Status: Still being thought out.

Carvings in the Ice

Short Program

It seemed the next day as though all of Vancouver were packed into the arena the next day. Anna braced herself, took a breath and watched. She would be second to last, after Joannie Rochette, after Mao Asada, after her compatriot Mirai Nagasu. Mirai was coming back onto the side halls now, looking happy as always, if a bit disappointed with herself. She smiled at Annabelle. "Great job, little one," Anna called to her.
She shrugged. "I was okay."
"You were awesome." She hugged her teammate. They were beginning to bond- the bubbly, energetic teen and the 20-year-old ready to break out and claim her place. It began at Nationals and stemmed through the season into now, where they shared a room and a lot of their fears and secrets, supporting each other even though they were basically rivals on the ice. It didn't matter, though. They still had a nation to represent together.
"So when are you going?" Mirai wanted to know. Anna took a breath.
"Soon. I'm almost last."
The younger one made a face. "That's awful. All that waiting."
"Yeah... I'm trying not to think about it," she replied, swallowing a sudden wave of nausea that threatened to send her running in her slippered feet to the restroom. She needed to relax. Stop thinking. Stop worrying. Stop stressing out. Just do your best. Do what you came here to do.
And for God's sake, stop wondering if that guy is going to be here.

"Psst. Anna. HEY. ANNA."
Patrick Kane was a horrible whisperer. He'd hidden behind the wall the day before, waiting for her to come out in her street clothes, then calling to her in that hoarse echo of a shout he thought was quiet enough not to call attention to himself. She'd turned, sighed.
"Hi." He grinned. "Hey, don't give me that look."
"In what universe is that an acceptable greeting?"
"Oh, so yours was okay?" He hugged her, laughing. "Hello, Annabelle."
"Hi," she replied, smiling. "Good to see you."
"And you." He grinned again, his blue eyes appraising her. "You look great. Damn, it feels like it was only a few days ago you and I were fighting over ice in Mich, hey?"
"Oh, hush," she said, smacking his arm, but laughing despite herself. She and Patrick had met in Michigan, while he was in Detroit playing for a AAA team. They'd become friends, then dated briefly, but he was too wild, too childish, and she'd broken it off. Thankfully, though, they remained on good terms. Something about him brought out the playful, comical side in her, even when he annoyed her to no end (which was often).
"So... how's it been so far?" he asked her as they fell into step together.
"Not bad. Lot of practice. I have the short program tomorrow."
"Nice. What time? Maybe I'll stop by... bring a few of the guys. Lots of single ones." Pat waggled his eyebrows.
"Oh, spare me."
"What? They're good guys," he insisted, holding the door open for her as they walked into the fading sunshine outside.
"Not that... I just want to focus, is all."
"Okay, okay. I gotcha."
Suddenly, it dawned on her. He would know who the mystery viewer was... after all, he played hockey in the NHL. "Patrick?"
"Yep," he said, squinting to check out one of the women's skiers walking past.
"I have a question... about..." Was this a good idea? What if he didn't know? What if he started making fun of her, or what if he told?
"About?"
"...hockey," she finished lamely, not looking at him.
"Hockey," he repeated flatly. "Annabelle, you know about hockey."
"Well, not EVERYTHING-"
"Who is he?"
"That's what I want to find out," she replied automatically, then stopped, panic hitting her chest. "No, I mean-"
"Aha! 'Focus' my ass. You wanna get some, you little liar!" he laughed, wagging a finger in her face as she tried to correct herself. "No, no, it's all right. You need a name? Number? Room key?"
"No," she replied, irritated. "I just... there was this guy at my practice earlier, and I didn't know who he was. But he seemed to like my skating."
"Psh. Your skating. What's he look like?"
"Tall... dark hair, brown eyes, I think..."
"If you were any more specific, I'd think I'd piss myself," Pat told her.
"Shut up. He had on a Canada jacket."
He stopped. "Canada? Wait... CANADA."
"Yes, CANADA. See why I didn't want to tell you? You know what-"
"No, no, wait. I think I know. Tall, dark hair. Few moles on his face? Looks like he can't count up to five?" he asked.
"Aren't you sweet. He had some spots, yeah."
"Fuck..." He started laughing, hard, bending over to let it all out.
"What?" she asked. "Patrick... WHAT?"
"Shit yeah, I know him," he said finally, brushing a hand over his reddened face. "That's Jonny. Jonathan Toews. My teammate. Holy fuck. Can't you stay away from anything connected to me?"
Oh, awesome, she thought. Now there's no way he'll keep quiet. He has a point... couldn't I stay away from anything having to do with my best friend?


Finally, it was her turn. She skated onto the ice for warmups, stretching and striding, letting herself loosen up. The chill of the surface was welcome, even in her skimpy outfit- a short-sleeved, deep blue one with skin-colored tights. It meant that no one could touch her out here. No one would dare. It would just be her.
It also meant that, if she screwed up, there would be no one else to blame.
She started to go through her routine without the music, head up, eyes open but not registering the audience, afraid to clear the blur over the many faces- she didn't want to see anyone. Least of all him. What her fear was of him was beyond her comprehension- she barely knew him- but either way, she couldn't afford the distraction. This wasn't a drill. This was one chance, and one chance only.
She attempted a jump- landed. Another- just hung onto, her toepick catching a rut before she could complete the combination. She shook it off, kept going. Steps, spins, footwork. Then before she knew it, it was done, and they were calling her name, and she skated over to Rick for one last word or two. Gripped his weathered, overlarge hands. He looked at her sternly, yet she could see the support in them.
"This is all you, Anna. All you. Show them," he said, and let go, and she nodded and skated to center ice, waved to the USA supporters waving flags and cheering, and set her pose- head looking at the rafters, hands posed just beneath her eyes as though wiping away tears. The music started, and off she went.

She'd warned him before heading up to her room not to say a word. Patrick made a show of putting his hand over his heart, saying, "We're not speaking much anyway. You know, rivalry between the countries and all."
"Whatever. Not a word."
He winked, and was gone, but not before stealing a kiss on the cheek. She shook her head, half annoyed, half flattered. Patrick never changed... no matter how handsome he was, he was still such a kid.
She showered, changed, turned on some music and tried to forget everything. Somehow, though, the deep, serious brown eyes- Jonathan's eyes- kept popping into her mind, never relenting. Not letting her go.


Jonathan watched Annabelle skate, breath catching in his throat. That's her, he thought, inching forward in his seat. "Excuse me," the person next to him said, irritated.
"Sorry," he said, blushing, and turned his attention back to the ice. That was definitely her, though- dark-haired, intense, and as lovely as ever. She skated with strength and ease, arms bending into patterns, steadying her for a jump- which she landed, gracefully, smiling as she came down. She gained speed, readying for another leap into space- wobbling on the landing, but hanging on. And another, cleaner. She was wonderful.
Jonathan wasn't here for this. He was here to play hockey. To win a gold medal for his country, something Canada had failed miserably at in 2006. But here, they could not fail. This was Vancouver- their country. Their soil. Anything less than gold in their national sport was grounds for treason. He had that burden on his shoulders, and so did his teammates.
Still... Annabelle Landon was mesmerizing. As she lay back, bending almost into a circle for a spin, he found himself holding his breath, wondering how she didn't break in two. She started traveling down the ice, leaping one more time and then going back the other way, winding in a slow circle, almost as if she were dancing. He could never even try that. He'd fall on his ass after one step. But she was doing it as though she were born on frozen water.
Then it ended. And the crowd was on its feet, applauding, cheering, whistling for a beautiful performance. He followed suit, heart racing, lips bending into a smile as he clapped loudly despite the maple leaf on his jacket. Annabelle smiled, waving and bowing graciously to the audience. Then she turned, and saw him. Her eyes widened. His stomach swooped.
She recognized him.

She'd done it, she thought, thanking the crowd with kisses and waves. She'd gotten through it, and without falling or stumbling. Just a slight wobble, and that was it. And he wasn't-
She stopped. There, in the middle rows, a well-built, dark-haired figure stood, clapping along with everyone else, a small smile on his handsome face. He WAS. And he was staring right at her. And applauding.
And all of a sudden, Annabelle felt like throwing up all over again.
♠ ♠ ♠
songs to write by: Tristes Apprets (from Marie Antoinette soundtrack) (the inspiration for Anna's short program :))