So here's another movie verse and this time it is based on one of my top ten all-time favorite movies, The Cutting Edge. If you haven't seen it that's okay but I encourage you to see it. It is filled with all my favorite things UST, people snipping at each other and, of course, ice skating.
I'm writing this mostly for my chat girls but Callistawolf/RoseandherDoctor in particular since she and I plotted this out late one night last month. Once again thanks and hugs to my lovely beta lastincurableromantic.
Please note this is VERY AU! There are some things that happen in this story that wouldn't happen in canon (I'm pretty sure the Doctor and Rose were never ice skating competitors in the Olympics, but you never know.) But by the end of this we get their faces smushed together and that's this is all about.
One last thing, I apologize in advance for tasking several liberties with the British Olympic system. They don't send pairs skaters to every Winter Games.
So I hope you all enjoy.
2006 Winter Olympics, Turin, Italy
Adrenaline coursed through Rose Tyler's veins as she waited for the start of the race. This was it, the finals in the Women's 3000 meter speed skating competition, her signature event. She had already pulled out a Silver in the 1500, but she was built for distance.
The sound of the crowd energized her. At 16, she was one of the youngest people on Great Britain's small Olympic team. But her age was a benefit, she was young and strong and favored for the Gold. In her final pre-race ritual she closed her whiskey colored eyes. Then she touched her lucky charm to her overly large lips that were wrapped around her mouth guard. The charm, a pin of a blue police box, had been given to her by her grandfather, who was a former police officer. Finally she flipped her golden blonde ponytail. Silly little rituals that may not actually bring her luck but she was still unable to perform without them.
One quick flick of her eyes towards the crowd and she spotted her mum and dad proudly waving small British flags and cheering wildly. Her parents had sacrificed everything to give Rose her dream of being a professional skater. They had started her in figure skating and she had shown real promise, but those lessons had soon become too expensive. There was no way that they would have been able to afford to raise her to be a professional figure skater. So at the age of seven, Rose had suggested speed skating as an alternative. Less rigorous on ice training with her coach meant fewer expenses for her parents.
Not that Rose ever slacked in her training regimen. She skated or ran no less than ten kilometers every single day. She had strength training three times a week and full day sessions with her coach twice a week. Rose was fully committed to her sport and only yesterday had earned a Silver medal to prove it and today she was determined to win the Gold.
The first warning sounded to alert the racers to ready themselves for the starting call. Rose took a deep breath and moved her feet into position. Tension was tight in the pit of her stomach and she smiled, relishing the feeling. This was it, the culmination of years of preparation.
A loud blast over the loudspeaker sounded and she was off, firmly in the middle of the pack as she let the sprinters tire themselves out. Endurance was what was needed here.
As the race progressed, Rose focused on the sound of her skates on the ice, the sound of her deep even breaths. The sounds of the crowd were all but forgotten as she passed one skater after another. Now she was in the final stretch and far enough ahead that the Gold was easily hers. She could taste victory.
And that's when it happened.
Rose lost concentration and the cheers from the crowd filled her ears. She crossed her feet wrong and stumbled, falling hard onto the ice. Of all the stupid things that she could have done this was it. Mentally, she kicked herself and hauled herself back to her feet, not willing to let herself be defeated by this set back.
But it was too late, three skaters had passed her. She was able to overtake the last one just before she crossed the finish line. Third place, she'd still won the Bronze but had lost the Gold. It wasn't even that someone else had been better; she had lost all on her own. Her heart sank and she felt like she was going to throw up. She'd won the Bronze but she might as well have come in last. All of her hard work, all of her sacrifice, all of her parents' sacrifices and she had blown it at the eleventh hour.
In another ice arena, John McDonald was trying to practice a lift with his ice skating partner, Martha Jones, while dodging the other skaters whizzing by. At twenty years old, John was tall and thin but deceptively strong, with thick brown hair that was currently slicked back.
He had been skating since he could walk and had been training for this moment for the majority of his twenty years. His mother had been an Olympic hopeful but a broken ankle had sidelined her career. She had delighted in teaching her son everything that she knew. His father had been a business man who had been more apt to give money rather than affection to John. Still they had seemed very much in love, best he could remember. Tragically, his parents had died in a boating accident almost eleven years ago, and John had been raised by his maternal grandfather, Wilf, in the family home in Scotland.
One of the American couples passed a little too closely and John all but dropped Martha Jones. The pretty, sweet, young black woman had only been John's partner for the past 18 months and as far as John was concerned, he was the talent and she was just another pretty face.
"You need to lock your grip," Harold Saxon, John and Martha's coach, screamed from the sideline. "You're never going to get anywhere with that limp-wristed grip that you have. I'd be willing to bet more than half the women out here could do a better job executing those lifts than you ever could."
In a huff, John skated up to Saxon and sent a scathing look over his shoulder to Martha. "Maybe if Madame would stop fidgeting so much, I wouldn't have to worry so much about my grip. You sure know how to pick them. Course you were probably just trying to get in her knickers. Oh, wait. She doesn't have right parts for you, does she?"
Cameramen from several international news organizations started snapping photos and shooting videos of the fight. Martha stood behind John doing her best not to cry. Saxon's face grew red hot with anger. "You stupid twat, just because you can't get her up, don't go hurling accusations at either of us! You self-absorbed, egotistical..."
"I learned from the Master," John said scathingly. "Ten long, insufferable years under your tutelage is enough to drive anyone as mad as a hatter." Turning, John began to skate away.
"Get your arse back here! Practice isn't over," Saxon yelled.
Cheekily, John spun around and kept skating away, backwards. He raised both of his middle fingers in salute before leaving the ice.
In their final skate later that night, the crowd was a blur as John and Martha executed their routine flawlessly. They were mere seconds away from the Gold, John thought with a smirk. He had been perfect and Martha had even done her part without managing to mess everything up.
His hands found her waist as they began the final lift. Glory was within his grasp. All he had to do was land this lift. Five more seconds and it was his.
Three seconds left and his arm trembled and his wrist started to give way. Two seconds and Martha began to tumble. He couldn't react. His mind and body froze as Martha hit the ice hard. She was attempting to push herself back up, to finish the routine. But what was the point? They had failed and it was all her fault.
Without helping Martha to her feet and without a backwards glance, John skated off the ice.