This is like what? The 3rd chapter?
Well I wanna say thanks to; ai-08, XHelloXGoodbyeX, CaptainHiei, , Ice Shipping, Iruchan, Alyanblack2, and Bezimena.
I appreciate the support SO much! Thank you for the reviews.
So as I've said, I'm merely a fan of these people portrayed in the fic. These things most likely never happened, I'm simply writing for mine and other peoples enjoyment!
Plushenko & Weir
Consciousness came with difficulty, the figure skater of America; Johnny Weir found himself struggling to wake up. With a blasting headache and the stench of alcohol riding his form, his surroundings however, were at least nice. A pleasant view of his own room, none of the people he was rooming with were there though, which was odd.
Looking down at himself, he almost gave a shout. He wasn't wearing his sweats, or the suit he'd worn for skating either. He was graced with a plain T-shirt and some shorts. Wondering as he flung himself off of his bed to check himself over in the mirror. Pulling his shirt up, checking his arms neck, his back and any other part of him he could manage. 'Just what the fuck happened to him last night? And why was there no evidence of anything bad on him? Wait. Why was he pissed that nothing had happened?'
He found himself growling as he all together discarded his things in a heap in the hamper, and waltzed to the bathroom. He smelled appalling, and he wasn't about to go asking around in this condition. After a hot shower, and a hard scrub down of body, mouth, and mind. He felt better; much better.
Then it came down on what to wear! So what did he chose? Something dashing but still able to keep him warm! A pair of dark denim straight-leg jeans, 'kicks' and a tighter long sleeve shirt. It was black, and had cuff like red rings going around his upper arms, wrists and his stomach.
Chewing slightly chapped lips, he decided a simple hemp necklace with a blue stone attached to it would be sufficient enough décor. It was the proper contrast that would be able to bring out the red! Leave it to him to be concerned about how he looked, though he did look rather good. Especially with the way the jeans managed to hug his thighs and hips so well. He smiled, and felt confident to leave his room with a jacket held secure in his arms, gloved stuff in a pocket and a scarf drapped around his shoulders.
He knew that he would find Takashi soon, just a thought in his mind, and he was looking forward to it. The man was so modest and nice, not unpleasant, or scary at all…
The lobby. He'd made it there without so much as running into anyone. The dining area where breakfast was being served wasn't crowded, but it was full to an extent. A couple of tables had been pushed together, where a group of Japanese men and women sat together. Coffee's and small plates in hands as the cheered at the screen. Looking up, Weir saw they were watching skiing. Womens down slope; where the talent of maintaining speed and maneuvering was essential. That took a lot of skill to do without injuring ones self.
"Johnny!"
His eyes flicked from the table to the well dressed Takashi who'd stood and had a hand up towards him. He smiled bright at him, and made his way slowly over there. The young man pulled out a chair, and Johnny greatfully collapsed into it.
Takashi was dressed a little different; actually had skinny jeans adorning his form. They were gray, and were a great contrast to the plaid red and black button up he had on. Plus the plain black vans and a showy black and white checkered scarf around his shoulders. He looked mighty flashy to say the least. His hair was lightly hairsprayed into a wispy, and slightly spiky fashion.
He had to resist the urge to compliment him. The Japanese man looked mighty good in his eyes.
"I feel so stupid right now man. What happened last night?"
Takashi merely laughed.
"After falling over and managed to get away, you feinted when he came over and caressed your face."
Weir remained silent, giving the other a sort of dead state, he looked rather disbelieving.
"You're shitting me. Please tell me you're shitting me…"
Takashi shook his head gleefully.
"I shit you not. He was even kind enough to helping me carry you back to your room!"
Weir was so close to panicking! What if someone saw that? Oh that would be so embarrassing! Things like that could be all over the news! Then there was the fact that Plushenko's career, along with his own and Takashi's could be ruined! Then the two would hate him, and Plushenko would positively want to kill him, and Weir simply couldn't live with that!
"Don't worrying. No one saw."
Relieved for a short time. He heaved a great sigh, and he was clasped several times on the shoulders and back. Hair ruffled in a friendly manner by a few of the group. Of course; they knew of his hopeless plight.
"This is so ridiculous!"
"Oh no! Don't say that!"
"But it is Takashi! It's like… Who am I? You know?"
Takashi shook his head.
"No I don't know. But I do know, you're brilliant on and off the ice. Plushenko knows that. Plushenko said so last night."
Takashi smiled as Weir's face was alight again.
"Of course, I assume he'll be on the ice sometime. We should find him. Perhaps, with all the pressure is gone. We can truly see how he does."
"Isn't that stalking?"
"You want to do it anyways Johnny yes?"
Silence, a heated face and a slightly trouble expression.
"Ah. It just sounds so wrong when said out loud…"
"You are ashamed?"
Another long moment of silence.
"Don't be."
"You make it sound so simple Takashi."
The Japanese man stood, dusted himself off and gestured for the American to follow him.
"No. You American's just make it more difficult then it really is."
Weir had never heard the man take such a tone of voice, the expression was completely new as well. He contemplated possible dual personalities, or perhaps a different façade? Though it had been too good to be true to find someone of such amiable persona. Though, perhaps he just needed someone to be so serious with him. Things change when you compete in the Olympics though, people just don't stay the same…
He was skating as they came across him, of course; as Takashi had predicted. Then again, what else would he be doing? Plusenko would take whatever chance he had to skate. To claim the very ice that he'd been rejected of.
Takashi held up a finger to silence Weir. Motioning quickly to get the American to sit where he was.
"How can he skate with a headache?"
"You should know that, not I. I'm sure it's got a reason for being 'Russian water.'"
Well of course. Last night probably wouldn't have fazed the Russian, but why exactly were they here?
"To answer question that you're thinking. We are here to see if Plushenko truly lost the battle."
Weir looked genuinely confused.
"The real battle begins after the initial loss."
"I don't see how silver is losing though…"
Takashi smiled and shook his head.
"Evgeni has acquainted himself with gold for a long time.
Plushenko came here for gold, to defent title and lost. Plushenko skated well, he lost while skating well with superior elements as far as one can see."
Weir listened quietly as both gazes were looking ahead to the Russian
skating in a simple tight, black uniform. A print of the Russia Federation glad curled around his right bicep and left thigh. A very simle, very attractive attire.
"Let's watch his inner struggle…Look…"
Plushenko was skating a slow round about the rink; head bowed as he thought deeply about what he wanted to do. He began to hun, and with a sharp turn, pulled a burst of speed to the middle of rink, drawing in his arms and with a small leap to land on one skate; he spun very quickly and stable. Ducking down, the spin slowed, but as he stretched back out, it sped up, putting his skate down his stopped abruptly.
Breathing deeply, and wrapping his arms tightly around his chest, his hips swaying as he began to skate backwards.
"He will try quad right off the bat."
"Will he make it?"
Takashi couldn't say for sure, or rather, he wouldn't. He took a lethargic sloud when Plushenko switched forward at the last moment. A brilliant jump. Both counting the rotations. Plushenko appeared triumphant as he descended to the ice with the last rotation, but like the last time, the momentum didn't carry right. It was worse now though as he was flung forward off his feet. Landing heavily on his front.
Weir stood abruptly, about to call out but Daisuke stopped him by slapping a hand over his gaping mouth and pulling him back down.
"He was not meant to make that jump Johnny…"
the American looked like he was about to cry. Both he and the Japanese watched the Russian draw up onto his hands and knees. Tucking a lock of blonde behind his head in a last fit of serenity.
His gaze turned vicious then, a growl ripped from his throat and he lunged at the ice with a fist. He didn't stop at the first slam though. Constantly punching the cold solid ice till finally his hand was raw ad bleeding. Surely the bones were cracked to…
"Wait…"
Takashi advised, still holding Weir back. Obviously Plushenko wasn't finished, and this was something that shouldn't be interrupted. Something about this whole situation gave Weir and odd feeling. He felt as though he and Takashi were 'putting Plushenko in his place.'
Said skater was standing again. With each time around the rink; he would count up on the rotations. Starting from one and then counting all the way up till for. They weren't the Russian's standard at all though; they were shaky.
"He knows he wont make it! He needs to stop before he gets seriously hurts!"
Finally managing to pull away from Takashi, as he deemed appropriate at that time now. Regardless it was too late; Plushenko was already spinning in the air for that one last quad. His cat-like abilities and balance no longer aided him as somehow his feet pulled up from under him as he landed. He was slammed backwards on to his back.
He was slow in sitting up, and when he did, his good hand went to cradle where his head had been bashed against the ice.
"Evgeni! There you are! Been looking all over for you!"
A young woman not just after came sliding into the picture; Russian flowing from smooth lips as she addressed her husband.
"Hey… What are you doing on the ice there?"
Weir took pride in knowing where to look first. This woman obviously didn't know where her mans heart was. This should have been the first place she looked…
"Would you believe it dear? I slipped. Haha…"
His laugh was awkward as he stood, taking a familiar stance; hands clasped tightly behind his back, a smile was strained.
"Don't get damaged before we go to he after party!"
"After party?"
"Yes! The champions get to attent it!"
Plushenko raised a light eyebrow.
"I think you're forgetting that I am no champion this time."
The woman shook her head at him and put a hand on her hip.
"All the medallists are champions! So stop moping and come with me!
He really could only offer a smile.
"Tonight? Shall I meet you there?"
"Yes! Try to have fun! You're always thinking too much, it'll get you sad. Now, I'm going to tour with some nice Canadian ladies! Don't get in trouble!"
There was a warm laugh, and that kindly lady was slipping off and as she was about to exit, she turned and waved.
"Evgeni, Silver is still winning!"
Then she was gone, leaving the blonde. He raised his aching hand, unaware of Weir making his way closer. At that time he spoke no one in particular.
"You're wrong. Second is the biggest loser yet…"
Plushenko looked down to his hand. After his wife had left; it had fallen to hand limply at his side. Thin steams of the warm, red liquid curled down his knuckled and dripped from his fingertips. He really split the skin it seemed…
He appeared mildly amused at the bright red speckles on the cold white ice.
That was when he saw the shadow of Weir stretch into his vision, he slowly looked up to him, but Weir's gaze was on his hand, he looked sad…Almost…
"What are you doing here?"
Not exactly seething, but you could hear that angered hitch in his voice. His first closed tightly and was pulled behind his back.
"You should take care of that…"
"It is no concern of you."
Weir ducked his head, looking down in embarrassment. When he looked up, there was one thing he noticed; Takashi was unmoving from the shadowed area where they had sat.
"Well, it's not a crime to be worried. Especially when the cause of that worriment is pooling under you."
Plushenko looked down at what Weir was gesturing at. Ah…He'd forgotten…
"Thin blood… I forgot…"
"You bloody fool!"
He grabbed Plushenko by the good arm, pushing him onto a bench and by the rink door he snagged the first aid box that was so conveniently there for such things like this. The box was flung open, the split skin washed with antiseptic, yet still is would bead up again.
He taped gauze pads to his knuckles, an used a soft gauze wrap to hold everything together. Spacing it between his fingers and up his wrist too. Then, he took Plushenko's hand, and ignoring the Russian's wince, applied pressure, just to be careful and hopefully make the bleeding cease.
Then, before he could stop himself, he cradled that hand to his face, pressing his lips to his knuckles. An action his mother did even now if he was hurt; he hadn't even registered the movement until he pulled back and was packing the box up. When he turned and saw the Russian staring at his hand now limp in lap.
"Oh! I'm sorry! I wasn't thinking!"
Plushenko remained silent, unlacing the skates and pulling thin sneakers from under the bench. Slipping them on, he stood.
"Stop it. It no longer matters."
Then he simply left Weir there. The man felt absolutely cold after what had just happened. Watching the door Plushenko departed by dejectedly.
"Ice can melt Johnny, but it can freeze too. Will you melt it, or turn to ice along with it?"
Weir shuddered, but took comfort in the gentle hand on his shoulder.
"I don't know… Takashi… I don't know…"
I dearly hoped that you enjoyed this chapter!
I'm trying to portray them as best as I know how! Which isn't by much.
I PROMISE Weir wont stay so like...Whiny for very long. -evil grin-
I have plans for him.
ANYWAYS! Review and tell me what you think!
