Happy birthday to my actual favorite person born on this day, my fraternal soulmate, @onpenhollowlane, who asked for this ages ago and has been very patient. Bom &tc, favorite lieutentant sister!
Team FitzSimmons has won every major world championship they
can—except Olympic gold.
They were too young to compete in Turin, no one could deny
Rogers and Carter their swan song in Vancouver, and Romanoff clearly had the
home country boost in Sochi. But no matter, they’re over it. This is their
Everyone says so, not just Scott Hamilton.
Their training partner, Daisy, says it’s so much their time
that she shouldn’t even bother trying. Partly she means it. Partly she’s not
looking forward to breaking in Lincoln, her third partner in as many seasons
(Ward dumped her to skate for Canada. Trip tore his ACL).
Jemma urges caution—there’s
still two years; we aren’t invincible—but no one listens.
They’ve never been better. Their artistry, their
synchronization, their jumps, their lifts, their death spirals, their
mirroring—sometimes, people watching them almost forget they’re two people.
Fitz looks at Simmons after executing a perfect throw triple
axel and just grins: they may as well put
our names on them now.
Ugh, Fitz, she
chides. Secretly, she agrees. They really almost are invincible.
In practice one day, something goes horribly wrong—she never
knows what, afterwards, only one second she’s up in the air and the next she
and Fitz are in a crumpled heap on the ice and there’s blood everywhere and a
bone sticking out of Fitz’s leg.
Compound fracture. Major surgery.
Jemma sits in the waiting room silent, staring, going over
and over what May told her had happened: she was falling, and she was going to
land hard and hurt herself badly, and Fitz lunged for her and caught her
somehow. And ruined his life in the process.
May didn’t say that last part. But Jemma knows.
Why did you do it,
she demands of his spectre the whole time he’s in surgery. Why?
When the question finally bursts from her, he lays back
palely on the pillow. Better me than you.
She scoffs. As if
there could be a me without you. You’re my partner.
Yes, but you’re more
You don’t think you’re
my best friend too?
No, Jemma, more than that.
It could be the painkillers, but it isn’t. She doesn’t know
what to say. Neither does he.
Rachel looked over Balog, the new lieutentant who would be aiding her in her quest to find Klapecki. And she noticed that Balog was looking right back at her. Scanning her, as if she was looking for danger or something to take advantage of. Rachel registered that, and turned away, walking to her quarters. She just barely overheard the muttering of the Hungarian behind her. “Oh…egy pillanat alatt megbasználak"”