February 1982

Lyon, France

Europeans aren't held in Russia, but they may as well be for how many of their teammates land on the podium. Rey's palms sting from applauding their medal finishes and tucks her hands into her new national jacket, one with thick red ribbing at the cuffs and a body made of sleek white satin. It's a whole suit, meant to be worn at all times while traveling and around the rink, so that everyone knows who they are and where they come from. She has a new red ribbon to tie around her ponytail and while she thinks it looks junior-ish, Luke assures her it's alright for now.

"All in good time, Princess," he murmurs as he strokes his beard. "No need to grow up too fast."

It's hard to remember when she sees the ice dancers, their bejeweled costumes barely hiding their bodies and their eyes a wild swirl of color to match. They are older than she, and while she knows her size is advantageous for their discipline, she is envious of their lean height and glamorous panache. One of them has caught Ben's eye and it's not lost on Rey how he always manages to end up next to this girl at meals, on the tour bus that ferrys them up the hills, beside her in the elevator.

The other skaters know Ben well already, greeting him with hugs and a deference to his past titles. He has no need to make nice and greets them with the cool air of a prince returned from his summer palace to grace the court. She feels like a fifth wheel, forgotten until there is a pause in the conversation and he remembers to introduce her.

They end up as pewter medalists, and while Rey is as proud of her strange, fourth-place medal as if they'd actually won, Ben rips it off and stuffs it in his pocket the second they exit the ice. It dims her excitement a notch, seeing how hard he takes their placement, but it's swallowed up quickly enough by the media hounding their teammates who finished with silver. It's the first time a Soviet team hasn't stood atop the pairs podium in seventeen years. Ben had been expected to win with his previous partner, so the task fell to another team who were inexperienced enough to be edged out by East German rivals.

"You did well," Luke corrals them by the elbows in the tunnel leading to the ice. "This is good enough for your first year. Let someone else take the heat this time."

They talk to the press-or rather, Ben does-and she nods along as he delivers the party line about their rebuilding as a new team.

The city is beyond her wildest dreams and yet not as different as she expected stepping off her first plane ride. It looks like postcards she's seen of St. Petersburg and is rather small, a tiny oasis of classic buildings and arched bridges stretching over the ancient rivers that meet there. She marvels at the horizon, free from the towers that dot Moscow's skyline, but wonders how these people must live. The team are shepherded by a minder from the federation, a woman Rey has never seen before, who is quick to give her opinion on the capitalist excesses and inequalities of their host country.

They are boarding the bus to tour the famous cathedral when a young man from the French team pauses by her row.

"May I sit here?" He asks in English, and she knows at least enough to understand this.

She nods and moves her jacket for him to sit down.

"Spasiba," he tries, and she smiles at his pronunciation. He smiles back, and it is a brilliant-it lights up his whole face and Rey can't help but keep smiling.

"I'm called Rey." Her tongue feels funny around these foreign consonants. Ben's better with English but he's taken to the back seat with the dance girl pressed close to him and she has to fend for herself.

"Finn," the young man replies. "This is your first time in France?"

"Yes." Rey is suddenly shy. Russia is enormous, but she's never been abroad. She felt important until they arrived and she realized her place was so small in this bigger world.

They manage something like talking all the way up to the castle and she thinks she learns a few things about him. They are almost the same age. He was born in Africa but his French parents adopted him. They were both gymnasts until they were given skates, and now their home is on the ice.

She learns a few more things when they separate in the tour group and he hangs shyly at the back with a handsome, dark-haired young man from the American team.

Rey concentrates on what their translator is telling them and tries to ignore the commentary that is being injected about the cathedral's history.

At five the next morning, she wakes with a start from a fitful dream about a craggy island rising out of a stormy sea and is unable to go back to sleep. It's too early for practice, and besides, their schedule is all out of sorts here. They practice when ice is available, together with the other teams at the competition. Yesterday was the final day so some skaters have already departed for home and she feels anxious to get back to their routine. They await the assignments for Worlds knowing it's likely this is the end of their season. That doesn't mean work is over, though.

After twenty minutes of idling around the room does nothing to take her edge off, she dresses to go for a walk around the building. They mustn't leave unaccompanied, but they were given free reign inside the hotel, and their minder is certainly still fast asleep.

Rey is about to step into the elevator when she hears a woman's high pitched giggle, then a door closing down the hallway. She glances back over her shoulder and freezes to see Ben coming towards her. His face is plastered with a shit-eating grin and he looks down at the runner rug, clearly in his own world.

The elevator bell dings impatiently and Rey feels like she is watching one of their slow-motion training replays as he looks up, up, up, then he locks eyes with her.

His stride slows for a second when he realizes it's her standing there.

The elevator door closes in front of her without her boarding and the car begins its descent to the lobby.

He comes to a stop an arm's length away and they are frozen staring at each other.

She takes in the sight of him: a shadow darkens his upper lip and jawline, his hair is still damp, and his jacket unzipped, revealing the black t-shirt he wore yesterday on the bus.

Ben jabs the elevator button with his thumb and stands with his hands on his hips. His lips work as though he's trying to learn to speak before he finally says, "So are you gonna tell on me to Luke?"

Rey narrows her eyes at this. She thinks she should feel pleased-he's trusting her to keep his secret- but instead she feels like a younger sibling. Before she can answer, he continues in a rush.

"It's not like he's a saint either, you know. He doesn't have all the answers. And it's not like their way is the only way."

Rey's mind goes a million places at this outburst of criticism but all she can think to say is, "What you do off the ice is none of my business."

The elevator returns and they step onto it side-by-side. He sighs deeply and rolls his neck, stretching his shoulders. A purpling bruise stands out at the junction of his throat and his collarbones in the harsh fluorescent light.

"Thank you," he breathes. "I owe you one."

Rey allows her nod to tuck her chin to her chest and she crosses her arms. Fifteen seconds has somehow undone thirteen months of work and she feels like she is standing next to a perfect stranger again.