Summary: Months after the conclusion of the Jr. Goodwill Games, Julie and Gunnar have a surprise opportunity to see each other again over Christmas. Julie/Gunnar. Multi-chap, Julie's POV. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: No ownership, no profit. No worries.
Author's Note: This next chapter came together more quickly than I had expected, so I figured I'd share it at the start of the weekend. We have swimming and more Sanderson goodness to look forward to in this one, so I hope you enjoy!
Sympathy for the Icelanders: Epilogue
Christmas Surprises – Chapter 4
Olaf must have spent the night with Gunnar, because goodness knows I was not expecting to see him there again first thing the following morning. My surprise must have shown, judging by the sadistic little smile that appeared on his face when he saw me. Evidently, a truce didn't mean he was going to completely leave me alone for as long as we were in each other's presence.
Even with me there, he and Gunnar had plenty to say to each other in Icelandic, and I could only imagine how much of what was said pertained to me. Although, if Olaf had slept over, he should have had plenty of time to talk things over with his friend after I went to bed. I took comfort in the fact that the mood between them seemed perfectly normal and at ease, and therefore nothing too dramatic could have happened late last night.
While we were eating breakfast, Sanderson asked me, "Are you coming with us this afternoon?"
I had no idea what he was talking about, and my spoon froze halfway to my mouth. "I don't know, what's happening this afternoon?"
"That's when we were supposed to get Mikael out on the ice," Gunnar supplied helpfully, "though it's not going to happen now."
"Yah, but it would be almost as good if we could take some shots at America's favorite goalie."
I quickly interjected, "Sorry, Olaf, but I don't think that's likely to happen, either."
"What's wrong?" he baited me at once, his blue eyes full of mischief and mirth. "Don't tell me you're too scared without the rest of your Ducks here to protect you?"
"Not at all!" I shot back. "If I was scared of you guys, I wouldn't even be here right now. You find me gear that fits, and I'll be happy to get in goal for you. But I'm sure not stupid enough to play without it, especially not against you all."
Sanderson sat back and smirked, looking a little too eager to take me up on that. "I'll ask around. Maybe someone we know still has their goalie gear from five years ago."
Gunnar, who had remained quiet throughout this latest little altercation, merely shrugged at his friend's suggestion, enough to acknowledge the possibility without offering any real optimism. I was still stuck on the insinuations of his final remark. Five years? Am I really that much smaller than them that they'd have to go back five whole years to find something that would fit me? Probably.
Olaf left after lunch to retrieve his own gear from home, agreeing to meet us on the ice an hour later.
While Gunnar and I were packing an athletic bag for ourselves, he suddenly questioned, "Did Mikael tell you to bring a swimsuit?"
At last with the swimsuit! "Yes, he did, actually, and I've been wondering why ever since."
Gunnar enlightened me, "There are many places to swim in Reykjavik, like where we are going today. We could also go to the Blue Lagoon, if you are interested."
"Blue Lagoon?" I repeated. "What's that?"
"It is a popular place for visitors to go swim outdoors, even in winter. The water is always warm naturally."
"Ah, so it's a big tourist attraction. Would you even want to go, if that's the case?"
He shrugged. "I have been there before, and I would not go again by myself; but you should see it while you are here. It is a special place."
"All right, then," I consented while he pulled me close into his arms. "It does sound pretty neat. As long as you're sure you don't mind?"
He leaned down to kiss me, his lips smiling against my own. "I won't mind anything if you are there. We'll go tomorrow, and I don't think you will be disappointed."
Olaf and another Icelandic teen were already on the ice warming up when we arrived at the athletic center which housed the rink. I didn't recognize the latter, at least not by his face. His hair was brown, and he was notably shorter than his two teammates. But I knew better than to let his stature influence my appraisal of his talent when Gunnar introduced him as Gustav Uberjavik, number seventy-four from the Jr. Goodwill Games. That rang a bell. Now I remembered number seventy-four as being a solid defender and an exceptional puck-handler – nearly as great a menace to Greg Goldberg back then as number nine and number twenty-seven had been.
Gunnar and I skated out to join them, and Gustav nodded to both of us in greeting.
"You're not Mikael," he remarked dryly to me when we were close enough.
I sighed and held out my hands in mock surrender. "I seem to be getting that a lot lately. Sorry to keep disappointing everyone."
I didn't sense any outright hostility from Gustav, only a definite curiosity as he studied me more closely. He was probably trying to figure out exactly what Gunnar saw in me, which I had to admit was only fair.
As it turned out, the Icelanders couldn't come up with any goalie equipment in my size. In a way, I was relieved; but another part of me had almost been hoping they'd be able to find something, just so I could prove to them that my save of Gunnar's shot last summer hadn't been a fluke. I knew Gunnar himself didn't believe that to be the case, but I couldn't be so sure about the rest of those Vikings.
After a bit of leisurely skating, we played two-on-two for a while, facing a sadly empty net. Gunnar and I were on one team, going up against Olaf and Gustav on the other. Our opponents had the upper hand for virtually every play, since I obviously wasn't in my usual position, and Gunnar and I had zero experience playing on the same team in any setting. Olaf and Gustav operated together like a well-oiled machine, although Gunnar could handle either one whenever he was able to get them alone.
But soon enough, I could tell the boys were ready to increase the physicality of their play. Even though they weren't playing in full pads, they were clearly holding back their typical aggression for my sake and were just as clearly anxious to be freed of the restraint. I withdrew from the ice to a place where I could sit and watch, while Olaf hailed down a new addition to complete their foursome. I would learn from Gunnar afterward that my replacement was an acceptable, able-bodied acquaintance of theirs from school, rather than an actual teammate from the University of Wolf Stansson.
It was almost painful for me to watch them play against that empty net – way too easy for players with their skill! The only thing that helped me overlook it was seizing this unique opportunity to observe Gunnar Stahl in his most natural environment. Even while playing for fun, he and his colleagues were more orderly and far more physical than my Ducks would ever have been. I caught myself wincing at a few of the hits out there, some of which Gunnar received and some that he dealt out.
Should I have been worried? How were none of them getting hurt? The heavy contact didn't seem to be adversely affecting them, and their skating remained strong. Eventually I was forced to simply accept it and enjoy watching Gunnar skate and interact with his teammates, even if I couldn't understand a word that was being said. In spite of how intensely the teenagers played, they shared plenty of smiles amongst themselves, and I began to suspect that they didn't truly start enjoying a hockey game until they had gotten in a few solid hits.
Gunnar and his new partner fared considerably better than he and I had. Now that the four of them were more or less equally matched, Gunnar and Olaf could cover each other, while Gustav and the newcomer did the same. But Olaf and Gustav still had the advantage of being real teammates outside of this little scrimmage, so they ultimately came out on top.
Gunnar still played his heart out, as one would expect from him, yet his individual talent couldn't atone for having a partner that he simply didn't know as well as someone like Sanderson. Even so, I was amazed now just as much as ever at how effortlessly he moved across the ice and at how easily he seemed to maneuver himself and the puck into exactly the right position. His presence out there among his peers was commanding and unmistakable; I'm sure even someone who didn't know the smallest thing about hockey would have a hard time taking their eyes off him.
The friendly game ended when their nameless acquaintance was called away by an impatient parent. I rejoined the three Icelanders whom I knew to skate with them again while they cooled down. By this time, the rink was a little more crowded, and I noticed several people (girls, in particular) sending shrewd, incredulous glances toward our little group. Apparently it was a strange occurrence to see a female skater hanging around so casually with some of Reykjavik's toughest young hockey players. I would be lying if I said that I didn't enjoy the covert attentions to some degree.
After leaving the ice a short while later, we walked past a gymnasium where I spied a group of college-aged students playing a game that looked sort of like a mixture between basketball and soccer. With a sudden, dawning realization, I stopped abruptly and grabbed Gunnar's wrist to make him do the same.
"Is this handball?" I asked, gesturing through the gym window. "Like Mikael plays?"
He smiled, probably proud of my deduction. "Yes, it is; only he is much better than this."
"So I figured."
"The Handball World Championship will actually be held here in Reykjavik next year," he then informed me. "That will be a fun time, and itshould finally get Mikael back to Iceland for a little while."
It had been the plan all along that the four of us would soak in an outdoor thermal pool once we'd set aside our skates. We parted ways to go through our separate locker rooms, and upon seeing the guys in their swimsuits for the first time, I just had to allow myself a purely feminine moment in which I silently thanked Wolf Stansson for keeping all of his players in such exemplary physical condition.
The boys were understandably pale, considering the climate they lived in, and I wondered suddenly if they'd had any issues with sunburn out under the summer sun of southern California. But still, no girl could deny they did look good! Gunnar was the handsomest of all of them, of course. However, a closer inspection revealed that all three of them bore patterns of various bruises along their arms and torsos, some fresh and others fading. I guess even the best hockey pads didn't work perfectly all the time – especially not when you played for Coach Stansson.
Once we were all immersed in the warm water, safe from the frigid air, I scooted closer to Gunnar and welcomed the feel of his arm wrapping around my shoulders. As long as that didn't change, I felt I was ready to put up with whatever sort of teasing Olaf and/or Gustav might choose to unleash; and they did indeed have fun at my expense. Once again, having two older brothers was proving to be excellent preparation for this trip. Gunnar didn't try to make them stop either, provided things never got too inappropriate.
They kept themselves primarily entertained by trying to teach me some basic Icelandic, and it didn't take me long to realize what a difficult language I was dealing with. I felt pretty good about myself after mastering a few very, very simple phrases; but as soon as Gustav tried to teach me how to say "God bless you" after someone sneezes, my poor tongue got hopelessly twisted and tied. No matter how many times he said it aloud for me, I just couldn't get my own words to match his.
Gunnar himself finally laughed at me along with his friends, briefly tightening his hold on me and concluding, "Let's just stick to English. Or maybe you would have better luck with German?"
"No, don't teach her German!" protested Gustav with a groan. "It's bad enough that you and Mikael can have your own private conversations anytime you want."
"Or your own private shouting matches, more likely," Olaf added, winking conspiratorially at me when he caught my eye.
I shook my head back at him but couldn't wholly repress a smile. "Well, how do you think I feel listening to you guys speak Icelandic all the time? But no thank you, Gunnar, I think trying German would just confuse me even more. Maybe English would be best for everyone, like you said; plus, that way you all won't have to listen to me butcher your native language anymore."
The enthusiasm with which they unanimously agreed to my proposal made me wonder why on earth they'd been so eager to teach me in the first place.
I'm glad I allowed Gunnar to convince me to go to the Blue Lagoon – and not just because I was looking forward to a swimming situation in which I would have him all to myself for a change. When we arrived there the next day, it was like landing on a different planet!
Steam rose up from the warm, milky blue waters like a giant cloud all around us. The water depth and temperature changed seemingly at random as we moved around, which helped prevent us from ever getting either too hot or too cold. It was so comfortable, I could hardly believe we were actually outside in Iceland in the middle of winter!
Even the rocks there were worth mentioning. Above the water, they were black and jagged like all other volcanic rock, but then they were remarkably smooth and pure white underneath the water's surface. As we explored the Lagoon, Gunnar led me over to a large wooden box full of what appeared to be white mud. He reached in and scooped some into his hand.
"It's good for your skin," he explained before smearing it on my face with absolutely no warning. Once I had recovered from my surprise, I gladly returned the favor.
The rock formations throughout the Lagoon created an abundance of natural nooks and corners that were perfect for stealing short kisses, along with a couple of tunnels that were ideal for longer ones. Despite being so warm and relaxed in the water, I still shivered once or twice from the sheer physical thrill of skin-to-skin contact. Though we didn't stay too late, the early darkness that fell over Iceland at this time of year heightened the feeling of intimacy between us in this positively surreal setting.
Back home later that evening, I realized to my utter horror that, while silica mud and natural mineral waters might be good for the skin, they wreaked havoc on a person's hair. Mine felt like clumps of straw! But Elina, bless her, noticed my state of near panic and assured me that a generous second or third treatment of conditioner in the shower would get my hair back to normal. I'm very happy to report she was correct.
Author's End Note: The World Championship of Handball really was held in Reykjavik's Laugardalur Valley back in 1995. Amazing how that timing worked out for this story!