to go change. Press photos for the US Olympic Team had been going on all day. He understood, of course, that as US National Champion he was required to do these sorts of things. He just hated them.
A peel of glorious laughter reached his ears, and he turned back around to watch as Laura Roslin was primed for her next shot, giggling as the make-up artist related some story or other to her. Her red hair glistened in the lights, and the smile she gave the cameraman as she posed with her skates was glorious. He watched the way she faked it, admiring how totally she gave herself into the moment when he knew she’d rather be anywhere else.
“Adama!”
The cameraman waved to him, and Laura’s eyes were on him. He shuffled back curiously, and the cameraman gave him a smile. “Care to take one or two with Miss Roslin? It would be nice to have one of both National Champions.”
Laura smiled at him, her eyes glinting, and he could never say no when she looked at him like that. “Sure,” he agreed, handing the next outfit off and walking over to her. Then he stopped. Flashing cocky smiles at the camera by himself was one thing, but he had no idea what to do with her there.
“Maybe you could stand back to back? Confident looks, please.”
She turned, arms crossed. He mirrored her pose, flashing his signature smile, and the camera flashed.
“Nice. Could you stand behind her, Mr. Adama? Hands on her waist, maybe?”
“We’re not a fucking Pairs team,” he muttered into Laura’s ear, and she giggled brightly as he moved behind her. He took a deep breath as his hands settled on her slim waist, and let it out as she leaned into him.
The camera flashed again. “Great! Thank you, Mr. Adama.”
*******
Laura threw yet another cloth into the waste bin as she worked to remove all of the heavy make-up from her face. The photo-shoot had taken forever. She’d put on the best face she could, and it was nice to be recognized for her talent, but all of his just made her jittery when she thought about the fact that, in a month, she may or may not be the Olympic Champion.
Giving up - she could hopefully do this at home - she slung her bag over her shoulder and exited the arena. She was glad that they had come to the rink, instead of having to fly out to a professional studio. She needed as much ‘me’ time as possible right now, with hype at the highest it had ever been in her career. Everyone seemed convinced she would win. Reigning World, US, and North American Champion… it was a lot to live up to.
She smelled cigarette smoke as she unlocked her car, and looking across the lanes she found Bill Adama, leaning against his truck and staring up at the stars. She smiled to herself, and checking herself quickly in the car mirror, made her way over to him.
He watched her coming, no expression on his face, but she could read the warmth in his fascinatingly blue eyes. She hopped up on the car hood next to him, his eyes following her all the way. “Can I bum one?” she asked, smiling coquettishly at him.
He passed her one, raising an eyebrow, and then lit it for her, his eyes never leaving her face. She inhaled and blew the smoke out slowly, before meeting his eyes. “Richard’ll kill me if he finds out I gave that to you,” he commented.
“Yeah, well,” she said, shrugging. “I’m an adult now and he’s not my real father anyway.” Her eyes widened as what she said registered, and she colored. “Uh, which is not to say I’m not grateful,” she finished, blushing deeply.
Bill chuckled. “It’s okay. Richard can be a pain in the ass. I can’t imagine living with him.”
She shrugged again. “He’s not so bad. Don’t know where I’d be without him.”
Bill nodded, his eyes still on her face, tracing over her. They’d been doing this for a long time now, pretty much since she had turned 18 two summers ago. She was never quite sure why he hadn’t made a move yet. She was pretty certain, at this point, that he was at least half in love with her, and she’d given him several dozen openings that he’d ignored entirely. Right now was a prime example, and his eyes were still fastened on her.
God, she loved his eyes. She thought about them at night, lying in her bedroom, wondering what would happen if he ever lost that ridiculous self-control. His jumps were so huge and powerful. She could barely even watch him skate these days; invariably, she was wet by the end of his programs, wishing that his power and athleticism could be put to a more… pleasurable use.
“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” she commented, studying his face. “Where’d my hotshot Bill go?”
He didn’t laugh though. His eyes narrowed a little, darkening slightly. “Yours?” he said, in that ridiculously sexy voice of his.
She blushed the same shade as her hair, humming to herself. “Well,” she said, “I suppose not. Not that I haven’t tried,” she added. They’d been here before, but she hadn’t pushed quite as hard.
He sighed. She turned back to him in surprise, one eyebrow raised. An unexpectedly morose reaction. Normally they played this game together; she flirted, he flirted back… but today he looked at her sadly. “I know,” he said, staring down now at the stub of his cigarette. “It’s just… Laura, we have certain responsibilities, you know? We’re going to be in the Olympics in about a month, for fuck’s sake. Neither of us can afford any distractions right now.”
She was taken aback. There was her answer, and unfortunately, he was right. She sighed as well, tossing her cigarette aside. “Yes, we do, Sir,” she agreed, still letting a teasing lilt creep into her tone. “For a little while longer,” she continued, eyes gleaming.
He met her eyes again, then, and she stood, moving around in front of him, placing one slim hand on his thick forearm. “I should head home; Richard’s probably wondering what the hell is taking me so long. But I’ll tell you what,” she said, grinning. “When I win the Olympic Gold, you come see me.”
His eyes widened, then narrowed again, the smoldering embers returning. “Be careful, Roslin,” he growled. “I may take you up on that.”
“Oh, Bill,” she said, over her shoulder as she turned away, “I sincerely hope so.”
*********
“No, no, no, Laura,” Richard yelled, hitting his stick on the ice forcefully. “You are not going to beat Trixi Schuba with a pattern like that. Again. You can do way better than that.”
Bill watched from the stands, book forgotten in his hands, wincing as Laura turned away from their coach, clearly muttering something unflattering under her breath as she prepared to go over the school figure again. As much as he wanted to be on her side, he had to agree with Adar. Schuba was an absolute master at school figures, and had come close to beating Laura at the 1970 World Championships with them, which Richard continually reminded her of. True, Laura had pulled out ahead the majority of the times they competed against one another, but always on the strength of her second-place figures combined with her first-place free skate.
He’d been at the rink last year, when she’d won her second World Title but had remained upset at her figures score long afterward. “Next year, Richard,” she’d declared, “I want to win the Olympics all the way. Free skate and figures.”
“How hard are you willing to work?” Adar had asked back.
She completed the figure again, and Adar walked around it, calculating the points on his tab sheet. “Better,” he said. “Better. But you need to be able to do this consistently.”
“I know,” she said, arms crossed, and Richard gave her one of his withering looks.
“Adama, you out there?” he called.
“Yeah,” Bill replied, standing and heading down to the rink.
“You’re up. Laura, go grab a bottle of water and a new attitude.”
Laura shot Richard a last glare as she skated to the edge of the rink. Bill watched her go, trying and failing to hold in his amused smile. She leveled a glare at him as well as she donned her skate guards, grabbed the offered book out of his hands, and headed back to the locker room. “Hope you didn’t lose my place, Adama!” she called as she disappeared.
********
“Oh, God,” Laura said, breathing shallowly as Bill shoved their luggage into the overhead compartment, “I cannot believe this is happening. Why why why do I keep putting myself through this??”
He shut the bin and slid into his seat next to her, finding her hand immediately. He was used to this by now; every time they got on a plane to go to a competition Laura’s nerves would take over. He never quite figured out if it was nerves for the plane or the competition, but right now she was nearly hyperventilating.
“Hey, hey, hey,” he said, running a hand up and down her bare arm, “relax, Laura. You’ve done this many times. This time is no different.”
“Oh, sure, no different, he says,” she muttered. “Just the fucking Olympics.”
“You’ve been there before,” he reminded her, trying not to smile again.
“Yeah, and we both blew it,” she reminded him.
“4th place is not blowing it.”
“Peggy Fleming is such a bitch,” Laura finished, sinking into her seat. He tried to ignore the fluttering in his chest as she wrapped an arm around his, cuddling into him.
Responsibilities, the voice in his head reminded him. He shushed it. Taking care of Laura was a responsibility, as far as he was concerned.
“You two okay?” came a voice, and he looked up to find Deborah Adar starting at them concernedly. Richard came up behind her, studying the two of them.
“We’re fine,” Bill said. “Just… well, you know…”
Richard looked at Laura, whose eyes were now closed as she breathed deeply. “Yeah,” he said, a worried look on his face. “You make sure she doesn’t vomit. Deborah and I are a couple seats behind you. Let me know if she needs anything.”
Bill nodded, then winced as Laura squeezed his arm particularly tight. “At your command, Sir,” he said, and Richard chuckled.
Richard and Deborah disappeared, and he turned back to Laura, using his free hand to fish their book out of his bag. “Close your eyes, Laura,” he said.
They’d started this ritual two years ago, when he had first caught her thumbing through his dollar-store hardboiled mysteries while he was on the ice. He’d started loaning her his small-but-growing collection, and a year previously he’d had the brilliant idea to read to her during take-off. Now, she did as told, settling back in her seat, relaxing her death grip on his arm, and closing her eyes. He flipped to where her marker held her place, and began to intone in his deep, gravelly voice.
“He pushed a shiny print across the desk and I looked at an Irish face that was more sad than merry and more reserved than brash. Not the face of a tough guy and not the face of a man who could be pushed around much by anybody. Straight dark brows with strong bone under them. A forehead wide rather than high, a mat of dark clustering hair, a thin short nose, a wide mouth. A chin that had strong lines but was small for the mouth. A face that looked a little taut, the face of a man who would move fast and play for keeps. I passed the print back. I would know that face, if I saw it.”
*******
There were reporters in the airport, waiting to see the two US National Champions. Laura smiled brightly at them as they waited for their luggage, but Bill was fighting a scowl every step of the way. She nudged him in the ribs. “It’s bad press if you look like you’re about to pummel them,” she hissed.
“I don’t care about the press,” he countered.
She sighed as she gripped the handle of her first suitcase, tugging it off the revolving rack. Richard and Deborah stood next to them, and Richard was frowning at him.
“Comes with the package, Bill,” he said, pulling his own luggage off.
It took forever for Laura’s second suitcase to appear, and then they wheeled out. Laura smiled and waved whenever she could, and Bill glowered next to her, until they made their way to the front and piled into two taxis.
They had booked a hotel in Sapporo, where the figure skating competition would be held. Both he and Laura had stayed in the Olympic Village four years earlier, and while the experience had been exhilarating they’d agreed that this time they wanted to focus on their performances only. Richard and Bill climbed into the first taxi, Laura and Deborah into the second. The rest of their team would be arriving two days later, and Bill’s parents the night before the first segment of competition.
The hotel was gorgeous. The concierge had been waiting for their arrival, reporters had been outside - it was insane, and Bill was reasonably certain that he wouldn’t have had to deal with most of this if Laura hadn’t been there. It was hard to resent her though. It wasn’t her fault that Ice Princesses always garnered so much attention. Right now, he knew she was on the cover of Sports Illustrated back home, with the clichéd title Fire On Ice. He supposed he couldn’t blame them either; her hair practically demanded they use the title.
“Alright, Deborah and I are on the 5th floor; Laura, you’re two suites down from ours; and Bill, you’re one flight up.”
Richard handed out the cards, and they made their way to an elevator. Bill didn’t bother to wave as the other three unloaded, just hoping to relax for a bit once he got to his room.
The bed was awesome. He had no idea what difference there was between beds in the US and Japan but he was pretty sure he was never leaving once he lay down. 40 minutes later, his eyes opened in bleary surprise as a knock sounded through the room, and he realized groggily that he had fallen asleep. He groaned as he sat up, feeling the all-consuming lethargy from a too-long nap, and made his way to the door.
It was Laura, of course, bright-eyed and excited. “Come on!” she said. “We’re in Japan! I’ve always wanted to try sushi!”
“Ugh,” he responded, but twenty minutes later they were wandering out the back entrance (thank God for that concierge) and into the bustle of Japan.
“What the hell is this shit?” he groused, looking at his bottle of green tea. What kind of culture didn’t appreciate coffee?
Laura laughed, and he forgot all about the tea as she laced their fingers together and tugged him down the street. They wandered, peaking their heads into shops, and he tried to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of hundreds of pairs of eyes watching them wander around.
“Do you even know what sushi looks like?” he asked.
“I saw a picture once,” she said defensively.
“I can’t believe you want to eat raw fish.”
At that moment, a group of teenagers saw them, and suddenly they were accosted, surrounded by a group, all asking for autographs. Most of them were curious about Laura, and seemed to include Bill mostly because he happened to be there. Same old same old, regardless of what country they were in. Normally he was thankful for his anonymity, but right now he wanted to pummel the teenaged boys openly ogling his… Laura.
She was gracious and charming, as always. He knew these sorts of things tired her out quickly, but she was always so much better at them than he was. “It’s just politics, really,” she told him once. “It comes with the celebrity.”
He could see her smile become strained after a while, though, and pushed through the crowd with his broad frame. “Alright, Miss Roslin has had enough,” he intoned, like a bodyguard, grasping her around the waist and deftly moving them out of the crowd, keeping her close until they were far enough away that the cries of disappointment were less obvious.
When he looked down, she was looking at him in amazement. “What?” he asked.
“That was impressive,” she breathed, eyes locked on his, and he swallowed convulsively. Her eyes softened, and she hummed at him, before turning back down the street. “Oh my God,” she cried, “I think that’s it!”
True enough, it was a small sushi shop, and she went in excitedly, and then stop when confronted with the menu in Japanese. Her eyes widened as she looked it over.
The person behind the counter then yelled something excitedly at her. She turned, eyes crinkled in confusion, before he pointed at a small TV across the room, which was showing footage of them at their hotel an hour and a half earlier. Both Bill and Laura went bright red, and she waved helplessly at the menu before the shop owner pointed at two of the counter seats and lead them over. They sat, and he pointed at the menu, nodded once, and disappeared.
“I really hope that somehow we just ordered sushi,” Laura said dryly, and Bill chuckled to himself.
Sure enough, several minutes later the owner brought forth a plate of what was clearly sushi. Bill felt slightly queasy looking at it, but Laura’s eyes lit up immediately. Ignoring her chopsticks entirely, she picked up a piece and tossed it into her mouth. The shop owner stared at her, mouth gaping, and Bill tried very hard not to laugh.
Then she moaned, and his eyes shot back to her and the blessed-out expression on her face. “Oh my God, Bill, you have to try this!” she declared, eyes bright and excited again.
He looked back down at the platter of seaweed and raw fish, two things he’d never imagined putting in his stomach. “No,” he said.
“Yes,” she responded, and then she picked up a piece, offering it to him.
His mouth went dry at the idea of eating food literally out of her hands, before he realized the shop owner was peering at him. He shot the man a glare, and Laura hummed at him again, the hum that meant be nice. Turning back to her, he sighed, plucked up his courage, and wrapped his lips around the food item in her fingers, pulling it into his mouth and congratulating himself on the delicate blush and darkened eyes facing him.
It… didn’t taste bad. But shit, the texture. He chewed slowly, and managed to give the shop owner a grimace, which apparently satisfied the man as he walked back behind his counter, still shooting them furtive glances. Once he was out of earshot, Bill gave Laura a fully disgusted look as he finished chewing and swallowed. By this point, she was effusively giggling, mouth covered and eyes squinting.
“I sincerely hope you’re ready to eat this entire platter,” Bill said.
“Maybe. It is delicious,” she said, popping another piece in her mouth, her eyes fluttering closed again.
Bill shrugged. “Give me a bowl of hot noodles any day.”
Halfway through the platter, Laura had begun to look panicked. “I can’t eat all of this,” she admitted. “Exactly how rude do you think it would be to not finish?”
“I don’t get the feeling he’s charging us, so…”
“Bill Adama!”
He turned, and was out of his seat immediately to intercept a bear hug from his best friend, Saul Tigh. Ellen Sawyer was right behind him, overdressed as usual. He saw her give Laura a tight smile, which he was sure Laura returned just as tightly.
“Ellen,” Laura said, “have you ever had sushi?”
Ellen eyed the platter with curiosity. “Nope.”
“Would you like to try some?” Ellen looked at her in surprise, so Laura let a little of her desperation show. “He gave it to us, and I can’t finish it, and I really don’t want to be rude.”
Ellen’s mouth turned down, even as she sat at the table and picked up a pair of chopsticks. “Yes, well,” she said daintily, “we can’t have figure skating’s superstar make a bad impression, can we?”
Saul grimaced as he and Bill sat as well. “Raw fish,” he groused, screwing up his nose.
“My feelings exactly,” Bill agreed.
“So, Laura,” Ellen asked sweetly as she popped another piece into her mouth, much in the same way Laura had, “are you nervous yet? All those expectations. I can hardly imagine the pressure you’re feeling. It would be just awful if you didn’t win.”
Laura smiled tightly again, and Bill and Saul glanced at each other, preparing to separate them if necessary. “Yes, well,” she said lightly, “I’d rather have some expectations than none at all.”
Ellen’s eyes narrowed, and Saul and Bill both winced. Saul and Ellen had barely made the Canadian Olympic Team on their second try. They had no hope of getting anywhere near the podium, and everyone at the table knew it.
Ellen swallowed the last piece of sushi and stood, glaring daggers at Laura. “I think we’re expected elsewhere, Saul,” she said. Saul stood, and Bill shot him an apologetic look, which he shrugged off as he wrapped an arm around his girlfriend’s waist.
“I’ll see you later,” Bill said, and Saul nodded as the two exited. As soon as they were out of earshot, he turned to Laura, who was already look at him with some amount of trepidation.
“She completely deserved it,” Laura pointed out. “She came in here with the purpose of goading me.”
“She did,” he agreed, frustration oozing out of him. “That doesn’t mean that you have to rise to the occasion, though. And you didn’t just insult her, you know.”
She sighed, pushing a lock of auburn hair aside. “I know, I know,” she agreed, waving a hand at him. “I’ll apologize the next time I see him. I promise.”
He offered her a hand up, which she accepted. The shop owner came back around, looking at them with a measure of concern, and Bill felt guilty. Laura’s warm smile and placating tone, however, set him at ease quickly. “Arigato gozaimasu,” she said, brightly, and the shop owner grinned happily.
“Where’d you pick that up?” he asked on the way out, impressed.
“I studied a couple useful phrases while you were passed out on the plane,” she said with a smile.
*******
The crowd was always much smaller at the figures portion of the competition than during the long program, with good reason. Bill was heading to the back of the arena at this point. Janet Lynn had just finished tracing her second figure, and Schuba was up next, followed by Laura. He knew she was backstage, and he had a good idea about how she was feeling at that moment.
The week since they had landed in Japan had been a whirlwind. Opening ceremonies, interviews, practices, seeing old friends. The men’s competition had started last night, and he was relatively pleased with his third-place score in school figures. Laura had been there the whole time, cheering him on through the tedium of that part of the competition. 3rd place was honestly better than he had anticipated. Everyone knew that Bill Adama was a good skater, but that his strength was in his jumps and, to a lesser extent, his footwork. He wasn’t bad at the dull school figures, but he was in this for the adrenaline rush that came with a great free program.
He was thankful every day that his schedule was less hectic than Laura’s. He could see that the constant attention was draining her. She was a beauty on the ice, perfectly capable of maintaining decorum during a press conference - and in every way a true introvert. Last night, she’d called him at 10 PM from her room, nearly in tears, unable to sleep from nerves and overstimulation. He’d spent an hour reading to her until she’d finally nodded off, then slipped quietly out to go to back to his own room.
The people backstage parted to let him through, all of them clearly recognizing him as he made his way to the women’s locker room, where he knocked twice loudly. The door was opened by Zsuzsa Almássy of Hungary, who looked at him in shock before slamming the door in his face. He sighed, but heard some raised voices on the other side before the door was opened again by Julie Holmes, who looked relieved to see him.
“How is she?”
“It’s bad,” Julie said, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him in. Almássy stood a few feet away, looking scandalized, but Julie ignored her, pulling him further into the room. 15 feet in he heard it - the distinct sound of loud, uncontrolled giggles. They rounded the corner, and there was Laura, doubled over and heaving. She raised her head as he approached and practically threw herself in his arms.
“Bill-make-it-stop,” she wheezed out between giggles.
He loved seeing her like this. He would never admit it to her, because he knew it embarrassed her mightily that this happened at every big competition, but her laughter was his favorite sound in the whole world. Without preamble he wrapped his arms around her, rubbing a hand up and down her back and making soothing noises. It only worked about half the time, and he realized pretty quickly that today it was no-go.
“Think of something serious, Laura,” he said.
“Like-what?” she managed.
They looked at each other, before she doubled over again and he chuckled himself. Julie looked between them in incredulity, muttering ‘great’ underneath her breath.
“Laura? Are you ready? Richard’s about to have a conniption!”
Laura looked at him, still giggling but with panic in her eyes. Without giving himself much time to think, he did the only thing he could think of; he leaned forward and fastened his mouth tightly to hers, pulling her more tightly into him.
She froze in shock, and doubt overcame him. He made to pull away, before her body relaxed and she leaned into him, pressing her lips against his. Hazy pleasure flashed through his body, flowing from her lips to his and down his limbs. He pulled away, and her eyes fluttered slowly open. He suspected the warm smile on her face matched his own.
“That’s one way to do it,” she said quietly.
“Laura!” Julie hissed. The girl was bright red, and Bill couldn’t help but wink at her, trying not to laugh when she looked outraged. Laughing would just set his girl giggling again.
“Coming Deborah!” Laura called, and then she was off, heading out the locker room. He waited a moment, then turned back to Julie.
“Can you see if they’re gone?”
She glared at him, but checked, and at her nod he slipped quietly out of the locker room. Laura and Deborah were about 20 feet in front of him, striding together to the rink, Deborah fussing with her adopted daughter’s bun the whole way. He heard Laura hiss, “it’s fine!” at her as he moved quickly back to the stands, and he chuckled to himself.
Eyes followed him as he moved back to his seat, next to Kenneth Shelley, who nodded as Bill slid easily into his seat. “Laura okay?”
“I think so. Giggling fit again.” Kenneth chuckled. Laura’s nervous habits were well-known amongst the entire US Figure Skating Olympic Team.
Bill clapped with the rest of the small crowd as Laura was announced. She moved to her spot and took a deep breath. He could see from his seat how tense Richard was at the boards as she prepared to trace her first school figure, a paragraph bracket on her left foot, forward outside edge. It was one of her weakest figures, and he knew it normally took her until her second tracing to settle into the zone. But as he looked at her face, he saw the calmness, the steely-eyed focus for which she was also well-known, and he felt his nervous breath leave him in a woosh.
*******
“Here’s to Laura Roslin, future Olympic Champion!”
“Oh, you shut up, Saul,” she breathed, shaking her head as they sat together at a very late dinner that same day. “You’re going to jinx me.”
Saul laughed. Even Ellen seemed excited by the elated feeling surrounding the table. Saul raised his glass high. “To Laura!” he declared. “For finally kicking Trixi Schuba’s ass in school figures!”
“I didn’t kick her ass,” Laura protested, blushing deeply as Bill and Saul enthusiastically drank.
“Who cares how close it was?” Bill said. “You never lose the free program.”
“Knock on wood,” she said hurriedly, tapping her knuckles against the table.
Ellen snorted, tossing back a shot. “Stop the fucking false modesty, Roslin,” she slurred. “You’ve won. We all know it. Relax and enjoy your victory.”
Ellen’s speech just made Laura look more anxious. Bill reached under the table, placing a large hand on her thigh, and her face relaxed, her eyes meeting his and sparkling. The memory of the kiss he gave her to stop her giggles welled up between them, sharp and sweet. A prelude of things to come. Her hand found his on her thigh, rested lightly on top.
Ellen was looking at them curiously now. Saul’s eyes were closed, his head tilted back as he chugged part of his beer. Bill raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t the short program tomorrow? Shouldn’t you two slow down a bit?”
“Nah,” Saul said, slamming the empty mug down. “If you’re gonna place 12th at the Olympics you might as well do it drunk.”
“By the way, Bill,” Ellen said, smirking, “I heard the reporter from ABC was pretty upset with you earlier.”
Bill glowered at her. He was no good at press conferences. The press just irritated the hell out of him, no matter how he tried to hide it. “So, Bill, third place so far! How are you feeling?” the chirpy young woman had asked.
“Fine,” he’d said.
A silence had settled before she’d realized that was all she was getting. “Ooookay,” she had continued, eyes narrowing. “Well, can you tell us how it felt out there?”
“It was fine,” he replied.
Panic had begun to set in on her face at this point. “Okay,” she said hurriedly, looking through her list of questions for something that might get him talking, “can you comment on the rumors about you and Laura Roslin?”
He’d bristled, and had gruffly bit out, “I don’t comment on rumors.”
“Oh God, Bill, seriously?” Laura had said afterward, burying her face in her hands.
“I hate interviews,” he’d groused sheepishly.
“I thought she was going to slap you!” Ellen cried, chortling, rather unattractively, Bill thought. He shrugged, coloring slightly, as Laura giggled quietly.
He’d watched her do the same thing later, sitting in the chair comfortably with the same reporter, who had shot him a glare as she settled in. “How does it feel to have finally placed first in this segment of the competition?”
“It feels absolutely wonderful, Playa,” Laura had said, a beatific smile on her face. “I have worked extremely hard with this one goal in mind, and to have finally accomplished it at the Olympics is a dream come true!”
“That’s great to hear! How do you feel about the long program?”
“I love my program this year,” Laura had said. It didn’t matter how many times he watched her, he was always blown away with her ease in front of the cameras. “I feel very confident in my abilities to execute it well, and I am excited to perform for all of you.”
“My notes say the program is to Stravinsky’s ‘Firebird’. Is that correct?”
“Yes, it is. I picked the music out for this season two years ago. I’ve always wanted to skate to it, and I thought that it was probably this season or nothing!”
“And you will be portraying the Firebird?”
“I will.”
“That’s lovely. Now, Laura,” Playa said, eyes glinting, “what about those rumors about you and Bill Adama?”
Laura had laughed silkily. “Bill and I have been friends for several years,” she said. “He came to the Broadmoor when I was 15, so I feel a little like I grew up with him. We change so much at that age, you know?” Laura smiled again. “He’s my best friend, and my strongest supporter, and I am grateful to have him here with me. And that is all I will be saying on that topic.”
Now why hadn’t he thought to say that?
“Okay,” Laura said, yawning and getting up. “I’m tired, and you three are all skating tomorrow. We should go to bed.”
“You always were a prude,” Ellen said smoothly. “It’s only 10 o’clock!”
Laura waved a hand at her, nose wrinkling. “Sticks and stones, Ellen,” she said crisply, and Bill smiled to himself. “I’m going, anyway. I’ll see you all later.”
“I’ll walk you up,” Bill volunteered immediately, and he ignored Saul’s whispered ‘pussy-whipped’ as he placed a hand at the small of her back.
She surprised him when she punched floor 6 instead of 5, and then stepped back against him when the doors shut. He breathed out slowly, wrapping one hand around her slim waist, and she hummed, turning her head into his collarbone.
What were those responsibilities again?
The doors opened, and she slipped a hand into his, tugging him along the corridors to his door. He slid the card in, and they entered silently. She slipped her sweater off, hanging it on the back of her chair, and he tried to ignore how the blouse she wore underneath clung to her like a second skin.
He was getting a glass of water when she shucked off her shoes and, without preamble, lay down on his bed. His eyes widened in amazement, and she giggled, patting the space next to her.
“Laura…” he drawled, in warning, and she rolled her eyes.
“We’re not going to have sex, Bill,” she said, in a matter-of-fact voice that did nothing to quell the sudden, sharp tang of arousal that traveled through his system at the word ‘sex’ leaving her mouth. “I just want to lie next to you. That’s all.”
He wasn’t entirely sure he believed her, but he swallowed the glass anyway, and shucked off his own shoes before easing onto the bed next to her. She turned, eyes on his face, and reached up to trace the planes of his cheeks. “What are you doing?”
She hummed again, that sound that drove him absolutely wild. “I’ve always wanted to do that,” she admitted. “Thank you,” she said quietly, grabbing onto his shirt to pull herself closer to him, “for everything you have done for me. I couldn’t do this without you.”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead, before turning onto his back. He pulled her onto his chest, where she happily lay her head down, her palm flat over his heart. “I try not to let it get to me,” she said, still quietly, and he stroked her back, silently encouraging her to continue. “Richard and Deborah have been kind to me, and the whole country is cheering me on, and still…” her voice change, choked. “I keep finding myself thinking, ‘I wish my family were here,’” she whispered.
His heart clenched painfully. They never talked about her family. It was in all the articles about her, of course, the tragic story of the orphan girl adopted by her coach, turned into a star, carrying on the Roslin skating dynasty single-handedly. But she never said anything about it herself. “They’d be proud of you,” he said, carefully. This new territory was fragile; tread lightly, weary traveler.
“I know they would,” she agreed, a hint of tears in her voice. “All they wanted was for us to skate, for one of us to live out their dream,” she continued. “For a Roslin to finally have an Olympic Gold Medal. And now here I am, and it’s about to happen. I hope there is a heaven,” she said, turning her head, her hand stilling. “I hope they can see me.”
She grew quiet. He continued to stroke down her arm, his heart breaking for her. “They can,” he assured her. He never believed in God, but he wanted to give this to her. “They’ll be watching, Laura,” he whispered, as he felt her breathing settled. “So will I.”
“Yes,” she said. “You’re my family now.”
Title: Fire On Ice, Chapters 1 and 2
Author: michiruwater
Rating: MA (whole fic), K (chapter 1), M (chapter 2)
Beta: bsg_aussiegirl, who totally rocks and let me bounce all this ridiculous figure skating blather off her.
Word Count: 1,562 (Chapter 1), 6,236 (Chapter 2)
Summary: In 1972, Laura Roslin and Bill Adama were heading to the Olympics with their whole future ahead of them. In 2010, they deal with the consequences from that year.
Author's Note: As pretty much nobody (except aussiegirl) knows, the only thing I am a bigger fan of than BSG is figure skating. Take out the BSG characters, and everything you read (in 1972 in particular) happened - all the people are real, the circumstances, the podium placements, etc. In my mind, Laura skates like Sasha Cohen, and Bill skates like Evan Lysacek, if you want to YouTube them. There are 10 chapters planned. Chapter 3 is completed, and I will post it once I have completed Chapter 4 :) The book they're reading is the hardboiled classic The Big Sleep by Raymond Chandler.
JULY 2010 SKATING MAGAZINE
LAURA ROSLIN - FROM TOP STAR TO TOP COACH
Everyone in the world of figure skating knows the name Laura Roslin. Roslin’s gold-medal-winning performance at the 1972 Olympic Games in Sapporo, Japan is still considered one of the greatest Olympics freeskates of all-time, and her subsequent tearful dedication of her gold medal to her family, victims of the crash of Sabena Flight 548 in 1961, is still engraved in the memories of all who watched her ascend the podium that fateful night.
Roslin enjoyed great success on the professional circuit after retiring from the sport following her win at the 1972 World Championships, performing with Ice Capades for numerous years before setting in Ann Arbor, Michigan, where she is currently coaching at the Ann Arbor Figure Skating Club.
SM: Good evening, Ms. Roslin, and it is a pleasure to be interviewing you again.
LR: Thank you very much! It is wonderful to be here again.
SM: Should we start with the hard questions?
LR: Oh, I fully expected you to.
SM: Kara Thrace’s loss to Yu Na Kim in Vancouver was clearly devastating to her. Was it the loss itself that persuaded her to change coaches?
LR: As you know, Kara and I have been hesitant to talk about this. We do not want there to be any hard feelings. She decided that she had learned what she could in Canton and needed a change of pace. I was happy to give that to her.
SM: Bill Adama has made it clear that the change in coaches was not a mutual agreement.
LR: I don’t know what Bill said. Quite frankly, I have not been paying attention. I am a coach. I was asked by a very talented young lady to help prepare for her Sochi in 2014, and we agreed to give it a go together. I think you will see the benefits of our working together on the ice this fall. I firmly believe that you are going to see a fully rejuvenated Kara Thrace on the Grand Prix circuit.
SM: So you have nothing to say to Bill Adama?
LR: Bill Adama and I have had a cordial relationship for several decades. As I stated previously, I hope there will be no hard feelings, and that everyone involved will continue to be professional.
Several miles outside of Ann Arbor, in Canton, Bill Adama threw the issue across the room, seething. Saul winced as the magazine struck the wall and landed in a heap on the floor, but his friend ignored him, glowering into the floor instead.
“I know how you feel about that woman,” Saul intoned, “but Kara made her choice. It didn’t have nothing to do with your history with Laura fucking Roslin.”
Bill just grunted, still glaring at the floor. “I know that,” he said. “Doesn’t make me feel any better about it, though.”
“Yeah, well,” Saul said, taking a long swig from the flask he kept under his hooded sweatshirt, “you’d better figure it out soon, cause Skate America is in a matter of months, and you’re gonna be face to face with both of ‘em then.”
Adama grunted again, words failing him. Sighing, he stood, his knees popping, and he winced. “Dee and Lee outside?”
“Dee’s outside warming up, yeah. No idea where your damned son is. She’s gonna kill him if he’s late again. Are you even in the mood to coach? I can take it today.”
Bill paused, then slid down into his chair again, shaking his head. “No, you’d better do it. Focus on the twizzles. Their twizzles are a mess.”
“Aye aye, Sir,” Saul said, turning to leave. “And Bill, don’t do anything do stupid.”
“Stupid?”
“Like call Roslin. Again. Won’t change nothin’ that’s happened.”
“I know that,” Bill snapped.
“Alright then,” Saul said.
“Yeah, yeah,” Bill said, waving a hand as Saul headed out of the office. Bill watched through the window as his son appeared at the far exit, hurriedly slipped his skate guards off, and slid onto the ice. Even from here he could tell Dee was about to tell him off. He didn’t feel particularly bad for Lee.
Knowing that it was against his better judgment, he picked up his phone, dialing a number he had memorized decades ago.
********
“No, no, no, Kara,” Laura said, sighing, as she skated over to her charge. “You’re leaning forward way too much. When did this start? I don’t remember seeing this last season.”
Kara slapped a hand against the ice, pulling herself to her feet. Third botched double axel in a row. She sighed, pushing some of her short hair out of her face. “I don’t know,” she confessed. “It seems like starting yesterday I just can’t do it.”
Laura skated around her slowly, frowning. “It’s easier to develop a bad habit then fix one,” she said, an oft-repeated mantra. “Focus on not leaning forward. Your double axel has always been wonderful up until right now, and I don’t want to have to waste time working on that every day when we still need to finish choreographing. Visualize.”
Kara nodded, skating around haplessly as she closed her eyes and pictured herself doing the double axel. She’d been landing this jump for over a decade now. Normally it was her most solid jump - solid enough that she’d briefly tried for a triple when she was 15 and her body worked better. She could see it now, feel it in her bones. She wasn’t sure what had changed.
Just do it like you always did.
Skating away, she moved to the far edge before beginning her back crossovers, gaining speed and momentum as she headed toward the area of the rink where she would do the jump in her long program. Don’t lean forward.
She jumped, up, 2 ½ turns around, and this time landed, cleanly skating a curve out of it.
“There you go!” Laura called, nodded enthusiastically, her arms crossed. “Do a couple more. Get it out of your system. Just keep picturing it in your head.”
“Um, Ms. Roslin?”
Billy Keikeya stood at the edge of the rink, holding the cordless phone, his face suggesting that he was expecting to be yelled at any second.
“Yes?” she responded eyes narrowing.
“I meant to hang up, I swear,” he said, covering the mouthpiece, “but he asked if you were here first, and I said yes, and I know you’re trying to keep this from getting out of hand, so I figured maybe it would be better to take the call…” he trailed off as Laura raised an eyebrow.
“It’s Adama, isn’t it?”
Billy nodded, wincing.
She sighed, pressing her fingers against her forehead as she stroked over to the edge and held out a hand. Kara watched nervously, and Laura covered the mouthpiece as well as she looked back at her. “Double axels, young lady. Go.”
She removed her hand, lifting the phone to her face. “Hello, Bill.”
“Laura. Interesting article in Skating this month.”
Laura sighed. “I recall working very hard to not offend you in that article, Bill.”
“Wasn’t the way I read it.”
Laura waved Billy off, stepping down into the stands area and behind the glass, lowering her voice. “You’re being completely unprofessional, Bill,” she reminded him, trying to keep her anger in check. “It’s a contract. She changed coaches. It happens.”
“I have coached her since she was 7 years old, Laura,” he shot back. “She never even talked to me. Not once. One day she was here, the next her agent is telling me she made a change. It’s absolute bullshit.”
“Then call her about it,” Laura said, pushing her hair back. “I had nothing to do with that situation, and you know it.” There was silence on his end, and she turned her back entirely to the rink, whispering now. “It’s not that she made a change, Bill,” she said, fury emanating from her. “Not just, and we both know it. It’s that she came to me, right? It was 40 years ago, Bill. Don’t you think it’s time we let the past go?”
“No,” he hissed back.
With a beep, she turned the phone off, resolutely handing it back to a shocked-looking Billy. Sighing, she leaned against the glass, closing her eyes briefly. It was a frequent position. Every time she even thought of Bill Adama, she felt like crying.
“Coach?”
She turned back. Kara was waiting on her, breathing heavily. “I think I got it back,” the blonde said, flashing a bright smile.
Laura nodded, skating back to her. “Good. Now we need to put it into your short. Ready for a run-through?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Kara said, still smiling.
“Alright. Center ice, young lady. Billy!”
The boy’s head appeared as Laura skated back to the edge. “Miss Thrace’s music, please.”
She watched as Kara took a lap, clearly visualizing the choreography they’d finished, which was most of the program. David Wilson would be there later that week to finish up the short and, hopefully, the long as well. Kara skated to the center, facing where the judges would be, and struck her starting pose, a cocky grin on her face.
As the strains of Carmina Burana began, Laura still found her thoughts drifting, settling firmly to a time 40 years ago, when she had been on top of the world.
Broadmoor Figure Skating Club, late January 1972
Bill Adama sighed as they pressed yet another red-white-and-blue outfit into his hands and instructed him to go change. Press photos for the US Olympic Team had been going on all day. He understood, of course, that as US National Champion he was required to do these sorts of things. He just hated them.
A peel of glorious laughter reached his ears, and he turned back around to watch as Laura Roslin was primed for her next shot, giggling as the make-up artist related some story or other to her. Her red hair glistened in the lights, and the smile she gave the cameraman as she posed with her skates was glorious. He watched the way she faked it, admiring how totally she gave herself into the moment when he knew she’d rather be anywhere else.
“Adama!”
The cameraman waved to him, and Laura’s eyes were on him. He shuffled back curiously, and the cameraman gave him a smile. “Care to take one or two with Miss Roslin? It would be nice to have one of both National Champions.”
Laura smiled at him, her eyes glinting, and he could never say no when she looked at him like that. “Sure,” he agreed, handing the next outfit off and walking over to her. Then he stopped. Flashing cocky smiles at the camera by himself was one thing, but he had no idea what to do with her there.
“Maybe you could stand back to back? Confident looks, please.”
She turned, arms crossed. He mirrored her pose, flashing his signature smile, and the camera flashed.
“Nice. Could you stand behind her, Mr. Adama? Hands on her waist, maybe?”
“We’re not a fucking Pairs team,” he muttered into Laura’s ear, and she giggled brightly as he moved behind her. He took a deep breath as his hands settled on her slim waist, and let it out as she leaned into him.
The camera flashed again. “Great! Thank you, Mr. Adama.”
*******
Laura threw yet another cloth into the waste bin as she worked to remove all of the heavy make-up from her face. The photo-shoot had taken forever. She’d put on the best face she could, and it was nice to be recognized for her talent, but all of his just made her jittery when she thought about the fact that, in a month, she may or may not be the Olympic Champion.
Giving up - she could hopefully do this at home - she slung her bag over her shoulder and exited the arena. She was glad that they had come to the rink, instead of having to fly out to a professional studio. She needed as much ‘me’ time as possible right now, with hype at the highest it had ever been in her career. Everyone seemed convinced she would win. Reigning World, US, and North American Champion… it was a lot to live up to.
She smelled cigarette smoke as she unlocked her car, and looking across the lanes she found Bill Adama, leaning against his truck and staring up at the stars. She smiled to herself, and checking herself quickly in the car mirror, made her way over to him.
He watched her coming, no expression on his face, but she could read the warmth in his fascinatingly blue eyes. She hopped up on the car hood next to him, his eyes following her all the way. “Can I bum one?” she asked, smiling coquettishly at him.
He passed her one, raising an eyebrow, and then lit it for her, his eyes never leaving her face. She inhaled and blew the smoke out slowly, before meeting his eyes. “Richard’ll kill me if he finds out I gave that to you,” he commented.
“Yeah, well,” she said, shrugging. “I’m an adult now and he’s not my real father anyway.” Her eyes widened as what she said registered, and she colored. “Uh, which is not to say I’m not grateful,” she finished, blushing deeply.
Bill chuckled. “It’s okay. Richard can be a pain in the ass. I can’t imagine living with him.”
She shrugged again. “He’s not so bad. Don’t know where I’d be without him.”
Bill nodded, his eyes still on her face, tracing over her. They’d been doing this for a long time now, pretty much since she had turned 18 two summers ago. She was never quite sure why he hadn’t made a move yet. She was pretty certain, at this point, that he was at least half in love with her, and she’d given him several dozen openings that he’d ignored entirely. Right now was a prime example, and his eyes were still fastened on her.
God, she loved his eyes. She thought about them at night, lying in her bedroom, wondering what would happen if he ever lost that ridiculous self-control. His jumps were so huge and powerful. She could barely even watch him skate these days; invariably, she was wet by the end of his programs, wishing that his power and athleticism could be put to a more… pleasurable use.
“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” she commented, studying his face. “Where’d my hotshot Bill go?”
He didn’t laugh though. His eyes narrowed a little, darkening slightly. “Yours?” he said, in that ridiculously sexy voice of his.
She blushed the same shade as her hair, humming to herself. “Well,” she said, “I suppose not. Not that I haven’t tried,” she added. They’d been here before, but she hadn’t pushed quite as hard.
He sighed. She turned back to him in surprise, one eyebrow raised. An unexpectedly morose reaction. Normally they played this game together; she flirted, he flirted back… but today he looked at her sadly. “I know,” he said, staring down now at the stub of his cigarette. “It’s just… Laura, we have certain responsibilities, you know? We’re going to be in the Olympics in about a month, for fuck’s sake. Neither of us can afford any distractions right now.”
She was taken aback. There was her answer, and unfortunately, he was right. She sighed as well, tossing her cigarette aside. “Yes, we do, Sir,” she agreed, still letting a teasing lilt creep into her tone. “For a little while longer,” she continued, eyes gleaming.
He met her eyes again, then, and she stood, moving around in front of him, placing one slim hand on his thick forearm. “I should head home; Richard’s probably wondering what the hell is taking me so long. But I’ll tell you what,” she said, grinning. “When I win the Olympic Gold, you come see me.”
His eyes widened, then narrowed again, the smoldering embers returning. “Be careful, Roslin,” he growled. “I may take you up on that.”
“Oh, Bill,” she said, over her shoulder as she turned away, “I sincerely hope so.”
*********
“No, no, no, Laura,” Richard yelled, hitting his stick on the ice forcefully. “You are not going to beat Trixi Schuba with a pattern like that. Again. You can do way better than that.”
Bill watched from the stands, book forgotten in his hands, wincing as Laura turned away from their coach, clearly muttering something unflattering under her breath as she prepared to go over the school figure again. As much as he wanted to be on her side, he had to agree with Adar. Schuba was an absolute master at school figures, and had come close to beating Laura at the 1970 World Championships with them, which Richard continually reminded her of. True, Laura had pulled out ahead the majority of the times they competed against one another, but always on the strength of her second-place figures combined with her first-place free skate.
He’d been at the rink last year, when she’d won her second World Title but had remained upset at her figures score long afterward. “Next year, Richard,” she’d declared, “I want to win the Olympics all the way. Free skate and figures.”
“How hard are you willing to work?” Adar had asked back.
She completed the figure again, and Adar walked around it, calculating the points on his tab sheet. “Better,” he said. “Better. But you need to be able to do this consistently.”
“I know,” she said, arms crossed, and Richard gave her one of his withering looks.
“Adama, you out there?” he called.
“Yeah,” Bill replied, standing and heading down to the rink.
“You’re up. Laura, go grab a bottle of water and a new attitude.”
Laura shot Richard a last glare as she skated to the edge of the rink. Bill watched her go, trying and failing to hold in his amused smile. She leveled a glare at him as well as she donned her skate guards, grabbed the offered book out of his hands, and headed back to the locker room. “Hope you didn’t lose my place, Adama!” she called as she disappeared.
********
“Oh, God,” Laura said, breathing shallowly as Bill shoved their luggage into the overhead compartment, “I cannot believe this is happening. Why why why do I keep putting myself through this??”
He shut the bin and slid into his seat next to her, finding her hand immediately. He was used to this by now; every time they got on a plane to go to a competition Laura’s nerves would take over. He never quite figured out if it was nerves for the plane or the competition, but right now she was nearly hyperventilating.
“Hey, hey, hey,” he said, running a hand up and down her bare arm, “relax, Laura. You’ve done this many times. This time is no different.”
“Oh, sure, no different, he says,” she muttered. “Just the fucking Olympics.”
“You’ve been there before,” he reminded her, trying not to smile again.
“Yeah, and we both blew it,” she reminded him.
“4th place is not blowing it.”
“Peggy Fleming is such a bitch,” Laura finished, sinking into her seat. He tried to ignore the fluttering in his chest as she wrapped an arm around his, cuddling into him.
Responsibilities, the voice in his head reminded him. He shushed it. Taking care of Laura was a responsibility, as far as he was concerned.
“You two okay?” came a voice, and he looked up to find Deborah Adar starting at them concernedly. Richard came up behind her, studying the two of them.
“We’re fine,” Bill said. “Just… well, you know…”
Richard looked at Laura, whose eyes were now closed as she breathed deeply. “Yeah,” he said, a worried look on his face. “You make sure she doesn’t vomit. Deborah and I are a couple seats behind you. Let me know if she needs anything.”
Bill nodded, then winced as Laura squeezed his arm particularly tight. “At your command, Sir,” he said, and Richard chuckled.
Richard and Deborah disappeared, and he turned back to Laura, using his free hand to fish their book out of his bag. “Close your eyes, Laura,” he said.
They’d started this ritual two years ago, when he had first caught her thumbing through his dollar-store hardboiled mysteries while he was on the ice. He’d started loaning her his small-but-growing collection, and a year previously he’d had the brilliant idea to read to her during take-off. Now, she did as told, settling back in her seat, relaxing her death grip on his arm, and closing her eyes. He flipped to where her marker held her place, and began to intone in his deep, gravelly voice.
“He pushed a shiny print across the desk and I looked at an Irish face that was more sad than merry and more reserved than brash. Not the face of a tough guy and not the face of a man who could be pushed around much by anybody. Straight dark brows with strong bone under them. A forehead wide rather than high, a mat of dark clustering hair, a thin short nose, a wide mouth. A chin that had strong lines but was small for the mouth. A face that looked a little taut, the face of a man who would move fast and play for keeps. I passed the print back. I would know that face, if I saw it.”
*******
There were reporters in the airport, waiting to see the two US National Champions. Laura smiled brightly at them as they waited for their luggage, but Bill was fighting a scowl every step of the way. She nudged him in the ribs. “It’s bad press if you look like you’re about to pummel them,” she hissed.
“I don’t care about the press,” he countered.
She sighed as she gripped the handle of her first suitcase, tugging it off the revolving rack. Richard and Deborah stood next to them, and Richard was frowning at him.
“Comes with the package, Bill,” he said, pulling his own luggage off.
It took forever for Laura’s second suitcase to appear, and then they wheeled out. Laura smiled and waved whenever she could, and Bill glowered next to her, until they made their way to the front and piled into two taxis.
They had booked a hotel in Sapporo, where the figure skating competition would be held. Both he and Laura had stayed in the Olympic Village four years earlier, and while the experience had been exhilarating they’d agreed that this time they wanted to focus on their performances only. Richard and Bill climbed into the first taxi, Laura and Deborah into the second. The rest of their team would be arriving two days later, and Bill’s parents the night before the first segment of competition.
The hotel was gorgeous. The concierge had been waiting for their arrival, reporters had been outside - it was insane, and Bill was reasonably certain that he wouldn’t have had to deal with most of this if Laura hadn’t been there. It was hard to resent her though. It wasn’t her fault that Ice Princesses always garnered so much attention. Right now, he knew she was on the cover of Sports Illustrated back home, with the clichéd title Fire On Ice. He supposed he couldn’t blame them either; her hair practically demanded they use the title.
“Alright, Deborah and I are on the 5th floor; Laura, you’re two suites down from ours; and Bill, you’re one flight up.”
Richard handed out the cards, and they made their way to an elevator. Bill didn’t bother to wave as the other three unloaded, just hoping to relax for a bit once he got to his room.
The bed was awesome. He had no idea what difference there was between beds in the US and Japan but he was pretty sure he was never leaving once he lay down. 40 minutes later, his eyes opened in bleary surprise as a knock sounded through the room, and he realized groggily that he had fallen asleep. He groaned as he sat up, feeling the all-consuming lethargy from a too-long nap, and made his way to the door.
It was Laura, of course, bright-eyed and excited. “Come on!” she said. “We’re in Japan! I’ve always wanted to try sushi!”
“Ugh,” he responded, but twenty minutes later they were wandering out the back entrance (thank God for that concierge) and into the bustle of Japan.
“What the hell is this shit?” he groused, looking at his bottle of green tea. What kind of culture didn’t appreciate coffee?
Laura laughed, and he forgot all about the tea as she laced their fingers together and tugged him down the street. They wandered, peaking their heads into shops, and he tried to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of hundreds of pairs of eyes watching them wander around.
“Do you even know what sushi looks like?” he asked.
“I saw a picture once,” she said defensively.
“I can’t believe you want to eat raw fish.”
At that moment, a group of teenagers saw them, and suddenly they were accosted, surrounded by a group, all asking for autographs. Most of them were curious about Laura, and seemed to include Bill mostly because he happened to be there. Same old same old, regardless of what country they were in. Normally he was thankful for his anonymity, but right now he wanted to pummel the teenaged boys openly ogling his… Laura.
She was gracious and charming, as always. He knew these sorts of things tired her out quickly, but she was always so much better at them than he was. “It’s just politics, really,” she told him once. “It comes with the celebrity.”
He could see her smile become strained after a while, though, and pushed through the crowd with his broad frame. “Alright, Miss Roslin has had enough,” he intoned, like a bodyguard, grasping her around the waist and deftly moving them out of the crowd, keeping her close until they were far enough away that the cries of disappointment were less obvious.
When he looked down, she was looking at him in amazement. “What?” he asked.
“That was impressive,” she breathed, eyes locked on his, and he swallowed convulsively. Her eyes softened, and she hummed at him, before turning back down the street. “Oh my God,” she cried, “I think that’s it!”
True enough, it was a small sushi shop, and she went in excitedly, and then stop when confronted with the menu in Japanese. Her eyes widened as she looked it over.
The person behind the counter then yelled something excitedly at her. She turned, eyes crinkled in confusion, before he pointed at a small TV across the room, which was showing footage of them at their hotel an hour and a half earlier. Both Bill and Laura went bright red, and she waved helplessly at the menu before the shop owner pointed at two of the counter seats and lead them over. They sat, and he pointed at the menu, nodded once, and disappeared.
“I really hope that somehow we just ordered sushi,” Laura said dryly, and Bill chuckled to himself.
Sure enough, several minutes later the owner brought forth a plate of what was clearly sushi. Bill felt slightly queasy looking at it, but Laura’s eyes lit up immediately. Ignoring her chopsticks entirely, she picked up a piece and tossed it into her mouth. The shop owner stared at her, mouth gaping, and Bill tried very hard not to laugh.
Then she moaned, and his eyes shot back to her and the blessed-out expression on her face. “Oh my God, Bill, you have to try this!” she declared, eyes bright and excited again.
He looked back down at the platter of seaweed and raw fish, two things he’d never imagined putting in his stomach. “No,” he said.
“Yes,” she responded, and then she picked up a piece, offering it to him.
His mouth went dry at the idea of eating food literally out of her hands, before he realized the shop owner was peering at him. He shot the man a glare, and Laura hummed at him again, the hum that meant be nice. Turning back to her, he sighed, plucked up his courage, and wrapped his lips around the food item in her fingers, pulling it into his mouth and congratulating himself on the delicate blush and darkened eyes facing him.
It… didn’t taste bad. But shit, the texture. He chewed slowly, and managed to give the shop owner a grimace, which apparently satisfied the man as he walked back behind his counter, still shooting them furtive glances. Once he was out of earshot, Bill gave Laura a fully disgusted look as he finished chewing and swallowed. By this point, she was effusively giggling, mouth covered and eyes squinting.
“I sincerely hope you’re ready to eat this entire platter,” Bill said.
“Maybe. It is delicious,” she said, popping another piece in her mouth, her eyes fluttering closed again.
Bill shrugged. “Give me a bowl of hot noodles any day.”
Halfway through the platter, Laura had begun to look panicked. “I can’t eat all of this,” she admitted. “Exactly how rude do you think it would be to not finish?”
“I don’t get the feeling he’s charging us, so…”
“Bill Adama!”
He turned, and was out of his seat immediately to intercept a bear hug from his best friend, Saul Tigh. Ellen Sawyer was right behind him, overdressed as usual. He saw her give Laura a tight smile, which he was sure Laura returned just as tightly.
“Ellen,” Laura said, “have you ever had sushi?”
Ellen eyed the platter with curiosity. “Nope.”
“Would you like to try some?” Ellen looked at her in surprise, so Laura let a little of her desperation show. “He gave it to us, and I can’t finish it, and I really don’t want to be rude.”
Ellen’s mouth turned down, even as she sat at the table and picked up a pair of chopsticks. “Yes, well,” she said daintily, “we can’t have figure skating’s superstar make a bad impression, can we?”
Saul grimaced as he and Bill sat as well. “Raw fish,” he groused, screwing up his nose.
“My feelings exactly,” Bill agreed.
“So, Laura,” Ellen asked sweetly as she popped another piece into her mouth, much in the same way Laura had, “are you nervous yet? All those expectations. I can hardly imagine the pressure you’re feeling. It would be just awful if you didn’t win.”
Laura smiled tightly again, and Bill and Saul glanced at each other, preparing to separate them if necessary. “Yes, well,” she said lightly, “I’d rather have some expectations than none at all.”
Ellen’s eyes narrowed, and Saul and Bill both winced. Saul and Ellen had barely made the Canadian Olympic Team on their second try. They had no hope of getting anywhere near the podium, and everyone at the table knew it.
Ellen swallowed the last piece of sushi and stood, glaring daggers at Laura. “I think we’re expected elsewhere, Saul,” she said. Saul stood, and Bill shot him an apologetic look, which he shrugged off as he wrapped an arm around his girlfriend’s waist.
“I’ll see you later,” Bill said, and Saul nodded as the two exited. As soon as they were out of earshot, he turned to Laura, who was already look at him with some amount of trepidation.
“She completely deserved it,” Laura pointed out. “She came in here with the purpose of goading me.”
“She did,” he agreed, frustration oozing out of him. “That doesn’t mean that you have to rise to the occasion, though. And you didn’t just insult her, you know.”
She sighed, pushing a lock of auburn hair aside. “I know, I know,” she agreed, waving a hand at him. “I’ll apologize the next time I see him. I promise.”
He offered her a hand up, which she accepted. The shop owner came back around, looking at them with a measure of concern, and Bill felt guilty. Laura’s warm smile and placating tone, however, set him at ease quickly. “Arigato gozaimasu,” she said, brightly, and the shop owner grinned happily.
“Where’d you pick that up?” he asked on the way out, impressed.
“I studied a couple useful phrases while you were passed out on the plane,” she said with a smile.
*******
The crowd was always much smaller at the figures portion of the competition than during the long program, with good reason. Bill was heading to the back of the arena at this point. Janet Lynn had just finished tracing her second figure, and Schuba was up next, followed by Laura. He knew she was backstage, and he had a good idea about how she was feeling at that moment.
The week since they had landed in Japan had been a whirlwind. Opening ceremonies, interviews, practices, seeing old friends. The men’s competition had started last night, and he was relatively pleased with his third-place score in school figures. Laura had been there the whole time, cheering him on through the tedium of that part of the competition. 3rd place was honestly better than he had anticipated. Everyone knew that Bill Adama was a good skater, but that his strength was in his jumps and, to a lesser extent, his footwork. He wasn’t bad at the dull school figures, but he was in this for the adrenaline rush that came with a great free program.
He was thankful every day that his schedule was less hectic than Laura’s. He could see that the constant attention was draining her. She was a beauty on the ice, perfectly capable of maintaining decorum during a press conference - and in every way a true introvert. Last night, she’d called him at 10 PM from her room, nearly in tears, unable to sleep from nerves and overstimulation. He’d spent an hour reading to her until she’d finally nodded off, then slipped quietly out to go to back to his own room.
The people backstage parted to let him through, all of them clearly recognizing him as he made his way to the women’s locker room, where he knocked twice loudly. The door was opened by Zsuzsa Almássy of Hungary, who looked at him in shock before slamming the door in his face. He sighed, but heard some raised voices on the other side before the door was opened again by Julie Holmes, who looked relieved to see him.
“How is she?”
“It’s bad,” Julie said, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him in. Almássy stood a few feet away, looking scandalized, but Julie ignored her, pulling him further into the room. 15 feet in he heard it - the distinct sound of loud, uncontrolled giggles. They rounded the corner, and there was Laura, doubled over and heaving. She raised her head as he approached and practically threw herself in his arms.
“Bill-make-it-stop,” she wheezed out between giggles.
He loved seeing her like this. He would never admit it to her, because he knew it embarrassed her mightily that this happened at every big competition, but her laughter was his favorite sound in the whole world. Without preamble he wrapped his arms around her, rubbing a hand up and down her back and making soothing noises. It only worked about half the time, and he realized pretty quickly that today it was no-go.
“Think of something serious, Laura,” he said.
“Like-what?” she managed.
They looked at each other, before she doubled over again and he chuckled himself. Julie looked between them in incredulity, muttering ‘great’ underneath her breath.
“Laura? Are you ready? Richard’s about to have a conniption!”
Laura looked at him, still giggling but with panic in her eyes. Without giving himself much time to think, he did the only thing he could think of; he leaned forward and fastened his mouth tightly to hers, pulling her more tightly into him.
She froze in shock, and doubt overcame him. He made to pull away, before her body relaxed and she leaned into him, pressing her lips against his. Hazy pleasure flashed through his body, flowing from her lips to his and down his limbs. He pulled away, and her eyes fluttered slowly open. He suspected the warm smile on her face matched his own.
“That’s one way to do it,” she said quietly.
“Laura!” Julie hissed. The girl was bright red, and Bill couldn’t help but wink at her, trying not to laugh when she looked outraged. Laughing would just set his girl giggling again.
“Coming Deborah!” Laura called, and then she was off, heading out the locker room. He waited a moment, then turned back to Julie.
“Can you see if they’re gone?”
She glared at him, but checked, and at her nod he slipped quietly out of the locker room. Laura and Deborah were about 20 feet in front of him, striding together to the rink, Deborah fussing with her adopted daughter’s bun the whole way. He heard Laura hiss, “it’s fine!” at her as he moved quickly back to the stands, and he chuckled to himself.
Eyes followed him as he moved back to his seat, next to Kenneth Shelley, who nodded as Bill slid easily into his seat. “Laura okay?”
“I think so. Giggling fit again.” Kenneth chuckled. Laura’s nervous habits were well-known amongst the entire US Figure Skating Olympic Team.
Bill clapped with the rest of the small crowd as Laura was announced. She moved to her spot and took a deep breath. He could see from his seat how tense Richard was at the boards as she prepared to trace her first school figure, a paragraph bracket on her left foot, forward outside edge. It was one of her weakest figures, and he knew it normally took her until her second tracing to settle into the zone. But as he looked at her face, he saw the calmness, the steely-eyed focus for which she was also well-known, and he felt his nervous breath leave him in a woosh.
*******
“Here’s to Laura Roslin, future Olympic Champion!”
“Oh, you shut up, Saul,” she breathed, shaking her head as they sat together at a very late dinner that same day. “You’re going to jinx me.”
Saul laughed. Even Ellen seemed excited by the elated feeling surrounding the table. Saul raised his glass high. “To Laura!” he declared. “For finally kicking Trixi Schuba’s ass in school figures!”
“I didn’t kick her ass,” Laura protested, blushing deeply as Bill and Saul enthusiastically drank.
“Who cares how close it was?” Bill said. “You never lose the free program.”
“Knock on wood,” she said hurriedly, tapping her knuckles against the table.
Ellen snorted, tossing back a shot. “Stop the fucking false modesty, Roslin,” she slurred. “You’ve won. We all know it. Relax and enjoy your victory.”
Ellen’s speech just made Laura look more anxious. Bill reached under the table, placing a large hand on her thigh, and her face relaxed, her eyes meeting his and sparkling. The memory of the kiss he gave her to stop her giggles welled up between them, sharp and sweet. A prelude of things to come. Her hand found his on her thigh, rested lightly on top.
Ellen was looking at them curiously now. Saul’s eyes were closed, his head tilted back as he chugged part of his beer. Bill raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t the short program tomorrow? Shouldn’t you two slow down a bit?”
“Nah,” Saul said, slamming the empty mug down. “If you’re gonna place 12th at the Olympics you might as well do it drunk.”
“By the way, Bill,” Ellen said, smirking, “I heard the reporter from ABC was pretty upset with you earlier.”
Bill glowered at her. He was no good at press conferences. The press just irritated the hell out of him, no matter how he tried to hide it. “So, Bill, third place so far! How are you feeling?” the chirpy young woman had asked.
“Fine,” he’d said.
A silence had settled before she’d realized that was all she was getting. “Ooookay,” she had continued, eyes narrowing. “Well, can you tell us how it felt out there?”
“It was fine,” he replied.
Panic had begun to set in on her face at this point. “Okay,” she said hurriedly, looking through her list of questions for something that might get him talking, “can you comment on the rumors about you and Laura Roslin?”
He’d bristled, and had gruffly bit out, “I don’t comment on rumors.”
“Oh God, Bill, seriously?” Laura had said afterward, burying her face in her hands.
“I hate interviews,” he’d groused sheepishly.
“I thought she was going to slap you!” Ellen cried, chortling, rather unattractively, Bill thought. He shrugged, coloring slightly, as Laura giggled quietly.
He’d watched her do the same thing later, sitting in the chair comfortably with the same reporter, who had shot him a glare as she settled in. “How does it feel to have finally placed first in this segment of the competition?”
“It feels absolutely wonderful, Playa,” Laura had said, a beatific smile on her face. “I have worked extremely hard with this one goal in mind, and to have finally accomplished it at the Olympics is a dream come true!”
“That’s great to hear! How do you feel about the long program?”
“I love my program this year,” Laura had said. It didn’t matter how many times he watched her, he was always blown away with her ease in front of the cameras. “I feel very confident in my abilities to execute it well, and I am excited to perform for all of you.”
“My notes say the program is to Stravinsky’s ‘Firebird’. Is that correct?”
“Yes, it is. I picked the music out for this season two years ago. I’ve always wanted to skate to it, and I thought that it was probably this season or nothing!”
“And you will be portraying the Firebird?”
“I will.”
“That’s lovely. Now, Laura,” Playa said, eyes glinting, “what about those rumors about you and Bill Adama?”
Laura had laughed silkily. “Bill and I have been friends for several years,” she said. “He came to the Broadmoor when I was 15, so I feel a little like I grew up with him. We change so much at that age, you know?” Laura smiled again. “He’s my best friend, and my strongest supporter, and I am grateful to have him here with me. And that is all I will be saying on that topic.”
Now why hadn’t he thought to say that?
“Okay,” Laura said, yawning and getting up. “I’m tired, and you three are all skating tomorrow. We should go to bed.”
“You always were a prude,” Ellen said smoothly. “It’s only 10 o’clock!”
Laura waved a hand at her, nose wrinkling. “Sticks and stones, Ellen,” she said crisply, and Bill smiled to himself. “I’m going, anyway. I’ll see you all later.”
“I’ll walk you up,” Bill volunteered immediately, and he ignored Saul’s whispered ‘pussy-whipped’ as he placed a hand at the small of her back.
She surprised him when she punched floor 6 instead of 5, and then stepped back against him when the doors shut. He breathed out slowly, wrapping one hand around her slim waist, and she hummed, turning her head into his collarbone.
What were those responsibilities again?
The doors opened, and she slipped a hand into his, tugging him along the corridors to his door. He slid the card in, and they entered silently. She slipped her sweater off, hanging it on the back of her chair, and he tried to ignore how the blouse she wore underneath clung to her like a second skin.
He was getting a glass of water when she shucked off her shoes and, without preamble, lay down on his bed. His eyes widened in amazement, and she giggled, patting the space next to her.
“Laura…” he drawled, in warning, and she rolled her eyes.
“We’re not going to have sex, Bill,” she said, in a matter-of-fact voice that did nothing to quell the sudden, sharp tang of arousal that traveled through his system at the word ‘sex’ leaving her mouth. “I just want to lie next to you. That’s all.”
He wasn’t entirely sure he believed her, but he swallowed the glass anyway, and shucked off his own shoes before easing onto the bed next to her. She turned, eyes on his face, and reached up to trace the planes of his cheeks. “What are you doing?”
She hummed again, that sound that drove him absolutely wild. “I’ve always wanted to do that,” she admitted. “Thank you,” she said quietly, grabbing onto his shirt to pull herself closer to him, “for everything you have done for me. I couldn’t do this without you.”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead, before turning onto his back. He pulled her onto his chest, where she happily lay her head down, her palm flat over his heart. “I try not to let it get to me,” she said, still quietly, and he stroked her back, silently encouraging her to continue. “Richard and Deborah have been kind to me, and the whole country is cheering me on, and still…” her voice change, choked. “I keep finding myself thinking, ‘I wish my family were here,’” she whispered.
His heart clenched painfully. They never talked about her family. It was in all the articles about her, of course, the tragic story of the orphan girl adopted by her coach, turned into a star, carrying on the Roslin skating dynasty single-handedly. But she never said anything about it herself. “They’d be proud of you,” he said, carefully. This new territory was fragile; tread lightly, weary traveler.
“I know they would,” she agreed, a hint of tears in her voice. “All they wanted was for us to skate, for one of us to live out their dream,” she continued. “For a Roslin to finally have an Olympic Gold Medal. And now here I am, and it’s about to happen. I hope there is a heaven,” she said, turning her head, her hand stilling. “I hope they can see me.”
She grew quiet. He continued to stroke down her arm, his heart breaking for her. “They can,” he assured her. He never believed in God, but he wanted to give this to her. “They’ll be watching, Laura,” he whispered, as he felt her breathing settled. “So will I.”
“Yes,” she said. “You’re my family now.”