#clexahockeyfic

[insideabunker]

The Games: Chapter 11

Lexa jogged down the cavernous hallway of the Gangneung Ice Center, narrowly avoiding collisions with the swarm of spectators still flowing out of the rink.  Here and there, people pointed at her, murmuring feverishly as they realized who had just brushed past them, but Lexa ignored their excitement.  She was a woman on a mission, too preoccupied with the task at hand to stop and humor.  At a set of heavy metal doors, she slowed, flashing her access pass to the uniformed men who stood guarding the entrance to the player area.  Darting through she ran headlong into a gaggle of American players toting sticks and heavy gear bag.  Lexa strained to pick up their murmured conversation as they passed.

“Do you think Clarke’s really ok?”

“She says she’s fine.”

“Did Coach have Jackson checker her out?”

“She said she didn’t need him to.”

“All I know is she was limping badly when she came off the ice.”

“Yeah, but she did come off the ice on her own.  I mean it’s not like anyone had to help her off.”

“That check looked horrible.  I don’t know how Griff was walking after that.”

“Well anyway, Raven stayed behind to talk to her.  Maybe she can convince…”

The conversation stopped abruptly when the women noticed Lexa.  Each one cast concerned glances her way as they pasted, eyeing her suspiciously as she headed down the hall.  Lexa made a point of walking past the American locker room, doubling back when she was sure the other players were out of sight.

“You're being ridiculous!”  She could hear the sound of someone yelling could through the door.  Before Lexa could even grab the handle, it swung open, revealing an irate Raven Reyes, her face red from arguing.

“Oh, great!”  Raven threw her hands in the air, looking Lexa up and down doubtfully.  “Well, maybe you can talk some sense into her!” In a huff, Raven stomped out into the hallway and disappeared towards the busses.

Clarke sighed, looking skeptically in the Canadian goalie's direction. Still was half clad in hockey pants, shin guards and skates, she shifted uncomfortably on the bench.

“What are you doing here, Woods?”

The tone of Clarke’s greeting took Lexa by surprise, more irritable and exhausted than happy to see her.  Lexa felt a wave of uncertainty wash over her.  “What was she doing there?” she wondered.  Granted she hadn’t known the American Captain very long, but as she’d watched the violent scene unfold on television, she'd been filled with the distinct sensations of terror and worry, followed by a terrible need to find out if Clarke was hurt.  Lexa remembered being sure of her purpose as she’s dashed out of Canada house and grabbed the first available ride to the rink, but now, she couldn’t quite place what her plan had been.  Had she merely wanted to know if Clarke was injured?  Had she meant to confront the Swiss player and defend her friend's honor?  “Friend,” the word bounced around in Lexa's head echoing off the far walls of her conscious.  Was that even what they were?

"I..." She stammered.

Clarke leaned forward, her eyebrows arching towards her hairline expectantly.

"I just wanted to see if you were alright."  She shoved her hands in her pockets awkwardly, totally unsure of herself.

Clarke sighed, avoiding the tall Canadian's gaze.  "I'm fine."  She frowned as she began unlacing her skates.  "Looks like you're not off the hook for the playoffs."

There was a touch of bitterness to that statement that felt underserved, and it wounded Lexa more than it should have.

"Hey,"  Lexa clenched her jew, annoyed that her concern was being dismissed as competitiveness.  "I don't care about that.  I was worried about you."

"Well, don't be.”

Clarke continued to avoid her gaze as she pulled her second skate off, though Lexa could hear the subtle tremor in her voice.  The blonde pushed off her hockey pants, tearing off her game socks and making quick work of her shin guards, all of which she thrust frustratedly into the large gear bag in front of her.  Clad only in a Bauer neck protector shirt and compression pants, Clarke forced herself up off of the bench carefully.  Lexa noticed the way she clung to her stick for balance, taking great care to keep her weight on her good leg as she attempted to step over her equipment.

"I'm absolutely…”

Before she could finish the statement Clarke's foot caught in the loose strap of her bag, and she jerked forward, off balance.  Reflexively, she stuck out the other foot to stop her fall, bringing all of her weight down on her injured leg.

The second pressure shifted to her wounded limb it buckled, and Clarke let out an agonized cry that raised the hair on Lexa's neck.  The goalie lunged forward, catching Clarke around her shoulders just before she toppled to the ground.

"I don't need your help,"  Clarke groaned through gritted teeth.

Lexa sighed, trying to be patient with the stubborn woman.

"At least let me help you to the training room so you can ice that thing."

Clarke's eyes were screwed shut in anguish, her breathing ragged as she fought the pain coursing through her leg.  Swallowing her pride, she nodded, and Lexa slipped one hand around Clarke's back.  She slung the smaller woman's arm over her shoulders and held it in place, bracing her around her mid-torso as she pulled Clarke up.  Lexa walked forward cautiously, allowing the injured skater to use her as a crutch as they made their way through the swinging doors of the training room.  Once inside, she eased Clarke down onto the padded table top, gently picking up her legs to swing them over.

Clarke braced her hands on the table’s edge and leaned to one side, keeping as much weight as possible off her weak leg.  She attempted to ease herself down slowly, reaching to pull her pants off.  As soon as her weight settled, she grasped the table again, desperately pushing herself back up. Unable to let go, she cast an abashed glanced at Lexa.

"Can you," her eyes darted towards her waistband.

As respectfully as she could, Lexa gripped the top of Clarke's compression pants and began pulling them down.  She stopped abruptly when she saw the blonde wince.

"Stop!"  Clarke grimaced, gasping for breath.  "Go slow, ok?"

“Sorry! Sorry!”  Wordlessly, Lexa began her ministrations again, moving with as much care as she could muster.  She pulled back the stretchy black fabric, rolling it down Clarke's leg with great hesitation.  As soon as Lexa passed the material over the top third of Clarke' thighs the black and blue of a large and angry contusion began to show along the muscles of her right leg.  A few inches more and the bruising looked even worse

"How I sit?"  Clarke forced through clenched teeth.

"Clarke..."  Lexa felt a cold chill shoot up her spine as she realized the extent of the damage.  "I don't have any medical training, but this looks pretty bad."

"How's the knee?"

Lexa anxiously pulled back the fabric a few inches more, observing the knee thoughtfully.  Like the quad, the knee was bruised, though not as swollen as Lexa expected.  "I'm not sure.  I don't know what I am supposed to be looking for, Clarke, but I really think you need to get this checked out by a doctor."

The American ventured a quick peek at her leg.  Grimacing, she turned away quickly.  She swallowed hard, fighting back the urge to vomit.

"Well, at least it hasn't swelled up like a water balloon.  That's a good sign."  Clarke exhaled a long, slow breath, trying to stop her mind from racing.

"Can't you get me some...?"

"Ice, right!"  Lexa finished the sentence, dashing off to the cooler and filling two bags with ice shavings.  She returned to the table, placing them against the warm, swollen flesh of Clarke's leg.

"Here, hand me that," Clarke pointed to stretch-wrap, stuck on a handle at the end of the table.  Lexa passed it over obligingly, pulling up a chair up as she watched as Clarke skillfully secure the ice to her leg.

"Where did you learn how to do that?"  Lexa smiled, trying to break the tension with small talk.  "I even touch that stuff, and it's wadded up, tangled mess."

Clarke focused on the cylinder of plastic wrap, her eyes never leaving her work.  "I told you, my mom was a nurse."  She continued wrapping, binding the bags in place.  "She knew my dad was terrible with blood, so she taught me basic first aid when I was really little."  She finished securing the ice, and tore the plastic, fastening it expertly.  "Also, I spent some time interning with our trainers when I got injured."

Clarke leaned back a bit, finally able to settle her weight now that the cold ice was numbing her injury.  "When I first hurt my knee it wasn't clear that I would be able to play again.  I had no idea what I was going to do, so our trainer let me work with him for a while to see if I might have an interest in sports medicine.”

"Did you enjoy it?"  The goalie smiled at her sympathetically.

Clarke shrugged, examining her handiwork.  The blonde leaned forward, looking defeated. She pulled her uninjured leg into her chest, hiding her face against it.  "I guess it was an ok alternative."

Lexa hung awkwardly at the side of the table, unsure what to say that might help Clarke.  Just as she was about to speak, she heard a muffled sob escape the blonde, then another.  Lexa stared silently as Clarke finally unraveled, weeping softly into her curled leg.  Lexa began to get up, convinced that Clarke would want to space to fall apart alone.  To her surprise, however, the American reached out, grabbing her hand.

"This isn't fair."  The words slipping out between choked sobs and forced Lexa her back into the chair.  Unable to offer any other comfort, she simply held Clarke's hand and allowed her to cry.

"I know it isn't. I know"

Lexa wasn't sure how long they had stayed like that, camped out in the deserted rink while they waited for the swelling on Clarke's leg to subside.  The whole time the brunette sat patiently, assuring her companion that she had nowhere else to be

"It takes as long as it takes," she'd assured the blonde calmly between trips to the cooler for fresh ice.

When Clarke was finally able to put weight on the leg, they departed the rink cautiously, careful not to be spotted by errant fans.  Chivalrous to a fault, Lexa slung Clarke's gear over her shoulder, her other arm braced securely around the little center's waist as she helped her out of the rink and into a waiting cab.  They'd ridden back in relative silence, a quietly crying Clarke curled into her side as Lexa attempted to give directions to their driver.

"Around the back, please.  Away from people."

By the time they arrived at the dormitories, discretion was hardly a concern.  The hour was late, and the streets of Olympic Village were deserted, save for a few roving security patrols.  None-the-less, Lexa did Clarke the courtesy of sneaking her up the service elevators, wary of allowing anyone to see her condition.  They moved slowly enough that it took twice as long to help her back to her room, but Lexa never once complained.

When they'd finally reached Clarke's suite, the girl stiffened. She squeezed Lexa's shoulder gently to stop her and apprehensively stared at the door.

"Raven," she whispered.  “I don’t want her to see me like this.”

Lexa nodded, easing her worn out companion delicately to the floor.

"Pass me your key card."   She hitched the gear bag higher on her shoulder.  "I'll check and make sure the coast is clear.

Clarke slipped the card from her pocket, mouthing a silent "thank you."

Lexa slid the key into the electronic lock and easing the door open as quietly when the light turned green.  She slunk inside slowly, tiptoeing through the short hallway to peer into the bedroom.  Lexa breathed a sigh of relief, observing that Raven's bed was unoccupied, the sheets still made perfectly.  She set Clarke's gear bag down in the corner, returning to the dim glow of the hall.

"You're safe.  No one is here."

Clarke looked relieved.  She attempted to get up but abandoning the effort when her leg throbbed in pain.  By now Lexa knew better than to wait for the Captain to ask for her help.  She crouched down, motioning for Clarke to place her hand on her shoulders as she snaked her other arm under the blonde’s legs.  It took tremendous effort, but Lexa managed to push herself up.  She cradled the smaller girl against her chest, her arms straining under the surprising weight of Clarke’s toned body.  After a few attempts, Lexa managed to turn the door handle with the point of her elbow, taking great care not to bump her companion’s leg as she backed them into the room.  Gently, she made her way over to the bed, straining to place Clarke down without aggravating her injury.

"Here."  Lexa lifted her leg carefully, sliding an extra pillow beneath the knee for support.  She slipped off Clarke's sneakers and placed them neatly by the dresser.

"Medicine?"

Clarke pointed to the bathroom.  "There's an industrial sized bottle of Ibuprofen on the sink."

Lexa crept through the dark quietly, returning a moment later with a handful of pills and glass full of liquid.  She took a seat on the edge of the bed, handing both items to Clarke.  Never one to enjoy tablets, the blonde tried not to gag as she forced herself to swallow the medicine, washing it down with a giant swig of water.

"Thank you," Clarke whispered as she sank back into the pillows, her eyelids drooping.

Lexa grabbed the extra blanket from the foot of the bed and pulled it over the exhausted woman.  She watched as Clarke shifted, adjusting her body warily until she'd found a comfortable position.

"Clarke," she bit her lip nervously, hesitant to leave without ensuring that the stubborn girl was going to take proper care of herself.  "I really think that you need to get your leg examined."

"I will."  Clarke sighed her expression one of disheartened resignation.  "Just give me tonight.  If it's not better by tomorrow, I'll go to our trainers."

Lexa nodded, satisfied for the moment that the American was acting responsibly about her well-being.  She tugged the covers up a bit higher over Clarke's shoulder, filled with the urge to stay and keep watch, though she knew that she should leave before Raven returned.  Lexa stroked her fingers over Clarke's weary brow, cocking a crooked smile.  In spite of the emotional chaos of the evening, there was something strangely satisfying about the night she'd spent helping Clarke.  She tucked several straying strands of golden hair behind her ear and watched as her eyelids finally fluttered closed.

Sure that she was no longer needed, Lexa began to rise from the bed, fighting the urge to kiss her companion goodbye.  Before she could leave, Clarke's voice halted her in her tracks.

“Stay."

It was spoken softly, more a plea than a request, and the word tugged on Lexa's heartstrings.  Without a second thought, she slid off her shoes and lowered herself back onto the bed.  The goalie slid beneath the covers, careful not to disturb her half-sleeping companion as she curled up against her.

"I'm here."  Lexa's arm slid protectively over Clarke's waist, pulling her closer.  "I'm not going anywhere."

Next Chapter ->

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[insideabunker]

The Games: Chapter 4

Despite Clarke's two prior trips to the winter games, the opening ceremony had lost none of its magic for her. The significance of it all still gave her first day of school butterflies, making her feel six years old again, awestruck and overwhelmed as she drifted through a sea of unfamiliar faces.  Red, white and blue-clad bodies shuffled past her, as the sprawling cluster of American athletes followed the Mongolian delegation through the tunnel leading onto the parade grounds of PyeongChang Olympic Stadium.  A colorful delegation of Bermudians trailed close behind them as they made their way into the open air of the parade grounds.

From its epicenter, the spectacle radiated with an intoxicating spirit that consumed the senses, filling Clarke with a nervous energy that eclipsed even the nastiness of the chilling wind that had picked up an hour earlier.  Exiting the darkened tunnel, she made her way into the multicolored splendor of the stadium; her thoughts immediately drowned out by the deafening roar of 35,000 cheering spectators.

It took a moment for her to process fully.  It seemed unbelievable that thousands of people had been willing to brave the sub-zero temperatures just to catch a glimpse of their Olympic champions, but as the enormity of that fact sank in, Clarke felt overwhelmed with a responsibility to them.  She forced herself to stare up into the stands, her face straining against the icy sting of the air as she smiled and waved towards the masses of fans.

"It feels like my eyeballs are going to explode," Raven growled through her forced smile.  "It's fricking cold!"

"Just keep smiling."  Clarke grinned at her assistant captain, her voice just as strained, as she flashed two rows of perfectly straight, snow white teeth.  "Millions of people are watching, Rae.  Don't spoil it for them."

"You can't be serious?"

"This has got to be a joke."

A chorus of complaints had erupted the second the Canadian athletes had learned their number in the ceremony's progression.

"We're sixty-ninth?"

"Oh g-d, as if these uniforms didn't make us look ridiculous enough."  Echo looked dour as she fiddled with her long red parka and knitted cap.

"I don't know," Lexa shrugged, forcing small talk to make nice with her captain.  "I mean the jackets aren't great, but some of the other stuff they gave us is ok."  She waited for Echo to respond but was met with steely silence.  "I mean, I like the flannels."

"Of course you do."

"What is that supposed to mean?"  Lexa tensed, wondering if she should be offended, and readying herself for an argument.

Echo only rolled her eyes, looking bothered.  "I didn't mean it that way," she spat. "I was referring to the fact that someone from the NWO would love that our uniform issue includes a Kenora Dinner Jacket."  She turned to Lexa, exasperated with the tall girl behind her.  "Obviously. I play women's ice hockey, Woods. You think I'm not used to teammates who enjoy the company of curvy, Swedish blondes with long legs?"

Echo shot her a knowing glance, noting the nervous, slightly guilty look on Lexa's face.  

"How do you know about that?"

"You're not exactly discrete. I saw you coming out of that Swede snowboarder's room this morning, half dressed."

Lexa swallowed hard, her cheeks flushing a subtle rosy color.  "Coach Freeman... You aren't going to?"

"Rat you out to her and get you kicked off the team?"  Echo dipped her head, cocking one eyebrow. "No, not for that. I may not like you, but you're hardly the first player on this team to dip their toes into international waters.  Besides, I have my own foreign diplomacy to conduct."  Echo shot a glance towards the crowd behind them, piquing Lexa's curiosity.

"What sport's she in, eh?"

Echo rolled her eyes.  "Woods, I'm not even a little bi-curious."  She stared far back in the procession.  "I've got my eyes on that scruffy, freestyle skier from France."

Lexa screwed up her face.  "Ugh... Typical Queeb, going for some priggish French ponce."

Echo shoved the girl behind her with an elbow.  "Toton."

"Beaver-beater."

"Lumberjack."

"Maudit sans-dessein."  Lexa fumbled through the only French Canadian swear she remembered from grammar school.

"It's pronounced dé-sa," Echo growled, drawing out the final A. G-d, your French is shit, Woods."

"I'm from northern Ontario!"

"T'es pas une lumiere!  Believe me, it's apparent."

In spite of their bickering, Lexa realized that the argument was probably the longest conversation they'd managed since she'd joined the team.  "Well, that's something," she thought to herself, thankful that they hadn't come to blows again.

Consumed as she was by their banter, Lexa lost her situational awareness, snapping out of it only when the world around her erupted into flashing lights and noise.  They'd finally reached the inside of the stadium. The freezing night air hit her in the face, and her breath caught.  Lexa's eyes strained against the bright lights and icy wind as she stared up at row after row of waving fans, and did her best to wave back.

The wind picked up again, making Lexa's eyes sting and tear. The goalie shielded her brow from the cold, wiping them with the back of a gloved hand and doing her best not to smear the makeup, applied for the sake of the cameras.  She checked the back of her mitten for smudges of mascara and, happy to find none, peered into the crowd in front of her.  For a split second, the column of bodies parted just enough for a small figure became visible up ahead.  Lexa caught a brief glimpse of golden hair and azure eyes before the crowd swelled again, and the American captain disappeared amidst a sea of taller, more substantial bodies.

"I think I saw the Team USA captain up ahead."  She turned to Echo, hoping to coax a little more conversation out of her.

"What, Clarke Griffin?  I would doubt it unless she's being carried on somebody's shoulders."

Lexa smirked.  "Yeah, she was pretty tiny in person."

"You've met?"

"Just the other night, in passing.  She seemed..."

"Like an irritating homunculus?"  Echo continued to scan the crowd for her Frenchman.  "That girl had been a pain in my ass for years."  She stared at Lexa for a moment, her expression concerned.  "You didn't notice if she was limping, did you?

"I don't think so." The question seemed odd, but Lexa thought it over, none the less. "I mean not that I could tell at least.  Why?"

Echo turned back towards the procession, her expression unreadable.  "We were playing an exposition game about a year and a half ago.  Griffin had been a menace all night, picking up the puck before I could get to it at the point and forcing it back into our zone. She's small, but she lighting fast."  She paused.  "Well, she was. Anyway..."

Something about the story made Lexa feel immediately uneasy.

"Third period, I finally caught her heading up the boards on a breakout.  I was going to try and pick her off, but she veered towards center ice at the last second.  My leg was out, and I ended up catching her at the knee."

"You went knee to knee?"

"I told you, she veered at the last second.  I was trying to play the body the best I could."  Echo bit her lip. "I might have let my leg drift out a bit far to try and knock her stick off the puck..."

She glanced at Lexa for a moment, her expression barely hiding the guilty conscience of someone who knew their actions had been less than defensible.

"But, I didn't intentionally cheap shot her."  She grimaced.  "Anyway, I felt her leg bend back in the wrong direction, and she flipped, ass over teakettle across my thigh.  The second she hit the ice I could tell it was bad.  I've never heard someone scream that hard."

Lexa's stomach sank just thinking about it. In hockey, a knee to knee collision often resulted in injuries of the most devastating kind.  That exact scenario had ended many a career before its time, and it made the goalie cringe thinking about the tiny blonde girl writhing in pain on the ice.

"MCL sprain?"

Echo shook her head.  "ACL. Grade three at that, a complete tear."

"Holy hell."

"Yeah, honestly I'm surprised to see her back on skates at all."

"So, that's why she looked so sluggish in the game footage we watched."

Echo nodded.  "To be sure.  I genuinely thought she'd retire after that.  I mean, she'd been playing for the national team since she was seventeen, so she was already getting up there."

They rounded the corner and slowed to an abrupt halt, nearly crashing into the Kenyan athletes ahead of them.

"That footage was from just after she was cleared to start training again.  I hear she's gotten some of her speed back since then, but if you ask me, she shouldn't even be playing."

Lexa's jaw tensed at the utterance, a conviction that her Québécoise teammate seemed to hold frequently.  "You seem to think that of a lot of people."

Echo sighed.  "I mean because of the risk of re-injury. Not everything is about you, Woods."

With that, Echo pushed forward, disappearing amongst the shuffling mass of red and black jackets.

The ceremony had ended in a spectacle of blaring music and bursting fireworks, that latter of which still rang in Clarke's ears as her feet pounded against the whirring belt of the treadmill. Hours after the lights had dimmed in Olympic stadium she was still wide awake, to filled with excitement, and too unaccustomed to the fifteen-hour time difference to sleep.  In her restlessness, Clarke turned to the one standby that faithfully calmed her down when pressure and anticipation turned her into a live wire of nervous energy.

She leaned forward into a sprint, increasing the incline on the Cybex another three degrees and watching as her numbers climbed.  Time: 48:36:23, Speed: 9, Incline: 10, Heart Rate: 184.  Perspiration poured from her brow, matting stray bits of flyaway hair to her forehead.  Clarke's burned, her legs ached, and her heart pounded in her chest as she continued to increase the incline.  Up, up, up until her hands flew to the bars to keep herself from flying backward off the machine.  Just as she felt her body about give out, she punched the large red button in the center of the display, cutting the power and hopping off in a flash, careful to land with her weight on her good knee.

Fighting the urge to double over and gasp for air, she threw her hands behind her head, lacing the fingers together and forcing herself to continue taking deep, measured breaths as she paced around the room.  Clarke closed her eyes and waited for her heart rate to slow, relishing the way her muscles ached and trembled with exhaustion. She wiped the sweat from her temples with the back of her hands realizing how utterly drenched she was.

After a week of buildup to the opening ceremony, fifty minutes of alone time had provided her with some much need respite from the hum of the crowds, the strings of interviews, and the exhaustion of the reassuring pep talks her more novice teammates had needed on a near constant basis.  Save for an unseen weightlifter banging heavy metal plates around in another corner of the complex; the nearly empty gym had provided the forward with a silent sanctuary from the turmoil of her otherwise overwhelming week.  For Clarke, there was nothing like a long, grueling run to clear her mind and ease her tension, and after an hour of beating herself down, she was finally feeling relaxed and ready to sleep. 

Not before a shower though, Clarke thought as the smell of her sweat drenching clothing suddenly filled her nostrils.  She peeled off her soaked Under Armour shirt and shivered as the chill of drafty gym air hit her flushed skin, giving her goosebumps.  Back inside the women's locker room, she made quick work of discarding her soggy PT gear in her sports duffle, sliding her feet into flip-flops as she wrapped herself in a towel and headed for the open shower bay.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped into the empty shower bay, covered from top to bottom in polished white tiles.  Despite a career of dressing and undressing in front of teammates, Clarke had never been entirely comfortable with public nudity, though it wasn't the sight of others naked that unsettled her so much as it was her insecurities about her own body.  A lifetime of struggling with her weight, first baby fat and then added curves, had made her shy to the point of timidity.  Unlike Raven, who was a walking human hanger and had posed naked for ESPN The Magazine's body issue, Clarke grappled with body confidence. She struggled to dress for the formal events the team attended, balking at the idea of being stuffed into a dress that accentuated her cleavage and hips. Unfailingly, the captain elected for more conservative numbers, downplaying her appearance as much as possible in the hopes that she could fly under the radar and not tempt the press into present her in an overly sexualized light.  The tactic had worked for the most part, though comments about her looks did surface, every now and again, internet trolls be damned.

Clarke turned on one of the shower heads lining the wall and let it run until the water turned warm.  She discarded her towel on a nearby hook, stepped into the stream and closing her eyes as the warm liquid poured over her aching muscles.  The blonde let it pound against her skin, relaxing her even further until finally, her exhaustion caught up with her.  She yawned, running a hand through her matted mane as she pulled out the elastic that had pinned it haphazardly to the top of her head. She let it cascade over her face and filled her hand with shampoo, massaging it into her scalp.

The sound of another shower head bursting to life nearby startled Clarke out of her euphoria. She pushed her soapy hair out of her face, freezing the second she saw who occupied the spot two places down. Lexa Woods stood less than ten feet from her, eyes closed, face turned up into the steady stream of water cascading over her body.  Clarke's eyes were fixed, unable to look away for the physical specimen beside of her.  Even in a parka and jeans Lexa cut an imposing figure, but bare to the world, the goalie was physically alarming.

She was tall to be sure, 5'11 if she was an inch, but what was more startling was the sheer amount of muscle that hung on her frame.  Every inch of her was ropey sinewed flesh that, somewhat surprisingly, held a subtle softness to it.  Clarke watched as beads of liquid slide down Lexa's olive-skin, slipping over her curves and pooling at every angle on her frame. The water clung to the tawny girl like it was heartbroken at the thought of having to drip off of her.

Clarke ignored the way her pulse quickened, and her breathing slowed, too captivated by the way the impressive musculature moved, stirring underneath a visage adorned with intricate tattoos that shifted as though they were alive.  A combination of body writing and black and red abstracts covered half her back, running over her shoulder and snaking down the full length of her left arm. The outside of her right thigh was similarly ornamented.  The edges of the artwork wound up her hip and caressed her waist before ending just above her perfectly toned backside, which Clarke realize she was gawking at a moment too late.

"What the fuck?!"

Clarke jumped, so alarmed by the green eyes staring her down that she couldn't reply. 

"Were you just staring at my ass?"

"What? No! I mean, yes but..."

"Yes, or no?"

"I was staring at your tattoos."

"The one right over my ass?"

"I wasn't staring at your ass!"

Lexa turned to face the smaller woman, her figure even more flawless from the front.  Small but firm breasts sat high on her chest, perfect and round, and the lines on her tight stomach were sculpted into a frustratingly well-defined six-pack.

"You get a good look?"

"I wasn't staring." Clarke felt herself blushing as she turned back into the jet of water pouring over her, and rushed to work the remaining shampoo out of her hair.

Lexa leaned into the tiles, propping herself up on a tattooed forearm.  She pushed the brown hair out of her eyes and slicked water from her face.

"You're full of crap, Griffin. Admit it; you were staring at me."

"I wasn't staring!" Clarke venture a quick glance at the goalie, too embarrassed to look for more than a moment.  "I wouldn't ogle someone in a public shower. That kind of behavior is abdominal."

Lexa smirked at the Freudian slip, cocking an eyebrow smugly.

"Abominable. Shit!"  Clarke screwed her eyes shut, sure that her face was now bright red.  "Besides why would I be staring at you."

"For the same reasons lots of girls do," Lexa wiggled her eyebrows, turning back to the water as she lathered herself with soap.  "You think you're the first person to stare at me in a shower?"

Clarke growled as she rinsed the last of the soap from her face.  "G-d, you're so completely egotistical!"  She shut off the water, wrapping herself in her towel as she retreated from the shower bay.

Lexa rinsed off quickly, grabbing her towel as she followed Clarke toward the lockers.

"And you're a hypocrite! You tear into me with some big feminist speech when I try to pay you a compliment, but when I catch you creeping on me, you act all innocent.  What garbage!"

"I wasn't staring at you!"

In the middle of the argument, Clarke became aware of how exposed they still were. Her towel clung to her precariously, barely covering her unmentionables, while Lexa's dangled from her hand, unused. She realized she was staring at Lexa's abs again and clenched her teeth, sure that that fact hadn't escaped the brunette's attention.

"Would you put on some clothes, please."

Lexa leaned forward, grinning conceitedly. "You sure that's what you want?"

She cleared her throat, forcing herself to look the girl hovering over her in the eyes. "I'm not interested, Woods."

“In anything other than my ass, you mean?

"I was... I'm not... Your Tat... Ugh!"  Clarke grabbed her sports duffle, clinging to the last shred of her dignity as she forwent undergarments and scrambled to pull on her team sweats as quickly as humanly possible.  She yanked her socks halfway up, making a slapdash effort to shove her feet into her Adidas.

"I'm not having this argument with you, Woods!  I have bed checks to do."

"Sounds good. Mine is in room 704B."

Lexa heard the exasperated groan all the way down the hall as Clarke stomped out of the room, failing to notice that her sneakers were on the wrong feet.

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The Games: Chapter 8

The shrill squeal of the referee's steel whistle ran in her ears as Lexa dropped the puck to the ice.  She watched as the man in the striped shirt called no goal, pointing towards the face-off circle.  Less than three minutes to go in the third period, and with Echo and Co. continuing their silent refusal to help Lexa in front of the net, the goalie couldn't wait for the game to be over.  The whistle blew again, the puck dropped, and the gameplay exploded to life once more.

The Czech team fought desperately for control of the puck, scrapping for every break they got as they strived to replicate the American team's feat of scoring on the indomitable Canadian goaltender.  Early on in the game, they had kept their play respectably enough, but with the score up 5-0 and beyond any hope of winning, their sportsmanship had disintegrated to the level of a street fight, and the biased referee showed no intention of reigning them in before the final buzzer.

A minute and a half left on the clock as the puck sailed out to a waiting Czech defenseman at the point.  She began to drop low, taking a mighty slap shot that caught the shin pad of a Canadian center as it ricocheted towards the front of the net.  Momentarily abandoning her refusal to help Lexa, Echo made a break for the puck, colliding with the Czech forward who had scrambling to pick it up.  The two women battled ferociously for control of the disk, with the Czech winger growing more and more desperate to elude the large and imposing defenseman.  Finally, she'd had enough, and the Czech’s elbow shot up forcefully catching Echo in the chin just below her cage, knocking her helmet halfway off as the pointed end of it collided with her bottom lip.  Echo stumbled backward long enough for the Czech women to take a wild shot on net.

Lexa caught the poorly aimed shot easily, holding the puck until she heard the whistle.  To the goalie's great surprise, the referee pointed at the face-off circle, making no mention of the elbow.  She stared over at Echo, her face cage hanging open as she pressed a hand to her bleeding lower lip.  The Canadian captain skated angrily over to the referee, exchanging heated words with him.  Over on their bench, Indra waved her arms furiously.  Close enough that she could make out their conversation, Lexa listened as the referee dismissed Echo's demands of a penalty call.

The referee shook his head. "The contact was accidental.  No penalty," the man spoke with a strong accent, his voice forceful as he pointed towards the face-off circle.

Echo's eyes went wide, wild, unbridled anger clouding her expression.  "But that's ridiculous!  Even if the contact was accidental, which it clearly wasn't, that's still a minor penalty!  Are you blind?"

He scowled.  "I said no penalty. Go line up before I penalize you for delaying the game."

"This is crazy!  How can you not call a penalty on something this obvious." Echo's eyes were red and furious as she clutched her bleeding lip.

The referee rolled his eyes.  “Damn it, this why I hate working the women’s games.  The men never complain about rough plays but you girls… You’re are always crying about nothing."

Something in Lexa finally snapped, and she flew out of the goal, making a beeline for the offensive official.

"What the hell is your problem! How dare you talk to her like that!"

He looked at her curiously, pointing to the net.  “You get back in that net!”

Unable to contain her righteous indignation, Lexa inched forward intimidatingly, towering just above the short, homely man.

"Not until you apologize to my captain.  What you just said is fucking disgraceful!  Your whole performance in this game has been fucking disgraceful!"

The referee sneered at her.  "Get back in the net, or I'll throw you out of this game."

"Apologize, and call the damn penalty! That was an illegal elbow!" Lexa roared in his face, poking him in the chest with her glove for emphasis as she leaned down condescendingly. "Maybe you would be calling the men's games if you weren't such a shit referee."

With that, the referee clenched his jaw furiously, his face turning a bright shade of crimson as she blasted his whistle "Game misconduct!"  He pointed off the ice.  "Number eight is ejected!"

"WHAT!"  Lexa threw her hands up in the air, listening to the crowd loudly protest the dramatic call.  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Coach Indra looking ready to climb over the boards and throttle the man.  Echo merely hung there, suspended in her disbelief at Lexa defending her.

"GET OFF THE ICE!"

The referee blew his whistle continuously, as he pointed towards the rink exit.  With no recourse available, Lexa turned, knocking the obnoxious steel contraption from the ref's hands as she headed off the ice.

"LEXA WOODS!"

"Can you please keep your voice down!"  Clarke shot Raven a death glare as she shoved an extra pair of socks into her small sports duffle.

"As in superstar goalie for our one true rival, Lexa Woods?"  Raven was quieter this time, her attempts at a whisper barely less than standard volume.

"Yes, that Lexa Woods. Now, would you please get ready?  We have to be on the team bus in ten minutes." Clarke looked pleadingly at her giddy roommate, desperate to take back the information she'd just imparted.

Raven jumped over to Clarke's bed gleefully, grinning like the Cheshire cat.  "Griff, I was ready a half an hour ago.  Don't think you're getting out of giving me details."

The blonde rolled her eyes.  "I told you, there is nothing to tell.  I  was in a weird place.  I had a ton of pent up stress and energy. Lexa was just..."

Clarke paused, groaning defeatedly.  "She was there."

"She was there, so you fucked her brains out?"

Clarke turned her face up in objection.  "Ugh!  Don't be disgusting, Raven.  I didn't fuck her brains out."

"So she fucked your brains out?"

"No, Raven! "

"So you didn't fuck?"

"No! I mean, yes! I mean..." Clarke screwed her eyes shut in frustration. "It wasn't like that."

"It sure doesn't sound like it was an episode of Little House on the Prairie. Did you sleep with her or not, Clarke?"

"Yes," Clarke moaned, her head hanging as she admitted to the one night stand.

Raven shot up, clapping her hands with joy.  "Well, was it good?” she asked, trying not to let her eager delight spill over into hysterics.

Clarke sighed as she stared at her determined friend.  A Raven in want of information was a force with which to be reckoned. Ultimately, there would be no denying her.  "Might as well get it over with," Clarke thought to herself.

"Raven, if I tell you this you have to swear on all that is holy," she paused. "You have to swear on our friendship, that this information stays between you and me."

The taller girl held up a tan, perfectly manicured hand as though pledging allegiance.  Her face became stern, her expression one of utter solemnity.  "Clarke, on my honor as a deeply lapsed Roman Catholic, I swear on our friendship that anything you tell me, I will take to the grave."

Clarke breathed out slowly, already lamenting what she was about to admit to her friend.  "It was good."

Raven's face immediately broke into an ecstatic smile.

"Like, really, exceptionally good."  Clarke could barely look at her friend, her face turning red as Raven hugged her enthusiastically.

"Oh, honey. You had awesome anger sex with our team's arch nemesis.  I'm so happy for you!"

Clarke groaned, profoundly regretting her decision to give Raven an honest answer when her friend had asked her where she'd gone after their game.

"Raven we have a game in an hour.  This revelation aside, can you please try and focus?"

"Griff, we have a courtesy scrimmage against the Korean national team in an hour.  I will think of nothing other than your hookup until you avail me with more details after the game."

"You're the worst,"  Clarke mumbled into her friend shoulder.

"I love you too, babe."

"Hey."

Lexa looked up as Echo kicked her skate.

"That was dumb you know, getting yourself thrown out of the game like that."

"We were up by five, and Emori was more than capable of handling the net for the last minute."

"Still..."

"You could just say thank you."  Lexa stared up at her defenseman momentarily, trying not to look annoyed.

Echo shoved her hands in her pockets nervously, avoiding the brunette's gaze.  "Thank you,"  she kicked at the floor sheepishly, struggling to get her words out, "for sticking up for me back there. With the way I've been treating you, I wouldn't have blamed you if you hadn't."

"Don't worry about it."  Lexa smiled hesitantly at her captain. Unsure of how to proceed beyond the small gesture, the goalie turned her attention back to unbuckling the straps of her leg pads.  She watched as Echo glanced awkwardly over her shoulder, staring at the doorway to the locker room where Gaia's stood, gesturing her silent encouragement. 

"Look," Echo cleared her throat, staring at the ceiling as she fought her desire to leave the interaction at thank you and be done with it.  "Some of us are going down to the Holland Heineken House for food and beers later.  You probably have other plans but..."

"I don't," Lexa spoke a little too quickly, embarrassed at having betrayed her excitement as she looked up from her shins.

"Oh," Echo nodded. "Well, you're welcome to come, if you want to."

Lexa paused, trying to act cool.  "You sure? I wouldn't want to impose."

The imposing defenseman rolled her eyes. "Wood, just accept the damn invitation before I change my mind."

Lexa nodded, grinned as she watched Gaia give a thumbs up from the doorway.  She threw her leg pads into her gear bag, unlacing her skates hurriedly as Echo headed for the door.  "So we're best friends now, right?"  Lexa chuckled as she pulled on her sweatpants.

Echo chuckled under her breath, shaking her head.  “Nope. I still can't stand you."

"Over here, Griff," Clarke heard Raven's voice calling to her from somewhere in the back of the crowded hospitality house.  She squeezed through the crowd, making her way over to the long table where Raven, Octavia, and Harper sat, clutching extremely tall glasses, brimming with amber colored beer.  She took a seat next to Octavia, fighting the urge to caution the 19-year-old not to drink too much.

"Sorry that I'm so late. I had to go over some game points with Coach."

Raven waved a hand dismissively.  "Yes, yes, we all know you're very responsible.  Now, drink up."

The goalie pushed a tall glass of pilsner towards Clarke, who stared at the beverage apprehensively.

"Loosen up, Clarkie.  We've got three days off.  Live a little."

Sighing, she reached for the beer and took a small sip.  "Fine, but just one."

"Of course." Raven winked at her mischievously.  "Just one."

Three beers later, Clarke was all warmth and easy laughter as Raven entertained the group with stories of their first season together.

"She had such a chip on her shoulder!"

"I did not!" Clarke giggled through another sip of beer.  "I was trying to prove myself, like everybody else."

"Like hell!"  Raven tipped back the remains of her glass and ordered another.  "You were trying to prove you were Wayne Gretzky."

"Well, you try being this size on that roster.  I was the smallest team member by four inches and 40 pounds."

"You were pretty tiny."

Octavia smiled awkwardly, trying to hold her own amongst the veteran skaters.

"Weren't you the youngest too?"

Clarke nodded.  "Yes, by a little bit."

Raven gave her a playful nudge in the ribs and wiggled her eyebrows.  "She's being modest. She was the youngest player ever selected to a U.S. Olympic hockey team.”  She fished her cell phone out of her pocket and scrolling through her photo app until she found the right picture.  "Here, look."

Octavia and Harper leaned over the table as Clarke groaned her eyes in protest.

"Raven, please don't tell me you're showing them the photo I think you are."

"I'm showing them the photo you think I am," she laughed wickedly.

Clarke peered over the table at Raven's screen.  Sure enough, there was a picture of her squinting, smiling sheepishly and holding up a hand in protest, her braces-clad teeth on full display.  "Oh g-d, that photo is horrible!”

"It's adorable!"  Raven smiled, flipping through a few more embarrassing snapshots.  "That was our first week of training.  She was such a baby!”

Clarke rolled her eyes.  "I got those braces off a few weeks later, but this one..." She pointed at Raven. "Compassionate saint that she is, she made sure to take plenty of beforehand photos so I could never live it down."

Octavia was in hysterics as she flipped through the candids, gleefully flipping from one unflattering image to the next.   Harper's attention, meanwhile, was drawn to some new fascination at the entrance to the hospitality house.  Raven nudged the defenseman with her foot, regaining her consideration.

"Hey, what got you staring so hard?"

Harper blushed at having been caught red-handed.  She cleared her throat, pointing discreetly towards the front of the room.

"Looks who's here."

Three sets of eyes followed her slender index finger to where a Canadian player had just ducked inside.  The woman was angular and piercing, with a long nose that ended, somewhat surprisingly, in a slightly bulbous tip.  It would have looked homely on anyone else, but offset against the chiseled jawline and high, sharp cheekbones it only made the woman look more contemptuously alluring. Her dirty blonde hair and exactingly curved brows framed large, light-brown eyes that scanned the room cautiously.

Clarke narrowed her gaze, her pulse speeding as she stared at the women who was partially responsible for the year she'd spent limping around on a bum knee.  She felt heated; indignant and incensed as she stared at the player whose cavalier disregard for safety and restraint had single-handedly cut her career short.  Of all the indignations she had suffered as a result of that fateful moment, the worst was knowing that Echo was walking around on two good legs, miraculously uninjured though both of their legs had impacted during the on-ice collision. This imbalance of repercussion was almost certainly due to the considerable size differential of the two women, with Clarke the unlucky smaller party.  A moment later the blonde jumped, shaken out of her fixation by the sound of a hand smacking the table-top.

“Fucking Côté! I can’t stand that girl!”  Raven seethed.  “I should go over there and knock that smile right off her smug, self-righteous face.”

The goalie glared daggers at the intimidating defenseman, as though she might jump over the table at any minute and charge the unsuspecting woman.

Immediately shifting back into captain mode, Clarke placed a restraining hand on her friend's shoulder.

“Raven, don’t. What happened was an accident.”  The words tasted like poison in Clarke’s mouth, but she forced them out anyway.

“Griff, how can you say that?”  Harper stared across the table at her friends, genuinely shocked.  “She nearly ended your…”

The thought trailed off into nothing as Harpers' eyes caught a glimpse of a second player who’d slunk in just being the Canadian Captain.

“Whoa.”  Harper’s eyes widened, her mouth hanging open a little as she drank in the intoxicating sight.  Everyone’s gaze shifted to the front of the room, where Lexa Woods hung hesitantly in the doorway.  Finally, she slipped inside, reluctantly following on the heels of the girl in front of her, unaware of the four American women whose stares were fixed on her as she made their way toward a table full of her teammates.

“Ugh!  She’s even sexier off the ice.”  Harper bit her lip and sighed, taking a sip of her drink as she continued to study the imposing figure cut but the Canadian goalie.

Clarke, Raven, and Octavia all spun their heads towards Harper, thoroughly shocked by the offhand revelation.

“I thought you had a boyfriend!”  Octavia’s eye popped wide open in shock.

Harper grinned sheepishly and shrugged.  “I mean, I do, but it’s not like I don’t have eyes.” Besides, I’ve always been open to the possibility.” 

Raven leaned across the table now, studying her friend curiously.  “Harper McIntyre, are you saying that you’ve dipped your toes in the waters of sapphic pleasure?”

Harper smiled coyly. “I dated a lot of people before I met Monty.”

Raven’s smile grew by a mile.  “Dude! You’re bi! How did we not know this?”

The soft-spoken defenseman shook her head, polishing off the last of her drink.  “I don’t ascribe to labels.  I see people, not gender.  However, if I had to call it something, I’d say I’m pansexual or polysexual, not bi.”

Raven rolled her eyes.  “Whatever you call it, you’re lusting after Lexa Woods!”

Harped chuckled and held up her hands. “I mean why wouldn’t I?  She’s a show stopper, and honestly…”

Harper leaned over the table secretively, bowing her head so only her friend could hear her.

“I saw her in the gym the other day doing pull-ups in nothing but tiny shorts and a sports bra.  She was covered in sweat, and I mean…”  Harper pulled at the front of her shirt, pretending to cool herself.  “That body… Those tattoos... All that toned muscle… I swear, I almost had to take a cold shower afterward.”

Raven smirked mischievously “I can only imagine.”  She chanced a quick glance at Clarke as she spoke, earning a swift kick under the table.

Clarke cleared her throat, trying not to blush furiously.  “Guys, we shouldn’t be talking about other players like this. It’s unprofessional.”

The stern statement seemed to strike a bit of solemnity into Octavia and Harped, their faces sobering a bit. Raven, however, would not be deterred.  “Clarke!  Are you not looking around this hospitality house right now.  Every athlete in here is hitting on someone, or about to be hit on by someone.  “Loosen up, girl! We didn’t just bring you down here for the cheap pilsners and the sightseeing.”

Realization suddenly hit Clarke like a freight train, and she screwed her eyes shut in frustration.

“You’re all trying to get me laid aren’t you.”

Guilt written all over her features, Octavia bit her lip nervously.  “Don’t look at me. It was their idea.”  The youngest current member of their team, the black-haired forward shrunk a bit, loath to be in trouble with someone she considered a mentor.

Harper reached across the table, gingerly placing her hand atop Clarke’s.  “Griff, we love you girl, but it’s been at least two years since you saw anyone. Be honest, aren’t you kind of going crazy without a little…”  She dipped her chin, her eyebrows wiggling. “You know?”

“I’m not answering that!” Clarke’s face burned with embarrassment, and not only because her friend had just insinuation that she had become a stiff in the past few years.  As soon as Harper had asked the question, a play by play of Clarke’s night with Lexa had begun to flash through her mind.  The captain found it hard to keep a straight face while remembering the unspeakable pleasure of having the brunette's face buried between her legs, her wild curly mane tickling the inside of Clarke's thighs.  For a moment she could almost smell the sweat pooling between their bodies, and taste herself on Lexa’s lips.

And then the moment was gone, and Clarke snapped out of it a second too late to realize that she’d been staring at Lexa the whole time.  She instantly turned bright red.  “I’m focused on my job.  I don’t have time for anything else right now.”

Her friends were all grinning at her, not the least bit fooled.  Octavia snickered into her beer, and Clarke reminded herself to scold Raven and Harper later for inviting a 19-year-old to drink with them in the first place.  Harper looked back and forth between the Canadian table and her captain a few times, her face a perfect picture of validation.

“Ok, so… I’m not the only one here who finds Lexa Woods attractive.”

“I’d say that’s fair.”  Raven felt another kick to her shin.  She tried not to wince as she smirked at her best friend.  Clarke, it’s alright to have fun sometimes.  You’re not going to lose your edge just because you talked to a pretty girl.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “Raven, it’s fraternizing.  If we end up playing them in the final…”

“Okay! Okay!  Don’t talk to Woods then.  Find someone else, but go find someone!”

Raven gestured around the room.  “You’re in Olympic Village, Clarke.  This place is teeming with eligible, visually appealing single people that have the bodies of Greek gods.  Girl, this is literally the last time you’re ever going to be swimming in a pool of potential one-night-stands this top shelf.

As soon as she had made the statement, Raven’s face fell, realizing the unintended insinuation behind her words.  There was a moment of silence as the truth of Raven’s words sunk in for everyone.  No one on the team mentioned it, even in the privacy of privileged conversations, but it was a truth universally acknowledged that this would be Clarke’s last Olympics.  The uneasy feeling passed as quickly as it had come, and a second later Clarke was rising from her seat.

“Fine, but if you three are determined to set me up, then I’m going to need another beer.”

Raven swatted her friend ample backside playfully.  “That’s right Griffin!  Go get you some, girl!”

Clarke groaned, rolling her eyes as she made her way towards the bar.  Safely hidden inside the gaggle of people clambering for drinks, she snuck another look at the Canadian goalie, turning just in time to catch Lexa look away from her and apologize to a teammate for being distracted.  Clarke couldn’t help but smirk, wondering if Lexa’s mind was currently being invaded by the same salacious thoughts that had disarmed her earlier.  Perhaps it was the beer, or the suggestive insistence of her far too eager friends, or the intrusive memories of the night before, but at that moment Clarke decided that Raven was right. A little fun wouldn’t kill her.  She pulled her phone from her pocket and typed a quick message.

[Hey, this is Clarke.]

[Hey. What’s up?]

The response was tenser than she’d hoped, but Clarke remained undeterred.

[You still up for making this a two-night stand?]

She waited with bated breath, wondering if her dismissiveness in the aftermath of their encounter had put the Canadian phenom off of her.  A second later her phone vibrated in her hand, a single word appearing on the screen.

[Absolutely.]

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The Games: Chapter 2

"I don't care how good she is, Mike, there's just no reason to take her. There are more than enough good tall guys out there, and it would be a strict disadvantage to put someone so small behind the net."

In a cradle of loose netting behind the crossbar, a tiny transistor radio crackled to life, filling the frozen air with the staticky voices of commentators.  The sound echoed through the empty rink, followed by the sharp metal ding of a puck as it ricocheted off the goal post.

"We gonna listen to that thing the whole fucking time?"

"It motivates me."

"To what, have an aneurysm?"

The crack of a slap shot rang out like a bullet from a gun, followed immediately by the hard thud of vulcanized rubber hitting leather at 80 miles an hour.

"Are you throwing softballs?"

Lincoln eyed the goalie skeptically.  "Why am I even shooting from the line? You should be working on close up stuff. The teams you're going to be playing will be focusing on dekes, tips, and wrists more than they will slap shots.  You need to work on reading the body."

"Pussy."

Another crack filled the area, another hollow thud as the puck was stopped mid-flight.

"That's more like it."

Lincoln scowled.  As irritating as she could be, there was no denying his friend's talent.  The problem was that Lexa would be the first one to the point that out, and it made the goaltender hard to bear, and on rare occasions, pretty tough to like.

The radio crackled to life again, the static fragmenting the voices as they droned on.

"Oh, come on!  Remember Enroth?  He was five foot eleven, and the fans up in Buffalo didn't seem to mind him."

"Enroth? Enroth!?  Mike, if you're going to use someone as an example at least pick someone who still plays in the NHL.  The last time I checked Enroth was sent packing to a KHL team in Belarus or some such place.  Meanwhile, Halak and Khudobin, the only goalies in the league I can think of that are under six feet tall, haven't started more than half the games in a season."

"Keith, I played with Gerry Cheevers, who is arguably one of the greatest goaltenders in history.  He had to have been no taller than five foot eleven, and a hundred and eighty pounds soaking wet.  Now, Woods is only one inch and five pounds smaller than that.  You cannot tell me that she can't compete at a professional level."

"Ok Mike, thousands of years ago, when you played, it wasn't uncommon to see a guy five foot ten or five foot eleven between the pipes.  And for the record, I'm not arguing that she can't play.  She's good. I've seen her play. I know she's good. She might even be better than good. My point is there's just no reason to take her in an era of giant goaltenders.  Right now, the average goalie in the NHL is six foot two, two hundred and ten pounds.  And that's just the average.  Ben Bishop is six foot seven, two hundred and sixteen pounds.  Why on earth would you bother taking this girl when there are guys like that out there? Does she have the chops for the NHL? Sure. Fine. But, why sign a small, average quality NHL prospect, when you've got guys playing at the same level who can also fill up the net like they're the Rock of Gibraltar?"

"Well, either way, her selection to the Canadian national team should make this Olympics an interesting one."

"One thing is for sure.  If this girl wants a shot at being selected to a professional team, there had better be a shiny, gold medal hanging around her neck at the end of the games.  I doubt any NHL team is going to sustain interest if she can't bring home gold when she's just playing against other women."

“Can we please turn that crap off,” Lincoln pleaded with her, his arms dangling at his sides as he kicked a puck into position for another shot."

“I don’t want to.” Lexa adjusting her footing as she waited for him to snap the puck.

“Dante's gonna be pissed when he hears you've been binge-listening to this crap again.”

“He won't,” she crouched low in the net, superstitious that the mere mention of the surly, wizened goalie coach might summon him to appear before her.

“It's gonna get into your head.”

“It won't,” she crouching lower still, dismissing the momentary sting of guilt at her dishonesty.

“Whatever you say.”

Lincoln wound back, his body twisting forward violently as he slapped the puck in her direction, full force.

Most people would have believed Lexa when she told them that the detractors and skeptics didn’t get to her, but not Lincoln. He had known her too intimately for far too long.  Lincoln knew when Lexa was lying to herself. When they were children, it had been easier to recognize, easier to see the hurt hidden behind the brave face. Now though, the cracks around the edges were almost imperceptible, and when the naysaying was at its worst, Lexa only doubled down on her cocksure bravado.  It was an act that had become so calculated, so much a part of her, that he doubted she could tell the difference between the facade and the emotional truth behind it.

On the rare occasions that Lexa's emotions did break the surface, they always came out convoluted, manifesting themselves as anger and aggression rather than hurt and disappointment.  There were times when Lincoln wanted to do more, say more to help her, but his oldest friend lived in abject fear of losing her competitive edge. Frustratingly, Lexa believed that it was her fury, rather than her natural talent alone, that continued to propel her forward. Lincoln knew that his words would fall on deaf ears.

“So you want me to bring it in close?”

“Nope.”

Lincoln sighed, kicking at a puck.

“Lex, the teams at the Olympics...”

“I'm not training to play the teams at the Olympics, Lincoln."

"Lexa..."

They're women, Lincoln!  I've been playing in the damn OHL for three years now.  Men's professional hockey is my reality.  The Olympic games are a distraction at best, and when they're over, I need to be playing at a level that's going to get me drafted out of here. Training for the women's game isn't going to help me with that."

"And training like you're about to play Zdeno Chara is going to lose you the gold!"

Lincoln sent a puck flying towards the stands in frustration. It barely missed the glass, making a terrible rattling sound as it shook the board.

"Lexa, just listen to me for once! You're minimizing how good these players are."

The hulking former defenseman skated over to his friend, pulling off his helmet and discarding it gently on ice as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

"You're not wrong.  The women's game is different, but different doesn't mean worse, it doesn't mean unskilled.  These women play a different style of hockey, and all of them are extremely good at it.  Some of them are unbelievably good at it.  More importantly, because you've spent your entire career playing in all-male leagues, their style of hockey isn't one you've played before.  If you underestimate how hard it's going to be for you to adjust to that, you do so at your own peril."

Lexa sighed, pulling her goalie mask off. “I swear Lincoln; coaching women has gotten you soft.”

She winked, smirking at her already exacerbated friend. After a two year stint in the NHL, a catastrophic injury had realigned Lincoln's stars, setting him on a new path as the assistant coach of a collegiate women's team in Wisconsin.  His transition from rising playboy all-star to a champion of Title IX and female athletes was a sensitive matter, though he remained a good sport when it came to teasing.  She expected him to roll his eyes, groan, or perhaps playfully punch her in the arm.  Instead, he made Lexa jump as he threw his stick onto the ice, furious.

“Lexa! Can you just drop your fucking attitude for once?”

He skated away from her, his hands resting behind his head as he took a moment to cool off.

"You know… I get it. I grew up with you. I was there when you and those other girls petitioned to play in the boy’s league.  I saw how you were the only one left standing after years of harassment and abuse.  I've been with you every step of the way, so I understand how you ended up with the mindset you have, but you've got to get over this toxic masculinity shit! Somewhere, deep down inside of you, you still believe that you've gotten this far in spite of being a woman.  That belief is wrong, Lexa.  That thinking is your Achille's heel."

He turned back to her, rubbing his temples to soothe the headache form an afternoon of clenching his jaw.

"Those girls don't think that way.  I know you believe that if they were as good as you, they'd be playing in the men's leagues too, but you're wrong.  They didn't grow up where we did; they didn't have to walk that path.  They grew up playing in women's leagues, where nobody ever told them they weren't good enough.  They're not playing to prove anything to anyone."

He eyed her knowingly, an unspoken truth passing between them."

"If you shove it in their face that you think you're better than them because you play with men, they're going to use that attitude to humiliate you."

Lexa's face was red, her eyes fixed and furious.  She threw her goalie stick in Lincoln's general direction and tossed her glove and blocker down in disgust.

“I didn't even want to compete with these women! Playing for the stupid Olympic team was your idea; you and Dante!  I don't understand why the hell I'm supposed to learn some whole new style of play for something that's going to last all of three weeks!"

"Because it's a damn honor!"

Lincoln and Lexa both froze as the gravelly voice of Dante Wallace rumbled at them from across the ice.

"And would either of you care to tell me what you're doing here on a day that I specifically told you to take off?"

For a second, Lexa just watched her coach approaching, frozen in shock as though she were an eight-year-old who'd just been caught goofing off in practice. She was accustomed to her coach's frequent irritability, but this was a different mood altogether. The old salt was raging, his anger fueled by the audacity of his protege's defiance. Dante was the kind of man who refused to take insubordination lightly, and as he stomped towards them, fisherman's cap pulled low on his brow, unlit cigarette gripped between his gritted teeth, unshaven jaw clenched, Lexa knew she was about to catch hell.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!"

"Dante, I..."

Dante held up his hand, pointing directly at Lincoln as he continued to stare Lexa down.

"Don't you even start!"

He thrust his index finger in Lexa's direction.

"You want to practice? Fine, let's practice.  Suicides, go!"

Lexa remained frozen for a moment, trying in vain to process an excuse.

"Now!" He pointed at Lincoln.  "You too, blockhead!"  

The pair finally sprung into action, dashing off towards the closest line and hustling back towards the goal.

Dante watched his unfortunate trainees sprint towards center ice, already panting.  He muttered, pulling up the zipper on the ancient Red Wings Starter jacket he was never without.  He stood there, letting a full five minutes pass until the suffering athletes had begun to turn red and pour sweat before he launched into his lecture.

"You're a damn fool, Woods! Only a fool would underestimate their opponent to service their individual, selfish pride."

He chewed on the end of the unlit cigarette, shifting it from one side of his mouth to the other.

"You've been granted the privilege of representing your country because you're the best it has to offer, a paragon of true Olympic prowess, and like a jackass, you choose to squander that opportunity. Why? Because you don't like the stipulations?!"

He spat his cigarette out on the ice, finally blowing the whistle around his neck to give the go-ahead for Lexa and Lincoln to stop.  The two dropped to the ice, gasping for breath.

"Woods, you're one of the best goalies I've ever coached, you might even be the best. Right now, however, you could fit the number of people that believe that into a pee-wee locker room. This season is the last one you'll be eligible to play Major Junior, and if you're betting on those NHL scouts suddenly coming to their senses, you've got another thing coming."

Dante walked over to where the players were slumped over on the ice, still trying to catch their breaths.  He crouched directly in front of Lexa's face, staring her dead in the eye.

"Kid, you've spent the last three years playing for the worst team in Northern Ontario.  Nobody gives a rat's ass how good you are if they don't see you play.  You're invisible up here, and as long as you're invisible, the NHL can ignore you all they like.   Play net at the Olympics and you get to show the whole world what you can do.  Nobody will be able to ignore you after that.  That's why I insisted you play for the women's national team."

Dante stood, brushing the wrinkles out of his pants, and popping another cigarette into his mouth.

"Now get off my ice and go clean yourselves up.”  He paused looking over the pathetic, exhausted skaters with disdain.  "You two look like a damn soup sandwich."

With that, he trudged off, the scent of bay rum and stale Camel Straights lingering in his wake.

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[insideabunker]

The Games: Chapter 5

"A mere five days since the opening ceremony here at the Pyeongchang Winter Olympics, and already athletes from around the world have astounded us with seemingly superhuman feats of strength and skill."

The television screen flickered and gleamed, illuminating the faces in the darkened lounge in an ethereal blue glow.  From ever couch and chair, athletes watched as the clips flashed past on the screen, searching for their faces among the event highlights.

"There I am!"  A 16-year-old from Quebec pointed eagerly at the screen where a clip played of a tiny snowboarder, flying over the side of a halfpipe as he grabbed the front of his board and spun in the air.

"There's been no shortage of heartbreak either, with several heavily favored athletes going home empty-handed in their final Olympics."

A scruffy Luger in the front row of couches sighed, watching himself cross the finish line a tenth of a second shy of a medal.  A shaggy-haired skier just behind him placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Your run was still a beauty Sammy. No shame in that."

"Here at the Coastal Cluster in Gangneung, South Korea, all attention seems focused on the highly anticipated preliminary matchup between the U.S. and Canadian women's hockey teams."

In an armchair in the back of the room, Lexa shifted uncomfortably in her seat.  Try as she might, it had been impossible to drown out the media's furor over the upcoming game.  All week long, the predictions and opinions of commentators had been buzzing in her ears like a million tiny mosquitos, refusing to be silenced and impossible to swat away.

"The two powerhouses meet tomorrow, in a contest which is sure to incite pure pandemonium among spectators.  Both teams are overflowing with talent and likely candidates for Olympic medals.  Who will leave PyeongChang with Gold, however, is perhaps the most hotly contested subject of this Olympics.  For predictions on that subject, we turn to longtime Olympic hockey commentator Liam McHugh.  Liam, welcome to the show."

"Thank you, Jim.  It's nice to be here again."

"Liam, I'd like to get right down to it.  What do you think the significance of this preliminary game is?"

"Well, Jim, I suspect that it will set a precedent for the level of play we're going to see going forward into the medal rounds.  Among the competitors in PyeongChang, there's a sense that any team looking to win gold needs to go through the U.S. or Canada.  Frankly, no two teams go at it harder than these two, so if they kick it up a few notches during this game, I suspect that’s where the effort will stay throughout the medal round.  It should make for some very exciting hockey.

"What do you think the chances are that we'll see a repeat of the U.S. vs. Canada final from Sochi?"

"I'd say the odds are pretty good.  Since women's hockey was introduced in 1998, there has only been one Olympics in which the U.S. and Canada haven't ended up fighting one another for the gold medal."

"That was Turin?"

"Yes, in 2006.  Now, when you look at this on an international play level, ranking aside, it's construable that either team is the most dominant women's program in the world.  Canada has a slight lead regarding numbers, ten IIHF titles to the United States eight, but of those World Championships, the United States has won the past four.

"Liam, it sounds like there's a but in there."

"But... As far as Olympic Hockey goes there is no question; Canada's been the reigning powerhouse for some time.  In twenty years of Women's Olympic Ice Hockey, Canada has won gold in four out of the five games.  The U.S. hasn't stood at the top of the medals podium since 1998, and frankly, if they lose tomorrow's game, it isn’t likely they will this year either.

"You don't think that a preliminary defeat will get the American's fired up even harder?"

"I doubt it, Jim. So far the United States managed a two-point victory over Finland and beat the Olympic Athletes from Russia, handily, six to one.  As for Canada, they've had shutouts in their first two, thanks to this new goalie of theirs.  But, neither one has been put through the paces the way you'd want building up to a contest like tomorrow's matchup.  I think the shift in play from low to high gear is going to come as a wake-up call for both teams, and if the U.S. loses, it would significantly bolster team Canada's considerable confidence going into the medal round. That doesn't mean that Team USA is guaranteed a loss in the medal round, but it would create a significant psychological obstacle.

"So what you're saying is, the American girls have a game to win if they want to stay competitive."

"Well, at the very least they need to make it a close one.  If Canada forces another scoreless game, it's going to make their seemingly unbeatable defense that much more of a challenge from here on out.  The U.S. could overcome a loss tomorrow if, at the very least, they manage to break Lexa Woods' shutout streak.  In my opinion, everything hinges on that."

"Speaking of Lexa Woods, we managed to get a brief interview with the phenom yesterday after Canada's victory over Finland."

The picture changed again, and Lexa cringed as she saw herself onscreen, goalie mask tucked under her arm, her brow pouring sweat, her face red and splotchy from overexertion, her hair a tangled mess of brown rat's nests.  She squinted into the camera light, awkwardly attempting to push matted, sweaty locks out of her eyes with the back of her arm.

"So, two shutouts so far. How does that feel?"

"Um... Good, I guess."

"Are you surprised?"

"Not really.  I transitioned to the national team from the OHL, so I'm used to a style of play that's a bit more fast paced if I'm being honest; certainly more physical. I think that gives me an advantage that makes shutouts more likely at this level."

"And I'm sure that your team's defensemen have contributed significantly to that success. Wouldn't you say?"  The reporter subtly attempted to lead the goalie towards a more egalitarian breakdown of team Canada's success, smiling as she held the mic closer.

"Oh, yeah. I mean, they've definitely contributed."

Lexa cringed as she listened to herself, realizing that she sounded more than a little cocksure.  She was confident that if any of her teammates were watching, she'd catch hell later.

"What an ass."  Lexa heard a speed skater a few rows up whisper to the curler next to him.  She scowled, pulling the hood of her sweatshirt up a bit further to hide her face.  People could talk about her if they liked. She was more than used to it.

A body settled into the next chair over, nudging her in the side as an arm extended, offering her a bag full of popcorn.

"Echo's been pretty strong on the back-check. You couldn't have been a little more generous about her performance?"  Lincoln smirked, leaning in and cocking an eyebrow quizzically.

"I panicked! You know I'm terrible at interviews."

Under his breath, Lincoln let out a low "Humph," in agreement.  "Well, I hope your terrible interview demeanor doesn't get you in hot water with your teammates."

Lexa shrunk down in her chair, crossing her arms as she cast a sullen glance in Lincoln's direction.  "I doubt they could dislike me any more than they already do.  They're all off together watching the Men's halfpipe qualifiers."

"Why didn't you go with them?"

"Because they got tickets and didn't tell me." She crossed her arms, sinking even further into the armchair.

"So... things not going so well, eh?" Lincoln bit his lip hesitantly. Never quite sure how to handle his childhood friend when she was in the mood to sulk and feel sorry for herself.

Lexa frowned. "Obviously not."  She furrowed her brow, seething at the frustratingly amused look on Lincoln's face.  "How did you get in here anyway?  I thought you were supposed to be at your hotel with Dante?"

Lincoln held up an all-access visitors pass, turning his attention back to the flat screen, where commentators were still discussing the game.

"Well Jim, I think the primary difference is the team dynamics. Canada has been relying heavily on the individual skills of their players, but all of those players are extraordinarily good at what they do, and nearly all are Olympic veterans.  Team USA has fewer seasoned players, but on the other hand, they play seamlessly together.  Their system and team dynamics are terrific, their coaching staff is outstanding, and their current on-ice leadership is, in my opinion, phenomenal.

"Speaking of that leadership, we were able to catch Team USA's Captain, Clarke Griffin, earlier today for a quick interview."

Clarke appeared on screen, looking frustratingly natural on camera as she stood outside the dorms of the Olympic Village in the falling snow. She rubbed her irritatingly well-formed button nose, bright red from the chill of the frigid air, with the back of a mitten-clad hand, cupping her face politely as she let out an absurdly dainty sneeze.  The whole scene only made her seem even more infuriatingly charming than she already did.

"So, how do you feel going into your game with the Canadian team?"

“I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little bit anxious to play one of the best teams in the world, but having said that, I am so confident in my team that it makes it hard to be too nervous.  There's an old expression that I think sums my feeling up well.  'If you want to be number one, you have to train like you are number two.'  That's really where our mindset has been since the Sochi games, and in particular for the past year.  Every woman on team USA has given 100% and thrown everything she has into preparing for this moment.  We trained to be the best, and we trained to beat the best, and I think that's what people are going to see tomorrow."

"Gotta say, she's pretty hot, ya know?"

"Do you have something useful to add?"  Lexa stared at him skeptically.

"And what do you think about the hype surrounding Canada's goalie, Lexa Woods?  How do you feel about going up against someone who's been playing primarily in men's leagues?  Do you think that has given Canada an unfair advantage?"

Lexa bit the inside of her cheek, anxiously waiting for the subtle prejudice of the question to creep under Clarke's skin, making her come unglued on camera.  She watched as the blonde paused, calm on the surface, though her irritation showed around the edges.  For half a minute Clarke remained silent.

"You know."  She paused briefly to tuck a few strands of golden hair behind her ear.  "A lot of people have been talking about this recently, and the truth is I'm not sure it's a useful discussion to be having."

The reporter leaned in curiously. "Can you elaborate on that."

"Sure, I mean... Every time this gets brought up it seems to unravel into a discussion of physical differences and biology and what women can and can't do as well compared to men.  Honestly, I wonder if we're not asking the wrong question altogether."

"What question should we be asking?"

"Well, for starters, we should be asking why women's abilities are always defined by their approximation to men's.  Why do we have to appraise women's skills and talents by saying that they are "strong for a girl," or "as good as a man?"  I don't think that is useful to anyone.  I mean women and men are different.  Obviously, we're different.  In the same way that we solve problems and communicate differently, women and men play hockey differently.  Different doesn't mean worse; it just means different.  We play our own game. We play it with skill, and with passion and every woman here is phenomenal at what she does. If that's not enough for fans, then they're welcome to watch the men’s game instead.”

Lexa leaned forward, watching as Clarke paused again.  She took a deep breath to help maintain her calm, smooth demeanor.  

"More importantly, to suggest that Lexa Woods is a remarkable goalie because she's been playing with men is to more or less give men credit for her talent. That is misguided. Lexa Woods is an extraordinary goalie because she has extraordinary ability and, from what I hear, she works her ass off.  That, thus far, she's been able to keep up in this new arena only means that's she's that much more versatile.  Frankly, I would have suspected that a men's goalie would have struggled to adjust switching to the women's game."

"Well, Lexa Woods sure hasn't been struggling so far.  In fact, she's just recorded her second NGA performance against Russia.  When we spoke to her earlier today she seemed confident that she could stretch that shutout streak to three."

Clarke laughed bitterly, piquing the reporter's interest.

"Uh-oh, sounds like we've got a little bit of a rivalry in the works here."

"I mean, so far Canada has played Finland and Russia, and while both are great teams defensively, they've also lost some critical offensive players in the past few years.  Moreover, Canada has defensemen like Echo Cote who, despite our history, is in my opinion, one of the best defensive players in the world. I think that she has contributed as much as Lexa Woods has to those shutouts."

Lincoln elbowed Lexa in the ribs.  "See, she talks about the team as a whole.  She gets it."

Lexa scowled at him, sticking out her tongue.

"As far as Team USA goes, we play effective two-way hockey, and we've got some unbelievably good young forwards. I don't think Lexa Woods has had to contend with a strong offense yet. Woods seems to favor a stand-up style of goaltending that's effective against screening and shots from the point, but I don't think she'd used to having players crashed the net as hard as we do.  I guess we'll have to see how she handles herself."

Lexa frowned, pushing herself out of her chair in disgust.  "We'll see alright."

Lincoln shook his head, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth as he watched Lexa trudge out of the room in a huff. 

It was rare for a competitor's comments to bother Lexa as much as this Griffin women’s seemed to.  Whatever it was about her, the American Captain certainly rattled Lexa's cage in a way few others had managed.

"Two minutes to go here in the third period and we've got a real nail-biter on our hand’s folks, with Canada leading the U.S. 1-0."

A Canadian defenseman slid the puck out to the point, where it was picked up by Echo.

"Côté drifts into the slot.  She winds up, shoots, and..." The announcer paused as the shot whizzed through the air.  "Save! It's a brilliant glove save by Raven Reyes.  She saw that one coming from a mile away, ladies and gentleman."

Fog filled the air as the panting players crouched around the face-off circle, steam rising from their bodies as they waited for the puck to drop out of the referee's hand.  It hit the ice with a hollow thud, and the rink once again erupted into a chaotic confusion of colliding bodies.  The crunching of skates as they cut through the ice was deafening with the forwards fighting for an opening.  Clarke snagged the puck and sent it gliding over to Harper who made a sharp cut behind the net, eyes trained piercingly on Octavia, already cutting towards the boards, ready for a pass.  The puck sailed across the ice with precision, landing deftly on the left wing's stick just in time for her to slip past a hulking defenseman.  The freshman forward flew across the neutral zone like a lightning bolt, Canada's players hot on her trail.  She crossed the blue line alone, dropping low in the slot and cutting right at the last minute to try and sneak a backhand by the Canadian goalie.

The slap of vulcanized rubber hitting wood filled the arena as the puck deflected off her stick.  Lexa dropped to her knees, covering it with a gloved hand as she waited for the whistle to sound. Three sharp blasts signaled a stoppage in gameplay, much to Lexa's great relief.  She watched as Echo skated towards her casually, smirking at her through her face cage.

"You just gave them a face-off in our zone with a minute and a half left in the game. Wait to go, Woods."

Lexa pulled off her goalie mask and slammed it down on top of the net.  She desperately grabbed at the water bottle that hung in the loose mesh, using it to wet down her sweat soaked face.

"Seriously, Côté?  I wouldn't have had to force a whistle if you'd been here five seconds ago!  You've been dragging ass on the back-check all night, and I can barely get help in front of the net when they've got the puck in our zone.  What the hell is wrong with all of you?"

Echo narrowed her eyes at the goalie, leaning on the goal post as she bent forward, sneering.  "Oh, I'm sorry.  Are we not contributing enough for you?"

Lexa's eyes nearly popped out of her head.  She threw her water bottle back into the netting and surged forward, pushing Echo away from the goal.  "Are you fucking kidding me right now?!  Is that why I've taken 47 shots to Reyes’ 29?"

She spat water onto the ice, inching forward as though she was ready to pummel her towering defenseman.  "You're fucking letting them take shots on me to teach me a lesson?"

Echo winked at her contemptuously, turning Lexa’s face crimson.

"How's that working out for you, Woods?"

"I'll tell you when I finish this shutout!"

Before Lexa could completely lose her temper, a referee intervened, skating between the two women and eyeballing them suspiciously.

"That's enough squabbling ladies.  We've got a face-off.”

Echo nodded at the man, pausing just long enough before he fell back into position to give Lexa a final derisive glare.

"Do your job Côté!" Lexa yelled at her retreating teammate, pulling her face mask back on and crouched between the pipes.

The puck dropped, and a wall of bodies smashed into each other once more, a symphony of slashing and crunching filling the air as both teams dug in and fought for ownership.  Finally, Gaia managed to knock the puck back to Echo, who sailed around the goal and sent it shooting out to a forward along the boards.

The players shifted across the ice as each one pursued the puck carrier into the American zone.  The forward went low, flipping around at the red line and banking a shot off the boards to her defenseman.  The crack of a slap-shot rang out, followed by the ping of metal as the puck ricocheted off the goal post and went careening into the sea of players clustered in front of the net.  It was knocked loose by a skate, sliding into the corner as Harper, and a Canadian forward following close behind.  They crashed into one another hard, the glass rattling as their bodies struck the boards and battled for control of the disk.  In a moment of panic, the Canadian forward began to lose her composure, reaching out an arm to create space and maintain her balance.  Her hand grabbed the first solid object on which it found purchase, the shaft of Harper's stick, eliciting an immediate whistle blast from the referee.  

"Number 21; holding the stick; two-minute penalty!"  The referee held up a hand pointing to the benches with his other.  A yelling match between him and the Canadian coach ensued, and in the brief downtime, Kane waved his arm, calling his players back towards the bench for a moment of strategizing.

"There's still forty seconds left, and we've got a golden opportunity here."  He turned to his captain, his expression deadly serious "Griffin, you're my quarterback on this power play.  How confident do you feel?"

Clarke splashed her face with water, giving him a curt nod before she lowered the cage of her helmet and answered.  "We've got this, Coach."

Kane winked.  "Then go get 'em, ladies."

With a few slaps on the shoulders for good luck, the American players departed the bench.  They glided back over to the face-off circle and hunkered down, staring back and forth at each other intently, their tension palpable as the referee skated into position.

The moment the puck hit the ice the world fell shock silent, every spectator in the stands holding their breath in anticipation, the only sound in the rink the voice of the announcer as he called the play by play.

"Back to the corner and it's Griffin and Côté fighting for the puck.  Griffin with control now. A pass to McIntyre on the point.  McIntyre drifts high in the slot and takes a shot and... Oh! It rebounds off of Anderson, but the Canadians can't get it back on the pine.  The puck is picked up by Blake. Blake back to Cooper at the left point.  Cooper passes to McIntyre.  McIntyre winds up and...  She fakes!  McIntyre fakes, and now the American women seem to be shifting positions. McIntyre transitions to the left point with right winger Johnson moving to the right point from low in the zone.  A pass to Johnson with three seconds left.  Johnson glides to the top of the face-off circle and...  She shoots!"

At that moment, Lexa felt as though the world had shifted into slow motion.  Through the screen of players lingering in front of the net, she watched as Johnson wound back and swung her stick forward with all the force of a wrecking ball.  She heard the crack of the slap-shot reverberated through the arena, saw the puck cutting through the air as it flew at her, a perfect spinning disk, high and to the right.  She raised her blocker reflexively, deflecting the puck, and sending it floating high over her left shoulder and out of sight.  Suddenly everything sped up.  There was a flash of an arm catching the puck mid arm, a split second of a swinging stick, and the ding of metal as the puck grazed the crossbar and sailed into the net.  Only then was the silence of the rink finally broken, shattered by the horrifying sound of a goal horn going off.

"And they score!  The Americans score! Oh, my goodness!  What was that!?  American captain Clarke Griffin scores in the craziest rebound return I think I've ever seen, folks."

Lexa could only stare, shocked, as a startled Clarke was enveloped in her teammates' embraces, their faces brimming with gleeful revelry.  Standing in front of the referee yelling, Echo looked like a volcano ready to erupt.  She gestured wildly, pointing this way and that as she yelled something about high sticking and touching the puck.  Over the loudspeakers, an announcer said that they were going to a video review, his voice mumbled as though he were an adult in a Peanuts cartoon.

The world finally came back into focus, and Lexa turned her eyes to a nearby monitor, where the final moments of the game were being played back from every available angle.  She watched in horror as the puck rebounded off her block and was knocked out of the air by Clarke's outstretched hand.  In the millisecond it took for the puck to drop to the level of her mid-torso, Clarke had grabbed her stick, swung it, and made direct contact with the black blob on the screen, knocking it past Lexa's glove side and into the goal as though it were a baseball.  Over and over again, Lexa watched the incredible scene; her jaw slacks with awe as she realized that Clarke's stick had indeed been below the level of the crossbar, making the shot a legitimate one.

The referee waved his arms declaring the goal fair.  The commentator excitedly announced that the game was going into overtime.  The fans exploded into a mixed chorus of cheers and booing.  Lexa could only stare at Clarke, wholly unable to process the impossible feat she had just witnessed the too-small American center perform.  Through the sea of bodies crowding her, Clarke stared back, smiling defiantly.

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*For those wanting clarification on what Clarke’ s goal would look like, or if you are wondering whether or not this kind of “baseball goal” is something that actually happens in hockey, here is a link to a video of the real-life play that inspired it.” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VBcKHrTyG0I