Fan Fiction - Krasobruslení - Povídky

No Fucking Way
~by Estriel~

The moment the blade of his left skate hits the ice, Johnny knows that this is going to go wrong. That this is going to hurt. And it does. The searing pain that explodes in his ankle a split-second after his landing is almost unbearable; he can almost feel the bones shift unnaturally. He cries out, stumbles and crashes into the boards and remains lying on the cold ice in a very ungraceful heap. As if in slow-motion, he sees someone running towards him, he hears an echo of many voices from far, far away – and then everything goes black.


When he opens his eyes, everything around him seems to be white and shiny, and for a moment he wonders if he’d died and gone to heaven, but then he hears a definitely un-heavenly beeping sound and in the next second a familiar face comes into his vision.

“Johnny… Oh, honey.” His mother smiles and bows over his bed to plant little kisses all over his face. She leaves wet traces on his skin and he realizes that she is crying.


“It seems to be getting better, Mr Weir,” the doctor announces and smiles at him optimistically, holding Johnny’s foot in his hands, turning it left and right, stretching it a bit, feeling for the bones underneath the skin.

“So when can I start practicing again, doc?”

The doctor’s smile fades. “Mr Weir… I don’t think it would be wise to rush anything. You should really-“

“When?” Johnny presses on, determined.

“…you should really give your foot time to heal completely and –“

Johnny glares at him impatiently. The doctor sighs and shakes his head.

“If you want your ankle to heal, you should take it easy – which means that you should avoid overexertion of any kind.”

Johnny watches the doctor push his glasses up his nose – something about the way he does it annoys the hell out of him.

“What exactly do you mean by that?” he asks, although he has already guessed the answer… but somehow, his brain refuses to accept the information.

“What I mean by that is no spins, no jumps... In fact, I don’t think you’ll be able to get into your usual condition. Ever. I would advise you to stop… competing. Stop figure skating.“

Johnny stares at the doctor for a while, as if trying to grasp what he had just been told, as if the thing that he’d been secretly dreading all this time became real now that it was spoken out loud. Then all the worries, all the fear and anxiety and insecurity and anger of the past days and weeks bubble up... He takes a deep breath and looks the doctor straight in the eye.
“No. Way.” He hisses through gritted teeth. “No fucking way.”


There is a tight knot of fear in his gut when he steps on the ice for the first time in almost seven weeks. He places the right foot on it first, slides a couple of inches, then carefully lets the left blade greet the ice, too. He skates around for a while, then he dares to lift up his right foot off the ice, relying solely on the left. His foot feels a bit stiff and it hurts a little when he goes into a spin, but other than that everything seems to be fine. A sigh of relief escapes Johnny’s lips. He decides to take it easy, though, which – for him – means that he won’t try to jump until… the day after tomorrow?


The tension starts to dissipate after he nails his triple axel. He glides over the ice, step after step, spin after spin, jump after jump, moving in perfect harmony with the music… Oh god, he’s missed this! He’s sure that everything is going to go well this time. He just knows.

Johnny hopes that the stupid bespectacled doctor is watching when they hang the medal around his neck a little later and crown him the new US champion.


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