Disclaimer: I just borrow the pretty things and play for a while.

Author's Note: Because I think that Jenny and Marc would have had a very complicated relationship, but that somewhere in the middle of it all, they were kind of friends. Set somewhere between 907 and 913-ish. And Show, I'm still annoyed with you for never giving us Marc/Jenny interaction, because really? Fail.

Marc smiled a little as he wandered freely around the Centre. It was funny to think that all the nonsense he read about in the papers, stumbled upon online, or heard from others in the skating world happened within this building. It seemed impossible that so much madness and sabotage went on in a place so light, so open, so full of life.

Sticking his hands in his pockets, he passed the pool, smiling noncommittally at a couple of women with pool-noodles who eyed him shamelessly, and moved into the short corridor he knew led to the ballet room, only to be met with a fuzz of orange hair and a surprised squeak. Constanze looked momentarily stunned as she hugged a pile of towels to her chest, but grinned almost instantly. He was growing to like her already, this absurdly chatty woman. Most gossips and flirts drove him nuts with boredom, and Constanze was both, yet somehow she managed to maintain an air of dignity and intelligence about her. It amused him, if nothing else.

"Can I help you?" she asked dutifully. Marc suppressed his amusement and smiled back, raising a hand and gesturing to nothing in particular.

"No, I... I was just having a look around the Centre," he explained, suddenly aware that he wasn't exactly sure what he was doing here. "It's nice," he added pointlessly. Constanze grinned wider and shrugged one shoulder.

"I should get these put away." She gestured at the towels before speaking again. "If you need anything..." She trailed off, the sentiment obvious. Marc smiled thankfully as she manoeuvred herself and the towels around him. He laughed silently and shook his head once she was out of sight.

"Marc Hagendorf." A woman's voice – cold, aloof, and slightly demanding, and Marc turned around, confusion over Constanze's sudden mood change written in his expression. Only when he turned, he found himself face-to-face with someone else entirely. Someone he was fairly certain he'd never met in his life. She stared at him almost appraisingly as he looked her up and down once: casual but perfectly-fitted clothes, the lines of a skater, a well-tamed mess of brown hair, pretty face made intriguing by sharp, knowing eyes. One cynical eyebrow was raised.

Silence hung between them for a few seconds until he realised that she was waiting for an answer.

"Ehm... yes?" he tried, wondering where his usual easy charm had gone.

"I know who you are," she snapped coolly, shaking her hair off her shoulders with the tiniest of very practised gestures. Through the confusion, Marc suddenly felt a little flustered. This woman was bizarrely affecting.

"Then-"

A tiny smirk lifted the corner of her mouth, and he realised that he knew exactly who she was.

"Jennifer Steinkamp," he stated, and he couldn't help but smirk back a little. Somehow, little Jenny Steinkamp had always intimidated him. She walked, skated, spoke with an air of fierce self-importance that, even almost ten years her senior, had impressed him from the beginning. But in his own pathetic way, he'd wanted to impress her all those years ago. Perhaps it had more to do with the fact that she was Roman's friend. Roman's only friend, really, and certainly his closest. It hadn't been easy, getting Roman alone long enough to ask him out. Even then, he'd barely formed the words and Jennifer had strutted into the men's change rooms, heedless of the fact that before her stood a half-naked twenty-five-year-old and her best friend, whose hair was still dripping from the shower.

Jennifer tossed her hair, looked between the two, then heaved a petulant sigh and demanded that Roman come with her, right this second. Roman, bright red from the shower and from Marc's proposal, rolled his eyes fondly.

"Yes, Jennifer." He turned to a slightly uncomfortable Marc. A self-conscious smile formed on Roman's lips and his eyes flicked from Marc's own to his mouth, his chest, and then to the floor. Marc tried desperately not to smirk and failed miserably. He was about to say something when Jennifer, with all the authority of her fifteen odd years, gave a terse, "Are you coming?"

Roman flushed, embarrassed, but met Marc's eyes again and smiled a little, nodding before muttering an almost inaudible, "Yes".

Jenny, irritated over being ignored, shifted her weight and arched an eyebrow. Marc just grinned at her victoriously, disturbingly satisfied for having distracted Roman from her. Following Marc's gaze, Roman finally looked at Jenny and grabbed his sports bag quietly, shooting Marc one last, quick look before turning to leave. Jennifer waited a split second longer and gave Marc a look that was far too knowing and far too scary for a girl her age.

It was a warning, he knew, a threat, but also a consideration, like if he gave her a reason to, she'd give him a chance. Marc was suddenly filled with a new sense of respect for this girl but also a sense of challenge, of intrigue. He found himself wanting to prove himself to her, because he knew that what she thought mattered to Roman. He smiled at her and nodded, accepting her unspoken challenge, and with that, she turned elegantly and left.

All Marc could do was grin and shake his head.

"Kids!"

But Jennifer Steinkamp was a kid no longer, and the main difference that Marc could see was that now she was intimidating without effort. She was no longer a child playing adult games, no longer an imitation of her parents, but she stood, almost his own height in heels, and crossed her arms gracefully.

"I don't blame you for leaving," she informed him, and after pulling himself out of reminiscence, Marc felt a strange sense of relief at that. He wasn't sure why – it wasn't like he'd ever considered Jenny's forgiveness to be important. He'd wanted her approval, but had known when he left that she would probably hate him; it hadn't bothered him much at the time. He smiled.

"I'm glad – "

"I'm not finished."

Amused, but also slightly taken aback, Marc closed his mouth and raised his eyebrows.

"I don't blame you for leaving, but I did. For a very long time." She paused and tossed her hair again, and Marc saw something unnameable flash in her eyes. She looked at him deliberately, now.

"And Roman certainly did."

Marc couldn't help the slight pang that that created, because he knew she was right, and even after ten years, he wasn't entirely without regret. He knew that it had been the right thing to do in the long-run, for his own sake, but he hadn't wanted to leave. Not the way he did, and Jennifer knew that perfectly well. He regarded her seriously.

"Yes, I know." Marc wasn't given to long speeches or overly-elaborate answers, but it wasn't often that he was rendered speechless.

Jenny's bitter laugh was so like her mother's. "You know, do you? I assure you, Marc, you know very little." Her tone was cold, businesslike, but defensive. Marc knew it still hurt her on some level, although he knew that the pain came from memory, not from past grudges. His jaw clenched.

"Miss Hipp tells me you're looking for Lars Berger," she said suddenly, conversationally but with a hint of challenge in her voice, daring him to deny it.

"I've been informed that he's in Canada." There was no real point in lying. True, he had come to Essen in search of Lars, but that had been his excuse, not his reason. He'd only realised that after he'd arrived.

"Yes," she snapped, almost before he'd finished speaking. Jennifer squared her shoulders and raised her head, arms still crossed, a gesture not of self-importance this time, but of superiority, of warning. He sighed, knowing what was coming – she would tell him to leave, now; to leave and never bother coming back; tell him he was not welcome in the Centre, at the very least.

"Don't do it again, Marc," was all she said. And for just a second, her guard dropped, and he could have sworn that she was fifteen again – wary and bitter and protective and scared. He wanted nothing more than to tell her he wouldn't, reassure her, tell her that if anything happened he wouldn't balk. But they both knew he couldn't promise that.

Jennifer's dark eyes finally left his and she looked briefly at the floor, picked invisible lint off her jacket-sleeve and met his eyes once more, wordlessly but so very meaningfully, before turning abruptly and disappearing around the corner.

He stood there for a few minutes, frowning, hand to his mouth in concentration, until he felt a hand on his shoulder. He spun, not entirely sure who he expected to find, and was met again with a shock of orange.

"Can I help you with something, Mr. Hagendorf?" Brigitte asked a little too kindly, adopting the same expression Constanze wore most of the time. Marc attempted a neutral smile.

"No, thank you. I was just about to leave."

Brigitte looked mildly disappointed, but grinned nonetheless, before nodding and walking past him. She was only a few feet away when Marc called her name again. She turned.

"Could you give Jennifer Steinkamp a message for me, please?"

Brigitte frowned, but muttered a surprised, "Of course."

"Tell her I'll try," he said, and he really did mean it. He was determined not to let that happen again.

He had absolutely no idea how to do that.