"If you drop me, I'm literally going to kill you."
"Pfft," Harley scoffed. "Like your scrawny ass even could."
"You just called my ass fat last week."
Harley started an impromptu lap around the ice, like she could skate away from her inconsistency. "Somethin's wrong with it," she shouted over her shoulder. "Just can't put my finger on it at the moment."
"Wow." Pam was doing her best to hide the legitimate offense she'd taken. "I knew you were a liar, but I didn't think you'd take your deception this far."
Barbara, who was staring blankly up at the ceiling, straight into the fluorescent lights, sighed. "Your ass is fantastic, Pamela. Harley, quit being squirrely."
"She threatened to kill me, Babs!" Harley complained, stopping so hard in front of Pam that the redhead was showered with ice shavings. "If she wants to keep those pants dry, she better start encouraging me."
"I love how this is a conversation you could be having with each other," Barbara said, her delivery sardonic.
Pam vigorously wiped her pants down, her typically fair features scrunched to nearly an unrecognizable degree. "Can you even shoulder press 115lbs?"
"Hell yeah I can!" Harley puffed up. "For 10 reps, and I only gotta lift you three times, so I'm more than prepared."
"Fine," Pam acquiesced. "I trust you. There. That encouraging enough?"
Harley narrowed her eyes, skating backwards to her mark without breaking eye contact. "I guess we'll see."
Pam did not have a good feeling about this. But 10 reps. That was plenty. Harley had trained. She was her partner, for better or worse, Pam had to trust her.
…although, that little voice in Pam's head couldn't help but remind her that pressing a barbell above your head 10 times was a lot different than holding a human being there while wearing ice skates. And Harley could barely even put those on.
Fuck.
Pam closed her eyes, taking a deep, centering breath. You're fine. It's going to be alright.
"I got you," Harley said, her voice legitimately encouraging. "Trust me."
Trust her.
The one who's stupid husband—nope, nope. Task at hand. This was a totally different relationship. Harley's success rested on Pam's now. They were a team. They would succeed together or not at all.
"Keep your back strong, Harl," Barbara instructed. "Let her do the work. You're going to intercept her at your chest, then all you have to do is catch and press."
"Got it, got it." Harley nodded, determination hardening her gaze. "Easy peasy."
"And Pam." Pam didn't look, just listened. "The strength for a jump comes from your quads, hammies, and glutes, not your ankle, alright? Your skates keep you moving, your power is in that ass."
Pam nodded silently. OK.
She could see the panic in Harley's eyes as she approached. Pam got the height…Harley just wasn't quite able to…catch, her.
Pam's skull cracked down hard on the ice after slipping right through Harley's outstretched arms.
"Oh shit!" Harley panicked, kneeling down beside her.
"Jesus, Harleen," Barbara groaned, turning her wheelchair around and aiming it in the direction of the locker rooms.
"Pam!" Harley was yelling right in her ear. "Pamela, can you hear me?!"
"Fuuuuck….you…Harley." Pam moaned in pain, sitting up slowly. "I think I have a concussion."
"Oh God." Harley was practically in tears at this point. "You're bleeding! Pam, your cheek!"
Confused, Pam rubbed her cheek with the back of her hand, then examined it to find her lipstick was smeared all over it. "That's makeup, dumbass. Take a deep breath."
Harley tried to do as she was told, holding it in her chest until her cheeks bugged out and her lungs screamed.
"I said breathe!"
"Here." Barbara was back, and was tossing something at Pam. It was plastic, and skidded across the ice until it lay by her side. "For safety."
Pam blinked, clearing the fog away from her eyes to realize it was a helmet.
A red one.
With yellow flames on the side.
"I'm not wearing that."
"Your IQ's already dropped 8 points today. Strap that fucker on."
"Wait…" Harley had finally calmed back down. "Why are you wearing makeup for a training session?"
"And why are you obsessed with me?"
/
"Go!"
Pam skated forward, a bit more gingerly this time.
Harley kept her hands closer to her body, as she'd been instructed...
They were just…a little too close.
The blonde crumbled to the ice when Pam kneed her directly in the gut.
"Shit, sorry!"
"Pam! Language!" Barbara chastised. "Go again. Tuck those knees."
Harley was coughing.
"I think she needs a minute," Pam observed. "…are you OK?"
Harley raised a shaking hand, offering an unconvincing thumbs up.
/
Pam tripped, sliding into Harley's skates and taking her legs out from under her.
Barbara buried her face in her hands. "You have to at least make it to her, Isley."
/
"Higher, Pam! Eat pussy, don't be one."
"What?!" the redhead dragged herself up off the ice, offering her hand to Harley.
"I don't know," Barbara admitted. "I was trying to encourage you in terms you would undertand."
/
"Goddamn it, Harley."
/
"Harley! Keep your hands out of her crotch!"
/
"No, Harley! Don't skate away from her!"
/
"Back strong, arms close….and….lift! Yes! ….No!" Barbara amended as they toppled over, Pam landing on top of Harley.
Pam didn't move immediately, just panted into Harley's neck, officially exhausted.
"Uh…Pam?" Harley inquired. "Your—hehe—your breath tickles."
The redhead groaned, the sound coming from somewhere low in her throat as she clambered off the other woman, though she only made it as far as her knees, the energy to get up completely escaping her.
Barbara raised an eyebrow. "You OK there, Harl?" she was referencing the color in Harley's cheeks and the way she was awkwardly adjusting her sweatpants.
"My pants are wet—the ice got my pants wet. I'm wet from the ice. The stuff I'm sitting on."
Pam was too tired to pay attention to her partner. "I think I'm going to have to call it a day. I've got a migraine, probably from a concussion, and this helmet is quickly eating away at my self-esteem."
"Yeah," Harley agreed, yanking herself upright. "That helmet looks really stupid."
"Eat me," Pam spat.
"That's not the expression, Pam."
Pam glanced over at her coach, puzzled. "What is it, then?"
"It's 'bite me'," Barbara told her. "What's your name?"
"N…Nancy Kerrigan?"
Barbara let out a long breath. "Get her to the showers, Harley."
"I'm not—I'm not taking a shower with her!" Harley sputtered.
Barbara cocked her head, feeling like she was missing something. "No one…asked you to?"
