Required Elements Pt. 02

Required Elements: Part 2

Authors' note: This work has been reviewed and approved by the International Skating Union's Committee on Erotic Works, which attests that no person under the age of 18 appearing in the narrative engaged in sexual acts therein. In addition, the ISUCEW has granted the author a blanket indulgence in regard to any errors the author may have made in descriptions of the sport or its administration.

In the event that a reader has a quibble with any of the details presented here, they are invited to visit the International Skating Union website. Clicking on the CEW link there will direct them to a form where they may register their complaints and file for a refund. The Union wishes to affirm here that readers will be refunded in full if they are not aroused by talk of figure skating and/or ice hockey.

The ISUCEW has determined that the following account might just be true - if the possibility that the author has changed names, dates, continents, and planets is taken into account.

Thank you.

**********

Six months later, Hera and Sidney longed for mere exhaustion. They placed tenth in Denver, fourth in Milan, withdraw after a fall at Tokyo, placed second at Calgary. And so it went. Tiring, numbing, but they persevered and kept improving.

In Dublin, they were in the stands watching their friends in the men's short program. Hera's phone chimed. She gave Sidney a strange look and answered. She spoke only yes, yes, yes, and I'll ask.

"My mother," Hera said. "Can we meet her after for dinner?"

Hera's mother was so unlike Hera Sidney would not have recognized her but that she walked up to their table and hugged her daughter.

"Hello, Mrs. Packard," Sidney said, shaking her hand. She pulled him in and gave him a European two cheek kiss and a hug.

"Never Mrs. Packard, please. Call me Daisy."

Sidney smiled. Some of his amusement was because his brain had pictured Daisy as a slim blonde. In reality, Daisy Packard was a tall, full-bodied woman with black hair and pale skin upon which her crimson lipstick beamed out. The only family resemblance was that they were both, as his hockey team would describe them, built like brick shithouses. Sidney had never actually seen a brick shithouse. He guessed that none of the hockey team had either. Sidney knew he would struggle to throw a skating Daisy. She was all of five foot ten -- to her daughter's five one -- and he did not dare to guess her well-distributed weight.

During dinner, he must have doubled his knowledge of his skating partner. Hera had grown up in Cotuit on the Cape, but when her mother discovered Hera had a passion and some talent on the ice, she bought a modest 8-bedroom estate in Brookline to be near the Charles River Skating Club. And Hera's father's whereabouts and the origin of his daughter's surname as well as the genetic origin of her flaming red hair were all disclosed at once.

"Your father," Daisy said over soup, "was visiting extended family in Sicily before the race." Apparently Hera's father, Maxwell Latimore Montelbano, was a world-class single-handed sailor who at the moment was in the middle of a round the world twice race.

Daisy consulted an app. "Right now, he is south of Tonga." She passed her phone to Sidney. It showed a stout man with a huge red beard. "Maxwell says the Vikings were one of the many seafaring peoples who conquered Sicily in their turn."

Later, Sidney asked Daisy if she was coming to watch their long program. Hera shook her head immediately, as did Daisy.

"Oh, no," Daisy said apologetically. "I can't. I get too nervous. I start yelling encouragement. I got tossed out of rinks when Hera first started competing. I'll watch the video."

**********

Two Years Before Olympics

They knew it had to happen eventually. Sidney and Hera had crossed paths with Kusek and Nadine in the past year. They entered some of the same events and had to share prep rooms and locker rooms. Sidney had managed to avoid Kusek, who was quiet during his skates. He always had headphones on, listening to, as far as Sidney could tell from the music leaking out of the earmuffs, some kind of rap in a language he did not recognize. Hera dressed and did her stretches listening to 1960s rock earbuds. She had tried to get Sidney to use music before their skates, but Sidney considered his preskate as equivalent to a hockey pregame. Strapping on the pads, shooting the shit with his team, telling questionable jokes, imagining the puck on his blade and what he would do with it.

In the short program, Hera and Sidney had run though cleanly and scored well. Kusek and Nadine had fumbled two easy jumps and scored below what they were expecting. The two short program scores were close enough that they would be on the ice in the same group of five pairs.

Sidney walked out of the locker room to find Hera standing stiff and tense, unlike her normal preperformance game face. Kusek was nearby, turned away. Nadine stood looking at her partner.

At least she had the selfawareness to look just a bit guilty.

"What's up?" he asked Hera.

The British pair nearby was glaring at Kusek. "He told Hera to break a leg," the woman said pointing a finger, then more loudly, "This isn't the Bard, you prat."

The man added, "Then he said she would only be serious competition after she reached puberty, dropped ten pounds, and ditched you for a better partner."

Sidney gently pushed past Hera and approached Kusek, who turned to face him. Sidney was just going to verbally ream the son of a bitch, but the asshole had a fucking smirk on his annoying mug. Sidney balled his fists, ancient hockey instincts overriding polite discourse.

Before he could do or say anything, a sequined figure flashed in front of him and punched Kusek in the face.

Sidney grabbed Hera, but it was too late. Kusek was on his back, both hands to his nose. The other competitors, even used as they were to speed and flying and falling, were paralyzed by this sudden violence.

Kurek tried to speak through his hands. It seemed like he was threatening Hera. Or maybe Sidney. His words were muffled by his fingers and the blood coming from his nose.

"You should get some ice on that," Sidney said while hugging Hera to him. "There must be some around here somewhere. Oh, yeah, when you fuck up your triple Salchow like you usually do you'll be face down on the stuff."

By that time the waiting area was jammed with officials of many levels, ushers, a couple of the broadcast team, arena security, local police, and a few of the janitorial staff, all wondering what the commotion was.

**********

"Turned out it wasn't broken, but I couldn't get a proper grip, so when Sid pulled me up from the spiral I slipped and my knee touched the ice. We lost points for that."

"Our jumps were perfect, though," Sidney said.

Hera looked at him fondly. "And if I hadn't punched him, we could have medaled."

"Worth it."

Paul signaled the waiter for another round, then spoke to Hera. "The suspension is one month? Seems lenient, seeing as how he was taunting you. The Union must have rules against that."

"Oh, Kusek got warned. A stern warning," Hera said sarcastically.

Paul raised one eyebrow. "Good thing you didn't give him another warning him with your left."

Sidney eyed the diminishing level of beer in his pint. "Rumors are that Kusek's team wanted Hera out for a year, but somebody in the ISU said 'Okay, one year for her for assault, but one year for you as well for creating a misogynistic competitive environment.' They noped out of their complaint after that."

"So much for the old boy's network," Evely said. "What are you two going to do for a month?"

Hera flexed her hand. "I'm 95% normal, so we can get back to work soon."

"Tess has some new choreography for us. A lot of that we can do in sneakers. But first we are going to chill for a week," Sidney added. "Dr. Mendez asked me to proofread a couple of articles coming out of the lab. Teddy wants me to play, and I think I will."

"Tess won't be happy about that," Hera said. "But she will never know. Who wants to split a Guiness brownie?"

**********

The Massholes were scheduled to play BUK Hockey at 10:40. Sidney farted around his house watching a Bruins game to get his mind set and was running late when JoJo came in and reminded him it was time for them to go.

"We?" Sidney said. "You coming?"

"Of course. I have to fight the other dads in the stands."

"Wrong league," Sidney laughed. "The only drunks in this game will be in uniform."

When they arrived at the rink, Sidney rushed to dress. Their goalie already there and was half done before Sidney realized the guy was putting on regular pads. He saw Sidney looking.

"I'm skating up tonight."

"Who's in goal, then?"

"Friend of a friend," the guy said.

Sidney walked out to the ice. It always took him a lap or two around the boards to get his legs to remember how to use blades with a different rocker and radius and no teeth. He often wondered if he would be a better figure skater if he gave up hockey altogether, but he just could not.

He grabbed a puck with his stick and handled through the zones getting the feel back, then looked up to see if the goalie was taking warm up shots. The guy was short. Must be somebody's kid. Probably a star in Bantams. Oh well. If the referee didn't object to his age....

The goalie blocked a high wrister and kicked away a low slapper. Kid looked competent. Sidney stopped at the blue line and waited his turn. He read the goalie's purple sweater: Brookline Warriors.

The goalie grabbed a water bottle from the top of the net and took a drink, then lumbered to the corner and took off his mask to wipe his face.

Not his. This Masshole had bright red hair pulled back into a voluminous ponytail.

Sidney sprinted for the corner.

"Hi," said Hera. "You forward or D tonight?"

"What the fuck?" said Sidney incredulously.

"What?"

"You never told me you play hockey."

Hera shrugged underneath her formidable upper body pads. "Never came up."

"But... your hand," Sidney sputtered.

Hera brandished her stick, gripped in her right hand. Her face-punching hand. "Good enough for this league."

"But...."

"Your sister called me and gave me Teddy's number. I asked him if I could sub one night. This is the night."

"But...."

Two of the BUK Hockey players abruptly stopped near them and stared at Hera. Three more quickly joined them.

"You're the chick who cold-cocked that asshole!" One said in amazement.

"The same," Hera said.

Sidney considered what would happen to someone who called Hera a chick in any other setting.

"Jesus," one of the opposition said cheerfully to himself and to his teammates. "Don't fuck with this broad."

Hera smiled.

In the event, they did not fuck with the Masshole goalie. They dug under her for the puck when she covered it with her pads, but not to a degree unacceptable in this league. Anyway, such digging was swiftly dissuaded by her teammates's shoulders and sticks.

But all in all, it was a typical good-natured late-night contest that they knew was for a cardiovascular workout and some fun -- not for the fucking Stanley Cup. The teams tied 5-5. BUK Hockey had two forwards who were better than the normal level for this league and who scored 4 of their goals, but their goalie was questionable and gave up 4 goals that a better netminder might have saved.

JoJo, one of only four spectators, screamed like ten for her team. The moment Hera decked Kusek, JoJo had become her biggest fan.

After the game, the two teams mixed amicably in the freezing wind of the dark parking lot and drank beer and decompressed, their overheated muscles cooling after the strenuous skate. The other team took the presence of two world-class figure skaters in the fourth period in stride. Conversation centered on the Celtics, Patriots, and Bruins. JoJo lobbied for a beer but was relegated to soda.

At one point, Sidney asked, "Are you guys all from Boston University?"

Members of the other team were puzzled for a second, then one realized. "Because of the BU?"

"Yeah," Sidney said. "What does BUK stand for?"

JoJo opened her mouth in surprise. "Jesus, bro. I'm not even allowed to know things like that -- and I know."

Hera started laughing so hard she sprayed beer. Other members of the Massholes just shook their heads.

"What?" Sidney said. "What's so funny?"

**********

One Year Before Olympics

Hera's suspension went by in a flash. She and Sidney spent most days at the Club with Tess, working on technique, jumping in a suspension harness, lifting weights. Every other day they ran along the Charles River, snow or sun.

Then they plunged back into the roaring stream -- a whole lot more rapidly moving than the staid Charles. Lake Placid, Latvia, New York City, Bangkok, Italy, Turkey, Berlin, Gdansk, Beijing, Nice, Halifax, Tokyo, Estonia, Denver. Airplane seat, hotel room, taxi, ice rink, restaurant, airport shuttle, repeat. Depending on the hemisphere and the month, they might arrive in a heat-baked city and do their work in an iced arena. In Nice they managed to make an outing to the beach. They swam and realized what palefaces they were and slathered on sunscreen and still managed to burn.

Then the World Championships again. This event was of penultimate importance. Obviously, because they were the World Fucking Championships, but they were also the touchstone of a skater's progress along their individual path which was drawn carefully to peak mentally and physically at the Olympics.

Which was unfair. The Olympics sucked up so much global sporting mindshare that an athlete might be World Champion ten times but be less celebrated than a competitor who won just one Olympic Gold. The worst case scenario -- and there were many such recorded -- would be when you trained for years, were the best in the world for ten or fifteen years, but when Olympic week came you had the flu or twisted your ankle and the torch passed you by. Often never to return.

With absolutely none of this in mind, Evelyn gazed in wonder at the several whiteboards her daughter had attached to her bedroom wall. One was labeled College Admissions. The next four were labeled S&H. The college board had line items: Brandeis, Wellesley, Holy Cross, Babson, Dartmouth, Brown. On the other four was a hand-drawn but very neat calendar of past and upcoming skating competitions with the placement of S&H. She noted the 2s, the 3s, the 4s, et cetera, as well as a couple of DNFs on those days which the team for one reason or another had not completed their program. Sidney and Hera had only a single 1 on the board: the Four Continents Championships.

Evelyn wondered if the finishes plotted linearly.

"I assume there is a spreadsheet," she said half joking.

JoJo nodded enthusiastically. "Of course. Want to see it?"

Hidden in plain sight on that board was the date when Hera had learned something profound about her partner. Hera had trained in ballet and tried to skate like a ballerina. From her close observation of Sidney, she had concluded that he skated like a hockey player. He was strong and went into elements like he was going into the corner to body an opponent off the puck. He was precise. His energy was always high. But Hera thought he would benefit from a bit of ballet. She wondered how to get him to skate with more instinct and a little less control. Not that control was a bad thing, but she was sure that judges -- former competitors and coaches all -- could sense when skaters were skating to their training rather than just flowing. Judges might not even be aware of the distinction or be able to define it, but she felt that elusive something translated into higher scores.

In Chicago, they were one of a dozen pairs entered into the U. S. Figure Skating Championships. The weather was crap. Blowing snow and sub-zero air. Hera sensed her internal temperature was too high when she woke up the day before the short program, and this was confirmed by a thermometer from her travel kit. She battled the fever with orange juice and ibuprophen. She did not take any other medication because skaters were routinely drug tested at this event, and she had heard too many stories of false positives and contaminated pills to take the risk.

As a result, she skated at about 80%. Their scores reflected it.

"I'm sorry, Sidney," she said sadly that evening at dinner.

"Not necessary," he replied. "Do you feel any better?"

She looked down at her spoon, which was stuck into a half-finished dish of chocolate gelato. "I'll live."

The next day, they waited their turn for the long program. They had finished seventh in the short. By the time their slot was due for warming up, Hera felt much better, probably from the adrenaline. Oh well, she mused. Missed it by one day.

Two Zambonis carefully resurfaced the ice, then the four pairs due to compete next skated out together to warm up. Hera and Sidney waited quietly on a small sofa watching the action on a monitor. It was too late for anything but positive thoughts and deep breathing as they sipped water.

Then they were called, clomped to the entryway, removed their blade guards, and were announced. In the familiar glare of arena spotlights, they glided to center ice and arranged themselves in their opening pose, which for their current long program was a simple face to face handshake held until the bass line in their music started. Hera heard the quiet string introduction and began to count in her head. One. Two. Three.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

She could not help it. Her head whipped around at the echoing reports, all discipline and training flushed by the unexpected explosions.

BOOM! BOOM!

Their opening shot to hell, she found herself unable to move or look around. Sidney had her in an enveloping hug, putting his back to the source of the detonations. To protect her, she realized, and hugged him back as hard as she could.

They stood in that embrace while the stands crawled with panicked spectators, an ant's nest stirred with some explosive stick. Emergency lights strobed. Uniformed security sprinted to ice level, some of them bravely venturing onto the surface, eyes on the stands, hands on holstered guns. The PA announcer pleaded for calm, called all to obey the directions of emergency response personnel.

Nobody came for Sidney and Hera, who stood in the middle and did not move or release one another.

As they and the rest of the city and the world of ice skating would find out the next day, the excitement had been a prank gone out of control. A young teen had been dared to throw firecrackers on the ice, unknowing that the devices he had been given were M-100s, illegal and dangerous. And loud as Zeus, as those waiting to watch some staid ice skating found out.

The arena's bull gang, once the city police bomb squad had cleared the area and determined it to be safe, combed the site. The charges had been mostly sound and flash and caused little damage to the ice. The bull gang poked for loose spots, spread some water, and scraped here and there. The officials had the surface redone and determined it again suitable for competition.

It was two hours in the waiting room. Hera thought that Sidney looked unsettled. She herself felt fine. Better than fine, actually, after being hugged for a good fifteen minutes straight. They repeated everything they had done earlier, were introduced again to an even louder ovation, and went to their starting pose.

"Quad twist," whispered Hera.

"Huh?" Sidney whispered back.

"Quad twist!"

They had practiced the quad twist throw but not trotted it out in competition. Out of the spotlight, they managed to land it most of the time. The rest of their attempts had ended in drops or incomplete rotations in the air which then meant Sidney had to catch Hera in a dangerous, suboptimal manner. But they were out of podium contention, so why not?

And just like that, their program which on paper as submitted to the judges had contained a 3Tw -- twist throw where the thrown female does three rotations in the air -- now in their minds contained in its place a 4Tw.

The 4Tw had once been popular as an envelope-pushing demonstration of a pair's skills, but various factors in scoring, safety considerations, and the international politics of skating had led to the downgrading of credit given the 4Tw, to the point that there was little advantage to doing a 4Tw rather than the much safer 3Tw. So it rarely popped up in a long program.

But every fraction of a point was dear up here at the top, so 4Tw it might be. If they weren't feeling it, they could spontaneously do a 3Tw instead and nobody would be the wiser.

Start position. Quiet in the stands. The music began. They pushed off and began to skate in earnest. It was clear from the get go that the crowd, which had come fully back to stand where there were no more seats, was rooting for them. Sidney and Hera had 11 elements in their program. 11 very difficult athletic moves to fit into four minutes. Four minutes of pressure after hours of unprecedented waiting and anticipation.

The quad throw was their second element. Hera could feel that Sidney was skating... differently. She didn't know if it was the look in his eyes, the set of his mouth, the feel of his hands on her. Whatever it was, when she kicked ice and jumped as he launched her up, she felt like a creature at home in the air returning to its natural element.

She spun like space station in a science fiction movie, then descended as though not as subject to gravity as mere mortals. Sidney caught her hips and set her back on the ice, her edges grabbing cleanly as they moved into setting up the next element.

The crowd responded at once with tremendous noise -- which immediately seemed to double as those of them who had spotted the quad got louder with the knowledge.

The enthusiasm grew over the next few minutes. Onlookers whistled and clapped along with the music. It was like the arena had adopted the couple, and the vocal vibe encased them with good energy, like Spengler's positively-charged slime. They spun and glided with the confidence of promised and guaranteed perfection, and when they slid into their finishing pose the roof of the arena threatened to blow out.

Panting, they took bows and made for the kiss and cry area, where two television cameras, three commentators, and several meet officials waited for them. As well as Tess, whose face told them she wanted to kiss them for executing the quad cleanly and cry because they had used it.

She smooched them both without comment and led them to their seats -- in camera focus and within microphone range of the network announcers.

A pert blonde, who had herself won a display box full of medals in international competitions over her career, held stubby black mike and said, "Hera, Sidney, I feel like I should apologize to you on behalf of the city of Chicago and the state of Illinois for the horrible disruption to your performance. How did you two manage the physical and the mental comeback from that scare to turn in such a... magnificent skate?"

Sidney put his hand on Hera's shoulder. "This one, right here. She's tough. I've never met anyone with such a competitive drive."

The blonde pointed the microphone at Hera, who leaned back slightly to look at her partner. "We actually--"

Her response was drowned out by the cheering which burst out as their score was posted. The blonde looked up and was visibly moved. She shouted, "Oh, my God!"

The score for Montalbano and Jameson was higher than any pair that had appeared before them that day. It was higher than the best score any of the remaining pairs had gotten that season. It was clear to everyone that if they had come into the day with a better short program score, the gold would have been easily theirs.

But there was no column on the scoresheet nor credit in the ISU judging score book for 'if'.

They finished fourth, missing out on third by a fraction of a point. They smiled and graciously accepted the pewter medal. This time Sidney did not toss his in the bin.

**********

Olympic Year

"I don't know why," JoJo said. "They just do. It makes sense, though. You've got the ice dancing teams, natch, the pairs -- which is like dancing but you can do throws and lifts. Even singles have choreographic passes. So of course they like to dance. It's posh as shit, too. These people have some serious money. There's tons of food and an orchestra. If you look even remotely 21--" Here she fluttered her eyelids. "-you can suck down champagne and not get hassled. Private party, baby!"

Her classmates were suitably impressed. Most of them would be attending much less liberal New Year's Eve parties than the soiree at the Charles River Skating Club which JoJo had described.

"You get a plus one?" someone asked hopefully.

In the event, the function room at the Club had been done up into a facsimile of a nightclub. Orchestra stage, dance floor, tables with red cloths, a bar along one wall. Sidney drove separately in case he wanted to leave at a different time from his parents.

As soon as he entered the party, he was seized by a piece of muscle wearing a short black dress. A very pretty piece of muscle.

"Sidney!" Chaya cried, squeezing his breath away. "I'm so glad you came!"

Sidney broke the embrace and held her at arm's length. Chaya had grown three inches and added about twenty pounds, little of it fat, in some very right places.

A bearded tower appeared behind her. Without looking, she introduced them. Her boyfriend was about 6'7" and chainsaw-carved from a thick oak. Sidney recognized the name.

"You're the left tackle for BC," he said, and the man mountain nodded, then nodded again when Sidney asked if he could borrow Chaya for a dance.

They caught up with events and friends, then Sidney said, "I should return you before your boyfriend gets annoyed."

Chaya laughed. "Not to worry. I told him when we started dating that pairs teams are like an offensive line. Hard work, lots of practice, hands on ass sometimes. But you do not fuck the center. Ruins the chemistry. He understood that."

Sidney then danced with his mother, then with Mrs. Mitchell, then with Tess. He was sitting at Tess' table talking to her and her wife about the average age of the attendees, which they estimated at 85. They were about to undertake a guess as to the average net wealth when he saw Tess glance behind him with a look he could not interpret.

"Hello, Sidney."

A familiar voice. He stood up. Nadine smiled at him, expectantly, diffidently.

"Dance?" She asked.

The band was hitting the backstretch of its program -- long, medium-tempo numbers one could dance to together or apart. Sidney began apart, but Nadine took his hands and brought him to her.

They danced the first number in silence, then Nadine held him on the floor for the next one.

They moved as two who were familiar with each other's bodies. Gracefully, anticipating just so.

"Do you ever miss us?" Nadine said without preamble. "We were pretty good together."

Sidney, his brain ambushed, kept moving. He just nodded. Not necessarily in agreement, just receipt of message.

"I watch you and her on the ice. She's okay...." There was a but in there, Sidney heard.

"What brings this up?" He asked. He had a fairly good idea, having kept track of the skating grapevine.

She looked away, at the band, then back into his eyes. "Anatole is going singles. Emma wants to skate pairs."

"So she is putting her line in the water. You don't have anything to worry about. Emile and you are well matched."

If he had put any irony into that, and if she had been attuned for it, the remark would have landed. But Nadine seemed too distracted.

"He's been criticizing me lately. Not in a constructive way like he used to, and fucking Novak isn't standing up for me. Emile has started watching videos of Emma, pointing out moves she has that he thinks I should imitate."

"Bad timing," Sidney said. Nadine nodded sadly. This was an Olympic year. Not a great time to be focused on imperfections.

Still, Sidney had enough of whatever characteristic it was that held his tongue. He knew if he related this conversation to JoJo -- which he wouldn't -- she would pump a fist in the air and say something like 'What goes around comes around, bitch'. He might think it also, but he held enough affection for his former partner to be magnanimous.

Unless--

Nadine was gazing up at him. He shook his head. "No," he said. "Hera and I are getting along fabulously."

"What if she were to--"

He frowned. "Break a leg? Just stop there."

She did stop. She seemed to seamlessly reset into a more cheerful party mode, and they danced over to the buffet, where he managed to lose her near the fruit salad.

He went searching for Hera, but found only her mother holding court at a table of elderly Brahmin women. Daisy was in the middle of an anecdote about a famous actor who had mistaken her for a call girl in the lobby of her hotel in--

"Ah, Sidney!" She jumped up and kissed him robustly on both cheeks. He hoped the gesture did not take root in her listeners, some of whom he was sure had not jumped in decades.

"Hello, Daisy. Have you seen Hera?"

Daisy picked up her phone from the table. "Holy hell. I can tell you that my husband is currently 89 nautical miles south of Iceland, but I can't tell you where my daughter is."

Sidney went in search. Not the women's room, which he discretely staked out for ten minutes. Not at the bar, not out in the lobby area.

Finally he walked by the closed skate shop. Outside on a bench he saw a head of flowing red hair and opened the door.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked. "You'll freeze."

The wind was blowing gently, but gently at 20 degrees is not gentle.

He sat down beside her and put an arm around her. She did not have a coat on, and it occurred to him that for all the hours they had spent in close physical contact over the past year this was the first time he had shown her such affection.

He wanted to ask her what was wrong, but he knew she did not keep her opinions or feelings bottled, so he waited.

Eventually, and shivering, she said, "Are you unhappy with our partnership?"

"Fuck no. Are you?"

She turned her face to him. "No. I just saw you with... her. And I guess I panicked."

"Never," Sidney said. "You are easy to toss. Have you seen the hips on her? You're much skinnier. Less likely to tear my rotator cuff."

Hera bared her teeth. "You are a bad liar. I will bite you. Have I ever bitten you?"

"No, and I don't look forward to it, either. You have some seriously strong looking choppers."

Bare teeth became a smile. "I have a good mask. Otherwise I would have gaps like Gump Worsley."

"I refuse to believe that. Your mom would sue the league and fit you with diamond crusted implants."

Hera's head snapped up. "Hear that?"

It was the sound of chanting, then a cheer that meant one thing.

Hera grabbed Sidney and kissed him. Not on the cheek. A real kiss. Sidney let it happen with some surprised pleasure, then she released him and said,

"Happy Olympic Year!"

**********

This time they were not noobs but an experienced and successful pairs team. They just had to keep from getting overconfident, from getting injured,

Mexico City, Naples, Montreal, Portland, Oslo, Lisbon, Seoul, San Francisco.

Zurich.

In Zurich for the Grand Prix event, Tess had them slotted in an early practice time the morning of the competition to work on some transitions between elements. These subtle moves, which glued the major elements together, did not specifically appear on the scoring sheet which tracked composition, presentation, and skating skills, and therefore ostensibly would not contribute numerically to their score. But blending elements seamlessly and artistically was good psychology. If a routine looks just a mite better with smoothed edges, it will definitely be scored a mite higher. The judges as a whole would not even be able to put a finger on why one couple presented as 'smoother' or more 'polished', but they would boost the scores.

After they had gone through their short routine dance steps two times and their long once, Hera and Sidney were tired but excited by how well they had incorporated the changes and how comfortable they felt with them. Even Tess had no substantial criticism, so the three went out to lunch. Hera preferred a vegetable-heavy salad on performance days. Sidney ordered a quinoa and bean plate with chicken breast. They went back to their respective hotel rooms to nap and stretch before meeting to dress and lace up.

The ice surface in the Zurich rink was like it had been precisely engineered. The two noticed it during warmups. Hard as steel, slick as a winter road. Sidney thought it would have been too shiny and fast to play good hockey on, but for sharp figure skates it was a perfect canvas.

Hera and Sidney skated like they owned the place. They came out comfortable and nailed their first lift, then hit side-by-side triple Axels that were mirror images. The audience recognized and appreciated this, generating a lot of noise for a Swiss crowd.

The two brought their routine to a close with no errors. No touching down, no stepping out of spins. In the kiss and cry, Tess hugged them both, her eyes shiny with the cry requirement. Their score was a new short program best for the pair, who stood and waved thanks to the applause.

"Bottle that shit," Sidney said quietly.

While they watched the rest of the competition, they made dinner plans. When the pairs had all appeared, Sidney and Hera exchanged an enthusiastic high five. They were in second place, behind only an Estonian team which was consistently great in the short but often faded in the long.

Sidney took a quick shower, dressed, and went to meet Hera. He texted her, but she did not answer. He arrived at her door and knocked. No response. Perhaps, he thought, she was still in the shower. He hoped not. He was famished from today's work.

Then he heard a moan. Undoubtedly Hera from the timbre of the voice. He banged on the door.

"Hera! Are you okay?"

He banged again, thinking what a useless thing to just stand here in the hall making noise. Then the door opened.

Hera was doubled over, face contorted in pain, hand on her abdomen. She moaned again.

Sidney had taken first aid some time ago. Now he could not remember a damn thing. He carried her to the bed and helped her lie down, then he grabbed up the phone.

**********

University Hospital in Zurich could be mistaken for one of Hera's mother's five star joints: clean, well-lit, and ultramodern. The place was eight floors of competent-looking medical personnel from Hollywood casting.

Tess stood by Hera's bed considering her student. "If I were forced to pick something crappy to suffer from, that's a good candidate."

Sidney patted one of Hera's feet through the bedcovers. "Just don't make me spell it."

The doctor who examined Hera on admission had assumed that she and Sidney were married and thus delivered his preliminary diagnosis without any concern for privacy. Endometriosis. The bad news? Often very painful. The good news? Her case could be treated with a simple laparoscopy procedure. In and out and the small mass identified by the ultrasound removed.

"How long until I can skate?" Hera asked, trepidation anticipating a bad answer showing.

The doctor waved a hand. "The day after. It's two tiny incisions."

Hera was obviously relieved but pressed on. "How long until I can jump? Or spin?"

He had no special knowledge in that area, but Hera was buoyed by his general optimism. "Let's do it," she said.

When the doctor left to schedule the operation, Hera and Sidney were left alone.

"Shit, Hera," Sidney said. "I was scared it was something much worse."

"Worse? Worse? Come over here and let me punch you in the balls to see what it feels like."

"I meant like cancer... or Crohns... something like that. And how would you know what it feels like to be punched in the nads?"

Before he could respond, the door banged open and Daisy rushed in. She hugged Hera fiercely, then sat on the bed while her daughter told the whole story. When Daisy video called Maxwell, Sidney took the opportunity to slip out while mother and daughter fixated on the small bobbing image of Mr. Montalbano clinging onto a rope in the sideways rain.

**********

"I don't need your permission," JoJo said, trying not to sound confrontational. "But I would like your blessing."

Evelyn and Paul looked at one another. Paul shrugged. "It's not a school holiday."

Which of course it was not. Brandeis University had a lot of breaks, but shutting down the school and sending four thousand undergraduates into the uncertain arms of nonacademic life just to accommodate the United States Figure Skating Championships wasn't one.

"I'll get my assignments and do them on the trip."

"Exams?" Her mother asked.

"None on any syllabus. I already talked to all my professors. They're not only onboard, they're all super excited for me."

Her parents looked at each other once more. Evelyn rose and left the room. Paul drew his wallet out of a pocket. His wife returned with a clutch, unsnapped it, and slipped out a card. Her husband unfolded his wallet and slipped out another card. They looked at each other yet again, yet again without saying a word, then Paul took both cards and made a show of shuffling them, which was not trivial as there were only two cards and both were stiff plastic. Holograms and RFID circuits glinted.

He held them out to JoJo. "Pick one."

**********

The year before, they had been building rapport, both mental and physical. They had come to know what the other was anticipating and to anticipate that anticipation while whizzing around a brightly-lit slidey surface at speed. This year they were glazing that rough form until they were happy enough with it to put it to the kiln and fire its final incarnation.

JoJo's spreadsheet did not lie. Their average score this year was 20 points higher than last, a sign that they were performing better. And almost as importantly, it meant that the judges expected them to be better and thus were more inclined to give Hera and Sidney the benefit of any doubt.

"Look the fuck at this!" JoJo gushed. She unlocked an unadorned blue metal door in a hallway just a short stroll from the arena ice. Inside were stacked several large cardboard boxes. She folded back the top to reveal plastic bags containing stuffed animals in a rainbow of colors.

"Daisy said she watched last year and was disappointed in the lack of stuffed animals tossed out after each skate. She says it's bad optics and looks like the crowd doesn't give a shit."

"My mother said that?" Hera asked.

"Yep," JoJo said. "And she's got dozens of bouquets on order so each skater gets a big armful."

"I knew this would happen. Mom likes to... control her messaging."

They had all seen the new addition to the arena signage, up on the wide electronic strip upon which sponsors' name and logos appeared. PACKARD HOTELS, in that chain's distinctive font.

Sidney made a head motion. "Time for us to prep. That means we drop out of this plane of existence and don't check back in until about midnight. You going to be okay?"

JoJo beams. "Yes! Daisy is letting me coordinate the flower delivery and disbursement."

"Oh God," Hera said quietly. "The hook is set."

**********

The three gathered in Tess's room for a last strategy session before the short skate.

"Okay," Tess began. "You have seventh spot in the draw. I'll be iceside watching the earlier teams. I'll message if anything changes."

Tess had been compiling information about the other pairs through the skating grapevine, and it appeared that most teams would be performing relatively difficult shorts incorporating several high base value elements. Aggressive but risky. Sidney and Hera were skating to a sweet but energetic Korean Bossa Nova number. Their program was built on seven elements. Three of these were rock solid dependable. The other four were adjustable to the night. If the pair were down, if energy was low, spins could be reduced, complexity of lift and step combinations simplified. If the pair were killing it, the four elements were completed in all their difficult and potential majesty.

What Tess saw was that none of the early competitors got away clean. A hand on the ice, a jump landed just off, even a full tumble. Tess texted: Field not impressing me. Be clean. Sell it!

Which meant to the two: Skate the conservative version. Minimize mistakes. But don't relax with the showmanship just because you are being careful.

Because when you relaxed was when mistakes came up off the frozen surface to bite your ass. Sidney and Hera were by now physically in top shape. Just as importantly, they were mentally tough and flexible. They read the text and reset their emotions.

Then they went out and poured themselves smoothly into the two minutes and forty seconds, having as much fun as they could and projecting that they were having even more fun than that. After witnessing mistakes and groaning and ahhing over them, the crowd was ready for Hera and Sidney's demonstration of edge mastery and flawless aerial work.

When the last scores were compiled, they were in third place.

**********

The next day they rested, stretched, and worked out with free weights. They ate dinner with Tess.

"Just one thing," Tess said, "then no more until tomorrow. Most everyone skated to the edge and lost points. They saw you two steer down the middle and it paid off, so they all going to ease back."

Hera buttered a dinner roll with swift killing strokes of her knife. "So we pull up our A game?"

"A plus," Tess said. "Metaphorical balls to the wall. Can do?"

They nodded. It could be done.

Their placement after the short program meant they were up in the long third to last, with plenty of time to consider the competition on before. As Tess predicted, the skaters were all cautious. No spills but no gems. The scores were respectable but middling.

Hera and Sidney went to their start position, a pose with heads very close. The arena fell silent.

"This is it, partner," Hera whispered. "From the Frog Pond to the big time."

He did not respond, just whirled her into the steps leading to their first element.

They pushed it for four full minutes, pumping and spinning. When they rejoined at center ice, they were panting and sweating. They smiled at each other and then the crowd. Hera took a bow.

Sidney had slightly muffed a toss, causing her to underrotate and have to touch ice on landing, but that was not a major concern. They had points enough to be temporarily in second place behind a pair who were making a comeback from serious leg problems. There were only two pairs left. The first was announced: Nadine Chumak and Emile Kusek.

Nadine and Emile kept to a conservative program which still incorporated a crowd-pleasing death spiral combination and some impressive lift steps.

Their score was just one point higher. Hera and Sidney were bumped to third.

The last pair had turned in a stellar short and thus were up last in the long. But they were a younger pair and it seemed their effort from two days before lingered. They skated a half-beat behind their music, and they both landed awkwardly on a side-by-side double. The fellow hit the ice. He bounced up and they resumed with great energy, but they knew it was over.

Hera cradled a huge bunch of assorted flowers while she and Sidney waited for the medals to be awarded. She held her bronze up, smiling for the group shot. She was thinking, as were all the athletes on the podium:

Six weeks to the Games.

**********

It was almost midnight before Sidney and Hera returned to their hotel. Their rooms were on the same hallway. Sidney opened his door as Hera went down a few doors and searched her purse for the key card.

Hera saw Sidney bolt backwards into the hallway. He pointed towards his door.

"What's wrong?" Hera said.

"JoJo is asleep on my bed. In her skivvies."

"Girls don't wear skivvies," Hera said, coming back down the hall.

"And I had to have a single King," Sidney said regretfully.

Hera flashed her card. "Come in and have a seltzer. We can watch the highlights on ESPN. Later, you can sneak in. If she wakes up, chase her out. If she doesn't, get her card and take her room."

Sidney nodded. Made sense. He followed her into her room, where he flopped on the bed and picked up the remote.

"Jesus, make yourself at home."

"But you said...."

Hera laughed. "Kidding." She opened the minifridge and took out two beers, opened them, and handed one to Sidney. He took it and she laid down on the bed next to him.

There were no skating highlights, just NHL talk. Sidney was getting into this and finished with his beer when he looked over. Hera was raised on an elbow gazing into his eyes.

Sidney had a momentary out of body vision: young man and young woman, in a hotel, late at night, on a bed.

He started to sit up, but Hera pressed her upper body against him and kissed him.

He kissed her back. Their tongues met. Each tasted like beer.

He pushed her away. "This can't... shouldn't happen...."

Hera brought her face close to his, her mouth over his ear.

"Why not?"

His thoughts would not coalesce. Finally he choked out, "This could... you know... end stuff...."

She drew back and held his eyes. He saw her face open, guileless, trusting.

"It's already ended."

She said it with such deadly certainty that Sidney was alarmed. "What?"

"In Zurich, after the operation. The OB/GYN gave me the lowdown. My uterus is fucked. No future for it." She laughed. Without humor. Almost, Sidney thought, maniacally.

"Useless. Broken to bits. Kaput--"

Sidney grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her gently until she stopped.

"It's okay," she continued quietly. Defeated. "My vagina is out of order, too. So having a baby is... not on the menu for me anymore. Making one would be too painful anyway."

Sidney considered his next words carefully. "Have you...."

"Tried it out? I can get a finger up there. It's uncomfortable, but I don't know if it's just that I'm a--"

She didn't have to finish. She could sense that Sidney was thinking about why he was needed here.

"I want to try it. For real. With someone I trust. To see how bad it is. To see if I need to become a fucking nun or... whatever. I have thought hard about it being a bad idea, but... Sidney, will you do this for me?"

Sidney was also running through the many, many reasons this was not a good thing for their partnership, probably even for their friendship. Not a good thing. He knew that. But fuck -- he was as hard as he could recall ever being. This seemed out of control and yet also inevitable.

Hera reached down and felt him. "Don't tell me you've never thought about me that way. Because I have thought about you." She stroked him outside of his pants. Damn, his brain said. That feels great.

"Sometimes, especially when we are off-ice, practicing lifts. You put your hand on my thigh... I'm surprised you never felt how wet I could get."

She kissed him again. He didn't, could not, hold back, and she rolled over completely on top. Their mouths stayed together, getting to know each other in this new way.

Sidney had slowly drifted from rational thought to lizard-brain instinct horny as she kissed him and massaged his cock. Finally, he rolled her onto her back and started unbuttoning her blouse.

"You have to promise...." he panted.

"Yes, yes," She breathed.

He turned her onto her side and undid her bra. He tossed it aside, uncaring about tidiness and decorum.

"This will not come between us...."

"Oh, God...."

He sat up and undid her pants, then dragged them down her legs, her blue panties caught in a fold and carried along. He threw these over his shoulder and gazed down on her as she lay on her back, legs together, feet in blue stockings matching her underwear.

"Fuck, Hera," he whispered. "You're beautiful." Part of him registered that this was one of the truest statements of his life.

She was. Her breasts were perfect small half-spheres, hard pink nipples pointy. Her skin was white as flour, contrasting bushy bright red pubic hair a triangular beauty mark.

He bent and pressed his palm gently onto the kinky mass and stroked it like a kitten. Hera moaned.

He stood and stripped. Part of him wanting to plunge fiercely into her, part of him knowing that he had to treat her gently.

Sidney bent and applied his tongue to the inside of her thigh. She tasted lightly salted. Her flesh her gave slightly, soft and vulnerable.

A finger? One of her slim little fingers? Her sweet little hole was going to have to do better than that. And he was going to have to prepare her.

He licked her thighs, extending his arms up to caress her breasts. Easy due to the height difference. He wanted to stroke her calves, her feet, tickle her armpits, massage her neck. Kiss and lick this scrumptious creature all over. No time for all that tonight. This time.

His hands on her knees. She lifted her legs to his encouragement. His lips and tongue exploring her slit. Her lips puffy inside her fur. She breathed deeply and rapidly as he licked long and slow. He could feel her wetness, taste her. Sweet and umami at once, he thought, like her body excreted musky slippery syrup. He probed deep. Inside her, his tongue found her limit of ease. He pushed deeper and she groaned. Her opening tight around his tongue.

A close run, he thought.

When he determined that the swelling of her labia was at a peak, he crept up, wrapped his arms around her, and rolled over again. She kissed him hard and wiggled her hips and thrust her mons at him. He wrapped her tighter to slow her down, to prevent him coming so soon.

Hera spread her legs. She moved until his cockhead pressed against her. His glans pulsed with his heart.

"You okay?" He asked.

"Yes," she croaked, her voice tiny, shaking.

"Whenever you're ready... you're in control."

She made small hip motions to rub her clit against his shaft. She made purring sounds, then whispered. "Sidney. I'm scared."

He kissed her deeply. "I'll be right here."

Hera laughed. He had to be here. He had the necessary. Her laugh morphed back into an appreciative moan.

She lifted her pelvis and worked it farther and farther until her slit found his cock and enveloped the end of it.

"Ooooh...." Her moan came out with a tint of pain.

He started to speak, but she cut him off. "I'm okay. It's not... it's...."

She did not tell him what it was, but she did not move to let him slip out. Instead, she pushed down again. More of him went into her. She gritted her teeth and grunted.

She felt him move, thought that he was going to end this experiment, so she bent her back to force him farther up.

"Yes," she forced the sounds out. "Yes. I can take it...." And with another quick series of convulsive abdominal crunches she did. She paused, panting fast, and both of them realized he was fully sheathed.

They lay as one. Sticky skin to sticky skin.

She slowly brought her knees up so she was squatting and began to rock. Back and forth. "Uh, uh, uh." Quietly on every backward, a bit louder on the forward, slowly increasing the tempo, rubbing her mound on his matching hardness until the tension of the novelty and his hands on her nipples triggered a cascade of chemicals somewhere deep in her brain. She cried out as if having an epiphany and Sidney just couldn't hold back any longer. He hoped the epiphany was her destination. Because he was out of control. The brakes were shot, the path greased, and he could no longer steer the truck.

He said a nonsense word down in his throat and came in her. Hard. One two three.... Ejaculations like bursts of cannon fire. No care taken to aim. Just hard pumps from that wonderful site inside him. Four five six seven... and he was empty. Of fluid, of thought, of any ability to move.

Hera lay on him and started to cry.

Sidney shook like rising from a spell and tilted her head up to look at her. "Hera?"

"I just... it... it didn't hurt," she sobbed. "Sidney -- it didn't hurt!"

**********

Well before sunrise, well after sunset, alone in a dark room not her own. This was a setting with which Hera had gotten, if not comfortable, familiar. Her eyes opened to nothing but a faint redness where an alarm clock display reflected off the beige wall.

She froze. Literally stopped her breath. Something was wrong. Small vibrations in the mattress. Strange. Not her own familiar vibrations. She listened and listened, her head threatening to swim from lack of oxygen.

She heard it -- movement of air where there should be none. A faint note played. Three beats. Another note a half tone lower.

She gasped back breath. Her mind fought to stem panic. To piece this puzzle. Then she felt the out of place. A cold sensation on her thighs. Liquidy yet thick. And her vagina. Her mind searched there. Her inner walls were... sore?

Sights, sound, touch -- rushed back to fill the missing time. She reached one hand down to gently probe her sticky pubic hair. She reached the other out slowly to touch....

Sidney. Sidney, her skating partner, her teacher of biochemistry, her teacher of... sleeping in her bed. She ran fingertips over his bare back, and the memory assembled and made sense.

Unexpected. She debated whether to scoot over to press against him or let him have his sleep. They had skated earlier. And then they had fucked.

They had fucked!

Unexpected. Knocking at the door. She turned over her phone. 4:10 am? Who would waking them now?

Unexpected. Hera opened her door. JoJo in the hallway, rumpled, hair unbrushed. She looked past Hera, able to make out a large brother-shaped lump still in the bed.

JoJo shooed Hera back into her room, shut the door, and flipped on the nearest light switch. It was only then that a very sleepy Hera looked down and realized she was still naked.

"Holy crap," JoJo said quietly. She walked in farther and turned on another light.

The lump on the bed shifted and rose slightly. "Hi, sis," it spoke.

"I knew this would happen," JoJo said as Hera pulled on a white hotel robe.

"If you knew," Sidney yawned. "Then why are you here?"

"Because you two fuckwits are going to fuck everything up. Jesus H. Christ, I hope it was great sex at least." JoJo glared at her brother, then at Hera. Hera turned almost as crimson as her hair.

"It was," Sidney said. He slid out of bed and began searching for his underwear. "Behave, girls. You've seen it before."

"Yeah, now she has," said JoJo. "Hera, I love you like a sister. But you're a virgin -- or were a virgin. Am I right?" Hera's blushing intensified, answering the question.

"And now you've tasted the forbidden eggplant emoji and you want more. You want it every night. Three or four times. Kid in a candy store."

"Look, sis--"

JoJo held up a palm. "I don't kiss and tell, bro, so you don't know I've had a... couple of boyfriends. You want names and details?" He shook his head, definitely no.

"And," she continued, "when it got physical --" here she made a circle with the index finger and thumb of her left hand and ran the index finger of her right in and out of the circle just in case they thought she was referring to friendly kissing -- "it got weird. Recoverable weird or terminally weird, going PIV always brings the weird. And it's not just me, not just a sample size of uno. My girl posse talks. The D comes out, the D goes in, it gets weird. Do you two need weird right now? No, no you do not."

Sidney said, "It's not like that. We're good."

JoJo looked ready to ignite. "It's always like that! You can't escape millions of years of evolutionary biology! Things are going to change between you two just when you need to be skating steady, not tripping on ruts you made yourself."

Hera started to speak but JoJo cut her off. "You two need to step back. Right here, right now. You need to eat saltpeter or slap on a chastity belt. You are going to risk everything you've been fighting for."

"I guess we could," Sidney said, "but it will be hard."

"I hate you," JoJo said.

**********

To JoJo's mild surprise, they followed her advice. The discipline of training -- physical and mental -- had made them amenable to regimentation. They agreed to sequester what had happened in the hotel bed and refocus on their routines.

Tess felt something had changed in the pair's personal interaction. It was so subtle that someone who did not know their habits and reactions intimately would never have noticed. But once in a while when they were in start position, Hera would look into Sidney's eyes in a new way. Tess detected it, but she never brought it up.

Something seemed to give them new energy, too. Tess put it down to their solid performance in the US Nationals and their knowledge that nothing stood between them and the Games.

Then nothing become corporeal.

**********

"That rotten bastard!"

Sidney and Hera paused stretching and looked up from the mats.

"That rotten bastard!" Tess repeated. She had a coffee mug in her hand. She reared back and delivered an impressive fastball into the wall. The innocent piece of ceramic exploded, an alabaster unfixable firework, as Hera and Sidney watched in awe.

Tess still gripped her phone in the other hand. It had apparently not given offense. It was just the messenger. She turned to the team, so mad she could barely make coherent words. They had never seen this side of her.

"Lec Novak." She spat the words. "Lec Novak, that little shit. He's petitioned the Selection Committee to disqualify Hera from consideration."

Hera leaped in the air as if she were also up for the gymnastics team. "What? Why?"

Tess stood with her hands on her hips, staring at the ground like someone who did not want to provide unwanted answers to uncomfortable questions.

"He says that you had serious surgery which will impede your performance."

Hera threw her arms out. "That was minor surgery. Keyhole. I was up and skating in two days."

"And," Tess added quietly, "you have anger and behavioral problems."

"Fuck him! I will put him down like I put that motherfucker Kusek down." She punched the air.

"Prove his point," Sidney said very, very quietly, looking somewhere else.

"What?" Hera shouted, turning on him. "Whose side are you--"

"Stop!" Tess said sharply. "Didn't your grandmother ever say that good lies are built on a kernel of truth?"

Hera was not much mollified. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Sidney sat back down on the mat and started to stretch his quads. "What Tess means is that money talks and bullshit walks."

**********

The money in this case was the multinational Packard Hotel chain, which was not just hotels but restaurants, resorts, casinos, cruise ships, and assorted other properties across the glove which fit into the Packard portfolio of luxury travel and relaxation.

The talks component was, or would have been, one Daisy Packard, majority shareholder and CEO of said corporation, who, if a loved one had not been involved and thus if the business had not been just business, might have stormed into a meeting of the Selection Committee and read them the Riot Act, the Constitution, and the Magna Carta while pouring gasoline on the conference table, a lit match between her teeth.

But in the end, the bullshit was supplied by the chief counsel of the Packard Corporation, who did not walk nor apply flame, but merely and calmly pointed out to the Committee that the Corporation could not ethically be party to such inhuman manipulation of the dreams of young athletes by arbitrary whims of ancient and inflexible gatekeepers. It was a bad look for Packard, and the Packard name would not be allowed to promote such antics.

In other words -- words which did not have to be enunciated -- if the Committee tossed Hera off the Olympic team the roughly one third annual budget of the USFS was liable to evaporate.

The five members of the Committee, and the three alternates, all knew Lec Novak. He had been a member of the figure skating world for five decades. Some of them liked him, some of them disliked him, some of them were neutral. But by the time the Packard attorney finished his recitation of the facts and threw out his very polite threat to demolish the finances of the USFS, there were eight people in the room who were ready to heat the pitch and break open a pillow if Lec had the temerity to show his face or make another suggestion.

**********

Time ticked slowly down and at the same time telescoped in like a Hitchcock shot.

They skated, they lifted, they ran. They watched video, they skated, they visualized. They ate healthy, they slept long, they skated. They came to work every day. They kept it in their pants.

Tess observed, offered suggestions, consulted the choreographer, tweaked the program.

The team talked every day about strategy. Tess' plan was simple and was formulated in the structure of a three-act play.

"Did I ever tell you I was a theater major at Yale?" Tess asked. Hera and Sidney nodded somewhat wearily as if yes, she had told them.

"The Olympics are a play. Maybe a musical. In any case, it is a three-act structure. The first act is the short skate. The structure and form are rigid. Seven required elements in two minutes forty. In this time the judges are introduced to your characters and they have a first look at your talent. The second act passes in the time we wait for the long program. The actors rest and prepare, the judges think about what they have seen versus what they might have expected to see. They wonder if the good will stay good and the bad stay bad. Will there be a reversal of fortune?

"The third act -- that is the climax, the payoff, the denouement. There are lines that must be said but there are also lines made up on the spot."

The tl; dr of it was that they had a solid short program. If they executed, they would move to the long program, which they had designed to be modular. By that Tess meant that each element could be modified on the fly -- to either simplify it a bit or put a pizzazz on it with an extra turn, a more complex lift.

"Just like improv," Tess declared happily. "I minored."

**********

"It's the national dish," Hera said. "I've had it before. They make it different ways in each region."

Sometimes, like this, Sidney realized that Hera had been many more places than he.

"Cheesy," he said, pulling a long stringy piece up from the plate. "By the way, you rock that." He used the hard-to-pronounce food in his hand to point at Hera's outfit. It was the same outfit he was wearing -- the US team gear -- but she made it look extra good.

She surveyed the crowd while she chewed. A babble of languages, a moving paint chip display of colors. The smells of hot food. Perfume and soap.

"Lot of talent here." That was true. Hera and Sidney had skated against them all at one time or another in one competition or another. But now all the skaters in the world were here, all in peak form, all concentrated on this elusive goal. As were they.

Sidney opened a water bottle. "What are we, chopped liver?"

"No, but... what do we have that's so special that we think we have a chance?"

He nodded in what he calculated to be a discrete way at a couple two tables away. "These two are known for their artistry." He indicated another couple farther away. "They came out of retirement. Smooth together, no seams." Another nod, another couple. "Stong jumps."

"And?"

"They all move like precious ballerinas." He swam a hand through the air, a fish. "None of them have ever been run into the boards. Or had to chop ankles to clear space in front of their net. Yeah -- I saw you that night."

She colored slightly. "They knew the job was dangerous when they took it."

Hera had one hand palm down on the table. Sidney put a hand out to cover.

"While they are skating on perfect ice -- the only kind they have ever known -- you and me will be skating on the Frog Pond. Kinda thawed here and there, and leaves piled on the edges. You and me will be skating at West Roxbury with our sticks high, powering over ruts and shooting the puck top corner."

"Goalie," she reminded him.

**********

They marched in the opening Ceremony, they were interviewed six times by various news crews, then they retreated with game faces into their mental preparation space.

Like a hundred times before, they readied for a skate. Like dozens of times before, they prepared to perform in front of judges. Like never before, they tried to digest that they would be skating for a prize they would probably never get to reach for again.

Their designated time came, after all of the familiar motions, the practiced moves. They met at center ice in the stillness before their music. Face by face, in the strange quiet, Hera whispered, "Frog Pond."

"Frog Pond," Sidney whispered back.

Then they proceeded to bend what was possible, to shape this roughly-rectangular patch of frozen water to a reality they created and projected. They were close, they were apart. They were one. They jumped as one. They stepped as one. He lifted her with grace and she twirled on his uplifted arm with elegant ease. The spiral burned like a cartoon stunt, metaphorical flames shooting from Hera's skate blades.

They came together as the crowd, which contained all the expert watchers the way the field contained all the expert skaters, clapped and whistled.

When they sat down much later for their post skate snack, they were second. In two days they would go out again, this time second to last on the ice, and try to complete their dream.

"I screamed at you to skate with me that night," Hera said, stabbing at her remaining salad. "All these teams put together with science and psychology. And politics. Oh, and money. We only got together because I was pissed at you."

Sidney raised his beer. "Stay weird, my strange ginger partner."

**********

The morning of their long program, Tess came to get them at the hotel. They thought she would, as they usually did, talk them through the program and give them reminders about what to focus on. Instead, she led them out the front doors and into a cab.

The cab deposited them in front of a huge arcade just opening its doors. Tess escorted them in without a word and pointed at a far wall.

"Skee-ball! I'm the champion of that!" Hera shrieked like a three-year-old at a birthday party. Sidney touched a black credit card to a machine and it spit out another card, this one yellow and red striped. He handed this to Hera.

"Challenge accepted," he said.

**********

While the other pairs in the waiting area either muttered to themselves, to each other, or just sat quietly listening to their preskate music, Hera and Sidney chirped.

"I had a hangnail." Sidney said, extending a finger. "That's a 500 point handicap."

"Handicap? The only handicap you have is the ball."

"Oh yeah? At least I have strong redeem game. I got three cars. You only got two necklaces."

"Candy necklaces. Let's see you eat those Hot Wheels."

Some of the other competitors gave them the stink eye, thinking that this was perhaps a mind game. Hera and Sidney leaned closer and spoke more quietly.

"He's never going to complain. You put the fear of God into him, as I recall." Sidney glanced at Nadine and Emile. They seemed taut and pale, but Sidney recalled that was Nadine's pumping up mood. She would quickly warm under the bright lights.

Hera breathed deeply several times.

"You okay?" Sidney asked.

"More than okay." Hera looked up at the ceiling. "More than okay."

The ice resurfaced, an official indicated that they should prepare for the warm up. The five pairs, the last grouping to compete in the free skate, and practically, the group which would contain all the medalists, went onto the ice.

Nadine and Emile were on first, having finished fifth in the short program. After them was the young Hungarian pair who came into the Games with great momentum, then a Japanese pair who were known for their artistry. Hera and Sidney would follow. The last pair would be the older couple who had come out of retirement and skated a wonderful short program, which put them first in the standings and therefore last up in the free.

Hera and Sidney watched the pairs before them on the monitor in the warmup room. Some skaters purposefully did not watch anyone else, but Sidney did. He had always watched the other hockey team in warmups and so didn't have a superstition about doing so. The performances of the three pairs before them were solid. All the scores were high. Nadine and Emile were their usual reliable selves. Hera kept one eye on the screen while she did stretches. She seemed more anxious than usual, Sidney thought, then put it out of his mind. Hera was Hera. She was tough. Whatever, if anything, was bothering her it would vanish when the music started.

Sidney analyzed himself. He was nervous, but it was tempered by the anticipation of certainty. The Massholes never skated with overtime periods. Not in their league, but there were games that were tied late in the third. You went out knowing that if you made one mistake or got one bad break the game was lost -- but if you played your best it might be you that got the break and the game was won. Either way, the Zamboni was coming out. No reason to sweat it. Just jump the boards and skate your position.

Hera had her voluminous hair corralled tightly back and was adjusting the clip which held it in place when the official gave them the go sign.

They stood together and faced the door.

"Sidney?" Hera said quietly.

Sidney looked down at her. "Yes?"

She gave a slight shake of her head. "Nothing. Let's light them up."

And the door opened. They walked out, removed their skate guards, orbited the ice, came together at center. The arena echoed with their introduction.

"REPRESENTING THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, PLEASE WELCOME HERA MONTALBANO AND SIDNEY JAMESON!"

Before the applause quieted, Hera put her face very close to Sidney's ear and whispered, "We are doing the quads and the quint."

He pulled back slightly to look at her, questioning.

She reached up a hand to his shoulder and brought him back close to whisper again.

"I'm pregnant."

And their music started.

**********

The quads were in their program as side-by-side triples, just after a twist lift. They had discussed including them if they needed the point bump, but Hera's declaration sealed it. The pairs already on the books had scored well. Nadine and Emile were in second place behind the Hungarians.

The quads were a risk, but first they had to nail the twist lift. Sidney would lift Hera as she jumped. Hera would go spinning up to horizontal, then Sidney would catch her by the hips on her way down and place her cleanly on the ice.

They had practiced the twist with various rotations. Two for warming up, three was routine, four was pushing the boundaries and had a high risk that Hera would be dropped. Five they had... done. Hera remembered blue bruises on her hips and butt from doing it even slightly less than perfectly.

Five rotations? In this venue? Sidney's brain could not process the idea. But then again, his brain was not in creative gear. Since Hera had breathed those words into his ear, he had been moving without thinking. His body knew what to do. They blazed down the ice, Hera back to, and she toepicked as Sidney grabbed her and tossed. She floated. Up and up, rotating. One, two, three, four....

Tess watched from near the end of the judge's bench. Her hands gripped the top of the boards as her charges went into their first element. She stared wide-eyed as Hera rose. Something about her trajectory was amiss, and Tess gasped.

Five. Sidney, who had showboated the lift by lowering his arms down to his sides after tossing his partner and watching her soar, exaggerating for the audience the length of Hera's flight, seemingly casually reached up, a referee signaling touchdown -- and her hips nestled like a kiss into his palms.

As Hera touched ice without a stutter, Tess covered her mouth. Over the crowd noise, she heard the judges nearer her react to the flawless lift with spontaneous admiration.

She smiled, then froze. The pair were speeding into their next element, which was to be a side-by-side triple Lutz, but again something about their approach was just a bit off from what she expected to see.

Hera and Sidney watched each other with peripheral vision. They were in the right position, right orientation, right skate placement. There would be no backing down into a triple. This jump was early in the program because it took the most effort.

But effort was not a word history would use to describe this jump, or any part of their performance, for the two turned, kicked, and spun, their movements relaxed and free. They rotated and landed perfectly. A superimposed video would later show they were in synch so closely that the camera could not separate them.

Tess began to jump up and down. At least one of the judges could not help barking 'Quads?'

After that, the crowd was with them. The network commentators were with them. They owned the judges.

Hera and Sidney finished their last elements with a confident flair. The network color commentator excitedly said they were reminiscent of teams which had been together for decades.

The music climaxed just as they spun, tossing up a rooster tail of ice chips, and stopped still with the last drumbeat. Face to face, hands to hands. Chugging air like locomotive engines.

The crowd went berserk, and in the crushing sound, Sidney still managed to make himself heard.

He lowered one hand and put it on Hera's tummy. It was a picture which would be one of the ten or so to define this edition of the Olympic Games.

"I thought...."

Hera grabbed him and kissed.

"I can't! I couldn't!... And if the words 'miracle on ice' come out of your mouth, I swear--"

The remainder of the threat was lost as Hera reached up and removed the clip that had kept her long locks captive. She shook her head and that exquisite red mane exploded as she pivoted to face the whole of the shaking arena, arms up in triumph, around and around as the audience stood and cheered and screamed.

**********

Epilogue: Ten Years After

Teddy held his youngest daughter on his knee. "Time's the shindig?"

"It ain't a shindig, you uncouth hockey vermin. It is a gathering of culture, a genteel appreciation of a beautiful sport." Sidney opened a brown paper bag and held it out for the child. "Can she have popcorn?"

The question became moot when the child plunged an arm into the bag and brought out a fistful. Much of it escaped and fell to disappear into the cushion of snow at their feet.

The pond had been cleared to expose a big dark blue rectangle. At each end stood a goal constructed from white plastic pipe and netting. JoJo was currently skating with the puck. She faked out her youngest nephew, which was not something to put on her resume, as he was only four. She turned to head for the net but was foiled by Maxwell, who lifted her stick and stole the puck.

"I thought they were on the same team," Teddy observed.

"I've been on your team. You would take the puck off my stick all the time."

Teddy jostled his daughter on his knee. "That's because you never shoot the damn thing. Oops, sorry Kiera. I have to take the puck or we would never score. You just want to rag the thing and skate around with panache."

"That's the word I was looking for."

"And," Teddy continued, "I thought Hera's dad was a sailor. He looks pretty strong on his skates. Think he'll sub for us next week?"

"Nope. He's off to Borneo to start a Trans-Pacific sprint."

Sidney eyed the melee on the pond. On one team -- teams being roughly divided and frequently remixed on the fly -- was Teddy's wife, two of Teddy's other kids, JoJo's husband, and Hera. Facing them was JoJo, still salty over the steal, Maxwell, JoJo's twins, and Evelyn. Paul and Hannah and Ned skated within the confusion, tapping the puck to a child, helping a fallen skater up, repositioning the net, and making the occasional redirect and gentle body check to even out the sides.

Hera noticed Sidney watching and waved a glove. He blew her a kiss. She was wearing her old goalie skates.

"Who else is skating tonight?" Teddy asked. "Do I have to buy a program?"

"Nadine," Sidney said. "Disney on Ice tour is on break. Pairs and dancers from the juniors and novices. Pretty much whoever is in town. Tess called from the Club to ask if I could also skate with her for an abbreviated program. And--" He pointed at himself and then at his wife.

Emile and Nadine parted ways after those Olympics ten years ago now. They had stayed together for another year, then Emile figured that there wasn't enough money in marketing yourself as Olympic Bronze Medalists and retired to start a skate company. Nadine, left solo, managed to medal in women's competitions for a couple more years but knew she was not destined to return to the Games in singles. She joined the Mouse, which paid Olympic medalists pretty well.

A loud whistle came from the direction of the house. They twisted around and saw Daisy in the doorway with one of the Packard Hotel chefs -- in an actual big popover chef's hat -- she had trucked out to cater the gathering.

The children slid shouting to the benches where parents unlaced skates and forced feet into cold boots, whereupon all raced to the house and the wonderful savory smells.

Ten years, Sidney thought. Just like that. He and Hera had retired after the Olympics. Daisy threw a goddamned spectacle wedding at her Cambridge property. Hera finished her degree carrying a child in her belly and then on her hip. Pushing a carriage, she trained in the Packard Hotel corporate structure learning the pieces of the business she did not already know. She spent a year each running various departments. He had gone back to Professor Mendez' lab and completed his doctorate. Mendez and Sidney and one other faculty member procured venture capital and spun off a company to commercialize the technology born in her lab.

He looked around. The crowd was gone into the house. The windows were bright and inviting in the overcast New England winter afternoon. Hera was still on the ice, pushing the goals over to the edge. Detail oriented as always.

Sidney skated out to her. They kissed like newlyweds. "Can you in those boots?" he asked, nodding at her goalie skates.

Hera just smiled and took his hands as he glided backwards in a broad circle, pulling her along until he gripped her hips and lifted.

She jumped to help him. It was not easy, as she had no toe pick to kick with, but he put her smoothly over his head. She spread her arms and flew as he rotated so she saw the old house, the barn, the orchard, the road, the driveway full of cars. It felt like they were alone in the frozen world. Just two Gold Medalists playing around, in their element.

There was no sound in the world but the brittle hard scrape of steel on ice and their breathing -- still synched perfectly.