Chapter 3
For the last few days, Heimdall has been letting them get used to skating side-by-side, learning how to mimic each other’s movements, learning to pair spin and twirl in unison with one another. They quickly see what Frigga knows, Rue will not be overwhelmed by skating next to someone as commanding as Thor is. And other than a small miscalculations—he nearly hit her in the face a few times with flailing arms—they seem to be doing fine. There are moments it looks as if he’s frustrated or annoyed by their slow move towards progress, but he keeps a handle on it after a few days; grunting and rolling his eyes.
“Don’t look so wounded,” Rue scoffs, as she offers a hand to her new partner. They crossed skates and both went tumbling.
He doesn’t take her hand, getting to his feet and skating off. “Let’s go again,” he calls behind him.
She doesn’t move, shaking her head and crossing her arms. “No,” Rue rolls her eyes as he turns to her abruptly.
“What?”
“Fix your attitude first,” Rue tosses back. “I’m not going to do this with you—feeling like it always has to be perfect. I don’t work like that.” She throws her hands out to her side. “This is new, we’re gonna fuck up. Tripping is par for the course.”
He sighs heavily, crossing his arms as she glares at him.
“Are you going to respond or do you only grunt and nod until you get what you want?”
Heimdall, for his part smiles where he’s watching from the sidelines, amused by Rue’s confidence.
Thor sighs, relenting to her scolding, “I just want this to work.” He swallows thickly, looking down at his skates, “I don’t have many options—this has to work out for me.”
“Alright kids,” Heimdall announces as he sweeps into the hallway. The rink is not some overly large building, but there’s enough room in the hall—vending machines along the wall for effect—and the ceiling high enough. They’ve dabbled in lifts, looking at different types, seeing them done properly through the tape Heimdall has available and hearing explanations of those he doesn’t have visuals for. “We’re going to drill lifts until neither of you can stand me.”
“That won’t take long,” Rue mumbles, getting to her feet. She bends her hip to the side, shifting weight to her left leg to stretch casually. She holds her arms up, curving her body to the side. Her hands look soft, fingers dainty. Thor wonders if she realizes how easily she does that. It’s undoubtedly something his mother ingrained in her.
“I heard that,” Heimdall replies—finger pointing at her as she offers up a shit-eating grin. “We’ll start where we left off last time.”
Thor wordlessly takes Rue by the waist, easily lifting her into the air and holding her up. She squeals, but extends her arms, being the perfect picture of grace for the swan lift.
“Down.” He says, watching as he Thor easily drops her his shoulder and she slinks down. They finish as if on ice, free leg out, arm up. “Axel lift.”
Rue hops into the lift, holding Thor’s hands as he presses her over head. They continue on, both moving to Heimdall’s commands. Up and down, over and back, Rue is getting dizzy.
“Try not to look like you’re trying so hard to keep her up,” Heimdall says. They’re off skates, attempting the needed lifts in pairs skating, neither should look so terrified.
They transition to a star position, with Rue using one hand to hold her foot, and the other to balance by holding Thor’s shoulder.
They’ve been skating together for a week. The world also knows now and they’re meant to be at an exhibition in the next couple of weeks. Neither of them feels quite ready for it, but it’s coming whether they really want to or not. It’s nerves—feelings of being unprepared for how they’ll be received. There are a lot of questions around them. But mostly people are wondering if he’s changed, cleaned up his act? Is she healthy?
“Well I am trying to hold her up,” Thor argues.
“Are you saying I’m heavy?” Rue looks down at him, holding his shoulder in a death-grip that will probably bruise.
“No, you weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet,” Thor scoffs. “But I’m not levitating you into the air, ma’am.”
“Don’t get sassy with my elbow so close to your head, sir,” Rue tosses back.
“I am 6’3 and holding you in the air above my head…” Thor reminds her and lets the threat hang. Though he will never intentionally drop her. All of this bickering is happening because he’s trying so hard not to drop her. The problem is that Heimdall can apparently tell. But it’s been hours, his arms feel like jelly.
“Alright, down.” Heimdall waves them off, watching as she drops from overhead and Thor catches her easily, cradling her in his arms for affect. “Better,” the coach remarks. “Twist lifts.”
Rue frowns. She's watched enough, and been around it enough to know her pairs lifts once they’re explained. The basic understanding of how it works isn’t too complicated really. But most lifts deal a great lot with timing.
Heimdall explains what they need to know, what’s expected of both. Rue is to kick off, getting the momentum just right and Thor pushes her up into the air. Rue is to spin, and Thor has to catch her and set her back down. If they get the angle right—and that’s the most important part—she won’t go banging into his shoulder and hurt herself (that’s an entire point deduction from their execution score) so it has to be pristine as planned.
She turns her back to Thor, sucking in a breath as he takes hold of her. “Ready?” He asks.
“No, but go anyway,” Rue says. He lifts her up, throwing with more force than she’s expecting and she squeals and bails on the turn. He catches her easily, but with her back facing away from him. Her arms flail, but he’s unscathed.
“Do you need a minute?” Heimdall asks, from where he sits looking on. He keeps concern out of his tone, but she doesn’t have to look at him to know he’s displeased with her freezing.
“No,” Rue shakes her head. “Just not used to being thrown around by a man twice my size.” She jokes, and she hears Thor grunt a laugh. She looks at him, over her shoulder, “Again.”
They repeat the beginning process, but she goes with the twist and Thor catches her waist, stopping her from falling too low into him. He looks just as pleased as she feels once he sets her down. She steps out of his hold, her free leg extended and her arm raised.
They repeat the same mechanics over and over until Thor consistently catches her at the same mark. Heimdall calls for the double, and Rue narrows her eyes in determination. She whacks Thor with her elbow, which would be worse if they were on skates, his footing would be lost to avoid getting hit in the face.
“Sorry,” she says, grabbing his face in her hands before he even sets her down. There’s a red mark on his cheek. She immediately feels worse.
“I’m fine,” he takes a hold of her wrists, exhaling a dramatized breath. “My arms are tired. Can’t we get back to jumps?” Thor grumbles, like a petulant and inpatient child. He looks at the time, it’s been hours. “I guarantee we have the best—“
“Don’t get cocky…” Heimdall warns. “You haven’t even debuted yet. And moreover, we’re trying to get people to like you again.”
“They never really liked him… just in awe of what he could do,” Rue mumbles, before drinking her water.
“What’s the difference?” Both men ask, looking at her as if she’s grown another head.
“Jesus Herman Christ,” she massages her temples. “Forget it. Regardless, Petersen there is right.” She slaps Thor’s chest in corralling fashion, “We don’t want to come off as over confident and then blow it with something like flubbing a lift. And I’d like to not die in a rink. Neither of us can die during our program.”
“That wouldn’t be preferable, no. No dying. Neither of you are to die… understand?” Heimdall points, looking at him from over his glasses. He has a notebook that he writes in, and Thor has gotten used to it, but Rue currently wants to rip it from his hands. Everything Frigga thinks, she says, and Rue is used to that kind of coaching. “Take the afternoon. Eat, rest. Meet on the ice at 7. Mostly everyone will be gone. Free ice time.”
“Yes, Captain,” Rue sighs, grabbing her jacket.
Heimdall rolls his eyes as they begin to walk away from him.
“Hungry?” Thor asks as they make a break for the exit. The walk towards the front of the building isn’t long. She’s taken aback momentarily. “Rue, do you want to grab a bite?”
“Huh? Yeah, sure.”
.
.
.
“I pictured you as a sports car kinda guy,” Rue muses, getting out of the passenger seat. She sends him a smirk as she pushes the door closed, adjusting the band of her small bag. They’ve found a little unassuming sidewalk cafe not far from the rink.
He chuckles, “If they weren’t so cramped, I would be.” He opens the door to the small restaurant for her without thought to the action. “What?” He asks, when she looks at him, a smile playing at her full lips.
She swallows, shaking off whatever that feeling just was. She’s had people open doors for her. It’s common courtesy. She curses herself for being weird. Clearing her throat, she shrugs, “If you weren’t so freakishly tall…Jesus man, what did they feed you?”
“Just two…” Thor tells the greeter behind the counter, still chuckling at Rue’s words. He speaks in Asgardian, hoping to not be so disconnected anymore. The boy can’t be more than 17, nods at them sheepishly upon realization of who they are. He leads them to a table in the back of the main dining hall, setting their menus in front of them.
“My sister Madeline loves you,” he finally blurts, talking to Rue. “She wants to be just like you.”
“Aw,” Rue smiles, flattered, “How old is she—taking lessons?”
“She’s 15. And yes, three times a week after school. But she says no one famous is around for those hours.” He babbles quickly, holding his hands in front of him as she looks for something to write on. He looks at Thor then, suddenly remembering he’s there too. “Oh she’s not going to believe this!”
Thor laughs, the sound echoing warmly throughout the room. “Nope, place clears out during lessons.”
“How bout a video or something, send it to her?” Rue offers. The teen nods vigorously as she finds his phone in his pocket and unlocks it. Rue says a quick hello, offers some encouragement and winks on the send off.
“She’s gonna lose it!” He laughs. “Thank you! Oh my gosh, I’m just standing here. Sorry. Your server will be right out.”
“That was cute,” Rue sighs thoughtfully. She looks around, realizing the place is basically dead. She looks at the time on her phone, realizing it’s not even noon yet. The few times she’s passed by, she’s noted it’s busy during dinner hours, and by then all she wants is a shower and bed.
“Your accent is terrible by the way…so American.”
He makes a face, sarcastically giving her the finger as she snickers.
“Popular around here, are you?” Thor changes the subject, sending her a subdued, if not impressed smile.
“Not like you used to be,” she says, and he snorts as he sees the mortified look on her face. “Sorry.” She quickly apologizes.
He waves her off, mouth pulled out at the corners as he shakes his head. What can he say, other than it’s true? He not only moved, he went and got into all the trouble imaginable while he was gone. He’s not sure he can expect anything else. But it does sting a little. He’d just have to prove himself again.
“And I am not freakishly tall. You’re just not normal height,” he changes the subject back with the first thought to his head. She laughs, just as their server comes back.
Realization lights up on her face as well.
.
.
.
“Do you think Heimdall will have something for our exhibition when we get back?” Rue asks, simultaneously munching on leaves from her salad. She reaches for her glass of water, holding the straw between lithe fingers.
Thor wipes his mouth with the napkin from his lap, holding it in his fist as he nods. “He’s probably had something in mind since my mother called him.”
Rue hums, setting her glass down. “That would make sense. That would explain earlier—warning us to train hard. He plans for us to use as much as we can in our programs.” She thinks aloud, and Thor nods over his meal as she does so. Heimdall crafted programs for Thor and Loki that showcased their strong suits and even more, “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to get back on the ice.”
“Me too,” he nods, swallowing down more food. He notes that she’s watching him quizzically. “What?”
“Nothing baaaad,” she shrugs. He rolls his eyes and she gives a dry giggle. “I’m just used to hearing the opposite in return. Natasha usually asks me if I know it’s okay to sleep.”
Thor snorts, “I want to skate all the time too. I know I haven’t been training consistently the last year. But nothing compares to delivering a clean program, and knowing I worked for that.”
She understands that—knowing the hard work and dedication wasn’t for nothing is unparalleled but also having enjoyed it—and it’s the best feeling. She can’t imagine how he could avoid skating, just to be around partying and drinking. It’s fun to let loose, but to avoid skating by choice, she can’t imagine it. It’s how she knows she’s not ready to retire yet.
“I would kill for some private ice time this week,” she mutters, shaking her head whilst shifting conversation. “Bet you didn’t miss sharing the ice with twenty different people at a time and a hockey team.”
“I kind of like complaining about them for an extra twenty minutes before actually getting to work,” he jokes, earning him an abrupt laugh she nearly chokes on.
“It’s like they can’t stop without shaving a layer off the ice!” She playfully gripes, rolling her eyes for effect.
Thor grumbles over his glass of water, “Fuckin’ hockey players…”
Rue dissolved into a fit of giggles, making his smile widen behind the mouth of his glass. She presses her hands to her face, shaking her head at him.
“How many times have you had to say you don’t play hockey?”
“Too many. ‘Oh, you skate? What team?’”He exhales through his mouth, crossing his arms casually as he mocks those who’ve posed the question.
“You’re such a snob, aren’t you?” She asks teasingly.
“Obviously,” He says, expression displaying that he thinks it should be easy to see. But his tone is so clearly amused that she can’t help her cackle.
She sobers after a few moments of wheezing, wiping the corner of her eye as she goes back to digging through her salad, picking up her knife to cut into a piece of grilled chicken. “So what’s the goal? Making it to the International Classic?”
“The Grand Prix events,” Thor says, referring to the international competition that set the groundwork that leads to Euros and ultimately the World Championships. They can do that. “We won’t be ready for September and I want us to put our best foot forward, so to speak.”
Rue finds his assured expression to be a good thing, but she’s not so convinced either. She hasn’t convinced herself to go for anything more than a double jump and here he is, talking about the road to world titles. So really, what other choice is there?
“We sure will.”
Three Weeks Later—Nidavelir Recreational Center
Thor takes Rue’s hand as their names are announced. They wave to the audience, warmed by the reception. The pop from the crowd at the announcement of her name is nearly deafening. She smiles with pride. He swallows down the bitter feeling in his throat from the scattered cheers for himself. Since he’s arrived, credentialed media journalists and talent alike have been wearily watching him. He doesn’t think his outbursts warrant such weariness—then again, by the time they’ve gotten to this moment, he was feeling the temptation of kicking over a water cooler. Rue gives his hand a squeeze as they separate, going in smooth circles before finding their mark. She wipes at her nose, where it’s been over-powdered and is feeling a little dry. He exhales deeply, smiling at her as they settle.
Rue can hear the thumping of her heartbeat in her ears. Thor stands beside her, one hand at her hip. They stand waiting to begin their first skate together in front of an audience. The lights are dimmed, a spotlight on them. (She hates the whole exhibition spotlight thing, a lot of their actions are swathed in harsh light. And looking into it? Goodbye eyesight for the rest of the evening.) But she grits her teeth as she reaches for a calming inhale, swallowing down her nerves. She hasn’t performed in over a year, and nearly forgot this final moment before it’s time to show what she’s been working for. It’s not for a score—and being a part of the gala but not the event is disheartening but she can’t think of that now—but the precedent needs to be set: they are here, and they’re here to be the best.
X Ambassadors’ Unsteady blares through the rink hauntingly as she pulls away from Thor and he pulls her back, hand bracing at her neck. This song fits the current situation well enough—Thor’s struggles being something they can’t run from, but here she is, keeping him afloat. They glide easily, wrapped around each other.
They open with their triple twist lift; the crowd claps as Thor catches her and she lands on her foot, skating ahead. She twirls around him as Thor displays the struggle of trying to keep up, wanting her strength. It’s a nice contrast she thinks—this hulking man looking so anguished, along with her yearning. And she doesn’t know where exactly he’s pulling the expression from, but it’s working. His aggressive skating and the deep haunting of the mix they’re skating to—it works. He wears a grey shirt, and simple black pants. He couldn’t be convinced otherwise, never has he been one for flashy outfits. She’ll have to break him out of that. Her bedazzled, soft blue leo and skirt shift with her movement. In their program, he is the dark, she is light.
They catch hands and skate backwards around the curve of the rink before he pulls her in for the set up for their triple lutz throw, hand slightly off center—the take off from the imaginary ripcord sends her soaring. The landing is deep and she has to fight for it more than she wants, but she glides across the ice with a smile. It feels even better to land it in front of onlookers. She sets her feet into a spread eagle as he catches up and they skate together in a series of circles and hand waves before he effortlessly lifts her over his head with one arm and she holds his shoulder. Heimdall holds his breath where he stands on the sidelines, fingers pressed over his mouth as he looks on.
Their transitions from skill to skill are lovely and clean, perfectly synced with the music. They go into their jumps, simultaneous triple toe loops. She smiles as they land them in unison. Thor gets such height in his jumps. They moved into the paired Arabesque, their hands resting over her abdomen as they spin on the same axis and the music swells. They slow their spinning, skating apart in opposite directions until she moves into his arms again. He lifts her so she’s perched on his thigh, and they move down a line. He spins her out back onto her own skates.
Rue closes her eyes for the death spin, her body nearly parallel as he guides her around the same circle; toe pick acting as an anchor for the move.
Rue feels more and more exhilarated as they go through the rest of the program—paired jumps and gravity defying lifts along with fleeting, and impassioned touches that are far too easy to sell. When he throws her for the salchow late in the program; she knows she’ll land it comfortably before her skate hits the ice.
He reaches her with an extended hand, pulling her close. Their noses touch as she presses her hands into his, and he supports her weight as they turn around.
The last jump sequence is clean, triple lutz, double toe. They meet in the center of the ice with side-by-side fan spirals. On the songs close, they pair spin and he stops bowed before her, arms around her waist, as if begging her to stay.
The crowd cheers loudly, and she allows herself to beam in the adoration. She looks down to Thor, who looks just as relieved, happy even. He straightens and she offers double high fives.
He keeps hold on her hands, pulling her close. “Amazing,” He says into her hair.
She beams up at him, playfully exhaling with her tongue out, hands at his waist. He laughs, resting his chin atop her head as they continue to stand and soak up the applause. They bow and wave, smiling widely at the fans who are cheering.
Heimdall beams with pride as they approach him on the sidelines, accepting hugs and relief. They didn’t make any mistakes save for a couple near misses on their jumps. But it’s to be expected, at least to the coach anyway. Both Thor and Rue have had long extended time off the ice. He hands them their skate guards and a jacket for Rue.
There’s no need to visit the couches in the kiss and cry—the area where they would receive their scores—so they settle for gripping each other’s wrists right there in the middle of the sideline hall, letting out excited, pent up, childlike roars of glee.