Work Text:
Myka Bering has been dreaming ofthe Olympics since she was fourteen years old.
July 21 1996 is a day vividly imprinted in her mind as fourteen hundred miles away from her home in Colorado Springs, she had sat with five other junior team fencers and watched the debut of the women's epee at the biggest sporting event in the world. Myka had vowed to herself that one day, she'd be the one up on that piste representing her country.
And now, sixteen years and countless heartbreaks later, she is finally here, in London, for the Games of the XXX Olympiad.
She has to take a moment in the middle of the Village to just stare at the five iconic rings proudly displayed, as her hand automatically moves to tug at the accreditation hanging around her neck.
"You a virgin?"
She startles at the question.
"Excuse me?" she exclaims, spinning to face her questioner, a tall, tanned guy, grinning cheekily. If his accent hadn't given away his Australian heritage, his gold and green kangaroo adorned t-shirt certainly makes it clear.
"This your first?" he amends, still grinning as he folds his arms and leans against the rings' support. "You've got that look of wide-eyed wonder about you."
"Uh, yeah," she says, and if anything, his grin grows wider.
Myka suddenly realises what's going on here and seeking a quick escape, glances at her watch. "Oh, I'm sorry, I've got to meet my coach. But, uh, good luck and I'll maybe see you around?"
She makes a quick escape towards her building, not giving the guy time to protest, wincing at her awkwardness. Like everyone else, she's read the stories about just what happens behind the closed gates of the Village. (She'd asked her best friend, Pete, about his experiences in Beijing and promptly stopped his recollections as soon as she saw the goofy grin spread across his face at the memories.) But Myka certainly isn't interested in any of the men available, nor is she interested in navigating the uncertainty of ascertaining just which of the women would even be receptive to any advances she might make. She's simply going to focus on her event, and after she's finished competing, there are still plenty of sights and sounds of the Games and of London for her to occupy herself. She's never had the chance to visit London before and she intends to make the most of it.
But as she is well aware, even the best laid plans often go awry.
--
She meets Helena on her first full day in the Village.
There's still a week before the Opening Ceremony, but the Village is starting to fill up with athletes from all over the world. Myka's roommate, a young diver named Claudia, has been here three days already and had regaled Myka the previous night with how a bunch of the divers had already ridden the London Eye and how the fish and chips in the cafeteria are awesome. (She quickly adds that she'd only had a mouthful of each to try it until after her event.)
Claudia is up early the next morning, disappearing to breakfast just as Myka's alarm goes off. "Early training session," she explains on her way out of the door, "catch you later." Leena hasn't responded to her text by the time she gets out of the shower, and the closed doors of her teammates' bedrooms indicates that she is likely the only one awake at this hour, so she heads down for breakfast alone.
The dining hall is bustling and Myka immediately makes a beeline to the coffee before checking out the dizzying array of options available to her. She had skipped the dining hall the previous night, instead grabbing a juice and salad from one of the Grab and Go carts scattered around the Village, heading straight up to her room, determined to try and get to sleep as soon as possible to try and avoid the worst of the jet lag. She keeps breakfast simple, and after topping up her coffee, finds an empty section of seating.
"Now, it's simply criminal for a woman as beautiful as yourself to be eating alone." The richly accented voice is warm and mirthful and when Myka looks up at the sound of the chair being moved out opposite her, she momentarily blanks at the intense dark eyes that meet hers. "And I would be remiss in my duties as a representative of the host nation if I didn't rectify that."
Myka just blinks, her eyes slipping to the curve of the woman's smile.
"Helena Wells," the woman says, offering her hand across the table. Myka takes it automatically.
"Myka Bering," she manages after a moment, then laughs, nervously. "Sorry, I'm not at my best first thing in the morning. Before coffee, you know?"
Helena laughs in response. "I do know very well," she says, lifting her own mug. "Early training?"
Myka shakes her head, peeling the top off her yogurt. "Not today," she says. "I only got in late yesterday, so I get today to get myself sorted. How about you? What sport are you?"
"Equestrian… show jumping to be more precise," Helena says, spreading a thin layer of honey across her toast. "And yourself?"
"Fencing… épée to be more precise," Myka replies impishly, delighted when Helena laughs merrily. "I didn't realize the equestrian teams were staying here. I thought you'd be out with your horses. I know the US team is away on a farm somewhere for camp."
"Well, I have the advantage of being a little closer to home," Helena explains. "I'm off to the stables where we're staying until we get to move into Greenwich Park in a couple of weeks. I just didn't want to miss out on all the… fun… here in the Village," she adds with a wink, and Myka has to fight down a blush.
Suddenly her resolve not to get involved with anyone during her time here is flying out of the window.
And she doesn't care.
"If you don't already have anything planned for the morning, why don't you come on out to the stables with me?" Helena suggests, glancing coyly up at Myka through dark eyelashes. "It shan't take too long, and then perhaps I could show you a bit of London. I'm an excellent tour guide, or so I've been told."
There's a thousand reasons that Myka should say no to the invite, but she just smiles shyly at Helena. "I'd like that," she says.
They don't actually end up seeing much of London at all. After watching Helena with her horse, Myka finds herself with her back pressed against an empty stable wall, gasping for breath as her hands fist in the fabric of Helena's previously pristine polo shirt.
Claudia very diplomatically doesn't mention the straw in Myka's hair when she returns to their room after lunch.