You can see that it's sunday because I get time to post what I wrote hehe.

December, 1st week

Something was terribly wrong. He could literally smell it, and it wasn't about the few snowflakes that lingered in the air. It wasn't cold enough to stick to the ground; not that he cared, he lived ten minutes from here on foot.

No.

Something was wrong with his little fairy. His eyes had caught her wince as she dragged something out of her bag before Alexandre – her devoted accomplice – helped her with it. And they had switched seats as well, putting Frances against the wall, hidden in a corner. Away from him and his prying eyes ?

Tristan started his class, determined to find out what might have happened to cause such peculiar behaviour. For apart from the occasional wince of pain – something to do with her arm – the young woman seemed as fiery as usual. Cheery, even.

For the better part of the hour, Tristan devoted himself to his band of merry lads as they studied a map of Chamonix and the beautiful ice-sea. A landscape that was a mere two hours from the city and was really worth the detour. Today's assignments covered both geology and geography, and he was as floored as usual by how cultured they were. Many of them enjoyed hiking in the alps, and he was regaled with tales of rock climbing, finding Edelweiss and snow storms. Which derived to skiing as the map displayed the lifts strongly anchored in the granite of the Belledone mountain range. In the corner, he could see Frances snigger with her faithful neighbour and he took advantage of her mirth.

— "Whatever has caused such merriment must be worth sharing, Frances."

There was neither disdain nor sarcasm in his voice, not even an ounce of annoyment but the young woman turned crimson, her eyes wide like those of a doe caught in headlights. Tristan immediately regretted putting her in the spotlight; while she enjoyed bantering with the others, Frances didn't like the attention so much. Or perhaps it was him, for his attention surely was set upon her face… upon the ugly bruise marring her cheekbone. Tristan frowned, a chill running up his spine as his eyes squinted. Realising her mistake, Frances ducked her head instantly.

— "Sorry, sir. The story would be more fitting after a few beers"

She wasn't taking a risk there; Frances never partook in the classes evenings at the bar. Given the situation, though, Tristan wasn't about to sell her ruse away, for he usually came with.

— "That's a deal. Next time at Joe's, we will remind you to share"

— "Meaning we'll have to drag you there", one of her classmates quipped back.

An exclamation ensued, and Tristan had to hide his worry to regain control of the class before it went sideways. And while he gathered his wits to reclaim the attention, dread pooled in his stomach, considering the many reasons why the young woman might have been hurt. He had heard nothing in the staff room, but the specialised teachers scarcely came by anyway. And after the fiasco with her biology teacher… well. Alain should have noticed, at least ! Was everyone ignoring that one of their students had been hurt ? And badly, at that, for now that he knew, he could clearly see how her left arm pained her.

So while a thousand possibilities ran through his clouded mind – a car accident, a fall in the stairs… an attack in the streets, an abusive boyfriend ? – his well-behaved class led the show. He could never thank them enough for making his job easier than today. And when the bell rang, at last – had it been only half an hour ? – Tristan dismissed them with a weary smile.

Of course, Frances was avoiding his gaze. Smart woman, she knew, as much as he did, that one look was all it took for him to pin someone in place. He was bound to interrogate her. Tristan didn't give her time to slip away, putting himself in her path.

— "Frances, a word please"

The young woman protested, her friend stilling by her side.

— "But I have biology tutorial right after…"

— "In half an hour, if I am not mistaken"

Caught in her lie, Frances settled her gaze on the ground. It didn't reassure him the least; why did she seek to avoid him if her injury wasn't caused by someone close ? Would he have to involve the police ? Child services ? No, she was an adult already.

— "I'll stay", Alexandre suggested.

Tristan glared at the boy. He had to give him some credit; Alexandre had some guts to stand up to him. Frances shrugged then, waving her friend away.

— "Ah, don't bother. It will be over soon, take advantage of the break to spend time with Rozenn"

Rozenn ? Girlfriend ? Alexandre nodded, sending him a wary look before walking away. Tristan waited for the door to close before his eyes returned to Frances. She was standing awkwardly, biting her lip nervously. Not one to bit around the bush, the teacher stated sternly.

— "What happened ?", he asked.

— "I fell ?"

So she was going to play dumb. Tristan gestured to his own cheekbone, watching the different emotions that passed in the deep swirl of her chocolate eyes. Seeing that no more explanation was forthcoming, he stated plainly:

— "Right. That's a lame excuse, you know ?"

Her eyes flashed dangerously, anger overtaking awkwardness so suddenly that he took a step back to perch himself upon a table.

— "That's not an excuse, and I never lie, SIR"

The emphasis on the last word lashed out like a whip. Damn, for a twenty-year-old, she certainly could look intimidating. Quite a force to be reckoned with, but he was older and made of sturdier stuff than her classmates.

— "Is this your boyfriend's work ?"

Bafflement took over, followed by amusement then…. She burst out of laughing. So carefree, so unrestrained that he found himself smiling. Her mirth caused him joy; she was so communicative. At last, the young woman wiped a tear out of her eye and looked at him with renewed candor.

— "Is that why you are so stern and mighty ?"

The expression caught him off guard as he realised what she meant. He went into doom and gloom, interrogating like an inspector and imagining the worst. Facing the truth, nailed by a woman ten years younger than him, put him in an awkward position. So he just nodded sheepishly, letting the insecure boy take over the responsible professor. Frances chuckled again before addressing him.

— "Aaah, sorry. Anyway, do I look like someone who would accept to be beaten by a man ?"

Her jab landed true; no, she wasn't that kind of woman. Albeit shy, there was true strength of character behind those chocolate eyes. Sometimes, he had trouble relating her to her age, speaking to her like an equal and not like her senior teacher.

— "No. I don't think you take crap from anyone. So what happened ?"

A brown eyebrow lifted upon her face to mark her words.

— "As I told you, I fell. On the ice"

He winced sympathetically.

— "Ouch, nothing broken?"

The young woman glanced at her arm; the movement was stiff and cautious.

— "No. The elbow is sore, but I had a radio and it's fine. Just swollen but the muscles have seized because of the shock. It will pass. Hopefully, in time for the ice-skating show"

Tristan's shoulders sagged a little; he'd been worrying for nothing and the tightness in his chest was loosening now. Then, her words registered in his brain.

— "Hey, wait, what show ?"

— "The Christmas annual gala. I'm presenting a little piece at the festival, but I can't seem to pass that axel. A simple fu… hum. One turn and a half. I tried a few too many times, my ass is numb and I fell sideways. Believe me, I've been berated enough so if you feel like furrowing your brows and yelling at me that I overtrained, I'll be going right now"

Tristan's eyebrows shot up; figure skating ! He was impressed, truly impressed this time. So impressed that he didn't even remark she had been berating him. Tristan loved dancing, but figure skating was one way above his level of skill. Suddenly, her lithe form and graceful moves made a whole new lot of sense. Frances was a woman of many talents. His mouth ran ahead of his brain; a feat that happened often enough in her presence as he reverted to himself rather than the authority figure.

— "Wow. I never had a student presenting an ice-skating show before."

Frances cocked her head aside, trying to not disturb her bent arm.

— "Are you familiar with Gwendal Peizerat and Marina Anissina ?", she asked.

— "They won the Olympics, right ?"

The impressed look went the other way this time. Finding someone familiar with the dancing discipline rather than the purely 'figure and jumps' one was scarce enough to be praised.

— "Yes. They train in Charlemagne skating rink. This is where I took my first steps on the ice."

The teacher tried to reminisce the piece he'd seen on TV, the long red hair of the Russian dancer coming to the forefront. Oh ! This is where it came from.

— "Is that the reason for your hair color ?"

She gave him a lopsided smile, her eyes caressing him with such fondness that it warmed his heart. What was it, with this young woman, that tugged at him so strongly ? Perhaps it was just the way she was…

— "A little"

A moment passed, when their eyes seemed to communicate a world, lost in time. Then Frances blinked, breaking the charm, removing her sweet presence from his aura. A sudden urge seized his guts.

— "Is it open to everyone ?"

His hopeful tone seemed to strike her and she froze.

— "Uh ?"

— "The show"

A smile broke over her lips, a radiant bright expression that shone like a thousand suns.

— "Yeah. I can probably get you a seat if you want to."

Tristan suddenly felt self-conscious, his hands fiddling with the hem of his untugged shirt. Would his presence at a student's show be crossing the line ? Perhaps not; after all, he was supposed to advocate and cheer for them, right ? But deep down, he knew it was more personal. For once, he was the one whose gaze fell to the ground, watching the rounded tip of her shoes that peeked under the slacks. Her legs seemed rather interminable with the heels hidden like this, quite like his own long legs.

Tristan swallowed.

— "I'd like that."

— "How many ?"

His head shot up. How many ? Oh. Family, wife, children… Yeah. No.

— "Just one."

She gave him a speculative look, as if she quite couldn't believe he was single – he wore a wedding band after all. Was she going to pry ? Ask if his wife didn't like skating ?

No. She just nodded.

— "Your wish is my command, sir Tristan", she quipped playfully.

And the proud young woman was back, teasing him as she reached for her bag. He rushed to pick up the blasted thing – it weighed a fucking ton ! – and settled it on her shoulder, his hands brushing her t-shirt in the process. The gesture left him slightly flustered and Frances left him there, considering the emotions that coursed through his veins. But right before she opened the door, the fiery redhead turned to him.

— "And I don't have time for a boyfriend. I've got too much to do already"

His heart leapt in joy as the door clanged close.

Three weeks later

Many eyes were on her as he climbed the outside stairs to the skating rink. With her hair unbound and heavy make-up, Frances truly looked … otherwordly. There were no other words for it, and for once, Tristan didn't shy away from admiring her figure. In her training clothes, her toned legs were displayed rather boldly. Fortunately, she wore a long vest over the rest, hiding a silhouette many young women would have killed for. And she was waiting for him, so he gestured in the crowd.

— "Hey !"

Her head turned at once, so radiant a smile blooming on her face that it took his breath away. Why did his stomach do flip flops whenever she showed her appreciation ? Perhaps he ought to take a little distance; she was a student, not his friend. Yet, he enjoyed his conversations with her. She was witty, and funny, and viewed the world so very differently. Shaking those thoughts away, Tristan climbed the steps in haste, his hand foundling the little token in his pocket. Perhaps he should keep that to himself…

Frances waved at him shyly, then fished a ticket out of her breast pocket.

— "There, here's your seat."

Tristan's fingers brushed hers as he picked the red and gold card.

— "Thank you."

— "No, thank you for coming. You'll probably find my roommates somewhere inside if you want company"

Of course, for support ! How he would have enjoyed such a tight group in his days as a student. He surmised he'd better get there and find them, but his hand was still fondling the little piece of cloth in his pocket, refusing to let him go.

— "Good, great. Erm. You look good"

The young woman blushed profusely, dipping her head.

— "Ah, uh, the heavy make-up is supposed to put emphasis on our expression since we're so far away from the public"

— "Like ballet dancers, yes."

He wasn't about to say that it made her eyes seem huge, especially now that she was gazing at him so openly. Nor that it emphasised the golden flecks that radiated from the centre of her irises. That would probably seem a little personal, right ?

— "So, are you ready ?"

The young woman took a deep breath, then nodded, her features determined.

— "As ready as I could ever be"

There was such finality in her words that he knew he needed to let her go; all artists needed some time down before performing, and he was keeping her in the freezing cold with too light a vest. So Tristan gave her a final smile and resisted the urge to hug her – ever since that fateful day, his body wanted her back in his embrace. She fit so well in his arms !

Instead, his right hand reached into his pocket and offered the little piece of nonsense he'd picked for her. A good luck charm, in the form of a four leaves clover; just a piece of ready to iron badge he had found while buying some thread at the local cloth store.

— "There, a good luck charm for the lady"

Frances' eyes widened so comically that he couldn't help but grin at her awed expression. He doubted she would look happier the day her lover would drop to one knee and present a diamond ring. Damn… bad thoughts. He wasn't ready to plunge into such a fantasy, and took off immediately, leaving a dumbfounded Frances with a four-leaves clover in her palm.

The hall was very crowded and he pushed his way into the stalls, wondering if he had made a mistake. The chill of the ice rink greeted him, and Tristan searched the rows for familiar figures. It was them who found him instead, three sets of arms swinging in his direction as the yelled his name.

— "Hey ! Mr Kristiansen, over here !"

The teacher smiled, seeing they had kept a seat for him. As he approached, he realised there were many more students he had thought in the first place. Alexandre and Rozenn, of course, but also a set of Bertrand, one of the Oliviers and Madeleyne. The young lady scooted aside to give him space, remarking as his ass wasn't so large after all and making him laugh. Damn girl, she really was bold when she wanted to. He was sad to see her go.

— "So you've come to cheer Frances as well ?", she asked, her long hair falling past her waist.

Thinking of it, he had never realised how similar to Frances Madeleyne's hair was; long, wavy and bordering on russet. Yet, it didn't stir him the same way. Setting those thoughts aside, he smiled at the girl.

— "Of course, and I enjoy ice skating."

— "So you'll come and cheer me at the next bow competition ?", came Emeline's voice from the left.

Tristan's eyebrows rose into his hairline.

— "You practise the bow ?"

The little brunette nodded, earning respect from her geography teacher.

— "You amaze me, all of you. You've got so little time on your hands but you still manage to make the most of it"

— "It keeps us sane… well, nearly sane"

Madeleyne's voice broke his heart. After the incident for her birthday, the young woman had decided to quit and go home. He couldn't blame her, only give her reassurance that she had done nothing wrong, and that her brilliant mind would find an occupation elsewhere. He was glad, overall, to spend this last moment beside her before she packed her bags. After all, he would also be gone a month from now, but he couldn't remember a bunch of students that had marked him so strongly.

Olivier, from the seat below him, tried to get his attention in the noisy crowd by tapping upon his tibia.

— "If you like out of the ordinary things, there's a bunch of guys that practise juggling, and monocycle in the gymnasium once in a while. That's a sight"

Circus, ice skaters and bow wielder. How many more surprises would he find there ? Truly, he had taken this assignment to flee the conflict with his wife and break the routine. There was no disappointment there and he found himself in awe of the students, burdened beyond measure under assignments yet striving to keep their core intact. Such determination and drive; those young students would stop at nothing to make their way in life, and he respected them for it.

— "Artists. You are art-scientists. And a great class to teach", he said fondly.

— "Well, you're a great teacher", retorted Alexandre. "Too bad you are not staying after Christmas"

Tristan was saved from responding for the music started, and little ladies made their way across the ice to start the Christmas Gala. Clad in butterfly wings, they blessed the ice with a multitude of sparkling particles that turned the surface into a sea of stars. Such little cuties… Would a daughter of his look so lovely someday ? Would they have those blondish curls and innocent air, the little upturned nose and big blue eyes ? If they took after his wife, they surely would.

The age range increased little by little, dollies turning into girls from five to ten years old. The level followed the same trend as teenagers came into play, their technique much more advanced than he expected. One of them even performed double jumps, causing him to clap loudly. To see such a young one mastering two turns in the air seemed rather incredible. His neighbours, girls and boys alike, cheered and clapped with enthousiasm, but not as strongly as when Frances appeared on the ice.

Her long auburn hair ran free behind her, her arms clad in ethereal cloth that looked like a pair of wings. The bodice, of sparkling white and deep purple, stuck to her form like a second skin. Fortunately, the uneven stripes than ran from shoulder to hip tended to confuse the eye and prevent her curves from standing out. The bottom of the bodice flared in an uneven skirt, as if it had been torn to shred or burnt, baring her long legs. The contrast with the trail of fire cascading down her back in ringlets was striking. So beautiful !

A loud whistle took him out of his contemplation, and his hand naturally hit the back of Olivier's head as he crudely remarked upon his classmate's figure. The young man only smiled; it was well deserved ! A loud round of applause greeted Frances as she positioned herself in the center of the ice rink – such a wide expanse of ice, for one lonely little woman. She must be terrified. But her face did not show it; she was concentrated, lost in her bubble. A hush fell over the assistance right before the music started, then…

Then she was flying over the ice… Fast. Faster than the precedent girls, with more purpose. The music was lyric, strong and inspiring. But not as much as her steps as she lifted her arms wide and let the fabric of her wings fly behind her.

— "Oh ! it's 'How to train your dragon'. She's a dragon !", Emeline cried out.

A dragon, how fitting. A beautiful, ethereal, real fire breathing dragon; for he knew what lingered below the gentleness. A rock-hard determination. The strength to stand up to her main teacher, no matter the consequences. By now, she had turned backwards and was following a circle, legs crossing, picking up speed. And despite the lesser technique – the teenagers had been more advanced - he found her so incredibly graceful. She has such presence when her arms opened that he could only go wherever she wanted to lead. His eyes trapped… his heart following.

Frances lifted a leg up in an arabesque, holding it for a moment, then she bent further away and opened it to a near split. The graceful pose caused a few applauses to rise. The music was so beautiful, her dancing so enthralling, wide, long moves with a few turns, as if she was embracing the world. Honestly, she could have merely circled the rink that he would have found it fantastic. But she wasn't keeping to such comfort.

Something broke in the music, the sound turning dissonant, mimicking a fall. Harrowing. Frances started a series of complicated steps, even attempting a pirouette where her body wasn't aligned with her legs, giving the impression that she wasn't holding the equilibrium. She turned and turned without keeping the directions, arms bent awkwardly, then started a series of single jumps that took her to the other side of the skating rink. One turn, half a turn, then a leg out, her head falling backwards as her back bent ever so slowly, her long hair falling past her knees.

The trumpets rung, louder and louder until… Until everything felt right again, and Frances unfolded like a chrysalide, opening her arms wide again and taking speed. Then… she jumped. One turn and half, and a graceful landing, and she smiled while her colleagues whistled and cheered. She'd made it ! She had passed her axel, and was positively radiant on the ice. And while the music cheered up, she started spinning in a pirouette with a leg out, occupying the space as if the ice belonged to her. Long, elegant limbs reaching out to him.

Another set of merry steps followed, then another attitude where she lifted her right leg up so high that it formed a Y with her body. She didn't falter, smile wide, her other arm greeting the public as she sailed like the wind on the ice. Happy. Carefree. Totally unbridled and flying with her wings, her hair waving around her like a halo of fire. It was such a beautiful sigh, and when the music stopped, Tristan knew he wanted to see her dance on the ice again. Or dance in his arms. His enthusiastic claps didn't begin to express how wonderful he felt, for Frances' freedom seemed now ingrained in his heart. As if she had unleashed his inner self by sharing her art.

Yes, he very much wanted to dance again. Tango, salsa, waltz or rock'n'roll he didn't care much, as long as he could share it with her. Tonight, she had sowed the seed of inspiration in his chest.