April 1981
Four months into her partnership with Ben, the snows have turned grey in the streets and the days lengthen to the point where they no longer come and go from training in total darkness. The competitive season is over and the off-season stretches out ahead of them. Months that should be spent on a southern beach or at a dacha in the country will be spent indoors, learning their first programs together.
Worlds came and went the month prior, and the podium step that was meant to hold him with his previous partner was filled by a Canadian team-their flag raised to the rafters, their anthem played over the scratchy loudspeaker system.
"Turn it off," Ben had snapped as they sat watching it in his uncle's living room.
"They skated well," she tried. "And their coaches have connections, too."
His back was to her where he stood at the window, looking out over the city. Luke was away with his junior team that had medalled at the championship. A silver was a decent finish for them, enough to keep the federation out of Luke's hair and them sheltered as they learned to work with each other.
Ben gave a curt shake of his head, one she recognized all too well. For a moment she thought he would expound when he didn't, she leaned forward to pour a bit more tea. It was an expensive brand from the far eastern provinces, one not normally available at the stores unless you knew people or had a little extra money to grease the palm of a worker.
Rey had never known anybody.
She was about to sip when Ben spoke.
"You know I never even wanted to be an artistic skater? I wanted to play hockey."
She wanted to roll her eyes at his back. Every little Russian boy wants to play hockey, but who ever gets what they want? He is tall and built perfectly for pairs, and while his face is long and his ears stick out, there is a kind of fleeting beauty to him that would be wasted under a helmet.
Besides, his family's success in the sport practically wrote his story before he was born.
Rey tucks the excess of her laces in the top of her boot and rolls her knitted legwarmers down. She hears him approach before she straightens up.
"You ready yet, Princess?"
His sarcastic nickname for her seemed like an insult at first. Her earliest memory was a high window in the shabby dance studio the orphan girls went to, one with a rounded top and panes like the spokes of a wheel. She would look up at it as the dance teacher led the girls in warm-ups, patrolling the rows and correcting them here and there. A touch on the hip, a poke in the behind, a hand cupping the shoulder to pull it back.
Ballet had given way to gymnastics, and when she was no longer flexible enough to train with the ball and the ribbon, they had tried skating. She didn't particularly care what sport she did, just that she did one. She liked the freedom it afforded her, the special school schedule and trips to summer training camps in the countryside. A jacket with a patch that declared her belonging to something.
It was all she ever wanted.
"Yes, your worship," she replies and takes his hand. The slightest quirk of his lopsided mouth at her sass is the only indication he doesn't completely despise her anymore.
With Luke away, the federation dance teacher has come to observe their training, and they skate towards the tiny, fur-clad lump seated in the middle of the rink.
"Good morning, Teacher," They greet her as one, sliding gently sideways to a stop ahead of her, and Rey curtseys out of respect.
Maria Anatoleyvna Zhenyaskaia- Maz for short-raises her eyes and squints at them through glasses as thick as the base of a vodka bottle.
"Mmmmmm." Her reply deflates her figure slightly and Rey wonders how old Maz might be. Her ankle-length fur coat puddles on the ice around the chair she is apparently seated on, but an armload of bracelets jangles softly as she adjusts her glasses. As long as she's been skating, Rey has heard stories of the woman. "What are you working on?"
They glance at each other before Ben answers. "Still on drills, ma'am."
"Komrade Luke knows the path well," she replies cryptically. "Let me see your positions."
They have only just begun their dance training off-ice, and so they demonstrate the fundamentals as best they can. Their spiral is still shaky but it feels solid for a moment, the length of his body pressed against her back with their legs extended in an arabesque. They are getting better at skating close together without tripping each other, and she is steadier now in the small lifts they attempt with the additional strength work she is putting in at the gym.
"Mmmmmmm." This is Maz's only judgement when they end in front of her once more. "Not bad."
Later, Rey is tugging on her hat to leave the rink when he catches up with her. His hair is still wet from the shower and the duffle bag he carries is practically the same size as her body.
"Are you heading home?" He asks like he doesn't know, like she doesn't go back to the dormitory every day after training to work on her studies. Two more years and she can sit for exams to be free of compulsories.
"Yes?" She is confused by his question, but moreso by her urge to tell him to put his own hat on. The last thing they need is him catching his death of cold from evening spring air.
"Well, do you wanna…" He fishes in his jacket pocket to produce his cap a moment before they burst out onto the street. "Do something? Get tea?"
She hesitates, unsure how to take this development. They have always parted like coworkers-since that is what they are- at the end of each session, not caring what the other does in their free time off the ice. She wonders if Maz or Luke ordered him to this. Another calculated exercise to bring them closer for the glory of sport and country.
His brown eyes are soft and he raises his eyebrows in anticipation of her answer. When he's not concentrating on skating, his face relaxes and Rey can admit she finds him a touch handsome.
Besides, even if this is just a ploy, she wants to do well. She wants them to do well, to deserve the faith their teachers put in them to represent their homeland.
"Alright," she agrees.
