Chapter Text
The biting cold and the smell of chilled sweat was the most welcomed greeting Erik could receive. The three months he had spent away from an ice rink had begun to slowly eat at his sanity when all that he had to look forward to was physical therapy, tape reviews, and Desperate Housewives of New York. Three months of sitting in agony reliving the day his figure skating career had spiraled into the possibility of non-existence. Sebastian Shaw, his world champion, Russian-trained coach had posted all the devastating headlines of Erik's accident to in his recovery room in the hopes to use his anger to spur his recovery time. The first images Erik remembered when he came to were the bold, black print:
Lensherr falls and so does his Olympic dreams.
No Olympic gold for Lensherr.
Grave accident may end skating career indefinitely.
Shaw had said it was motivation and Erik had used it when bedridden, letting the resentment and anger to push himself to recovery in the hopes that he could make the competition for the US Winter Olympic team. The months had been exhausting and painful but Erik could not stand the humiliation of letting the Winter games sweep away from him a second time.
“Hey Lensherr long time no see.'” came a voice form the ice. Alex Summers sped towards him before executing a long skidding halt causing a wave of ice to spray Erik's leather boots. Alex had been a friendly rival ever since they met in the junior's regional division competitions. At nationals, Alex and he were constant companions on the podium alternating between first and second place. Erik had proudly boasted that he had more medals for the former than the latter, much Alex's indignation. Of course Alex also had an Olympic bronze in his arsenal and Erik did not.
“Has it?” he says feigning indifference.
“I don't know man.” says Alex as he haphazardly scrapes the remains of shaved ice from the blades of his boots. “All I know is, is if that were me away from the ice for that long. I don't care if I were in traction I'd get myself skating the ice on a gurney.” Erik almost snorts at the mental image. Alex smirks and gestures to Erik's skates slung over his shoulder. “So are you gonna model those things like an accessory or are you gonna get out here Lensherr?”
Erik's lips thin into a grimace and he nods, when he really wants is to snap at Alex and tell him to 'fuck off' because this was his rink and his Olympic medal to win. That Alex had no idea what he had to go through to just be standing in this rink. That he had spent the whole night heating his hollow boots in the kitchen oven forcing them onto his feet in the hopes they would contour perfectly to his feet. That the whole night Erik had tossed and turned in his bed, reliving his accident, telling himself that this was it because this was his last chance.
His first steps out on the ice came with a mixture of immense relief and trepidation. Placing both blades on the ice Erik released a shaky breath before launching himself from the edge. After a few short strokes he began pumping his legs in longer strides to gain momentum until he was finally speeding over the ice, letting his muscle memory take over and guide him through simple maneuvers. In an instant the biting cold air and the sound of his blades on worn ice was enough to make the man Erik cry out in relief; all the months of physical therapy, medication and sleepless nights had centered around him meeting the ice again.
Quickly gaining confidence Erik carefully maneuvered himself so that he was skating backwards and took off from the outside edge of his blade to complete a small loop jump. The landing was solid, but the strain of his leg made him grimace. Moira, his physical therapist had warned him that his leg would still be sore and that a steady increase in small jumps and spins would eventually lead to a proper full recovery. Erik had only fixed the woman with an incredulous stare, while she offered a meek apologetic shrug. Slow and steady could not be considered an option when competition was fast approaching.
“Don't feel discouraged,” she had said affectionately. “ The fact that you have come this far in such short a period is next to a miracle. I am sure you will have no problem competing.” At that, Erik remembered Shaw scoffing from his place behind him, remarking flippantly that it was going to take more than a miracle for that to happen.
After a few jumps and spins Erik was already drowning in sweat and panting for breath. Skating slowing by the edge he gripped his left thigh with a scowl rubbing the sore muscles indignantly asking himself why anyone thought ice and cutlery nailed to footwear made for good sport. He looked out across the ice as music with a distinct ¾ beat echoed the rink. It was then be spotted a ice dance couple practicing the waltz gliding gracefully in sync with one another. Erik raked his brain for names, the red head he recognized, it was Sean...Sean something and his partner Angel. They had placed fifth in the Worlds making them the favorite and most likely for the US Olympic team. He watched them for a little longer and marveled at the speed and grace of their footwork.
“Watch out!” came a voice to his right. Erik veered to the left just in time to avoid collision with to a couple in the middle of a straight-line lift. The Pair skaters let out a simultaneous word of thanks as they passed.
“Once again” said the pair's coach. “And Hank watch your toes on your spread eagle, they have to be pointing outward.” The boy nods dejectedly, but his partner-a petite blonde in a dark blue studded leotard- pats him on the back encouragingly as they skate off to attempt another lift. Erik hears Alex's cocky snort as the other skates along with him.
“Male pair skaters,” he scoffs. “Think they're all that cause they get to lift chicks up in the air and cop a feel once and while. Really they're just the muscle. Couldn't cut it in singles so they had to partner up and do labor instead.”
Erik rolls his eyes and he flexes his left foot out in front of him. “Isn't he the guy that goes to university with your younger brother?” he asks, watching the pair as they performed another straight lift.
“Yeah super brainy kid apparently.” bites out Alex. “Full ride and everything. Not like his life depends on being competitive.”
“Who's the girl?”
“Raven Xavier” Alex shrugs. “Young and new skater, they both go the same university. Their coa-”
“Xavier?!” says Erik in mid stride as he stops in the middle of the ice. “Like in Charles Xavier?”
“Yeah they're brother and sister. You know Charles?”
Inside Erik's heart is pounding. Know Charles Xavier? All Erik knew of Charles Xavier during the time of the World Championship a year ago was that Xavier was a nobody. A young twenty-one year old with little acclaim and a passable technical score. Now, what Erik knew about Charles Xavier was what everyone in the skating world knew. Not only was he the favorite to make it to the US team, he was the favorite to sweep for the gold at the Olympic games. All because he had accomplished the jump Erik swore he alone would be the first to do. Erik had watched from his television when Charles Xavier became the first skater to land a quadruple Axel jump in competition, and he had done it in both his short and long program, solidifying himself in Figure Skating history. Erik would only be lying if he did not say he was incredibly bitter that the infamous jump had made Xavier's career, while it almost destroyed his own.
“I don't know him personally,” says Erik.
“I should introduce you to him,” Alex replies. “ Real cool guy, we were on the same hotel floor at the Qualifications. We became drinking buddies, bit of a lightweight but he is the best drunk you've ever seen. You have to come out with us tonight!”
To see Alex’s normal brooding demeanor transform at the mention of the man is alarming and does nothing to keep Erik’s dislike with one, Charles Xavier from growing.