Author: Scar
Beta-reader: Hannival Kinney, GeminiLove30
Category: Soap opera
Series: Alles was zählt
Characters: Deniz Öztürk, Roman Wild, Annette Bergman, new characters
Pairing: Deniz / Roman
Genre: comedy, sentimental, what if…, AU
Rating: PG 14, yellow
Warnings: Slash, references to Marc and Jessica for a while, surprise (good or bad, it depends).
Notes: Fan fiction of eight chapters that considers only episodes till mid-July 2011. What would have happened if Roman had left Essen seeking his fortune elsewhere after the Steinkamps' failure? Would he be able to forget Deniz?
Written in May/June 2011.
Enjoy.
1 / 8
The axel is the only jump in figure skating that starts forward on the left outer edge. In the air, the skater performs a one and a half rotation, landing on the back outside edge. During the flight, arms and legs must be kept as close as possible to the axis of rotation of the body.
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That winter, the snow hadn't made it all the way up to Hamburg; but here, the streets were still covered. He pulled up the collar of his coat and pulled his scarf tighter around his neck. Strangely, he had forgotten how much colder the winters in Essen could be. As for the rest, hardly anything had changed since he had moved to Hamburg two years ago. The area around the sports Center, built more than twenty years before, was still the same: the tree-lined boulevards; the park, lush in any season; the buildings with red bricks; rides for the children; the ping-pong table; the half-pipe and, finally the corner to score some baskets. The street performers, however, had changed, or they had improved their technique: the murals looked like real works of art now.
He had always loved this neighborhood, a kind of floating island, brazen and unflappable in the middle of a town dedicated to the development of its steel factory and its more and more frantic business. Nothing compared to the history, art and elegance of Hamburg, though. He looked up to the windows of the apartment where he used to live with Deniz and, later, with Florian.
The lights were on.
He wondered who lived there now and, at the same time, tried to ignore the clutching sensation in his chest.
Then, his attention went to No. 7′s glass door. He was sorely tempted to go inside and surprise whomever may be there, or maybe drink something and warm himself up. But he had already promised to meet Annette first, before any of the others.
Poor thing, the flu had not spared her again this year. Sooner or later he would have tell her that working at the stand, with similar temperatures, was not ideal for her health.
He entered the place which decades before had been a shoe factory, and as he had done every goddamn day for the many years he lived in that town, slipped inside the elevator.
Annette was curled up on the couch in front of the television, a blanket on her legs, her hair tousled and a digital thermometer stuck in her ear. She greeted his entrance with a huge smile. Her eyes were bright from the fever, but also certainly from the thrill of seeing him again after six months. She left the thermometer on the coffee table, giving the display only a distracted glance. He waited for her to embrace him.
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The axel is a basic jump, but when a novice skater can perform it perfectly, he feels like a god. However, you should never underestimate a simple axel. Failing a axel is like stumbling on a road without potholes, but no less insidious. At that point, you have to pause and review: technique, posture, muscle tension, training.
Going back with your mind and your beliefs may be more difficult than you expected. Just like returning to a place where you lived for one third of your life; being able to recognize every corner, every single breath, but yet still to be too scared.
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"So, your return has nothing to do with the fact that you've asked me a dozen questions about Deniz in the last two weeks, has it?"
Roman tried to show his most innocent face. "This is my only reason." He gave an affectionate pat to his bag, which contained the material for his new project.
Annette muttered doubtfully. "And why can't I see it?"
"For good luck," Roman replied. "I prefer talking to the Steinkamp first, hoping he'll finance me."
"No harm in trying," she sighed as she dabbed her nose with a crumpled tissue. "God only knows how much he needs it after the crash two years ago. Hopefully he still wants to take a risk. "
"This ice show will be a success, trust me."
"If a thing is perfect for you, it doesn't mean that it's the same for the rest of the world," Annette rattled off, sarcastic.
"Yeah," Roman sighed sadly, "so I've been told."
The blue loft's heavy door opened again. Lena came hopping in, vigorously rubbing her livid hands. "Hey, Roman!"
"Hello, snow-girl!" he exclaimed, joining her. They embraced, exchanging a kiss to each other's cheeks.
"Alexander?" Lena asked her sister.
"He's sleeping like an angel," Annette answered.
"Good," Lena replied with a bright smile toward Roman. Who would have thought that she would have become the loving and caring mother Roman saw before him. He still couldn't believe it. Especially considering that just two years before, with a dependent child and two failed marriages behind her, Lena was sleeping with his underage brother. On the other hand, Florian had had a real crush on her. In the end, their great love story had ended like all the great stories.
"There're sausages with tomatoes, if you're hungry," Annette said.
Lena refused her offer with a low moan, taking off her heavier clothing. "The Center gave a party celebrating the Essen Cup… By the way, Ingo will be here in about an hour at most," she added. "I'm exhausted. I need my bed right now." Lena gave Roman and Annette each a kiss on the cheek. "Goodnight," she said as she opened her room's door.
"Well…I'm going to go visit the Center," Roman said, hastily grabbing his scarf. "I want to say hello to Ingo and the girls. Then I'm going to go to the hotel, I hope they'll still have some rooms available."
Annette stopped him, grabbing his arm and glaring at him with a perfectly arched eyebrow. "First of all, you don't need to look for a room. And then…why do you wanna go to the Center to greet Ingo? Are you for real? You heard Lena, he will be here in less than an hour."
"You're forgetting the girls," he explained.
"Roman?"
His shoulders deflated. "Okay, okay, okay!" he snapped frantically, like a rabbit caught in the act. "I just want to have a look. I don't even think Deniz is there."
Annette sketched a skeptical smile. "He's Ben Steinkamp's assistant, he organized the Essen Cup and probably even that party… and you don't think he'll be there? Come on, Roman!"
"What's going to happen? Do you think I'll get upset?"
Annette stared into his eyes intently. "I dunno, but he might. And you haven't seen him for two years. Are you so sure you'll still like him? He could be prematurely bald, hunched… with a huge belly, not to mention that it has become such a ugly …"
"Of course," Roman said, letting out a sarcastic laugh. "I know what he looks like…I know it too well."
"Oh…really?" Annette asked, surprised. "And when did you see him?"
"Every day for the last two months," he said, exhaling a long sigh.
"What?" Annette was shocked. "You didn't tell me anything."
"A giant billboard," Roman began, a hint of irritation in his voice. And at volume that was becoming louder and louder. "Four meters per two, in front of the apartment in Hamburg. And, to my knowledge, it was still there this morning."
"Oh," she replied, blanket slipping from her shoulders.
"Exactly. Oh!"
Roman narrowed his eyes in a grimace of theater grief and sobbing, slumped on the couch close to his friend, his head resting on her breast.
"And what was he like?"
He raised his head with a grim look.
"I was only asking!"
Roman got up, waving his arms frantically above his head like a madman. "Four metres per two, with abs that I don't even remember, a pair of underwear and a bit of gel in his hair. Honestly, what should a Calvin Klein's model like?"
Annette nodded her head in commiseration.
"And because of that, me and Marc…" he added.
Annette straightened her head so quickly, her neck let out a little crack. "You and Marc…"
Roman sighed, returning to cry softly.
"Roman?" she insisted, "you and Marc…what?"
"Me and Marc…we broke up."
"Ah," she said laconically. "Because of a poster? I think it's a bit excessive to split up for that, don't you?"
Roman breathed deeply. "Not if you peeked out the window every day for the last two months."
"You watched him?"
"I have to admit it: I devoured him with my eyes. I think Marc finally had enough when I fell on the street after I started walking with my nose in the air."
"I see…" she agreed. "And so…what are you going to do?"
"Nothing," he replied quickly with an innocent glare, "just checking if he still makes me feel the same."
"Oh, sure," Annette said with an ironic tone, "what effect could the 6′ 0" original have on you when you've got a four metres per two fake?"
"6′ 1″," he interjected.
"What?"
"Deniz is 6′ 1″ tall," Roman explained.
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Many factors can affect the success of an axel. Good muscular tension is what you always have to keep in mind. Weights and constant training allow you to acquire the necessary strength, while dance gives you the elegance and grace necessary for performing a clean jump. A good diet, nutrient and light, and regular sleep are essential in any sport; but more so in a discipline where technique should always combine with a strong expression in your face and your gestures.
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Roman opened the Center's door, and in a moment left behind the dark and foggy coldness of the road. Similarly, he'd wanted to leave behind the tension that had accompanied him from the start. But it had tripled in the exact moment it was hit by bright lights and music playing in the background. Constanze and Brigitte were the first people to notice his arrival. They rushed to greet him, stamping his face with multi-colored lipstick kisses. Then they each linked an arm with him, one by each side, and dragged him playfully to the middle of the room…poolside.
Richard Steinkamp saw him and waved him over. He greeted Roman with a handshake and half a hug; asking the reporters to take a picture of them in the middle of the gesture, formal and warm at the same time. Among Richard Steinkamp's many qualities was the ability to ride the wave of fame, even when it was reduced to little more than a ripple. Surely, despite time and failures, someone still held Roman Wild in high esteem. No one in male figure skating had done better than him in Germany. Not up until now, at least.
Roman saw old Steinkamp stretch his neck, as though looking for something or someone. He then quietly turned to Constanze, who was standing nearby, motionless and straight like a graceful and reverent pole.
"With Deniz, Mr. Steinkamp. Down, on the ice rink," she whispered, leaning slightly closer to him.
The man nodded, unable to hide a bit of disappointment on his face. "Too bad," he began, speaking more to himself than to Roman, "but the essential has already been done." Finally, he grabbed a couple of flutes of champagne from a stray tray and invited Roman to drink with him.
Deniz was at the ice rink.
Roman's mind began to work feverishly and he could see Deniz as in a picture, old but still so vivid: trying to perform an elegant jump, challenging his lanky build and gravity; or decked out in his hockey uniform, running like a demon towards the opponent's goal.
After he was filled by Richard with lots of information about who or what would put the Steinkamp brand back on top, he waited to go unnoticed and then casually walked to the stairs leading to the basement. But he was met by Ingo, who threw his arms around his neck in a sudden assault, wearing a stupid smile that smelt of beer.
"Why didn't you tell me I'd find you here? Nostalgia?" Ingo said with a theatrical wink.
"A bit," Roman confirmed, beginning to shake with impatience. "I'm going to take a look at the ice rink, then I'll be back to the loft. Annette invited me to spend the night with you guys. Is that okay?"
"Are you kidding, buddy?" Ingo trilled, rubbing Roman's head and messing up the hair that Roman had miraculously flattened. "By the way…how is my soulmate? The sober one?"
"Mmm…not so good," Roman lied, combing his hair back with his fingers and rearranging the fringe on his forehead. "She's missing you, I bet."
Ingo's face suddenly became serious. "I'd better go, then. You do not mind if…"
"Go ahead, attentive husband. Run! I wouldn't let her wait a second longer if I were you," Roman said, shamelessly. He watched Ingo's retreating back for a few seconds; he was actually running! Then he took a last glance around and started down the steps.