Canada smirked. It was an expression that he hadn't actually had in him, but one that he'd learned from his brothers and had taken to practicing. He mimicked the way that they would hold their chins, stick their lips together just a bit or show just enough teeth… It was a difficult process, but he'd mastered it just in time.

There was finally something to smirk about, he felt. He'd been designing and prepping these events for what felt like millennia, and as he walked through and looked at each one he saw them almost as fine art.

They had to be, he thought. Nobody bothered to notice him, ever, but this was an opportunity to change all that. This Olympics would be monumental, without question. Records wouldn't only be broken, he'd make sure they were smashed. And anytime someone looked in the books, there'd be his name sitting right next to it.

Forever and ever.

And he'd be thanked for making the perfect game, he'd be called by name and invited out and not spoken over at meetings… He'd long since come to accept any amount of cold without a problem, but the excitement of such a prospect was enough to make him shiver.

Everything depended on these games, and he knew that very well. He'd put everything he had into designing the best courses and forums he could manage.

The luge courses, in particular, were wild successes. He bragged to anyone who would listen (or, more, he'd brag around people and hope that they'd heard him) that these were fast. If anyone asked, he'd tell them that it was going to be the fastest course anyone had ever seen.

Well… nobody had actually bothered to ask. He doubted anyone had heard him talk at the world meetings, and America's patience for listening to his brother go on and on about the games faded long before Canada could manage to get to the event. But he'd practiced what he would say, should the question arise, many times in his bathroom mirror, and the thought it had gone very well.

If arrogance was what was required, he had that.

Canada's smirk grew as everyone began to show up for the trial runs. Perhaps they didn't get advanced notice; but now that they were there they most certainly knew what he'd been talking about. The ice had been worked perfectly, beyond perfectly, and the track was blisteringly fast.

He weaved his way through the coaches and competitors, and all that was on anyone's mind was exactly the sort of speeds they were clocking.

140, 148, 154….

154!

That had to be a new record, right? He'd flip through his books before the event actually took place and make sure, but certainly this was going to be remembered.

The most daring of countries were itching to try their hand at it, the most timid whimpered amongst themselves that it was too fast, too dangerous. But all this was to be expected. They would do that with every single course, he was sure.

Georgia had been bragging about a competitor he'd brought, and there was buzz as the young man stepped up to the course. This was a rising star; the one who was trusted to set records. This was a gold-medal contender to compete with anything the other countries could bring, Georgia had said.

Canada took the best spot he could to watch. The smirk remained.

And then faded as the color drained from his face.

He tried to back through the crowd as the man was tossed around by the momentum and crashed, smashed, against a pole. The world was in stunned silence, too, but it didn't last for long. They wanted, demanded, an explanation for what happened. Suddenly every eye wasn't looking for, but was locked on, him.

Canada had no idea how many times he'd dreamed of such a sensation, but at the moment all he wanted was for them to look at anyone or anything else. Just a few minutes of disappearing again would be all that he really needed; it would give him time to think and figure this out.

But nobody was going to give him that moment, there was simply demand after demand that he answer. As his voice caught in his throat, he wondered how his brothers handled these sorts of things on nearly a daily basis. He tried to channel them, the confidence or indifference or whatever it was that they had, and announced that he was shutting down the courses. He said that he wanted things cleared so that he could launch a full investigation into the matter. Evidently, that was an acceptable enough answer. Canada was happy, more than happy, to watch the others leave and let him be with his counsels and experts.

Even though he knew that they were watching, waiting, and…

The problem was the track he'd been so proud of. In a sport where even the slightest incline in speed took vast preparation, he'd pushed too hard. Even if the poles had been padded, his over-eagerness to prove himself would have…

He needed to think fast, work fast. This was horrifying, but dammit… He couldn't, couldn't, couldn't, let this taint everything he'd worked for. There was too much at stake, wasn't there?

And it wasn't as if the deceased wasn't young, inexperienced, prone to mistakes of his own…

This game was worth millions, and it was finally bringing recognition to him and his house. Now that he had a chance to be seen, now that he was being seen, he couldn't let the image be one of incompetence and childish, deadly, ignorance.

As much as he wished for anonymity as the pressure became unbearable, he knew that he couldn't go back to living like that. Not if he had a chance to change it for once…

Canada shook his head. He couldn't. He was disgusted with himself, but he couldn't. In the channeling of his brothers, as he'd used with success many a time before, he was sure they would have done the same thing, anyway. He'd heard it on many occasions, after all.

When he stood at the podium, there wasn't a hint of a smirk.

For the first time in what felt like eons, every eye and ear in the world was focused on Canada. Waiting, eagerly, impatiently, for what he had to say.

And Canada pointed the other way.

AN: Honestly, I was not going to write this; as I had assumed that it would have been an over-used idea. But what's been already written pertaining to the Olympics concerning Canada has very pointedly side-stepped this, and I found that to be unacceptable.

Every single report that dragged the name of Kumaritashvili through the mud, and pointedly ignored any culpability of those who worked on Whistler, has done nothing but get me angrier. I don't know if this is truly worth reading, but it's a rant I had to get off my chest.