“Loser buys the ice cream later.”
ELEMENT
Marcus Rivera & Katherine Rivera
prompt: light
Winter in Los Angeles in no way compared to the potentially blistering cold snowy wilderness of the same season in New York. It was strange how a blizzard had the potential to make one of the grittiest, darkest cities beautiful, covering it in a blanket of pure, innocent white, but he had noticed at a young age that snow had a cleansing quality to it that just couldn’t be mimicked.
He missed snow.
Heck, he missed a lot of things about the place where he’d grown up; snow was just somewhere near the top of that rather long list. Los Angeles had its lure and charm, certainly, but if he’d had the choice at the time of the family’s move, he would have put his foot down and given a hearty ‘no thanks’. Of course, he was no longer chained down by youth; he’d been too young during the move to realistically challenge it, and now, over ten years later, he was still in LA. And he hadn’t gone back. If anyone were to ask him why, he wasn’t sure he would be able to tell them, but now that he was here, with his career, he seemed to be grounded… rooted. Though he’d grown up thinking that the family’s closeness was choking, he loved it, deep inside. Just because he never voiced how much he cherished it, that didn’t mean he wanted to lose it, and moving back to New York would definitely mean cutting that tie.
Still… he missed the snow.
He’d grown up with manic winters, trudging to school through snow so deep it came up to his knees, and the snowball fights outside the gates had been memorable to say the least. Their yard had once been so thickly snowed in that he remembered his mother wading out to try and find the birdbath, only to discover it under several top inches of the stuff. He’d laughed at the time… and then bolted for the stairs before she could glare at him for it.
Thankfully, one of the things he had enjoyed back home was easily replicated even in sunny California. All it took was a big building, some wide floor space, and the capacity to generate ice, no matter how manmade and forced. They had them all over the world, and he’d gotten to know the one in New York like the back of his hand; naturally, the city had had more than one, but he’d frequented a particular building during his childhood. After they’d moved, he’d been relieved to find that not only were there plenty of them in Los Angeles, but during high school, he’d actually had the opportunity to join a team for the game.
He hadn’t played ice hockey in a while. It wasn’t actually a conscious thing, but rather accidental, due in part to his job taking up a lot of his time. He’d spent so much of his time during high school on the ice at the rink that it had become second nature to him, and not only that, it had given him impeccable balance and reflexes; those had come in useful at the academy and beyond, in his chosen occupation. True, he hadn’t played a position that required a lot of high-speed movement or chasing, but he’d had to be on his toes, always alert and ready for anything, and letting down his guard had not only meant a potential injury, but defeat, and he had never really liked losing. Being in goal had upped his awareness in general, and taught him the importance of being attentive. Again, those were traits he’d carried through to help him in his career.
Marcus Rivera had never expected it to really have so much of an impact on his later life; in high school, he’d been a good student, damn good even, and hockey had been like a reward for him. He’d kept up his grades, and in turn, had enjoyed the ‘jock’ side of his education. His sister had had her own team, out on the track, so really, they had both had equally successful periods in high school. Their parents had come to the events and games, and in general, the family spirit of support and encouragement had shone through.
He missed the games, too. Many a time, he’d wondered if there was a local team he could join, but he’d never found the time. But once a week, or at the most, once a fortnight, he cut a block out of his schedule to come to the local rink, and just skate.
For some reason, it was empty tonight. Marcus Rivera wondered if there was something going on that he didn’t know about, or whether it was just a quiet night. The staff had welcomed him, recognising him and perhaps appreciating something to do. Of course, after he’d gotten in, there wasn’t much for them to do. There was no time limit on the ice, and he had his own equipment, so their responsibilities were minimal. Being the only person out on the rink was a little eerie, but it was almost… refreshing, in a way. Usually, there were a handful of other people there; the typical couple, one of whom couldn’t skate, the father and daughter, the lone woman practising some routine she’d created… none of them were around. He wondered if it was pathetic or amusing that he remembered the usual faces, noting their absence perhaps more than he should have.
It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he had the place to himself, and that meant freedom to move. While his days on the team had kept him in goal, and as such, restricted his movements during a game, he’d trained just as hard as everyone else; laps, manoeuvres, the works. They’d all had to have the balance, agility and reflexes, and just because all of his time on the ice was spent guarding a net, that didn’t mean he had been allowed an easier time in general; if anything, he’d had to work that little bit harder. Just because he wasn’t chasing the puck, that didn’t mean he didn’t have to watch out for it… in fact, on several occasions, he’d been intensely grateful for the mask, or he might have shattered his nose more than once. He was pretty sure his mother had been thankful for that too. He’d had his fair share of bumps and bruises, but he had, like every goalie, worn enough padding to insulate a small house, so really, he’d been pretty safe.
Now, on his own time, he was free of the padding, which made him more agile. Being free of the huge pads down the legs was something of a blessing; he certainly didn’t miss those. They had made skating a royal pain. Now, without all the trappings of game-protection, he could move at will, without worrying about overcompensating for a turn, or bend. Out here, alone, he could do whatever he liked, and truly exercise his potential.
Feeling more than hearing the blades of his skates skim over the ice, he turned sharply at one end of the rink, casting a fine spray of misted ice over the side wall, and he smirked boyishly before taking off down the centre of the ‘field’ again, letting his surroundings blur past him before coming around in a sweeping arc that forced him to crouch and angle in order to balance, one gloved hand hovering near the ground in case he faltered, but his motion followed through, and he carried on, lost in his own little world.
He was so engrossed in exercising his abilities that he didn’t notice someone else enter the rink, stepping carefully onto the ice, watching him skate swiftly with his back to her.
Marcus noticed her when she wanted him to.
Somehow, she ended up behind him, keeping pace after a little work, and she reached out to tug at the side of his black sweater, as if she wanted to unbalance him. They had moved to the centre of the rink, and Marcus reacted as his training told him to; he reached back to carefully hold the wrist, and tucked his body as his balance deviated slightly, the bending of his knees and intentional shrinking of his own height keeping him from tipping either way. He turned at the same time, the well-kept blade of his skate making the motion quick and clean, and he angled his other boot back to slow his reverse movement as he gave a perhaps surprised laugh at his ‘attacker’.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he commented, letting go of her wrist. She had been forced to crouch down with him because of his hold, but she managed just fine with the position, even though she straightened herself up after he released her. He followed her lead, continuing his backwards, slowed movements as if it were perfectly natural.
“Well,” Katherine Rivera replied with a small smile, “expect the unexpected.” She said it as if it should explain everything, and her younger brother quirked a brow, smirking all the same. True, she joined him every now and again, but she was more inclined to run. He’d found her at the track on several occasions when he’d needed to get hold of her. He supposed the same could be said of him and the rink.
“So what’s the occasion?”
She shrugged under her own sweater; they were dressed rather similarly, in dark colours, long sleeves and gloves, as if they truly anticipated icy temperatures. While it was cool at the rink, it was never freezing. Marcus wore what he did out of habit, and practicality; the gloves protected his hands if he slipped, the sweater did the same for his arms as well as providing a barrier if he fell, and the dark colours just seemed to work. There was nothing overly practical about that choice.
“Felt like it,” she said, once again as if that were all she needed to say.
Marcus chuckled, nodding. “Right.”
Katherine smiled, and her brother detected a subtle, well-hidden mischief there; had they not been related, he doubted he would have been able to catch it. He had a feeling he knew what she was going to say before it even left her mouth; “Race you?”
He laughed, looking down at her with blue eyes that were only intensified in their clarity by the pure whiteness of the ice below them. “Kath’,” he began, anticipating the rear bend of the rink, and turning, still with his back to the wall, “you can beat me on the street, and on the track…” He smirked. “But on the ice?” His eyes narrowed and he cocked his head. “Not a chance.” He spoke with well-deserved confidence. She could kick his ass on foot, despite their height difference, but like this, he knew he could win, and was proud of it. He’d worked hard for that skill.
“Well, we’ll see about that.” She gave him a poke, and the grin it provoked in him was youthful. “Loser buys the ice cream later.”
Marcus laughed. “Deal.”
With a quick manoeuvre, he turned so they were side by side. “End to end, or once around the edge?” he asked unnecessarily, knowing what she’d say.
“End to end.” She looked up at him. “Around the edge, you hog the inside.” She quirked a brow as if chiding him, and he shrugged. They reached the top end of the rink, and stopped themselves, side by side, facing the bottom of the ice. She watched him, her expression challenging. “Ready?”
His reply was non-verbal. He smirked, and winked.
And then, without warning, he pushed off.
Hearing Kath’s protest behind him, he laughed as he went, practically tasting victory already.
Sure, he missed New York, and the snow, but at least he still had the little things…