Six
Brunnhilde winces as she hits the ice, hard off the triple loop throw. She slaps her palm on the ice, before getting to her feet, rushing to catch up with her partner. Heimdall hasn’t stopped them, they’re to keep going, running through their short as if it were the day of their competition.
She can see the look of disappointment reflecting on Thor’s face as she bites down her bitter annoyance at herself. She knows they shouldn't expect perfection, but she hates falling. It feels like such an avoidable thing. She hates being the one having to catch up. She’s not used to being behind the curve. And the Olympian is more than thoroughly annoyed that Thor seems to just belong —not at all labored from exertion, or his time off. She’s screwed up so much, his normally endearing qualities are starting to be glaring holes in what she brings to the table.
In the last week, they’ve been working hard, and he’s holding up better than she is. She can’t seem to catch her footing, nerves getting the best of her. It’s starting to reflect in her performance. Frustration has been far too common now, which is far more annoying after they’d skated before near flawlessly.
They have a lot to live up to.
The injury, her torn ligaments and the surgery that repaired her damaged knee are eating away at her confidence in her ability. What if she can’t compete anymore, what if she’s just going to pull Thor down with her? What if she’s going to do more harm than good? What if… what if…what if.
“Stop…” Heimdall calls heavily. He can see the dejection in her shoulders, the heaviness of her strides. She looks clunky. And Rue is never clunky . He throws the stereo remote in the air, snatching it again. “You’ll get it,” He nods at her, “Take it from the top. Places.”
She’d suddenly rather be hooked up to a pulley, working on her axel. The figure skater would probably be less inclined to throw up.
“What’s the matter?” Thor asks, as they find their marks. His brows are furrowed with worry and Rue wants to reach up to smooth the lines away. She’s seen that expression etched on his features far too much for her own liking. And the Olympian doesn’t need him worrying over her.
“I’ll get it,” she says instead. It’s much easier to say that than it is to tell him she’s worried she’s holding him back.
“Hey..” He turns her to face him, “aren’t you the one who’s says we shouldn’t get too much in our own heads?”
Rue frowns, throwing her head back as he smirks down at her. “Yes,” she huffs, pulling her head back up to look at her partner. “Yeah, yeah… I’m just… I don’t know. I’m—“
“Do you need a break?” Thor asks, immediately looking to Heimdall. Their coach looks slightly exasperated, but he can see that something is on Rue’s mind. It’s not productive to let it fester.
“No,” Rue shakes her head. “Just a second, to exhale.” She's tense, and soon she’ll work herself right into a panic.
You’re an Olympic champion, godsdammit! She internally bellows at herself, ringing out her hands. Thor squeezes her shoulders, feeling her shudder under his hands. She nods when she’s ready.
They start at the beginning. Thor grips her tighter, steadier, and gives her a nod. “Relax,” he encourages, “I've got you.” He smiles confidently, a twinkle of determination in his eyes as he pulls her closer, before he’s to throw her up in the air. They’ve been working on a quad twist, and she’s tiny enough to twist four times, and he’s strong enough to get her high in the air. He catches her with room to spare, setting her back on her skates. There will be a boost to their numbers that will give them a comfortable cushion should something go awry.
With grace and delicacy, they are the picture of perfection and unison. They reach for each other with yearning, soft expressions and light touches. They set their feet into the spread eagle position, mirroring each other as they cross the ice.
Rue lets herself feel the music as they get into the space of the routine. It’s easy to put her trust in him, once she lets go—when she reminds herself that this is a partnership. It’s required, but flows so easily.
Their combination jumps are perfect, both landing solidly on the ice. Heimdall nods with satisfaction as they round past him, their skates crossing as they pass, backwards. Finger tips brush until they firmly grasp each other’s hands and he pulls her in to balance on his thighs. They create fluid lines and their entries and dismounts are smooth.
Near the end of the routine, comes the triple throw. She digs in, just as Thor offers her momentum a push. With renewed confidence, she twists, landing with her skate solidly beneath her. It’s a deeper landing than she would have liked, but it’s a landing nevertheless. She pumps her fist, smiling to herself.
Frigga smiles as she comes down the bleachers to stand beside her long time friend, Heimdall. She gently tugs the sleeve of his shirt, getting his attention casually. “They seem to be doing well.”
“I’d hope so, by this point,” He teases, unfolding his arms as he turns to look at her. “Take 5!” He calls to them. Rue throws herself at her partner, Thor’s bellowing laughter echoes in the rink. They race to the edge to grab their water bottles. They’re lost in talking to each other. And it’s a marked difference from the weeks before, when Thor was withdrawn.
Frigga’s smile widens into a grin. “Have you read their reviews?”
“I caught a few. A lot of them about latent sexual tension and how good they look together.” Heimdall rolls his eyes.
“You know that’s how it is now—people like pretty things in even prettier packages.” The now-sole owner of the rink shrugs. They both sit on the bottom row of the bleachers as she sighs. “I didn’t think they’d reconcile after the conference.”
“Thor knows this is important,” Heimdall replies evenly. “And despite his best effort to ignore what was bothering him… Brunhilde got it out of him—without much of a fight from what I can tell.”
“That’s my Rue,” Frigga laughs.
They discuss the rest of the schedule for the day, and finalize some more travel plans before Heimdall reaches his hand for hers. He squeezes gently, searching her face before he even asks his question.
“How’re you holding up?” He asks, knowing just how jarring the mention of her husband’s death still racks her heart.
She sighs heavily, shaking her head just as weightily. She turned her head, considering him with an uplifted chin and watery eyes. “I didn’t think it would be a talking point—my mistake. And so I’m dealing with it about as well as my son is.”
Grief is a tricky thing, heavy and reminiscent. But she’s used to being flooded by the memory of Odin. They’d been married so long, she remembers him in everything—and his sickness seems to weigh every one of those memories down. With Thor’s return to the spotlight, the fact that Odin was ripped from her life so suddenly...her heart feels freshly broken again. He had his faults—plenty really—but she still loved him dearly.
She’s heartbroken for herself, heartbroken for her sons. The two of them weren’t close with their father in his last days. And she feels responsible for it. She hadn’t pushed them to resolve the pain and resentment. Odin hadn’t seen anything beyond himself on those last few months—stubbornly digging his heels in when he’d so badly needed to accept help. She couldn’t be angry, she knew it wasn’t him. It wasn’t her husband taking out all his frustrations on her and their children, it was the alcohol. And she couldn’t blame Loki and Thor, they’d never gotten the bond with their father that they’d all sorely needed.
When he’d met his end, it felt like everyone was sad for her, because she’d still found it in herself to love her husband. And now he’s not here to help fix the damage that had been done.
Sometimes she wonders what kind of mother she was… and wasn’t. What kind of parent let her children drown themselves in their need to just be adequate to a father that would never have been clear headed enough to notice?
“Frig?” Heimdall ponders, bucking her shoulder with his. She plasters a fake smile on her face. The conversation dies then, when Rue and Thor make their way over, arms linked as they approach.
Rue’s strong turn to a stop cuts the silence. “Hey, have you been here the entire time?” She asks, oblivious. “Did you see me land the loop?”
“I haven’t been down here long… but I did see. Clean up the landing and it’ll be perfect.” Frigga winked at her, in the same moment sucking back her urge to cry. Thor notices, the frown between his brows deep and pronounced. He leans on the barrier, elbows just at the edge. He opens his mouth to ask her if she’s alright when she continues. “I was just telling Heimdall that I think you two are nearly ready.”
Heimdall finds the fib to be unnecessary but says nothing. Thor and Rue would understand she’s not quite feeling herself, offput by the disastrous conference they’d all witnessed. But it’s not his issue to unpack with mother and son. The Borsens are a stubborn clan.
“Oh, I dunno about that!” Rue laughs. She twists her fingers around the end of her braid, chuckling nervous. “We still have some things to iron out.”
“Minor details.” Thor shrugs. “Hey, aren’t you the one who told me you can’t work with someone who freaks out over the details?”
“When did I say that?” Rue asks, feigning confusion. She knows exactly what he’s referencing. She sticks her tongue out at him.
“You’ll be ready when the time comes,” Heimdall mediates. October would be upon them in no time.