Chapter Text
The first day of round robin is almost over and they've won every match. Lexa knows not to get optimistic, though, for they have only faced weaker competition so far. The true challenge is the last game of the day, against the US.
Canada and Sweden are the teams to beat. Canadians want to double the gold they won four years ago and the Swedes want to get their monopoly back. This year, however, two more teams have put in a very solid application form the gold. The US, looking for their first medal, and Norway, looking to score for the first time since 1992 — otherwise known as the ones with the fabulous pants.
Lexa is one of them. She wears her pants with pride, one might add, knowing no other country or sport can rival the creativity. You have to wear them with gusto. With style.
Style is precisely what the US team don't have. They have no style, they have no talent, they have no game. That's what Lexa tells herself as she gets ready for the match. It's one they can't lose. It's the one they can't lose.
The heated rivalry between the Norwegian and American women's curling teams had its genesis seven years ago, at a time when Lexa wasn't yet a Norway international. Apparently, according to reports (and Lexa has privileged information from both sides), the American captain was so mad that they'd lost a game that she threw her broom at her Norwegian counterpart. Some say that the Nordic skipper had been poking the bear all day — Lexa is not inclined to believe such rumors. A fight broke out, two girls (one from each team) ended up in the hospital with broken arms and thus the feud began.
So yes, they have to win. Otherwise they risk being lynched by every single curling fan in Norway. All fifty of them.
As the skip, an honor she garnered two years ago, Lexa spearheads her team on the way to the sheet and is the first to get a look at the opposition's faces. There's Octavia Blake, the lead, as impatient as she is talented. The second is Harper McIntyre, the weakest link but very good still. The vice-skip is Raven Reyes, a brilliant strategist and great at placing shots. The skip is Clarke Griffin, by far the best player on that team.
Norway's second is their weakest link, too, but as opposed to Harper, Tris is a very young player with amazing potential and Lexa predicts she will one day be the skip. On the other hand, Indra, arguably the world's best lead, has announced her retirement after PyeongChang. However, as long as Lexa has Anya at her side as her vice and closest friend, she knows their team is one step closer to winning everything.
Both teams' subs, Silje Odegaard and Zoe Monroe, stay behind. Lexa greets Octavia, Harper, and Raven with simple handshakes, but when she gets to Clarke, the blue-eyed, blonde-haired beauty holds onto her hand and she feels their rivalry flare.
“Nice pants, Lund.”
Lexa looks down at her pants, a deep red with hearts in different shades of pink all over. “Thank you,” she says, looking back at her rival. “My girlfriend will get to take them off me tonight.”
Clarke snorts. "Are you ready to lose?"
She raises an eyebrow, thriving on the interaction. "No more than you should be."
Clarke scoffs and it's both annoying and exhilarating. "Someone's going to cry in her girlfriend's arms tonight. And just in case your cute little Norwegian brain hasn't caught up, that someone is you." Lexa's eyes narrow.
"I never cry when I lose."
"So you admit you're going to lose today?"
"Never."
They lose.
They lose and Lexa throws her shoes in her bag furiously as her teammates sulk around her on the locker room benches. Everything is said and done, their coach has properly scolded them, so there is nothing else to say or do that will make the situation better.
"I need to go," she mutters, shouldering her bag and heading out. Behind her, she hears Anya, ever the vocal competitor, say something close to 'fucking Americans'.
On her way back to the Olympic village, Lexa goes over every end, every throw, every sweep, every move in her head. She has no problem admitting that their opponents' strategy was better and forced them to make unlikely mistakes. She'll just have to find a way to get the upper hand next time.
When she reaches Gangneung, Lexa is feeling at peace and decides to take a quick trip to the local McDonald's restaurant, where she drones out the orders she knows so well. Finally, she makes her way towards the dorms.
The door is closed when she gets there, which is a relief. It means no one else is in there. She knocks and when it opens, a smile pulls at the corners of Lexa's lips. Before she can say anything, a hand grabs her wrist and pulls her inside, closing the door behind her.
A pair of arms slides around her waist and she wraps her own around the other woman's shoulders. A wide smile greets her. "I told you I would win."
Lexa rolls her eyes but can't hold her smile. She gives Clarke's puckered lips a peck and disentangles from the blonde's arms to show her peace offering.
"Happy Valentine’s Day. I brought your favorite."
Suddenly Lexa is all but forgotten in favor of the McDonald's bag and Clarke runs back to her bed, already barefoot, where she opens the bag and pulls out her order. Lexa takes a spot on the bed as well and Clarke kisses her cheek, mouth already full of French fries. "Thanks, babe."
Clarke hands her a burger and Lexa unwraps it carefully. "Don't talk with your mouth full", she chastises lightly.
"How can you be both the most amazing and most boring girlfriend ever?" Clarke asks rhetorically around another mouthful of food.
Lexa sends her an admonishing look. "Manners aren't boring, Clarke. If we don't learn to behave properly, we may as well be animals."
"I'm an animal."
Lexa smirks and pops one of Clarke's fries in her mouth. "I won't argue with that." Clarke slaps her arm with playful indignation and Lexa takes advantage of the comfortable lull in conversation to grab her own fries. "I'm sorry, by the way."
Clarke frowns in puzzlement. "For what? I won."
"Yet it looks like you will have no crying girlfriend to hold in your arms tonight.”
"You already did that weird thing where you go through every single second of the rink in your head, right?" Lexa nods, secretly pleased that Clarke knows her so well. "I don't mind other kinds of holding," Clarke winks, then her lips stretch in a wide grin — and again, so much food; Lexa should really find it more disgusting than she does. "Besides, you're an ugly crier."
Lexa pokes her tongue out and Clarke laughs, and from then on everything escalates in the most pleasurable ways.
“I can’t wait to retire.”
They are lying on Clarke’s bed; the blonde’s body half draped on Lexa’s and a tattooed arm around her shoulders. Lexa’s fingers trace idle patters on her girlfriend’s upper arm, as Clarke’s fiddle with her belly button, reveling in the way Lexa’s stomach clenches every now and then with the slight tickling sensation. One of Clarke’s legs is laid across both of Lexa’s and her head rests on the brunette’s chest. It’s perfect.
Lexa kisses the crown of Clarke’s head. “What will I do without you on the circuit?”
“You’ll win every tournament and then take the fastest plane so you can come home to me.”
She hums and caresses the skin beneath her fingers as she feels Clarke’s lips leave a soft kiss over her heart. “I like that plan.”
“Me too.” Clarke tightens the hold on Lexa’s body. “All I need is one medal. Just one and I can go home and say ‘job well done’.”
“I think you always do a great job,” Lexa says with sincerity.
Clarke looks up to meet her eyes with a pleased grin. “I love that you mean that.”
They share a soft smile and Lexa returns her gaze to the ceiling. “I can’t go home without a medal either. Expectations this year are… so high. A famous Norwegian clothing brand is interested in sponsoring us, but they will only do it if we bring home a medal. And my family…” She swallows down the knot in her throat. “They aren’t easy.”
“Your mom would have a heart attack if she knew you’re dating your nemesis”, Clarke jokes, clearly trying to lighten the mood. It works, for Lexa feels her lips curling into a small smile.
“Going home with a rival and without a medal. I might as well buy her a coffin right away.”
Clarke chuckles against her chest and moves so she’s straddling her. “Born in Canada, raised in America, yet you chose to represent Norway. Why?”
“Loyalty,” Lexa replies solemnly. “My parents are Norwegian. I wanted to honor that.”
“Your parents are assholes”, Clarke counters passionately, rehashing a topic that usually ends up in them fighting. “The way they treat you, Lexa, it’s no way to treat a child.”
“I owe them, Clarke.”
"No, you don't. You never did. Even if you had, not anymore."
"They let me put my life on hold for curling."
"And you've brought home medals and thousands of dollars. You've more than paid off whatever debt you think you have to them," Clarke presses. “They only let you be a pro curler because they realized you were good and they could suck a lot of money from you. You’ve more than earned your freedom.”
“That medal is my freedom,” Lexa says at last. The room is silent, the air heavy with the admission, until Clarke scoffs.
“They will only let you get away with gold.”
“Exactly.” Clarke’s eyebrows wrench together and her eyes ask Lexa a question. She answers with both determination and resignation. She has to win. Unfortunately, that’s the only way.
It’s yet another admission that hangs heavy between them.
“Lexa, I love you, but-“ Clarke averts her eyes at last, almost remorseful. “I won’t let you win if we play each other.”
“I never expected you to.” When Clarke returns the questioning gaze to Lexa’s eyes, she meets it with reassurance. “I would never.”
Clarke nods, still pensive. Her brow furrows and her whole face takes on a stormy expression. “I hate your parents, Lexa. I hate them so much.” Lexa’s heart breaks when she sees the tears pooling in Clarke’s eyes. “I just— After everything they did to you, I just don’t understand how you feel any sense of obligation and- and gratitude,” she practically spits the word, ”to those… Those monsters.”
Lexa can’t deny it, she hasn’t since three months into dating Clarke, so she just closes her eyes, trying to prevent the woman she loves from reading the pain in them. It’s useless, she knows, and when she opens them again, the same fire burns in Clarke’s stare, albeit softened by concern. She tries at a smile, but fails to stretch her lips or soothe her soul, before leaning up on an elbow and pulling Clarke down with a hand on the back of the blonde’s neck, bringing their lips together for a kiss. That works.
“Can we talk about something else?” she asks, breathless against Clarke’s lips.
She doesn’t need to open her eyes to know that Clarke is smirking. “We don’t have to talk at all.”
Round robin comes to a close a week later and Lexa is exhausted. Curling might not be as physically taxing a sport as others, but it has the added component of strategy and it exerts your brain as well as your body.
Four teams have qualified for the playoffs: hosts Republic of Korea, Sweden, USA, and Norway. Shockingly, the reigning gold medalist, Canada, hasn’t made it to the knockout round. Lexa’s team made it by just a hair, but knowing how tight competition was this year, she’s just happy they passed.
Thursday is their first day off since competition began and after some gym and recuperation work in the morning, their team decided to take the afternoon off and watch skiing competitions. They are used to Lexa’s hermit ways, so they don’t question it when she tells them she’d rather be alone and rest. She waits for a half hour after they’ve left and leaves as well, headed for the transport mall.
Clarke is already there when she arrives and no words are exchanged before they greet each other with a quick kiss. When they pull away, Lexa looks Clarke up and down and her eyes narrow when she sees what the blonde is wearing. “I thought I had lost those pants, Clarke.”
Clarke shrugs and takes her hand, leading them to the screening area. The pants are a wonderful deep blue, with crazy red and white cornucopias. “I fell in love with them when you wore them on Friday. When I saw them in your wardrobe on Monday…” Clarke trails off, winking at her.
“I cannot argue with that.”
They go through screening just in time to catch the incoming bus. Unfortunately, it fills up pretty quickly, so they have to take seats facing two other athletes. Both guys, both British, judging by their accents, and both idiots.
“Aye,” one of them says after a while, a big smile on his face. “How’re yous doin’?”
Clarke, forever the nicer one of the two, returns their smile, though not as wide. “Good, thanks. We’re heading to the Olympic Park for some events.”
“Yea, me and mi mate are doin’ that as well. Yous want some company?”
“No, thank you,” Lexa chimes in curtly, with a tight smile.
His face falls. Then it brightens when he notices Clarke’s pants. “Aye, ye’re Norwegian! I saw you play on the telly, ye’re everyone’s favourite team.”
This time, Clarke smile is all but fake and Lexa fails to stifle a self-satisfied smirk. ”Thanks.”
“Yea I hope you thrash Korea in the semis.” He elbows his friend in the ribs. “We’ll be watching, won’t we Stevie?”
“Definitely,” Stevie nods with a supposedly charming smile. His accent is much more comprehensible. He turns to Lexa and raises his eyebrows. “You’re that hot lass from the Russian curling team, right? Natalia Borisova?”
“Anastasia Bryzgalova,” Lexa corrects impeccably. From the corner of her eyes, she sees Clarke quirk an eyebrow up at her.
“Ye’re even hotter in person,” the first guy says enthusiastically. Lexa guesses it’s meant as a compliment.
Luckily, she doesn’t have to react, for the bus stops at the Olympic Park and the four of them file out. Lexa makes goodbyes quick and leaves towards the hockey center with Clarke’s arm looped around hers. She only gets a minute of reprieve before Clarke inches even closer to her with a raised eyebrow.
“So… Natasha Brogalova, huh?”
“Anastasia Bryzgalova,” Lexa rectifies, giving nothing away. “She’s that girl from the Russian mixed doubles team.”
“Oh, I know who she is,” Clarke jibes with amusement. “You seem to know her name very well.”
“I watch some curling.”
“Bet you do.” One beat, two beats. Clarke’s eyes are practically shining with mirth. “They were right, though. She’s beautiful.”
“She is.”
“But not as beautiful as you.”
Lexa can’t help the rolling of her eyes. “I was not comparing, Clarke.”
“I know, but I am.” Clarke’s shit-eating grin is essentially everything. “I love comparing you to other people, because you always win.”
Lexa ducks her head, hoping to hide the pink tint of her cheeks. From the way Clarke kisses one of them, she’s not successful.
“Clarke, you are crushing my hand.”
She gets a simple ‘sshhh” in response.
“Clarke. I need that hand to play.”
“Shut up, Lexa”, Clarke snaps with a whisper. “Respect the game.”
“But Clarke—“ Blue eyes dare her to continue. She whispers in the blonde’s ear, “I need that hand to have sex.”
That earns her a gigantic eye roll, but Clarke does let up on the bone-crushing hold on her hand. The nerves are understandable, USA and Canada are playing for the women's hockey gold and the ongoing penalty shootout will decide everything. Lexa slides her fingers into the spaces between Clarke's and waits with bated breath as a player called Brandt takes a penalty shot— and the goalie stops it. Clarke grabs the front of Lexa's jacket and hides her face in the brunette's shoulder. "I can't watch it," Clarke groans, her voice muffled by Lexa's jacket.
"Then don't."
The glare Clarke sends her is all too satisfying.
A Canadian player called Agosta steps up and Clarke lets go of Lexa's jacket to watch it play out. The player shoots and— goal. Clarke drops her head on her hands with a groan. "2-2. We're fucked."
"It's not," Lexa says seriously. "You have the chance to take the lead again, right?"
Clarke lifts her face off her hands and kisses Lexa's cheek. "It's cute that you try." Then, "Yes, we do. But we've lost the two-point lead and now it's sudden death. There's no safety net anymore."
Lexa nods, thinking she understands, and shifts her focus back to the rink. The American player who has shouldered the responsibility to take the shot has the name 'Marvin' on her back. She gets into position, looks at the goal, and— it's in!
Clarke yells and jumps in celebration, and hugs Lexa haphazardly, and even Lexa is smiling despite her total lack of interest in the game.
The crowd settles down and an expectant silence cloaks the rink once more. Clarke squeezes her hand before letting it go. "Maddie Rooney has to stop it. I can't take another minute of this shit. I'm gonna have a heart attack."
Clarke wraps her hands together against her mouth, the picture of nervousness. Maddie Rooney takes her place in goal. The opposing player, Spooner, gets into position. One beat. Two beats. Three beats. The stick swings—
Lexa jolts when Clarke erupts into yelling and cheering and jumping, and more cheering and even some stranger hugging, arms thrown up in the air and euphoria evident on her face. The whole stadium has gone crazy, but Lexa only has eyes for one person. She can't hold in a wide, toothy grin as her heart swells with love for her blissful girlfriend, even as said girlfriend is screaming from the top of her lungs, 'I FUCKING LOVE YOU MADDIE ROONEY, YOU'RE THE LOVE OF MY LIFE'.
A second later, Clarke throws her arms around Lexa's neck and peppers her face with the sloppiest, most wonderful kisses that land everywhere but on her mouth. Lexa hugs Clarke back, laughing at her silly, beautiful girlfriend, and decides right there and then that regardless of the outcome of the curling tournament, as long as she has Clarke by her side, she's invincible.