Carvings in the Ice

Jonathan made his way to the bench he now thought of as theirs, stomach slightly queasy. He'd found out from Pat that Annabelle had beaten Mao Asada for the silver medal, something no one had even anticipated. He honestly hadn't meant to miss the performance- it had just happened, he'd simply fallen asleep on his bed after practice and woken up a half-hour after the free skate had ended. He'd tried calling her to explain, but she'd picked up and there had been too many voices, too much going on for him to come through. So he'd hung up and asked her to just meet him at their spot. And she'd said yes.
He knew this wouldn't be easy, not after they'd fought. It had come out of nowhere after they'd made love. They'd woken up, Jonathan had seen the time and jumped up, hurriedly dressing.
"What's up?" Anna had said sleepily, sitting up and running a hand through her hair.
"Nothing, I'm just- we gotta get dressed, and I gotta get you back to your room, that's all."
"Is Mike coming back?"
"Yeah, I just don't want..." He trailed off, focusing on his belt buckle. She giggled a bit, watching him. "Is there something funny here?"
"No, of course not, it's just... Mike's not a saint either, Jon. Don't you think it's a little-"
"No, I don't," he'd snapped involuntarily, making her stop. "Just because he acts a certain way doesn't mean I have to also."
Anna was quiet, her eyes darkening, and suddenly he knew he'd said the wrong thing. "Is that what I was?" she asked softly. "Just a lay. Fuck me and hide me, right?"
"Oh, Jesus, Anna, no-"
"No, it's fine," she interrupted him loudly, rising and getting out of bed. She bent over and reached for her undergarments, her lithe, smooth body as graceful as ever. "I'll just put these on, and button up and walk out of here. You don't have to see me again. I guess it's just as well, I don't know the going rates around here-"
"Anna, could you stop that for a second?"
"Why? Don't you want me out of here before your teammate sees the little hooch you've brought around? Have there been that many others?"
A cough behind Jonathan made them both jump. "Uh, hey," Mike said uneasily, taking in the scene- Jon in his jeans, shirtless, Anna in only her blouse and panties. "Am I interrupting something?"
For a moment, no one spoke. Jonathan felt his throat close up in panic. He turned to Annabelle, who was pulling her jeans on. "No, that's fine. I was just going," she said to Mike as she buttoned up and grabbed her jacket and ID. "I won't be back. Promise."
She walked between the two of them. "Anna, please-"
She yanked her arm away. "Fuck off." Not looking at Mike, she walked out, shutting the door quietly behind her.

Since then, there had barely been a word between them. Jonathan had wanted badly to call her, text her, talk to her and let her know that he was sorry, she was more than just a lay, so much more it killed him, but she wouldn't answer his calls. Then he wouldn't answer, or forgot to answer, her texts. He had never been good at this kind of stuff; he'd clam up, shut down, act like everything would be fine when it really wasn't. Sometimes he wondered what people even saw in him.
But this was a chance to make up for it. And he was going to take it.
He approached the bench where Anna already was, perched on the top. She was studying her fingernails. The medal was around her neck. "That's beautiful," he told her, and she looked up.
"Oh... thanks." It glimmered in her hands. "I just got back from an interview, so. Not enough time to run and put it back." Her voice was flat, trying hard to be casual though he heard the slight tremor within the chords.
"It's fine. Um... how are you?"
She looked at him as though he were slightly dim. "Well, I've just stolen a silver medal from Mao Asada and pissed off half of Canada. How would you feel?"
"I'm Canadian," he tried to joke. She shrugged. "Look, about what happened between us..."
She slid herself down to the seat of the bench. "I'm fine with it. Are you?"
"What is 'it', though? I mean... what do you think happened?" He sat down beside her, and swallowed painfully as she scooted herself away. "Anna..."
"What do you mean, 'what do I think happened'? What DID happen?"
"Anna, what came out of me that day had nothing to do with you. Okay? It's just... it's how I am. I snapped for no reason. You didn't deserve it."
"And you think that makes everything better?" she asked bitterly, looking at him with eyes full of the anger she had no doubt been holding in. "You think I want to be with someone who can't control his temper?"
"Do you-!" He swallowed the rest of his words before he had the chance to make things worse, putting his head into his hands. This was more frustrating than he could even imagine. Jonathan couldn't understand why Annabelle had such a hard time grasping that this had all been a huge mistake... then he again, he had forgotten the track record she'd had with guys. Almost like his with girls. This was a huge learning curve for them both. Just screwing and forgetting someone was one thing. But falling in love... it was almost like drowning. Everything became foggy, unreal, and you felt like you couldn't even take a deep breath, much less hold onto to something rational... but somehow, there was just enough air to live.
"Look," he tried again. "I know I fucked this up. But I want to make it right. Okay?"
"Okay." Her head was bowed; her dark hair hid her face. He hoped she wasn't crying.
"I don't know when you're leaving, but I want you to come to our game on Sunday. We're playing the U.S. You can see Pat, too. It's the gold medal game, and... I just want to be able to celebrate with you if we win. Please, Anna?"
She looked up then, and her beautiful eyes were full of apologies. "I... I have to leave Saturday," she whispered. "Jon... I'm sorry."
"Oh." His heart sank so low he thought it might slip through his ribcage somehow. "Oh. I see. It's... it's okay. I mean..."
They lapsed into an awkward silence for a long moment. Annabelle had a tear on the edge of her jawline, a perfect bead on the edge of falling. Jonathan wanted to touch it, wipe it away, take her face into his hands and let her know how bad he felt about this whole thing. But somehow, he couldn't make himself do it. Instead, he cleared his throat and asked, "So... what happens now?"
She shook her head. "I wish I could tell you."
"Do you... do you still want to keep in touch?"
She looked at him, lost in thought for a second. Then she nodded. "I would like that."
"Okay."
"Okay."
A pause, then she leaned in and kissed him softly, sweetly. His arms found her waist, wrapped around it, and her hands tickled his neck. He fought the urge to moan, relishing how perfect this felt, how she fit so nicely against him. How could he ever let it go? But that wasn't his choice to make- she pulled away after too short a second, got up and began walking. He watched her go, breathless and confused. Not once did she look back.