Author's note: This story has been percolating in my brain for a couple of months. I've finally gotten the courage to start writing it! The Cutting Edge is one of my all time favorite movies; I hope I do this Damerey AU version justice. We'll be following the movie pretty closely, as well as expanding some parts as the story dictates (it's me, so that means we will eventually earn that M rating!). I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Prologue

Sochi 2014

Rey's eyes fluttered open; she sighed heavily. She could already feel the headache coming on, but she was sure the trainers could take care of her once she got to the rink. She scrubbed her hand over her face, idly wondering why it was so bright in the room. Then she looked at the time on her phone.

It was one o'clock in the afternoon.

Shit.

She shoved hastily at the heavy arm that was slung over her waist; her frantic movements woke her bedmate. "What's going on?" a heavily accented voice asked, as Rey tumbled out of the bed.

"It's one o'clock!" Rey snapped, tugging her USA sweatpants on. She looked around the room urgently; she needed the rest of her clothes, her bag, her badge. Where the hell were they? "I was supposed to be up at nine! I gotta get to the ice! I've got a game!"

"Ja, nein," her bedmate replied. "Nein, ist das nacht richtig?"

"Yeah, nine, as in nine o'clock, Sven!"

Her bedmate sat up, looking annoyed. "Sven?"

"Badge." She grabbed her badge, looping it quickly over her head, followed by her shirt. She looked over at the man in the bed, pausing before slipping on her shoes. "Ben?"

He huffed. "Ben?"

Rey wracked her brain, trying to remember his name. She'd had a couple of drinks the night before, but she didn't think she'd been drunk. This was the Olympics; she wasn't crazy. She'd heard stories from some of her teammates prior to coming to Russia, stories about athletes hooking up in the Olympic village. She'd been mildly skeptical, but it turned out the stories had not been exaggerated. Nevertheless, she was terrible with names, just ask her foster sister back in Minnesota. "Kevin?"

The man huffed and threw something at her. He didn't have to throw it far; the room wasn't that big. Rey ducked just in time, hoisted her heavy bag over her shoulder, and dashed from the room. If she ran, she just might make it to the stadium in time for the drop of the puck.

Poe pushed off the ice, tucking his arms in to get the required rotations. This was only practice, but he never did anything less than halfway. Long years with his coach taught him that you always gave maximum effort, even Olympic warmups. Beside him, his partner didn't get her arms in quite fast enough and wound up smacking him in the chest, screwing with his momentum. He didn't fall, but just barely.

"What the hell are you doing, Poe?" Holdo shouted.

"Unlike some people, I was trying to complete that triple you just demanded!" Poe put his hands on his hips, blowing out a frustrated breath.

His coach did not look impressed. "Please, you've been doing those in your sleep since you were 15!"

Poe skated forward; his face flushed in anger. "As I recall, when I was 15, you were still humiliating me in private! Jannah messed up the jump, yell at her!"

Jannah opened her mouth—whether it was to protest or apologize, Poe didn't know or care—but she was interrupted by Holdo. "I want your ass clenched on those jumps," she snapped at Poe. Poe clenched his jaw, seething. He was the only male Latino skater on Team USA; it wasn't his fault that his family came from Guatemala and Cuba! They had hips, dammit!

"Until Zena here learns how to jump without getting in my way, this will have to do." He turned abruptly and skated off; he mocked his coach by making like a speed skater, half bent over so his Guatemalan ass stuck out. Poe heard Holdo calling, but he ignored her. The woman had been talking him deaf since he was nine years old; he was heartily sick of it. He heard the clicks of the camera and murmurs of the assorted press; Poe ignored them too. Instead, he went back to the changing rooms; he needed to get out of there before he did something really rash.

A half hour later, Poe stood in the stands, his bag propped up in one of the seats. He watched some of the other pairs go through parts of their programs; he waited for the inevitable dressing down from Kes. As if on cue, his father approached in his heavy coat and business suit, like this was some board meeting instead of the Olympics. "Poe, what the hell was that about?"

Poe sighed. "Look, Dad…"

"No, you listen to me. You're gonna go down there and apologize. You can't talk to Holdo like that; she's the one who got us here, mijo."

"Good for her."

Kes Dameron's stern gaze never left his son's face. "You're going to apologize and get to work."

"Sorry, Dad. I'm tired." Poe was far from tired, but if he stayed, he'd wind up causing some sort of international incident. He hoisted his bag on his shoulder and marched off. "I'll be in my cell!"

Poe left the practice rink, anger still boiling just below the surface. He'd worked hard for two years to get here; the last thing he needed was God's gift to skating biting his head off for the slightest infraction. It was demeaning. It was humiliating.

Shara wouldn't have tolerated anyone shouting at her boy like that. At least, Poe liked to imagine she wouldn't. He really had no idea; she died when he was little. He had precious few memories of her.

The midday sun nearly blinded him when he stepped outside; he winced as he marched ahead. He fumbled in his bag for some sunglasses, while trying to hold his phone at the same time. He could hear the fountain splashing in the background, along with more languages than he could count. Finally, he found the damn sunglasses and shoved them on his face…only to run into a solid wall of human.

Poe got knocked off his feet, his ass coming down hard on the concrete. His phone went flying. "Hey!"

"Where's the back entrance to the ice?" the human wall asked. Poe blinked as he got a better look. It was a woman. Not just any woman; he spotted a pair of hockey skates sticking out of her USA duffle bag. Even more curious, she had an English accent, which made no sense. Team GB definitely didn't have a hockey team. The woman grabbed his phone and shoved it in his face. "Back entrance? Ice? Hello?"

"What, were you raised in a barn?" Poe snapped, snatching his phone back. It better not be cracked, he thought.

The woman sneered at him, nodding toward the Olympic fountain that was surrounded by the attending nations' flags. "Buddy, where I come from, we stand for the flag."

Poe blinked as she dashed off toward the stadium on the side of the plaza. What the hell? Some out of control hockey player knocks him over, then has the audacity to accuse him of disrespecting the flag? The nerve of some people. Then again, she might have taken a few too many hits to the head. It was impossible to tell. Poe jammed his phone in his pocket (blessedly crack free) and pushed himself up. He had more important things to worry about.

Rey flashed her badge at the entrance. "Rey Kenobi, USA hockey!" she yelled. The flummoxed guard let her through; she could hear the lineups being announced.

"They're just about to start!" the guard cried as she disappeared toward the locker room. She got changed into her gear in record time and hurried into Team USA's box. The coach gave her a look, but Rey ignored him. She was too big of an asset to the team to be in trouble. Especially if they won. When they won.

After two periods, the game was tied 2-2. They were playing their archrival, Canada. Rey liked most of the Canadian players well enough, but the two teams had been duking it out for the chance to win Olympic gold for the last four years. This was Rey's first Olympics, but she was sure it wouldn't be her last. Early on, she'd been considered a bit of an odd duck as someone who was clearly English, playing hockey on Team USA. She'd come to the States as a small child with her parents; her dad worked for an insurance company. Unfortunately, they'd been killed in a car crash when she was five. She didn't have any family in England, so she'd been put into the American foster care system. There, she'd bounced around group homes until the Ticos took her in. There, at their home in rural Minnesota, she'd discovered hockey. It had been her passion ever since, her way to fit in. Making Team USA was the highlight of her life so far.

Early in the third period, she got stuck in the penalty box for high sticking—a terrible call if you asked her. She watched as her teammates fought off the Canadian power play, sitting on the edge of the bench, waiting to be unleashed. She was the highest scorer on the team; she just needed one good shot.

She could put this game away.

She watched the clock tick down, 10…9…8…7…5…4…3…2…1… The door opened and Rey stepped through, gliding into the play effortlessly. She rushed to grab the puck from one of the Canadians, spinning around her. A little trick the boys back home at taught her in high school. She broke away from the oncoming scrum; she could see the net. The crowd roared; flags waved. Rey could feel that rush; she knew she would score. She ducked left, then right, passing the puck to her linemate and spinning around another defender. Connix passed the puck back; Rey never saw the hit coming.

A large heavy body checked her into the boards; Rey grunted. Her head snapped against her helmet; another check sent the plastic and foam flying across the ice. Bare headed, she got knocked into the boards again.

Everything went black.

Mozart blared over the crowd. Poe seemed to be moving an automatic pilot. He'd done this program hundreds—maybe thousands—of times. Beside him, Jannah shot him a smile. They were going to do it! They were going to win a gold medal!

He pulled her into the lift; his arms shook slightly. The world spun around him. He thought he had a good grip, but at the last second, he felt Jannah's hand slip dangerously. They wobbled; her skate scraped the top layer of his costume. Poe jammed his toepick into the ice, causing them to topple down hard. The crowd gasped as the music continued playing. Poe groaned, scrambling to get back up, but he knew it was too late.

There would be no gold medal.

Two weeks later

Rey sat across from the doctor, hardly believing what she was hearing. "You've lost 18% of peripheral vision in your right eye."

She leaned forward. "How long until it comes back?"

The doctor looked confused. "I'm afraid it's a permanent condition."

"Yeah, but how long? There's an operation, right?" Her hand curled around the arm of the chair, frustration welling just under the surface. She'd worked so hard! She refused to believe that her dreams were dashed, just like that. They were getting ready to start a professional women's hockey league! This could not be happening.

"Rey, I've been an ophthalmologic surgeon for over fifteen years. The damage is irreversible."

She ploughed ahead like she hadn't heard him. "Okay, maybe not here. But Mexico? Or South America?"

The doctor leaned forward. "You've got a blind spot, Rey. I just don't see professional hockey in your future."

She couldn't listen anymore, so she stormed out. Perhaps not the most dignified thing to do, but she was too pissed to care. She didn't know how or when, but she'd show him. She'd show everyone. She still had some tricks up her sleeve. She'd find her way onto the ice again.