From Russia With Love

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[chapter 2 – Lost in Translation ]

Their team was on the way to their hotel after a long flight from home. Bella had finally been able to get some rest after the über enthusiastic members of the US team had stopped cheering. Most of the athletes had boarded the same flight for convenience, with more agents for their security than she had ever seen. Tensions were still running high between the USA and Russia...Sure, the Cold War was over but the relationship between both countries was still frosty at the very least and mistrust arose amidst struggles in neighboring Ukraine. Neither its parliament nor its people had appreciated their president's refusal to sign an association agreement with Europe in favor of Putin's Russia and its gas produced billions- scoring a record financial aid package which only infuriated the Ukrainians citizens. President Yanukovych might have hoped the money would soothe his people but far from that, those who aspired to a pro-European policy in opposition to the still very traditionalist Russia, or those who had simply enough of the corruption in their country and wanted things to change felt slapped in the face. Protests continued and escalated in a loud, shady and complicated background to what was supposed to be a celebration of sport, fair play and ideals. Hence the heavy security, the government had decided to take precautions, strengthening the security team who worked discreetly to ensure the athletes safety. Bella was glad they were here, there was supposed to be a truce between countries during the Olympic Games, but being on Russian soil felt weird to her. Call it American stereotype, too much history or hell, even stupidity on her part but it made her jittery.

Besides, the Olympic Truce was an ancient Greek tradition, revived by the IOC true, but still, there were no guarantee either parties wouldn't use the occasion to make a stand. She definitely did not mind the watchdogs. Some of her fellow US athletes had voiced their discomfort with the agents but she wasn't one to spit on extra security measures. Some of those guys were actually nice, nothing like the James Bond-y agents she had been expecting. They were mindful of her space, polite and could probably shoot their guns from a crazy distance...What's not to like? And that's coming from a lesbian so bear in mind she had absolutely no intention whatsoever to get any of those guys between her sheets. Maybe she'd make a wingman out of hers, just to have some fun...The players who had been in the last Winter Olympics in Vancouver had told her how crazy it could get in the Olympian village. The organization splurged on condoms to keep the athletes clean instead of trying to avoid what could not. The equation as she saw it was fairly simple yet with many possibilities. Handsome man plus sexy female equals lots of sex...Sexy female plus sexy female equals (still) hot, dirty sex...And even if you went with handsome man plus handsome man, the result would still amount to hot, dirty fucking.

Such was the "curse" of athletic, beautiful people thrown together in an adrenaline packed event where you can know your greatest joy one day and your biggest deception the next. Though she felt her sarcastic streak vibrate, it was just basic human nature. People meet, they intertwine, share and feelings arise...whether they be sensual, lustful ones or of the loving kind. Humans need connection, we thrive with it and long for it sometimes, it only makes sense that this need would be heightened by high emotions.

She'd keep her options open during the Olympics but she was definitely not the kind of player who fucks all night long before a big game. She liked focus, clarity and peace before games. She needed to put herself in a little bubble with no phone, no social media or anything like that. She would listen to music, read a book and draw to relax but she tried to stay clear of the TV- only indulging in Netflix to watch an episode or two of series she liked...No binge watching sessions of House Of Cards either before a big game, she knew her limits and Frank Underwood's shenanigans rendered her powerless to stop at two episodes.

Her games would not be as orgasmic as her fellow athletes, too many games for her to screw everything with a pulse and a vagina. Other than her games schedule, there was also the matter of Russia's blatant disrespect and intolerance bordering on pure and simple hate towards gays and the already fueled gossips back home. Last thing she needed was to be caught on camera or by a journalist eavesdropping on her. It would only lead to reports of scandalous behavior, on her part, another hassle she definitely did not need on top of everything else. She wanted to make a good impact on society, show them that being gay- and from the LGBT community in general- was okay. No, they were not sex crazed maniacs who were unable to hold a steady relationship. No, their actions were neither immoral nor shameful. And no, she didn't want to fuck every female she encountered.

For starters she wasn't that desperate, and though Bella was not exactly the poster child for commitment, she didn't fuck a different woman every night. Her schedule was much too crazy for that. Not to mention that she actively tried to keep her sex and love life from the media, which needed a bit of trust to work, drastically reducing the number of her actual conquests. Of course, if you read any online gossip sites or the tabloids, she was supposedly seen left and right with celebrities she had never even met and allegedly leaving a trail of broken hearts in her wake but those rumors never stick.

Most times the claims were so ridiculous she wouldn't even bother address them and her game was so far besting itself seasons after seasons, making her untouchable in the eyes of many hockey fans and yes, many gays, lesbians, bisexuals and transgenders as well.

Her fans were quite vocal about their support in the wake of her coming out and that outweighed any hate mail or death threat in the world. Bella still had trouble getting the concept that she had actual, human beings to call fans. She tried to be active on the social media when she could, tweeting a pic here and there, posting a link to music she liked...She pimped out her relatives' businesses and causes who were dear to her, or just retweeted the funny shit people said about her, she gave a shout out to fans sometimes as well. Today she tweeted a selfie in front of their hotel with the words "Sochi,Krasnodar Krai,Russia.

Can't wait to play for #TeamUSA in #WinterOlympics" before going towards the lobby to join the coach and get her room key.

Like everyone on the skating team, both men and women's hockey team were housed in a compound on the Olympic village, close to the ice rink location, to avoid unnecessary commutes and allow the teams to stay focused on their objectives. The ski teams, Alpine and Nordic alike- including the wild child that was Freestyle- shared an hotel as well, up on the mountains in Krasnaya Polyana, near the Roza Khutor mountains where ski and snowboard events where held.

The team had previously agreed on sleeping arrangements as their roster was composed of twenty one player, divided in ten groups of two and one odd man out. She was the lucky one who had won the coin toss and the single room. Her teammates had tried to bargain with her and offer favors in exchange for the room but Bella did not budge, she would love every minute of silence at night and enjoy the peace too much to trade it for anything else.

Team life was too intense for her sometimes. She got along quite well with most players- they had to if they wanted to win, at least to some extent. They were petty bitches in the team as well of course, though she was good friends with a few dozen of her fellow players- still, she liked the privacy the single room would afford her.

"Swan, get your head off the clouds and your ass in your room" Jacob, their coach, interrupted her daydreams as he shouted from the reception desk. It seemed the man had no other mode than the shouting one, nevertheless she liked his abrasive personality. He gave no bullshit talks, was skilled in tactics and understood when to give them a little leeway- both on and off the rink.

"Yes, coach. Which floor are we on?"

"Second. Room 22 for you, Swan. Listen up, everyone" Jacob tried to get everyone's attention and gathered us around him, "you have two hours of free time. I would advise sleeping, with the jet lag, you'll need all the rest you can get. Those of you who don't need beauty sleep can take a walk but I don't want anyone in the Olympic village or outside of my sight without security with them. Be responsible ladies, no need to flaunt our flag. We meet here in two hours for lunch and I will know what our schedule for training will look like if I can find the goddamn translator we were supposed to get...Never mind, get going and be safe." He turned towards the Team USA officials after dismissing his team, engaging in what seemed to be a battle of will. Jacob had a short fuse and he wouldn't be deterred so easily if he wanted something.

Her room was nice, with a small balcony overlooking a garden in front of the Canadian compound perhaps...she couldn't tell for sure, though she thought she saw a Canadian tracksuit on one of the players who had just entered. No flags for her team, sadly, they had been instructed to lay low by an official email after the two consecutive attacks in Volgograd last December. The morning following the bombings, every athlete received it to advise them on security measures and precautions they could take to be safe while in Russia. Her parents had been afraid for her safety, as were many other families who had a child competing in the Winter Games for their country. They were reassured when the US government announced that they would be provided with FBI agents and private security to ensure their safety at all times. Still, her first Olympics were somewhat tainted right from the beginning. First, it was security concerns, then the overwhelming background of Russia traditionalist views and outrageous anti-gays policy, not to forget the controversy it had sparked for her. It felt weird, she was anxious to play for her team and compete for the gold yet uneasy with the circumstances and the weight people tried to put on her shoulders.

After a quick shower, she called her mother who berated her.

"How come the twitter knows where you are before your mother, sweetheart? Your brother just called me to tell me something weird about you tending on it-"

"Trending, Mom, it's when people talk about you. I'm sorry, I didn't

think. We arrived thirty minutes ago-"

"How was your flight, baby? Did you sleep?" Her mom, Esme, ever the worrier, just had to cut in and ask.

"Yeah, two hours maybe? I have another hour and a half before we have lunch."

"Alright, I won't bother you much then sweetheart. Be safe, baby, please be careful out there."

"It's Russia, Mom, not a war zone, besides we have plenty of security, you know that" she answered lightly despite her reservations. No need to fuel her mother's anxiety any more with her own.

"I'm your mother, darling. I will always worry about my babies, it can't be helped. Carlisle said to tell you he loves you. Oh and you need to work on your Howitzers, whatever that means."

"He's back in coach mode huh?" She laughed. Her father had a tendency to think he was still coaching his little girl. He would actually debrief most of her games with her afterward, by phone if he had to, never missing an opportunity to tell his favorite player what she could improve in her game. She loved him for it, even if some of her teammates sometimes teased her with it, "tell him I will and I love you both, Mom. Don't worry too much and we'll talk sometimes tomorrow, OK? I'll try to call after practice, whenever that is."

"Perfect. We love you Isabella, be safe."

" Yes, me too. Bye, Mom." She retrieved her headphones from the bedside table to put some music on her phone. She thought briefly about her sightseeing plans but those would have to wait, with the jet lag hitting her again, she was in no mood for a grand tour. Bella crawled under the sheets and set her Keaton Henson play list on to lure herself to sleep. His songs always soothed her; his music seemed almost dreamlike on some notes, haunting, soft and childish at the same time. She put both albums on repeat and set her alarm before closing her eyes, slowly lulled to sleep.

After a brief struggle to wake the fuck up, Bella met with her team barely on time. They ate lunch in the compound's cafeteria. Their coach's choice of typical meal for his team consisted of steamed rice with chicken and beans. Not her favorite, but good enough to sustain her body during competition, she'd give him that. Lunch was timed- as was her whole life these days, it came with the territory for competitive athletes regardless what sport they played. They had thirty minutes to eat before grabbing their gear in their respective rooms and heading to the bus waiting for them -it damn sure beat walking to the ice rink with a heavy bag like she did back in high school. The damn thing weighed a ton with her helmet, gloves, pads, custom skates, stick and team jersey. And yes, she said jersey and not sweater, no matter how offensive it could be to some purists. The feud opposing ancients to moderns was alive and well in hockey. She had personally witnessed countless fights involving fans, anonymous or people she knew arguing for hours on the terminology debate sweater versus jersey. The traditional lingo was fervently praised by some- a ritual of sorts, something that was not to be questioned- the word was firmly ingrained in them. Players still proudly called it by the same name is had first been dubbed- historically, hockey was played outdoors and players would sweat in their warm sweaters, hence the name- as if to honor the ancient garment worn originally. There was the idea that a tradition passed down from generation was alive to this day, perpetuating the glory of their sport. Most of those ardent fans typically ended their rant by declaring it was blasphemy to do otherwise, period. Jerseys were to be left to basketball, baseball and the likes; the marketers and basically the Americans.

If at all possible, one should always frown condescendingly at whoever dared to utter such sacrilegious word. Ridiculous, right? It went a bit far sometimes, but sports make people irrational every now and then. It gets their adrenaline rushing when their team score a goal, their heart pumps faster and they feel happy through proxy. Despite the risk of offending the Canucks and traditionalists alike, she would continue to call hers a jersey.

Their coach had been able to secure the last training spot of the day, right after the figure skaters from whatever country ended their practice. On the menu was basic training, a bit of skating around to familiarize themselves with the 15 feet longer rink than the barns they were used to back home, in compliance with the international regulation. They would also shoot some goals and divide their team in two to play a quick game. Nothing but a regular day for Bella. In addition to every one of her regular team practice, she'd tack one hour of solo shoots on the ice after the team left, which she credited for her sniper talent. She had no secret weapon but strength, hard work, bravery along with a fierce competitiveness coupled to imagination. And yes, maybe she'd plead guilty on the cocky front; she'd dialed it down but knew perfectly well how good she was, and her confidence shone in her game. She put some of the more creative moves out there and got more attention each day. Hockey specialists did not hesitate to compare her stats to her male counterparts anymore which thrilled her father.

The team regrouped in The Room after practice, dressing before the coach explained they would debrief practice, game tactics and what they knew so far about their opponents back in the US compound. Jacob always got paranoid as the competition approached and he wouldn't let anyone non essential to their staff get access to any of their team briefings. They jokingly mocked him for it, because there's only so much originality one can input to hockey tactics but it served them well so far...and to his credit, the man did have some unheard before strategy sometimes.

Slightly frustrated to be heading back with no time to spare for her extra training, Bella had talked to him and asked that he set up something for her with the organization to allow her to come back later that night. The man was only too happy to oblige, no coach in their right mind had ever forbidden more training for their athletes and Jacob Black was no exception. He was pleased to see the length she would go to achieve her goals and her commitment to help the whole team succeed.

They were going towards their room when someone bumped into her. Startled by the impact with a foreign body, Bella could barely make out a shape underneath a red hoodie adorned with the Russian flag. The person, probably expecting to hit the ground after their collision, let out a girlish squeak as her hood fell down her back. She was beautiful; one of those women who made every head turn with her full lips, button nose and deep blue eyes. Those baby blues could most likely get her anything, she thought as she gazed at the alluring woman Fate decided to dangle, so cruelly, in front of her face. Bella's quick reflex helped the slender woman regain her footing as her hands captured her arms, pulling her in close to steady the Slavic picture of perfection. Though she couldn't see past all those winter layers what she saw was enough to convince Bella that luscious curves got along just fine on that lithe body.

"Sorry, didn't see you. You OK?" Shaking off her horny thoughts, apologized to the other woman who was now watching her, a deep frown marring her face. She tried again after a minute of silence when the expression on the Russian's face turned to one of anger. Her blazing eyes glared Bella down. There was a hint of curiosity laced with contempt and indignation in there, perhaps a touch of aggressiveness as well as an unspeakable heaviness radiating from the woman.

Intrigued as fuck, Bella tried to recollect the few words she had learned in Russian for the occasion. "Pri`vet, I'm Bella" she said, pointing towards herself, "I'm sorry...huh...izvi`nite?" Clearly, she was not that impressive in the language if the blank stare she earned with her effort was any indication...

"I'm pretty fucking sure you don't have a clue what I'm trying to say, right?" She sighed at her own ignorant ass. She had tried to learn a bit of Russian before Sochi. In her defense though, the language was so freaking difficult to grasp, with a whole different alphabet and unfamiliar sounds to pronounce. Unfortunately, she didn't have enough time to delve deeper into it, hockey took precedence in every aspect of her life, that was the cost she paid- gladly- for her spot in Team USA's roster.

That did not left much time for any other hobby, hence the piss poor attempt she had just made. The woman looked at her curiously and grunted, before she sent her a deadly glare assorted with a quick string of Russian words Bella could not understand and went on her way.

Well okay, then. Apparently Russia was still not their number one fan...