Work Text:
Los Angeles, California
6:21pm PDT
Alysa knows that she shouldn’t be glancing at her phone right now. This is exactly the worst place to be doing that, where there are about a million photographers within spitting distance of her. But she can’t help but let her gaze wander down to her lap on occasion, tapping the screen and turning the brightness all the way down as she checks the time.
She tries not to let her leg bounce so obviously under the table, and is thankful for the distraction when someone from the stage crew leans down next to her and lets her know they’re there to take her backstage. Nodding, she follows them quietly through the crowd, trying to focus on anything besides the ticking clock in the back of her head. She literally walks past Miley Cyrus on her walk, but she can’t find it within herself to care.
They lead her around through a hallway that looks much less intense than she expected the backstage of the theater to look. For some reason she thought maybe it would be fancier, or at least grander, but it’s just a cinderblock hallway with flickering fluorescent lights above, connecting a path from the audience to the wings of stage. It reminds her of the back passages at rinks, and that helps settle her nerves just a tick.
A very nice and very flustered stage manager walks her through what’s going to happen, where she needs to walk out, where she should stand, where to look to find the teleprompter the fastest. All things they told her two days ago in rehearsal. Apparently presenters don’t even go to rehearsal usually, but Alysa wanted to make sure she at least had a vague idea of how this was going to. She’s not an actress, not really. Even though some would consider her performances on the ice a form of acting. She’s not trained in award shows like this, unlike almost everyone else presenting, who could basically do it in their sleep.
“You good?” The stage manager asks, and Alysa nods.
“Great, you’re going to do great don’t worry,” She says, and Alysa breathes in deeply, exhaling out as the light cue in the theater changes for the commercial break, and stagehands swarm the stage to clear the previous set at the speed of light as the audience relaxes without the pressure of live cameras for exactly two minutes and forty five seconds. All precious time that Alysa wishes would go by faster. She watches the microphone in the center of the stage raise slowly to her height, thankful that was another thing they were able to test in rehearsal. Apparently all famous people are tall, something she’s slowly discovering human by human over the course of late night appearances and morning talk shows.
The stage dims down again as a voice over a loud speaker counts them back from the break, giving all the esteemed guests a warning to stop gossiping and take their correct seats before a live camera finds them at an inappropriate time.
“Okay Alysa, that’s you, go ahead,” The stage manager turns to her with a warm smile and a stressed posture that Alysa finds reminds her of skating coaches. Unable to breathe until the show is over, so much out of their control once their skater takes the ice.
“Thanks,” Alysa manages to breathe out, and steps onto the stage, blinking away a spotlight that follows her from the wings to the center of stage. The resulting claps and cheers help her feel further at home, and she almost relaxes by the time she gets to the microphone and follows the stage manager’s advice, eyes locking in on a little red light in the audience, just above the teleprompter.
The rest is a blur, she says the words like she practiced, something she didn’t even write, nor care to study. Pauses for applause and even a little bit of laughter as she brings up the games and the gold medal, thanking Taylor for her video narrating the Blade Angels, which she remembers Amber had to send in their groupchat for her to even see it. Staying offline during the Olympics turned out to be the correct decision for sure, but it’s made getting back online afterwards feel completely overwhelming in a way she didn’t expect.
Taylor Swift hugs her at some point, she’s not exactly sure, as she hands over a trophy which is heavier than she anticipated, and steps back as Taylor starts to give her speech. She wants so badly to be in the moment, but her mind refuses to focus, gaze fixated on the clock at the edge of the teleprompter, watching the seconds tick up. When the speech has finally ended and the lights finally dim down and she gets to walk offstage, Alysa feels like she’s lived six different lifetimes.
The rest of the evening merges into an unintelligible blur.
Cameras flash, people congratulate her, shake her hand, someone pats her on the back and she remembers not to flinch, and then finally, the houselights come up and someone over the microphone says they’re no longer live, and Alysa moves faster than she ever thought possible.
Her agent barely moves fast enough to keep up with her, as she basically runs full speed out of the venue, until she realizes she doesn’t know where she’s going and she skids to a stop in front of the nearest security guard, asking for directions. He obliges gently, pointing towards the exit to valet and she thanks him profusely, her agent following up with a similar sentiment a few steps behind her.
“There’s no way we can move faster?” Alysa basically whines from the backseat of the SUV taking them to LAX.
“It’s Los Angeles Alysa, the fact that we might get there under an hour is impressive in itself,” Her agent provides and Alysa barely holds back a sarcastic response. She looks down at her phone again instead.
8:23pm PDT
Okay, that’s not terrible. She can still make this work. To his credit, the driver does his very best, cutting in and out of traffic like a total asshole, and Alysa is eternally grateful as she bounces her leg against the backseat.
“Which terminal?” He asks as they get within spitting distance, and Alysa has to frantically pull up the email to confirm, scrolling through all the promo tour bullshit and press release media contracts she still needs to sign. None of it matters right now. She finds it and tells him, cursing herself for not starring this in her inbox the second she received it. But the driver is unphased, getting them to the terminal moments after Alysa confirms it.
“Sure you’re good?” Her agent asks, and Alysa just nods knowing that words will cost her precious seconds, jumping out of the car like a cartoon character to grab her backpack and one haphazardly packed duffel with Pokemon all over it. She wonders if security will ask any questions about the two gold medals wrapped in a canvas tote bag the the bottom of it.
Arriving at the nightmare of a TSA line, Alysa reminds herself that the flight is waiting for her, not the other way around. Had to put that Nike money to good use, and she literally couldn’t think of a better reason to fly private for the first time.
8:57pm PDT
Shit. She’s going to cut this far closer than she wants, but there aren’t any other options at this point, and she refuses to abandon the pursuit. By some miracle, she manages to get through in just twenty seven minutes, something about TSA precheck and private flight lanes, none of which she cares about right now as long as they let her pass without a second glance.
9:24pm PDT
She realizes she doesn’t know the gate still, and has to stop in the middle of the terminal like a doofus, scrolling through her phone again for the same email which she still didn’t bookmark. She looks up to see that she’s only three gates away and loses all ability to care what anyone thinks of her as she runs for it.
“Ms. Liu, welcome,” An older gentlemen standing at the gate welcomes her, his tone far too casual for the mess that Alysa imagines she looks like. Still dressed head to toe in black tie Louis Vuitton, heels in her hand not having bothered to return them to her feet after security.
“Thank you,” Alysa breathes out.
“I see you’re eager to get going, I’ll let the captain know, please, come aboard,” He says with a kind smile, and Alysa is more thankful than she can say that he picks up on that detail without her needed to tell them she wants them to pick up the pace.
“Yeah, I, appreciate,” Alysa hums as he unlocks the gate, checks her ID one more time just to confirm, and then walks them through the jetway where a flight attendant is waiting at the door with a bottle of champagne in one hand, a tray with glasses in the other. But the man behind her must make some kind of gesture, because as they approach, she steps inside with the items instead of slowing their boarding with the promise of alcohol. Alysa is appreciative of the gesture, but even more thankful that they’re forgoing it at this moment.
“Welcome aboard Ms. Liu, we’ll taxi for takeoff shortly I assure you, can I show you the plane for now, and go over some brief safety measures?” The flight attendant puts the bottle down on a small bar at the front end of the cabin. And for the first time, Alysa takes a beat, looking around at the private plane she’s found herself in, gold trim and leather seats, a bar inside the cabin,
“Yes, yeah, sorry about all the rush, I’m just, hi, it’s so nice to meet you thank you,” Alysa course corrects halfway through the sentence, and the flight attendant just smiles and shrugs.
“No need to apologize, being in a rush is not a problem at all, I can assure you that we’ve accommodated much wilder requests,” She says, and Alysa reminds herself about manners and reads the nametag of the woman currently settling her nerves as the plane starts to move under her feet. Janet.
“Thank you Janet,” Alysa breathes out.
“Of course, can I take your luggage?” Janet motions to the duffel bag in Alysa’s hand, which she’s holding in an iron grip. She forces her hand to relax, and lets Janet take the bag and put somewhere behind her. Alysa takes a few steps further into the plane and puts her backpack on the nearest seat, whistling lowly at the fact that this is all for her. Nike money indeed.
“Okay, the emergency exits are located at the front and back of the plane, and two doors over the wings, there is no smoking allowed of any kind, including marijuana use. Your pilot is Captain James and he’s assisted by Copilot Ella this evening, normally they would be greeting you themselves, but Tyrone told us you’re in a hurry so we’ll skip that part for now,” Janet says, pointing to things as she talks, and Alysa nods along, noting the differences in this speech from the typical plane safety pitch she’s heard a million times between competitions.
“This being a small flight, it’s just myself and Tyrone who will be your in cabin flight crew this evening,” Janet gestures towards the front where the kind older man is standing near the bar now. Janet goes over life jackets and cabin pressure and water activated lights, the usual, as Alysa finally sits down.
“As far as amenities, there is a full service bar, as well as a fully stocked fridge of snack and drink options, the meal options on this plane are somewhat limited since it’s one of our smaller models, but I can get you a menu at anytime to review those. We’re in the main cabin now, if you look behind us you’ll see a doorway to the private en suite, which has your bedroom ready for you, and access to the private shower and bathroom as well. The crew bathroom is located towards the front of the plane, and you’re welcome to use that as well if you’d rather stay out in the cabin,” Janet continues to point, and Alysa looks out the closest window to see they’re pulling up to the runway.
“This is your captain speaking, welcome aboard Ms. Liu, I’d like to kindly request for everyone to take their seats and prepare for takeoff, seat belts buckled for your safety, I’ll be sure to let you know as soon as we reach cruising altitude and you’re free to move about the cabin again,” The captain’s voice comes through clearly over the loud speaker and Alysa fumbles for the seatbelt across her lap, sinking into the leather, the exhaustion of the night catching up to her.
“Let me know if you need anything at all, we’re here to make sure you’re as comfortable as possible, and thank you for flying with us,” Janet wraps up her intro casually before heading over to sit next to Tyrone at the head of the cabin, the two of them talking softly. Alysa looks out the window again instead, her eyes catching on the blinking indicator lights of the runway, the glow of flight deck crews guiding them into place. She lets herself take a breath, holding on gently to the armrest as the engine picks up, and checking her phone one more time before the wheels leave the ground.
9:47pm PDT
She’s got time. That’s what she tells herself as the plane takes off into the air, gliding over the twinkling lights of LAX below. Ten minutes later, the captain lets them know they’re at cruising altitude, and Janet offers Alysa a food menu, but all she wants is to shower and pass the fuck out.
“Everything you need is in the suite, there’s a call button inside the bathroom and next to the bed, just press that if you need anything and we’ll be right there, otherwise you’ll be undisturbed,” Janet smiles.
“Thank you, I really appreciate it, and the urgency, uh, when do we land the first time?” Alysa racks her brain to try and remember where the layover is, but comes up with nothing.
“We land in London in about nine and a half hours, it should be a brief forty five minute stop to refuel, and then we’ll continue through to Prague, you don’t need to leave the aircraft if you don’t want to, but you’re welcome to disembark at the London gate and return if you so choose,” Janet supplies.
“Cool, cool, thank you, I’m gonna,” Alysa points a thumb back towards the suite, feeling like a total loser for not knowing how to act on a private plane. But Janet doesn’t seem phased, returning towards the front of the cabin as Alysa closes the door behind her.
She’s greeted with a bed on one wall, with what look like silk sheets and a comforter sporting the jet company’s logo. A TV is mounted on the wall on the opposite side, the remote sitting next to the bed. Her duffel bag is under the edge of the bed, being held in place by loose straps. She reaches for it, and then looks down at her feet and remembers that she left her high heels in the cabin on the floor somewhere. Great job Alysa, first time in a private jet and you’re literally leaving your shoes everywhere, perfect manners. She decides it’s not worth the embarrassment of sneaking back out of the room to grab them, and she’ll just try to throw them back here when they refuel tomorrow. It’s not like she needs them right now anyhow.
The duffel bag is sparingly packed, and she rummages through the mess of clothes inside to find an oversized tee shirt and sweatpants, digging further to grab boxers from the bottom. Her hands brush against the bag holding her medals and she freezes for a second, considering maybe she should be spending her time with her newfound wealth and fame doing something batter than this, but then she remembers who is waiting for her in Prague, and all those thoughts go out the window.
She reaches for her phone, and sends a quick text before finally unzipping her dress, which might be the most satisfying thing she’s ever felt. She’s all sweaty and gross, half from the nerves of the award show, half from running through the airport. Either way, it’s all over with now, and she lets herself indulge in the shower, taking longer than normal. There’s rosemary body wash and shampoo in there, and Alysa feels like she’s in a hotel as she scrubs the sweat from her body and steps out smelling like an herb garden. Not her usual, but not the worst. Stepping out back into the bedroom, there’s a response on her phone.
Isababy: good she needs you
She needs me. Alysa lets that settle in for a second before responding.
11:07pm PDT
Alysa: Isn’t it like 5 in the morning there
Isababy: 8am ish, but close, just hurry up
Alysa: I cannot make the plane go faster
Isababy: try
Alysa rolls her eyes at the messages, trying not to think about Amber waking up in Prague right now, how she must be feeling. Alysa knows, she knows exactly what Amber is doing, breathing and meditating, trying so hard to shut herself out of her own head, focusing on what she can control. She’s spent years watching her do the same routine, battling against herself every step of the way, willing to give everyone around her the benefit of the doubt and yet never cutting herself an inch of slack.
She rolls onto the bed, letting the exhaustion in her chest finally win out, falling asleep before she even pulls the covers up.
London, England
3:11pm GMT
Landing in London feels agonizing. Logically, Alysa knows it’s just to refuel, and that they physically could not make it all the way from Los Angeles to Prague, but it still feels like an inconvenience. An unnecessary roadblock on the path to Amber.
She knows it’s evening in Prague now, her girlfriend is most likely already at the arena, even though she doesn’t warm up for another four hours. Isabeau’s updates have come sparingly, and Alysa doesn’t push for more, knowing the girl needs to focus on her own skate of course. She doesn’t text Amber either. The whole point of this trip was to minimize distractions.
As far Amber knows, Alysa is sleeping the morning away in Los Angeles after partying all night post awards show. And that’s how Alysa intends to keep it for now. Given her newfound notoriety, the last thing she wants to do is bring attention to herself and away from Amber. She intends to move in the shadows, to keep as low profile as possible. Isabeau is the only one who knows she’s coming. Team USA, Ilia, all of her other fellow previous competitors and teammates, none of them are the wiser, and if Alysa pulls this off correctly, they’ll never know she was there at all. She told ISU on the strict condition that she wasn’t to be mentioned in any of their press or social media at all, and only so she could guarantee her backstage access with them. She would’ve much preferred they didn’t know either. They pushed back but her agent pushed back harder, and the ISU had no leg to stand on, not willing to risk the biggest star in skating being mad at them.
“Ms. Liu, would you like some coffee?” Janet snaps Alysa out of her daydreaming, gazing out the window at the buzz around the London airport.
“Yes that would be amazing, please,” Alysa says, her voice coming out hoarse from sleep still. At this point, her body doesn’t even know what time zone to align to. She’s running on pure instinct, sleep when tired, be awake when needed, repeat. Location no longer has any bearing on her routine.
“Of course,” Janet brings over a tray from near the bar, with a steaming mug on top, and a little bowl of creamers and container of sugar. She sets it down on the table in front of Alysa, who takes her time mixing things in so the coffee no longer tastes like petroleum, and sips slowly.
“We’re just ten minutes off our turn back to the runway, and then we’ll be in the air again,” Janet informs her before Alysa even has to ask. She doesn’t find the energy to form a verbal response, just nods, finishing the coffee post haste and looking around for the high heels she abandoned in the cabin last night. She finds they’ve been neatly placed in a compartment under one of the seats, and tries not to be embarrassed that the flight attendants had to pick up her shoes like she’s a child who can’t keep her room clean.
“So, what’s the craziest thing you’ve had requested?” Alysa asks, and Janet looks at her, not at all surprised as she ponders the question.
“Our clientèle run the gambit of professions and lifestyles, I’ve had everything from owners booking with us just so they can bring their oversized dog on board, to a request for live fish and a sushi chef on the plane for a live demonstration,” Janet hums, a smile at the corner of her lips.
“Yo that’s insane,” Alysa laughs.
“Yes it is, but most of the people flying private are usually doing it with a secondary goal in mind, one that commercial airlines just can’t accommodate,” She replies.
“Like needing to take off from LAX in the middle of the night to get to Prague with a lot of discretion?” Alysa ventures.
“Exactly like that,” Janet responds and Alysa sighs as she’s presented with a variety of lunch and breakfast options, settling on a BLT and a bunch of pastries which she mostly just picks at. Her leg doesn’t stop bouncing until they’re in the air again, and she manages to occupy herself with her Switch, trying to keep her mind anywhere else but on Amber. She wishes she could’ve been there yesterday, to reassure her before the skate, to find her eyes in the crowd and give her that nod of recognition. Where they say all they need to say to each other without speaking a word.
you’ve got this, I love you, it’s okay
But the stupid iHeartRadio awards took up her calendar, and after scouring flight options and finding nothing that could get her there before Amber took the ice, she settled on the splurge of cash for private instantly. She had to make it, there was no other option.
8:03pm CEST
When the wheels touch down in Prague, Alysa finally lets out her breath. An hour. She has an hour to get to the arena before Amber warms up. Honestly, she thought she was going to be cutting it closer, so this is a welcome surprise. She thanks Janet and Tyrone profusely as she basically runs off the plane, shaking the hands of the pilots as she does so, and of course, granting them a selfie with the caution to embargo on sharing it online until next week, when she’s no longer in Prague. The jet company has them all under NDA anyways, but they assure her it won’t be anywhere regardless.
They’ve got a car waiting for her out front, as she scrambles through the airport, hoodie over her signature hairstyle, dark sunglasses on even though the sun is no longer out. She doesn’t care if she looks like a douche at the moment, she can’t afford to be slowed by fans right now, all that matters is getting to Amber.
Alysa: landed
Isababy: oh lord youre cutting it close
Alysa: I like to live on the edge
Isababy: well live on the edge once you get here geez
Isababy: shes nervous
The words push fear into Alysa’s heart, making her stomach twist into knots.
“Hey I know this is, like, insane but I’ll literally double whatever your fee is if you can get me there in twenty minutes,” Alysa leans forward from the backseat to engage with the driver, praying he speaks some english.
“Not a problem ma’am, the speed was requested in your notes, we’ll get you there as soon as possible,” He responds, and she appreciates the way he puts his money where his mouth is, changing lanes and cutting off traffic almost as if she’s still in New York City.
She sits back again, scrolling through her phone, trying to figure out where they are in the lineup before she can finally find a live feed, letting out a breath that Sarah hasn’t even gone yet.
You’re going to make it. You can make it. She tells herself as the car twists through the streets of Prague, to which she’s barely paying attention. She’s barely aware of anything until they pull up to the arena and she thanks the driver at least six times as she leaps out of the car, bags in hand, putting them in the trunk would’ve cost her precious seconds. She looks down at her phone.
8:47pm CEST
She’s never skated here, and that puts her at a serious disadvantage for a few moments looking for the VIP entrance. That and she doesn’t speak Czech, but she eventually is able to follow enough arrows and signs with some English at the bottom edge to reach an entrance with a VIP tent over it. The idea of her being a VIP makes her feel weird inside, even with the medals in her bag.
“Hi there, can I see your ID please?” The security guard asks as Alysa throws her bags onto the xray machine belt and fumbles in her pockets for her ID. She hands her passport over, hoping that suffices as she steps through a medal detector. He nods, and hands her a badge with today’s date and her name written on it, going over how she has to keep it on at all times, ect. Things she knows, speeches she’s heard. She’s just thankful to not have made the official list in time to get a badge with her photo on it. She keeps her hoodie up as she’s pointed towards the warmup area.
She skids to a stop in the hallway, looking up at the live venue feed on a TV mounted to the wall. The last group is warming up. Amber is out there. A vision in blue. The personification of strength and grace.
Alysa’s heart aches with want.
It’s been weeks since they’ve been together, Alysa on the press tour grind, Amber training back home at Colorado and then recovering from being sick, insisting Alysa stay away to not ruin the rest of her appearances. It takes every ounce of self control to not walk out onto the ice and gather Amber in her arms right then and there.
“Did you want to go to the warm up room Ms. Liu?” Someone from behind her is asking, and Alysa shakes her head.
“No uh, that’s okay, did, is there somewhere I can watch that no one will see me in the arena?” She asks, knowing the nature of her request sounds ridiculous, but hoping there’s an answer.
“Oh, sure, Jason!” The ISU volunteer turns and yells behind her, and a sweaty young guy dressed in all black runs up, headset glued around his neck.
“What?” He asks, looking annoyed at being pulled from whatever he was doing.
“Can you take this young woman up to the control booth? Discreetly?” She asks and he turns to look at Alysa, a few seconds going by before his face flashes with recognition, the same look she’s been getting for weeks now.
“Of course, uh, follow me,” He says, and nods towards a door behind them, which opens into a stairwell. Alysa can vaguely hear the announcers in the arena discussing Kaori’s warmup, and she knows it’s close to go time. Jason, to his credit, books it up the stairs, and Alysa keeps up with him without trouble. They exit onto the seventh floor, and speedwalk through the hallways, until they get to a door marked ‘CONTROL BOOTH - EMPLOYEES ONLY’
Jason knocks once to announce their arrival, and then shoves the door open.
The room is small, taken up mostly by electronic equiptment that Alysa can’t even venture a guess for the purpose of, and a long desk at the front, sporting a giant lightboard and two young women who can’t be much older than her. They’re dressed in black like Jason, and seem shocked at his entrance.
“J, what are you? Who’s this?” One of them turns to fully address him, the other stays focused on the screen in front of them, hitting a button to commands through their headset that Alysa can’t hear. But Alysa doesn’t care about them right now, she steps right up to the edge of the desk and takes a deep breath, looking through the glass windows to have a perfect birds eye view of the entire ice, where Anastasiia has just finished her program. She drops her bags on the ground, and leans on the opposite end of the desk, watching the lights go down as Nina is announced up next. She looks at her phone.
9:13pm CEST
She made it, literally in the nick of time. For the first time in the last twenty four hours, her shoulders finally drop some tension. The arena techs seem to have finished whatever discussion they were having, and the girl who was talking to Jason offers her chair up. But Alysa waves them away.
“Sorry, I just, I needed somewhere the press couldn’t find me to watch, I don’t want to fuck with your flow, I’ll be quiet I promise,” She offers to them, and the girl shrugs.
“It’s no worries, this show basically runs itself, stay as long as you need,” And then she turns back to her colleague at the desk, discussing something in hushed tones.
Alysa: made it
Isababy: thank god brb gotta go skate
Only Isabeau would text something so casual before going to do her free program at the World Championships. Alysa rolls her eyes and focuses on the ice again as Nina wraps up, thankful she made it in time to catch Isabeau’s skate too.
She’s stunning as always, electric with the crowd, moving like she’s part of the ice itself. Her grace and poise is something Alysa can’t replicate. Her transitions always feel forced, not messy, but out of place, and Isabeau’s never do. Her programs flow like a river, not rushed or slowed, but right on time, like she’s just making it up as she goes, pulling the audience along for the ride.
Isabeau under rotates her first element. Alysa bites her lip instinctively, willing her to shake it off, to focus up. And she does, the rest of her program going by much better, her jumps smooth, her steps flawless, her spins perfect. And yet, the music ends, and Isabeau winces in front of the camera, her mind still stuck on that first mistake. Alysa exhales out through her nose, wishing she could convince Isabeau that flaws don’t equal failure, something she’s been trying to do for years now.
She waves to the crowd and skates off, looking disappointed despite the rest of her program’s execution. Her score pushes her up into second place, and not an ounce of joy shows on her face at the results, unable to stop hearing in the back of her mind, you could’ve done better. Alysa reminds herself to find Beau downstairs after Amber.
Amber.
Her name is announced to the arena and as she skates onto the ice, Alysa thinks she might throw up. Her palms get sweaty with anticipation as the crowd quiets down and the music starts.
Alysa knows every element of Amber’s programs, every step, every beat, every breath. She knows how Amber sounds in the morning after barely sleeping all night. She knows which of Amber’s laughs are real and which are fake. She knows that if Alysa walks into her apartment with shoes on, Amber will launch into a speech about outside germs. She knows Amber sleeps on her side, that she gets overheated at night a lot of the time, that she only wears shorts to bed because of it. She knows the most sensitive place on her body are her inner thighs, and how she sounds when Alysa runs her teeth over them. She knows Amber doesn’t eat before a skate, forcing herself the same basic breakfast every time and nothing more. And that’s how she knows when Amber starts that something is off.
There’s not an exact word for it. There’s not an emotion that Alysa can discern. It’s not fear or even stress. Just something under the surface of her movements that is at war with everything else.
She lands the axel, and the triple toe triple loop. But it’s still there, the undercurrent of impostor syndrome, the doubts that Alysa tries to whisper out of her head every night.
The stumble on the fourth element landing forces the crack to split open further. Alysa swallows, wanting more than anything to be able to help, to remind Amber that she’s everything she needs to be, that she’s loved, that she’s wanted. But her thoughts can’t reach her lover. Not right now.
Alysa’s breath catches as Amber stumbles on the triple loop. She doesn’t fall, but she only gets a single, and Alysa knows that’s worse to Amber than falling. The expression on her face now matches what Alysa can see inside her head, and it makes her feel sick, like Amber is unintentionally telling the audience a secret only the two of them were supposed to know about. She recovers her face, but the mask has slipped now, the cracks have shown, and Alysa’s knuckles turn white from where she’s gripping the desk edge beneath her hands.
The music picks up intensity, and so does Amber, but not in a good way. It feels like she’s fighting to get off the ice instead of fighting to stay on it. They are no longer working together, the ice betraying her movements in a breach of trust she thought they shared.
Another stumble on the triple loop. Fuck.
Amber finishes the choreo sequence like she has a million times, but the air has gone out of her lungs and the fire out of her heart. When the music finally stops and she sinks to the ground, covering her head in her hands to grant herself a few precious seconds of privacy before revealing her face of disappointment to the world, Alysa runs.
She bursts out of the booth with only a vague idea of where she’s going, but she doesn’t care. All that matters is getting to Amber. She finds the stairs that Justin lead her up not twenty minutes ago, and runs down them at double the speed she climbed up. She opens the door to the hallway she entered from and looks for someone, anyone who can help her.
The press bullpen is to her left, she can hear it, and she knows that Amber will be forced through there soon like a show pony, whether she wants to or not. Alysa cannot risk the chaos of exposure by meeting her in there, the circus that would explode if she showed her face. So reluctantly, she distances herself, moving towards the right instead, looking for somewhere she can go unnoticed.
There’s an unassuming door a few paces down, and she sneaks it open, noting the room number on the outside of the literal equipment closet she finds herself hiding in. The irony is not lost on her but she can’t find it within herself to care as she pulls out her phone and texts Isabeau her location.
Isababy: im sorry you’re where
Alysa: just bring her
Isababy: she doesn’t really wanna go anywhere right now
Alysa: Isa.
Isababy: yea yea ill work some magic hold on
Alysa realizes she’s still holding onto her backpack, her duffel thrown across her back. She drops them both in the small space, tapping her foot anxiously on the concrete floor as she waits. Every time footsteps pass in front of the door her heart stops, every time voices get too close she freezes in anticipation. The minutes crawl by agonizingly slow, especially compared to how fast time seemed to be moving on the way here. Now it’s like she’s stuck.
Then she hears it, just outside the door.
“Isa, no, I’m really not up for whatever this is,” Amber. Tears pulling at the edge of her voice.
“Well I wasn’t really given a choice, so you can blame it on her,” Isabeau responds and Alysa wants to strangle her as the door is cracked open and Amber is shoved through unceremoniously before Isabeau pulls the door shut behind her abruptly.
“What the fu-” Amber turns to see Alysa standing there, dark bags under her eyes, hoodie still pulled over her hair, arms wide open.
“Hey baby,” Alysa says softly, so softly that she hopes Amber can still hear it. But at that moment, she doesn’t think anything she says matters anyways as Amber surges forward and crashes into her embrace with all the grace of a bull in a china shop. The force of it almost knocks Alysa over, and she’s thankful there’s shelving behind her to hold her up. She wraps her arms around Amber as tightly as she can manage, keeping her grip on her even as the older skater begins to shake in the embrace, sobs wrecking her body and filling the space around them.
“I know, I know, it’s okay, I’m right here, I love you, it’s okay baby,” Alysa whispers into Amber’s ear, gently running one hand up and down her back, trying to soothe what she knows is unsootheable.
Amber doesn’t say anything for a solid five minutes, just takes great comfort in falling apart in Alysa’s arms, knowing that Alysa will still be there to put her back together at the end of it.
“You’re okay my love, you’re okay, I’m here,” She continues to encourage, squeezing Amber on occasion, the blond still unmoving and silent besides crying into Alysa’s shoulder.
“How are you, you were in LA?” Amber finally leans back, taking Alysa’s face in her hands like she’s unsure she’s real still.
“Yes I was, and yet here I am, I literally stepped into the building maybe twenty minutes before your skate, cutting it really close,” Alysa laughs and is delighted that Amber joins her, even if the laugh feels devoid of real joy.
“You look so tired, are you okay?” Amber asks, brushing her thumbs just below the dark circles under Alysa’s eyes.
“Baby, are you really asking me that right now?” Alysa offers.
“Yeah I mean,” Amber starts by Alysa has had enough.
“I’m fine, are you okay?” Alysa’s voice stabilizes enough to get the words out in a serious tone. And her heart breaks when Amber can’t do anything but shake her head no, her eyes still glistening with tears.
“That’s okay, I’m here, I love you, I promise it’s going to be okay,” Alysa reassures.
“I love you too, thank you for coming that’s, you didn’t have to,” Amber chokes out as she begins to cry again, fully ignoring the way it’s ruining her makeup. She doesn’t intend to let anyone take any more photos of her this evening anyways.
“Yes, I did,” Alysa breathes out, brushing tears away and pulling Amber’s head down gently so she can plant a soft kiss on her forehead. Amber leans in after the fact, her head resting against Alysa’s shoulder, the younger running a hand up and down her back. They stay there like that until Isabeau knocks on the door, letting them know the coast is clear to return to the hotel.
“She knew?” Amber asks.
“Oh yeah, the only one who knew actually, I’m undercover,” Alysa snorts.
“Shocked she didn’t spill the beans to me,” Amber laughs, knowing Isabeau’s capacity for keeping secrets can be tested easily with a single alcoholic drink.
“Didn’t want to distract you, just wanted to be here,” Alysa shrugs.
“Thank you for coming,” Amber says again.
“Always.”