Chapter Text
Padmé Amidala skated across the ice to beautiful and quick classical music. And slowly pulling ahead of her, parallel to her, just as practiced, was her partner, Rush Clovis. He grabbed her hand and they continued to swiftly slide across the ice, side by side. In a single smooth motion, he lifted her up and held her in the air as they slowly spun, cameras snapping pictures of them as they passed. And then his grip most certainly failed as she grunted, lost her balance and fell over Rush’s shoulder, who lowered her down to the ground.
“This is the olympics , Padmé,” she heard Sheev Palpatine say from above. “Thirty million people just called their families in from the kitchen to watch the replay.” He scoffed. “What do you think this is, Junior Pairs ’82?”
Pride still wounded and still recovering from her loss of balance, Padmé snapped back, “No, as I recall, in ’82 you were still humiliating me in private.”
“Maybe that’s because you were still listening.” Palpatine raised one infuriating, so self-righteous eyebrow -
“Well, if I’m going deaf, it’s because I’ve had you screaming in my ear for the last nine years!” Every head in the rink had turned to face her at her outburst, which Palpatine looked like he had been half-expecting. She huffed and gestured to Rush. “He’s not giving me anything to work with!” She shouted both angrily and irritatedly before turning her back and beginning to skate off the ice.
She heard Rush sigh in annoyance, which - what right did he have to be annoyed?! “Sheev, this is impossible,” he said, like she was in any capacity the problem. He was the one who couldn’t just hold her in the air like a competent skating partner! She circled back around to see Palpatine’s reaction.
He only glared at her, somehow blaming her as well. “I don’t exactly see you giving him anything to work with, either!” He exploded, causing complete silence to fall on the rink.
Padmé blinked for a second both at shock at his audacity and embarrassment at being chastised for no good cause in front of all these - she may say, inferior - figure skaters. She pointed an accusing finger at Rush. “Until Hercules here learns how to lock his grip, this will have to do.” She haughtily turned around and skated off the ice, her arms crossed as people laughed and cameras took pictures of her intended rudeness.
Anakin Skywalker hastily rushed, barely put together from having a late start to his day, to get out on the ice for his olympic hockey match. The girl he’d hooked up with the night before had misinterpreted his words as she was German, and thinking by “nine” he meant “ nein ,” as in none, leaving him with no alarm to wake him up before it was one o’clock and he’d missed all of the warm up practice for the game.
“Name, son?”
“Skywalker, US hockey!”
“Hell, son, they're just about to start!”
Didn’t he know it.
Late for the olympics. Not good.
“Padmé, this has to stop, right now.”
She didn’t respond.
“Palpatine knows what’s best, honey, he’s the one that got us here.”
“How sweet,” Padmé said emotionlessly. “He lets us tag along.”
Padmé didn’t see the stern glare she was getting from her father, as she refused to look up or acknowledge him, but she felt it. “You’re going to go back out there, right now, you’re going to apologize, and you’re going to get to work.”
As if .
She stared at him for a few moments. “I wouldn’t bet the ranch, Dad.” She turned her back and began to leave without making any more eye contact with him.
“Where do you think you’re going?!”
“I’ll be in my cell ,” she bit back, stalking away with no more words.
The national anthem was already playing as Anakin hurried to get out on the ice - horribly late, but possibly just in time for the game, which was better than not showing up at all. He raced through the hallways at the same time as Padmé sourly marched through them, looking at the ground as the anthem played in the background.
She stared at the ground mirthlessly, he dashed through the hall in a hurry, and they both came out of their respective hallways…
…and slammed right into each other.
Padmé grunted as she fell to the ground. Her pride having been tested one too many times today already , she stared up at the man who hadn’t even yet apologized with offense. “Why - what are you -”
“Does this go up to the ice?” He quickly asked her.
“What?”
“Does this go up to the ice?”
“Is that all you have to say?” Padmé said in shock, insulted. “What were you raised in, a barn?”
He looked over her head - a rather easy task considering she was still on the floor. “Honey, where I’m from, we stand for the national anthem.”
Fury coursed through Padmé’s veins as he dashed off, not even bothering to apologize or say another word regarding the matter. She stood up and immediately started back down the hallway indignantly.
“If you’re just joining us from the men’s downhill,” the announcer said over the speakers , “you’re in for a big surprise! West Germany was supposed to be an easy game, an easy mark for the United States, but here we are in the third period, and West Germany is up by a goal! Anakin Skywalker just about down to the last dime of a two minute penalty for high-sticking, he can’t wait to get out of the box, and neither can the fans!”
“Come on!” Anakin shouted impatiently as he watched his team.
“Five… four… three…” the crowd counted, which Anakin was also doing in his head. “Two… one…”
Anakin raced out onto the ice.
“Skywalker, running out of the box! They’ll hit him with the breakaway. It’s offside. ” The whistle blew. “ Anakin Skywalker, of course, the phenom from Tatooine, Minnesota. What a super story, here’s a junior from Minnesota State. You talk about being on the fast track, there are at least twelve NHL clubs that would love to have him on their roster before the season’s over. Just an incredible young athlete. If you haven’t seen him before, you’re in for a real treat this afternoon, no question about it. We’re talking about one of the finest skaters in amateur hockey today. There was a piece this week one of the writers called, ‘The Minnesota Machine.’ ”
Anakin had heard all the hype about his talent before, but he was focused on the game, faintly hearing the crowd in the background chanting, “USA! USA! USA!”
And then a blur.
He scored a goal. The crowd roared its approval.
Then there was the wall, approaching him at the side.
And then, ouch .
They’re gonna have that on the replays.
This was a different kind of blur - the kind that came from when you injured yourself rather than being in the heat of the moment in an olympic hockey game. His helmet spun out onto the ice, and he sank against the wall of the ice rink before his vision blacked.
Energetic classical music played as Padmé was once again on the ice with her partner. Her feet crossed in front of her as she twirled and flew across the ice, in sync with Rush as the spotlights focused on her and her partner. Here they were finally, possibly , about to get the reward and fame they deserved. Or, she deserved, anyway. He lifted her up, she was in the air, and then she felt herself lose balance and her knee dug into his shoulder and…
Just like in practice .
The classical music kept up it’s major and untroubled tune as she tumbled onto the ice, sliding across it and laying on the floor. The spotlights continued to focus on her, the music never stopping, as the crowd stared in horror, Rush skating awkwardly to his ending position.
She shook her head in shame as cameras eagerly took shots of her still down on the ice, not having stood back up, turning her head away from the flashing lights.
“For the record, you’ve lost 18 degrees of peripheral vision in your right eye.” Anakin sat silently and took in the news, trying to process what that would mean for his career in hockey and how he would adapt. “Now in most cases this would be considered just an inconvenience,” the doctor said. Anakin fought the urge to bite his lip nervously at the noticeable use of “most cases” in the sentence. “But for a hockey player…”
Anakin was done listening to the sympathetic and slow reveal of information. “So how long before it comes back?” Worst case scenario, he’d have to wait a few years and it would damage his career, but with his reputation…
“You’ve had… extreme trauma to your occipital lobe…”
“Doc, how long?”
The doctor waited for a few moments, dragging the suspense long enough to get Anakin impatient before saying, “You’ve got a blind side, Anakin.”
Anakin didn’t move as the words came from the doctor’s mouth, made their way to his ears, and slowly were turned over in his brain.
The doctor added, “It’s a permanent condition.”
Anakin shook his head. “So - so there’s an operation, right?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Some micro-laser thing, open me up, and…”
“Anakin. I’ve specialized in ophthalmic surgery for over fifteen years…”
Anakin cut him off. “Yeah okay, well you don’t do it here. But somebody, somewhere, uh… Down in Mexico City they shoot shark pee up your nose and make you sit in traction for eight months-”
“Anakin…” the doctor smiled sympathetically. “I’m sorry. I don’t see professional hockey in your future.”
Anakin stared into space.
A sinking feeling settled in his gut as the life he’d planned played in front of his eyes, his dreams slowly washing down the drain.