Chapter Text
For as long as Misha could remember, he'd been on the ice nearly his whole childhood.
It had all started when he was only 2 years old, his mother had brought him to the outdoor rink for the first time.
He had whined constantly about it, even as Mrs. Collins put on his small puffy red parka and and laced up his little black snow boots.
She had smiled fondly down at her son, despite the scowl that he was sporting on his face and then laughed, as she grabbed his hand in her own glove-clad one.
Then together, they had trudged up the street, passing cars and shops, the wind biting at their cheeks.
Misha closes his eyes now, as he leans against the side board of that same rink, almost thinking that he can still hear the sound of blades cutting into the fresh ice.
But of course, that was back a long time ago.
He's a grown man now almost 40 and the rink is now an abandoned piece of ice in the middle of the park.
The boards that used to shine, are now peeling, the red and white paint falling to the bumpy ice below.
Misha sighs then, and opens his eyes to see his wife Vicki smiling at him, as she leans against the outside part of one of the old boards.
"Maybe, it's time we left, honey.", she says, glancing down at her gloved hands which are held tightly against her woollen coat.
He nods sadly, stepping away from the boards and moving towards the small square opening that is right next to wear Vicki is.
She puts her hand in his, as they slowly start to walk away, back towards their car.
"We'll come back soon." , she whispers then, as an afterthought and Misha help but tear up at her words.
"P-Promise?", he chokes out, his voice rough and hoarse.
Vicki nods, wiping her glove across his face, to get rid of the tears spilling onto his cheeks.
"I promise...", she tells him, and Misha can only nod.
Later, when they get back to their house, their children West and Maison are sitting in 'Uncle Jared's' lap, as he reads to them from a large colourful-looking book, all of them laughing.
Then Jared sees his friend, standing in the doorway, looking off distantly at nothing in particular and looks up from the book, staring worriedly at Misha.
"What's wrong?", he asks, getting up and placing the kids on the couch and book on the coffee table.
Vicki sighs then, appearing by the door, her face surprisingly calm.
"We went to the rink, today."
Suddenly, Jared understands what's wrong, he nods.
"I see. Is that why he's...?"
She nods, turning back towards the kitchen, Misha doesn't even move when she passes him.
Jared steps closer and pulls his friend into a hug.
"Everything okay?"
But, the other man can only cry as he thinks about the past.
It isn't until later, that Misha finally tells Jared what's wrong.
"So, you see, it's like this when I was about 2, my mother took me to that skating rink. I whined and pleaded not to go, but she grabbed my hand anyway and pulled me out the door...", he stops, sadness filling his gaze again, because she remembers that his mother is no longer living.
She died 7 months ago, from a stroke.
"What happened after that?", Jared asks, determined to know why this bothers Misha so much.
The other man smiles a little at the memory, then sighs.
"She helped me get on my skates, then guided me along the ice, still holding tightly to my hand. It wasn't long before we were laughing and gliding together across the rink, the wind still biting at our cheeks. We stayed there all day, just enjoying the feel of the frozen surface beneath our feet and the harsh yet somehow calm whoosh of the wind. I even met someone-", he says, then stops, remembering that he's never told Jared about the rink or the person he met there.
Jared's eyes seem to light up at that, and he leans closer, wanting to know.
"Who was it?", he whispers, causing Misha to slightly blush.
"Uh, just someone. Well, another boy that was there with his mom, Jeffrey-no, uh, Jerald?"
The other man suddenly laughs then, clearly finding this amusing.
"You can't remember his name?", Jared asks, trying not to laugh again.
Misha shakes his head, dark brown hair accidentally falling into his eyes.
Jared laughs again, brushing the dark strands out of his friend's hair.
"Well uh, do you know the family name, at least? Maybe, we could look him up?"
To Jared's surprise, Misha nods, smiling, slightly.
"My mother and his mom talked and I heard them say it, once. It was later on, when I started taking lessons at the local indoor rink. The coach would would always yell it, too. Ackles. His last name, the boy's I mean, is Ackles."
Jared nods, running over to grab the phone book on the coffee table, almost tripping on a lamp cord as he returns.
Misha bites his lip to keep from laughing and takes the book and begins flipping through hastily, trying to find the mystery boy's address.
He shouts triumphantly, as his finger lands on one of the addresses near the top of the list.
"There. I think this is it. Try this one."
His friend looks at him unsure, but begins to dial the number on his cell phone.
They wait in silence as it rings, the only sound Vicki preparing dinner in the kitchen, both kids now sound asleep.
"Hello?", a voice says, causing both of them to jump, from where they're sitting.
"Uh, what do I do?", Misha asks, looking at Jared for an answer, as he tries to calm his rapidly beating heart.
"I dunno, dude. You wanted to call him, now answer!"
"I didn't want to call him, I just wanted to know where he lives!"
"Well, you're only gonna figure that out if you talk to him!"
"Okay, give me the phone.", Misha says, reluctantly, as he tries to think of what to say.
Meanwhile, on the other end of the line, Daneel sighs frustratedly, as she listens irritated to the endless drone of the phone.
"Whatever.", she says, clicking the 'hang up' button and goes back to making her husband dinner.
Misha looks sadly up at Jared, his eyes shining with something like tears.
He rubs his eyes to stop from crying.
"They hung up.", he tells him, voice flat and devoid of any sort of emotion besides sadness.
Jared nods understandingly and then shrugs.
"Well, maybe it wasn't him, after all."
"Maybe.", Misha agrees, although he knows full well that it's a lie.