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icarusOkay, almost everyone voted for number 2 in the unofficial poll. But there were enough votes for 1 that I hear your pleas. I'm going to go back to small regular updates of Out Of Bounds (shooting for daily, shhhh).
The earlier parts are here, of course: Out Of Bounds.
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Out Of Bounds
By Icarus
The doctor cocked an eyebrow at John, the expression crinkling his forehead with suspicious amusement. John leaned back on his arms and kicked his feet before forcing himself to sit still. Then the doctor returned his gaze to the clipboard in his hands and was quiet an awfully long time. John chewed his lip impatiently and tried to peer over at the clipboard even if there was no way he could read it, biting back the words.
The doctor took a deep breath and turned pages, making John even more antsy.
"Well," the doctor sighed at last. "There has been a marked improvement—" He shot John a quelling look. "—mind you, these take time to heal entirely…."
"Oh, I'm sure of that," John said, sitting up, eager to appear cooperative.
The suspicious glance returned, eyeing John up and down. "I admit, I did not expect you to return, laddie."
"Hey, I want to get better." John added his smoothest, most charming smile. The doctor warmed to him and almost laughed as he shook his head with a bemused snort.
"All right," he gave in, letting the pages fall. "You can do your jumping -- but!" He raised a finger, stopping John as he happily pulled his jacket over his shoulders. A smile lit John's face. "Take it slowly at first. If you feel any strain at all -- even a teeny twinge! -- you call us, do you understand me?" He leaned forward in a fatherly manner.
"You bet," John said.
John practically bounced off the table, ready to prove that his knee was fine, just fine, really. He turned on his toes at the door and paused, balancing neatly as he almost fell backward in his eagerness to leave. He gave a broad smirk. "Thanks, doc, um -- Doctor Beckett," he added with a nodding bow, remembering the name, testing the sound of it.
As Dr. Carson Beckett took notes on this visit, he heard the faint jingle of the bell on the front door, and the hiss as it shut behind John. He tipped his head and almost smiled.
The nurse had watched him go, shaking her head. She peeked her head around the corner. "Am I going to be taking X-rays of that knee next week?"
The doctor didn't even look up. "Most probably," he said lightly.
She shoved her horn-rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose. "I'd've lied to him. Made him wait it out another week, just to be on the safe side."
"It's better that he trust us." The doctor handed her Sheppard's file. "That way, the next time? He doesn't wait so long."
~*~*~
The nice thing about a little rink was that it wasn't hard to get skate time at short notice. Especially when the front desk was being manned by a cute co-ed from University of Toronto, blond, wearing thick black mascara, who was full of smiles for John whenever he came in.
John all but draped over the counter which pressed against his chest. "No kidding? I went to U of T myself."
"Oh?" she bubbled. "What were you studying?"
"Engineering, but," and here he tipped his head bashfully, lowering his voice, "skating's really my passion."
Her eyes brightened, sparkling as she said, "I skated for years off and on but I never really got the hang of the jumps. And the competitions are so high pressure."
"Yeah, well, maybe I can show you a few moves sometime," John suggested, waggling his eyebrows. She chuckled and blushed as she glanced away, shaking her head. Her little dangly silver heart earrings sparkled and bobbed.
"So, um," John breathed, leaning closer to peer at her scheduler. It was the old fashioned paper type with little X's, penciled in names and smeared erasures. He saw Rodney's name all over it, along with his own regular 5 a.m. slot. "I don't suppose there are any free skate times this afternoon? Or this evening's okay," he added hurriedly, with a forestalling hand. "I'm not picky."
"Oh," she said. "Sorry. We're all booked up." By this time he had smoothed his way around the counter.
"Yeah, hmm." John's sharp eyes scoped out the schedule like a hawk spotting prey. "What about that blank space right there? That's now, isn't it?" He was behind her, hand brushing the fluff of blond hair on her shoulder as he pointed at that nice white spot on the calendar. He hadn't seen anyone on the ice either.
"There's only forty minutes left, it's not a full slot. And the zamboni has to resurface the ice before hockey practice." She looked up at him with smiling regret.
"Forty minutes, huh?" It wasn't much. "Well that sounds like just what the doctor ordered," John said.
She cringed, wrinkling her nose as she breathed in through her teeth with a hiss. "I'm only supposed to charge by the hour."
He dipped his hand into his pocket for his wallet, looking down. He hated to be charged double for what was really a half hour slot but he told himself it was worth it. "You have to do what you have to do."
"No, I mean that I can't. I'll get in trouble if the schedule doesn't match the register."
He looked up and gave her an expressively blank look.
"Just go on in." She waved him onward. "It's not being used anyhow. But get out of the way when the zamboni comes or they'll run you over."
"Gee, thanks," he said, his face lighting with a sincere smile, and she brightened even more.
John used the run down the stairs as part of his warm up, pounding the double doors open with his forearms to the almost empty ice. Times like these were the reason he'd learned to gear up lightning fast as he yanked off his sneakers and whipped the skates out of his bag. Quick fingers fumbled and pulled the strings tight. John balled up his jacket, tossing it on the bench, then stepped out onto the ice.
It felt as though he hadn't been here in a long time even though his last practice was just hours ago. But this was different. This was the real thing.
He picked up speed, carving a fast arc around the back of the rink. He stretched his arms out in a cutting gesture as he glanced back over his shoulder, and then flung himself into the air, knee bent gazelle-like, spinning in a double. It landed wobbly and uncertain.
That toe-loop was usually his easiest jump, too, sheer momentum and big air.
John scowled. Then gunned forward, arms working as he leapt, his right foot stepping once and launching him into a triple axel, his free leg a powerful pendulum swing as he pulled in tight for the extra half turn that made it skating's toughest jump. He straddled the landing, two-footing it, but forced himself into a second double. His head dipped as he felt the shock through his knee and he stepped out of it, pinwheeling and falling on his ass with a bounce.
Pushing himself up from the ice, John groaned out loud, grinding his teeth. He shelved his nascent plans to run through his short program.
Starting over, he ran through his jumps, one by one, feeling them settle into his bones, become familiar again. He drew his foot back for the Lutz, his toe-pick catching the ice and launching him into a triple, landing clean in reverse, leg out. Perfect. But the dizzying salchow had never been his best. He hopped into it too early and found himself finishing it on the ground.
The groan and chug of the zamboni across the rink warned him that his time was almost up. He had one last question for himself. Gathering speed until he was skating backward, a slight ripple to his shirt, John swung his leg high behind him and nicked the ice, flinging himself into a tight spin, arms wrapped, one, two, three, four turns – and he landed, hard, his skate wanted to slide out.
But he landed it.
John slid to a diagonal stop after the quad. Breathing hard, his chest rising and falling, he looked across the ice and a slow satisfied smirk spread across his face.
[Previous][Next]
Music is on its way. John's rather cheesy short program music (that Rodney hates).
The earlier parts are here, of course: Out Of Bounds.
[Previous][Next]
Out Of Bounds
By Icarus
The doctor cocked an eyebrow at John, the expression crinkling his forehead with suspicious amusement. John leaned back on his arms and kicked his feet before forcing himself to sit still. Then the doctor returned his gaze to the clipboard in his hands and was quiet an awfully long time. John chewed his lip impatiently and tried to peer over at the clipboard even if there was no way he could read it, biting back the words.
The doctor took a deep breath and turned pages, making John even more antsy.
"Well," the doctor sighed at last. "There has been a marked improvement—" He shot John a quelling look. "—mind you, these take time to heal entirely…."
"Oh, I'm sure of that," John said, sitting up, eager to appear cooperative.
The suspicious glance returned, eyeing John up and down. "I admit, I did not expect you to return, laddie."
"Hey, I want to get better." John added his smoothest, most charming smile. The doctor warmed to him and almost laughed as he shook his head with a bemused snort.
"All right," he gave in, letting the pages fall. "You can do your jumping -- but!" He raised a finger, stopping John as he happily pulled his jacket over his shoulders. A smile lit John's face. "Take it slowly at first. If you feel any strain at all -- even a teeny twinge! -- you call us, do you understand me?" He leaned forward in a fatherly manner.
"You bet," John said.
John practically bounced off the table, ready to prove that his knee was fine, just fine, really. He turned on his toes at the door and paused, balancing neatly as he almost fell backward in his eagerness to leave. He gave a broad smirk. "Thanks, doc, um -- Doctor Beckett," he added with a nodding bow, remembering the name, testing the sound of it.
As Dr. Carson Beckett took notes on this visit, he heard the faint jingle of the bell on the front door, and the hiss as it shut behind John. He tipped his head and almost smiled.
The nurse had watched him go, shaking her head. She peeked her head around the corner. "Am I going to be taking X-rays of that knee next week?"
The doctor didn't even look up. "Most probably," he said lightly.
She shoved her horn-rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose. "I'd've lied to him. Made him wait it out another week, just to be on the safe side."
"It's better that he trust us." The doctor handed her Sheppard's file. "That way, the next time? He doesn't wait so long."
~*~*~
The nice thing about a little rink was that it wasn't hard to get skate time at short notice. Especially when the front desk was being manned by a cute co-ed from University of Toronto, blond, wearing thick black mascara, who was full of smiles for John whenever he came in.
John all but draped over the counter which pressed against his chest. "No kidding? I went to U of T myself."
"Oh?" she bubbled. "What were you studying?"
"Engineering, but," and here he tipped his head bashfully, lowering his voice, "skating's really my passion."
Her eyes brightened, sparkling as she said, "I skated for years off and on but I never really got the hang of the jumps. And the competitions are so high pressure."
"Yeah, well, maybe I can show you a few moves sometime," John suggested, waggling his eyebrows. She chuckled and blushed as she glanced away, shaking her head. Her little dangly silver heart earrings sparkled and bobbed.
"So, um," John breathed, leaning closer to peer at her scheduler. It was the old fashioned paper type with little X's, penciled in names and smeared erasures. He saw Rodney's name all over it, along with his own regular 5 a.m. slot. "I don't suppose there are any free skate times this afternoon? Or this evening's okay," he added hurriedly, with a forestalling hand. "I'm not picky."
"Oh," she said. "Sorry. We're all booked up." By this time he had smoothed his way around the counter.
"Yeah, hmm." John's sharp eyes scoped out the schedule like a hawk spotting prey. "What about that blank space right there? That's now, isn't it?" He was behind her, hand brushing the fluff of blond hair on her shoulder as he pointed at that nice white spot on the calendar. He hadn't seen anyone on the ice either.
"There's only forty minutes left, it's not a full slot. And the zamboni has to resurface the ice before hockey practice." She looked up at him with smiling regret.
"Forty minutes, huh?" It wasn't much. "Well that sounds like just what the doctor ordered," John said.
She cringed, wrinkling her nose as she breathed in through her teeth with a hiss. "I'm only supposed to charge by the hour."
He dipped his hand into his pocket for his wallet, looking down. He hated to be charged double for what was really a half hour slot but he told himself it was worth it. "You have to do what you have to do."
"No, I mean that I can't. I'll get in trouble if the schedule doesn't match the register."
He looked up and gave her an expressively blank look.
"Just go on in." She waved him onward. "It's not being used anyhow. But get out of the way when the zamboni comes or they'll run you over."
"Gee, thanks," he said, his face lighting with a sincere smile, and she brightened even more.
John used the run down the stairs as part of his warm up, pounding the double doors open with his forearms to the almost empty ice. Times like these were the reason he'd learned to gear up lightning fast as he yanked off his sneakers and whipped the skates out of his bag. Quick fingers fumbled and pulled the strings tight. John balled up his jacket, tossing it on the bench, then stepped out onto the ice.
It felt as though he hadn't been here in a long time even though his last practice was just hours ago. But this was different. This was the real thing.
He picked up speed, carving a fast arc around the back of the rink. He stretched his arms out in a cutting gesture as he glanced back over his shoulder, and then flung himself into the air, knee bent gazelle-like, spinning in a double. It landed wobbly and uncertain.
That toe-loop was usually his easiest jump, too, sheer momentum and big air.
John scowled. Then gunned forward, arms working as he leapt, his right foot stepping once and launching him into a triple axel, his free leg a powerful pendulum swing as he pulled in tight for the extra half turn that made it skating's toughest jump. He straddled the landing, two-footing it, but forced himself into a second double. His head dipped as he felt the shock through his knee and he stepped out of it, pinwheeling and falling on his ass with a bounce.
Pushing himself up from the ice, John groaned out loud, grinding his teeth. He shelved his nascent plans to run through his short program.
Starting over, he ran through his jumps, one by one, feeling them settle into his bones, become familiar again. He drew his foot back for the Lutz, his toe-pick catching the ice and launching him into a triple, landing clean in reverse, leg out. Perfect. But the dizzying salchow had never been his best. He hopped into it too early and found himself finishing it on the ground.
The groan and chug of the zamboni across the rink warned him that his time was almost up. He had one last question for himself. Gathering speed until he was skating backward, a slight ripple to his shirt, John swung his leg high behind him and nicked the ice, flinging himself into a tight spin, arms wrapped, one, two, three, four turns – and he landed, hard, his skate wanted to slide out.
But he landed it.
John slid to a diagonal stop after the quad. Breathing hard, his chest rising and falling, he looked across the ice and a slow satisfied smirk spread across his face.
[Previous][Next]
