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icarusYou can get caught up here: Out Of Bounds.
Title: Out Of Bounds
Author: Icarus
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: John/Rodney
Summary: Radek could see why Rodney was a star.
A/N: Thank you to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
perfica for playing OOB beta badminton with me, amothea for listening to me whine, teaphile for her birds eye view. Our special guest star beta is sarka with her sparkling knowledge of Czechoslovakian cold war politics. Thank you, sarka. And, yes, yes, I know there are no 1986 Olympics. ;)
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Out Of Bounds
by Icarus
The town just outside the Olympic village was small and overbooked, but Radek refused to stay in the same hotel twice, a habit Rodney called "ludicrous and paranoid" while Radek insisted it was simply "a wise precaution."
The Grand Marnier sloshed golden in the bottle as Rodney's enthusiastic smile broadened. He stood on the bed like a veritable Statue of Liberty, except he was Canadian. And in his underwear.
"You have to see Amsterdam while you're here! Other than it being a chance of a lifetime, it's – a what? A tradition. C'mon," Rodney pounded Radek's shoulder where he sat cross-legged, still dressed, jostling him. "When are we ever going to be here again? Especially you."
Radek brightened cautiously, smiling up at Rodney. He settled his glasses back on his nose with an uneasy twitchy motion and rescued the bottle from Rodney's loose grasp. "I don't know, Rodney."
"Men's skating doesn't even start for another four days, the ski jump qualification's done, there's plenty of time." Rodney licked his lips and bounced down to the bed next to him, eyes bright. "It'll make your life."
~*~*~
The Munich train schedules weren't humanly possible: 10:11 a.m., 10:17 a.m. Rodney shook his head in bemused amazement as one and then the next pulled to a stop at exactly the moment the second-hand hit twelve on his watch. 10:11 on the dot. There was definitely something wrong with the Germans.
There were only two more morning express trains to Amsterdam left. Anything later would hit every stop between Munich and Cologne. Lots of castles, yes, but not quite what Rodney had in mind. He huffed and rubbed his hands together in the chilly train station, feeling a sense of rising panic. Radek was just late, that was all. It was tough for him to sneak out.
He stuffed his hands under his armpits and leaned against the ugly concrete wall, bouncing a little. He switched and folded his arms across his chest and felt unaccountably lost. If very 'sophisticated' and 'European.'
The last train, unfortunately but of course, arrived exactly on time. Rodney hung back as he was ignored by commuters with folded newspapers and a young woman with a backpack clutching a pair of knitting needles. She slumped to a seat by the window and set to knitting right away.
Finally, Rodney stood just inside the train doors when they shut and he climbed the steps uncomfortably to look around the nearly empty seats. Too many options. The train lurched into motion.
He had no idea how Radek was going to catch up.
~*~*~
Radek had found that if he watched the figure skaters long enough, friends and other "interested parties" would soon filter away, bored. It would be only a matter of time before Radek could easily give them the slip. He checked his watch: 5:30 a.m. He and Rodney would be leaving for Amsterdam in a few hours. He leaned his chin on folded arms on the hard railing and watched Rodney from a dozen rows up in the stands. Though he would never tell Rodney that he did this, or else he would have too many questions about what he thought, was this good, was that good.
Rodney looked different skating. Strong. Radek couldn't tell if he was better than his Soviet competition, but he was definitely good, moving smoothly from one element to another, landing solidly.
He could see why Rodney was a star.
Radek did not like figure skating in his homeland. They were ballerinas on ice skates, their chins in the air, so serious. But Rodney, now, he made it look like fun.
His gestures were too exaggerated, almost funny, like he was teasing the other skaters. Or maybe even mocking figure skating itself. He skated a broad circle, one leg carving the ice, the other bent, an arm flung out dramatically as if greeting the sky. Radek snickered.
The music was suddenly cut off. "Now, Rodney…."
Rodney's coach was a big man, with rounded shoulders and wispy white hair, soft-voiced. And slightly shaky today. Radek burrowed his chin into his hands, leaning forward to listen.
"You have to give it your all. I want everything you have. These are the best of the best and you've only one shot at this. This isn't Worlds. There is no next year."
"Yes, yes," Rodney interrupted impatiently with a gesture like he was brushing away a fly.
But the man continued as relentless as a steamroller, clearly used to Rodney. "Four years from now who knows what you'll be doing -- or if I'll be your coach, or even in this world."
"Relax, Marc," Rodney laughed it off. "You're not planning on shuffling off this mortal coil today are you? This week? It'll be fine."
"Everything you've got, Rodney," he said in a gruff, strangled warning tone, wagging a finger. "If you have it, I want to see it."
A frown dented Radek's brow. He tucked in his chin as he drew away from his arms on the railing. The folding seat clicked a little as he straightened. It was not Radek's place to question, especially with a sport that he did not know as he knew ski jumping -- though he had never noticed that Rodney held back in anything. It was not Rodney's way. If anything Rodney went too far, risked too much.
But about one thing Radek was absolutely certain: Rodney should not be needing to reassure his own coach. That he had never seen. Had the man not been to the Olympics before?
Obviously, no. Radek shook his head as he pushed away from the railing. He would have just enough time to take a shower before he left for the train to Amsterdam. He should be able to beat Rodney to the station in Munich, in fact. He made his way up the stairs to the back of the arena.
Amsterdam... speaking of Rodney and his crazy risks. The city was notorious, filled with sex and drugs and western corruption. Radek wanted a look. Though he should not take this chance. There would be no way he could say he'd just become lost and "accidentally" boarded a train out of the country. But it was only for the day, he could remove that page from his passport, plus he'd already been gone that long before. As Rodney had said, in Europe it was simply a little… further than usual.
Radek tucked his hands into his pockets and kept his head down in the busy corridor. Two German women ran vacuum cleaners over the carpets behind him, arguing cheerfully over the roar. A few workers in blue overalls with the Olympic emblem staggered and swore under a huge plant they carried, tracking mud over the freshly cleaned halls.
He swallowed a smile over the impending fight, hunching down further to remain invisible.
"Mr. Zelenka?"
Radek turned with a startled if well-practiced innocent blink. A man and a woman wearing long overcoats came up smoothly to either side of him. He let his face go slack, suddenly conscious of his team jacket and the Czechoslovakian patch on his arm. They continued walking with him as Radek stared straight ahead.
"Come with us. The director would like a word."
He did not know the man but it was said in perfect unaccented Czech. He did recognize the director's sister in law. Her husband had privileges. Many privileges. And long-time friends in the Kremlin.
This could be bad.
~*~*~
Amsterdam was a total bust. A naked woman posed in a storefront window as Rodney pretended not to be a slightly shocked Canadian goggling that she was all-the-way naked. And in public. He aimed for jaded and came up with bored instead.
She changed positions, spreading her legs slightly while Rodney glanced away. This was only going to be fun with Radek's cynical comments beside him, trapped in his untenable position that his country was both more sexually open and mature as well as uncorruptable and pure. Rodney couldn't win the argument when ninety percent of what he'd learned about sex (firsthand anyway) had been from Radek.
With a sigh he ducked through the door into a pub. He was handed a menu with scarcely a sidelong glance. No one recognized him. It was as if these people didn't even know the Olympics were underway. Rodney frowned down at the menu. A list of drugs, a lot of which he'd never even heard of. Though Radek probably had.
He handed it back to the waiter-or-whatever, saying, as if this were a personal affront, "Experimenting with unfamiliar drugs four days before a competition? Uh. Yeah. I don't think so."
He asked for a beer instead, and found they didn't serve that here. Which was absolutely ridiculous given what they did serve. He told them exactly what he thought of that and left to find a real bar.
It figured that he didn't get into trouble until he finally gave up on his little adventure and decided to go home. Radek would have told him to stay away from the airports, but Rodney had practically forgotten about the press by then.
~*~*~
The phone in the Olympic village room didn't often ring, so Rodney's coach already had a slack-jawed look of surprise before he answered it. The name on the other end left him puzzled.
"Mr. McKay?" he answered.
He was silent, then shook his head with a quick reassuring gesture that the older McKay calling from Canada couldn't see. "Amsterdam? No, Rodney is here," he said with assured patience, standing straighter, one hand on his hip. "His practice was just this--"
Interrupted, he nodded as fervently as any man who knew who paid the bills, wide shoulders hunched. "Yes, yes, I realize he's my responsibility… the news? Airport bar?" He switched the phone to his other ear. "You're kidding. Yes, Mr. McKa—I assure you, I had no idea. He was right here. I'll—I'll see to it. Of course he's grounded. Yes, sir, thank you for informing me."
He'd just hung up when Rodney came in, head down. He held up a tired hand. "Don't talk to me right now, I've had a very bad day."
"Just what the H.—E.—double-hockeysticks are you doing?! Why do you think you're even here?" He sounded more betrayed than angry.
Rodney goggled at him, lips parted. "But I might not get another chance."
The Metro - Berlin
[Previous][Next]
Title: Out Of Bounds
Author: Icarus
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: John/Rodney
Summary: Radek could see why Rodney was a star.
A/N: Thank you to
perfica for playing OOB beta badminton with me, amothea for listening to me whine, teaphile for her birds eye view. Our special guest star beta is sarka with her sparkling knowledge of Czechoslovakian cold war politics. Thank you, sarka. And, yes, yes, I know there are no 1986 Olympics. ;)Previously in Out Of Bounds: Known more for his jumps than his artistry, figure skater John Sheppard hired ex-skating champion and 'artiste' Rodney McKay to be his coach. Unfortunately for Rodney, he was more famous for his spectacular failure at the 1986 Olympics than he was for his consecutive World Championships.
[Previous][Next]
Out Of Bounds
by Icarus
The town just outside the Olympic village was small and overbooked, but Radek refused to stay in the same hotel twice, a habit Rodney called "ludicrous and paranoid" while Radek insisted it was simply "a wise precaution."
The Grand Marnier sloshed golden in the bottle as Rodney's enthusiastic smile broadened. He stood on the bed like a veritable Statue of Liberty, except he was Canadian. And in his underwear.
"You have to see Amsterdam while you're here! Other than it being a chance of a lifetime, it's – a what? A tradition. C'mon," Rodney pounded Radek's shoulder where he sat cross-legged, still dressed, jostling him. "When are we ever going to be here again? Especially you."
Radek brightened cautiously, smiling up at Rodney. He settled his glasses back on his nose with an uneasy twitchy motion and rescued the bottle from Rodney's loose grasp. "I don't know, Rodney."
"Men's skating doesn't even start for another four days, the ski jump qualification's done, there's plenty of time." Rodney licked his lips and bounced down to the bed next to him, eyes bright. "It'll make your life."
The Munich train schedules weren't humanly possible: 10:11 a.m., 10:17 a.m. Rodney shook his head in bemused amazement as one and then the next pulled to a stop at exactly the moment the second-hand hit twelve on his watch. 10:11 on the dot. There was definitely something wrong with the Germans.
There were only two more morning express trains to Amsterdam left. Anything later would hit every stop between Munich and Cologne. Lots of castles, yes, but not quite what Rodney had in mind. He huffed and rubbed his hands together in the chilly train station, feeling a sense of rising panic. Radek was just late, that was all. It was tough for him to sneak out.
He stuffed his hands under his armpits and leaned against the ugly concrete wall, bouncing a little. He switched and folded his arms across his chest and felt unaccountably lost. If very 'sophisticated' and 'European.'
The last train, unfortunately but of course, arrived exactly on time. Rodney hung back as he was ignored by commuters with folded newspapers and a young woman with a backpack clutching a pair of knitting needles. She slumped to a seat by the window and set to knitting right away.
Finally, Rodney stood just inside the train doors when they shut and he climbed the steps uncomfortably to look around the nearly empty seats. Too many options. The train lurched into motion.
He had no idea how Radek was going to catch up.
Radek had found that if he watched the figure skaters long enough, friends and other "interested parties" would soon filter away, bored. It would be only a matter of time before Radek could easily give them the slip. He checked his watch: 5:30 a.m. He and Rodney would be leaving for Amsterdam in a few hours. He leaned his chin on folded arms on the hard railing and watched Rodney from a dozen rows up in the stands. Though he would never tell Rodney that he did this, or else he would have too many questions about what he thought, was this good, was that good.
Rodney looked different skating. Strong. Radek couldn't tell if he was better than his Soviet competition, but he was definitely good, moving smoothly from one element to another, landing solidly.
He could see why Rodney was a star.
Radek did not like figure skating in his homeland. They were ballerinas on ice skates, their chins in the air, so serious. But Rodney, now, he made it look like fun.
His gestures were too exaggerated, almost funny, like he was teasing the other skaters. Or maybe even mocking figure skating itself. He skated a broad circle, one leg carving the ice, the other bent, an arm flung out dramatically as if greeting the sky. Radek snickered.
The music was suddenly cut off. "Now, Rodney…."
Rodney's coach was a big man, with rounded shoulders and wispy white hair, soft-voiced. And slightly shaky today. Radek burrowed his chin into his hands, leaning forward to listen.
"You have to give it your all. I want everything you have. These are the best of the best and you've only one shot at this. This isn't Worlds. There is no next year."
"Yes, yes," Rodney interrupted impatiently with a gesture like he was brushing away a fly.
But the man continued as relentless as a steamroller, clearly used to Rodney. "Four years from now who knows what you'll be doing -- or if I'll be your coach, or even in this world."
"Relax, Marc," Rodney laughed it off. "You're not planning on shuffling off this mortal coil today are you? This week? It'll be fine."
"Everything you've got, Rodney," he said in a gruff, strangled warning tone, wagging a finger. "If you have it, I want to see it."
A frown dented Radek's brow. He tucked in his chin as he drew away from his arms on the railing. The folding seat clicked a little as he straightened. It was not Radek's place to question, especially with a sport that he did not know as he knew ski jumping -- though he had never noticed that Rodney held back in anything. It was not Rodney's way. If anything Rodney went too far, risked too much.
But about one thing Radek was absolutely certain: Rodney should not be needing to reassure his own coach. That he had never seen. Had the man not been to the Olympics before?
Obviously, no. Radek shook his head as he pushed away from the railing. He would have just enough time to take a shower before he left for the train to Amsterdam. He should be able to beat Rodney to the station in Munich, in fact. He made his way up the stairs to the back of the arena.
Amsterdam... speaking of Rodney and his crazy risks. The city was notorious, filled with sex and drugs and western corruption. Radek wanted a look. Though he should not take this chance. There would be no way he could say he'd just become lost and "accidentally" boarded a train out of the country. But it was only for the day, he could remove that page from his passport, plus he'd already been gone that long before. As Rodney had said, in Europe it was simply a little… further than usual.
Radek tucked his hands into his pockets and kept his head down in the busy corridor. Two German women ran vacuum cleaners over the carpets behind him, arguing cheerfully over the roar. A few workers in blue overalls with the Olympic emblem staggered and swore under a huge plant they carried, tracking mud over the freshly cleaned halls.
He swallowed a smile over the impending fight, hunching down further to remain invisible.
"Mr. Zelenka?"
Radek turned with a startled if well-practiced innocent blink. A man and a woman wearing long overcoats came up smoothly to either side of him. He let his face go slack, suddenly conscious of his team jacket and the Czechoslovakian patch on his arm. They continued walking with him as Radek stared straight ahead.
"Come with us. The director would like a word."
He did not know the man but it was said in perfect unaccented Czech. He did recognize the director's sister in law. Her husband had privileges. Many privileges. And long-time friends in the Kremlin.
This could be bad.
Amsterdam was a total bust. A naked woman posed in a storefront window as Rodney pretended not to be a slightly shocked Canadian goggling that she was all-the-way naked. And in public. He aimed for jaded and came up with bored instead.
She changed positions, spreading her legs slightly while Rodney glanced away. This was only going to be fun with Radek's cynical comments beside him, trapped in his untenable position that his country was both more sexually open and mature as well as uncorruptable and pure. Rodney couldn't win the argument when ninety percent of what he'd learned about sex (firsthand anyway) had been from Radek.
With a sigh he ducked through the door into a pub. He was handed a menu with scarcely a sidelong glance. No one recognized him. It was as if these people didn't even know the Olympics were underway. Rodney frowned down at the menu. A list of drugs, a lot of which he'd never even heard of. Though Radek probably had.
He handed it back to the waiter-or-whatever, saying, as if this were a personal affront, "Experimenting with unfamiliar drugs four days before a competition? Uh. Yeah. I don't think so."
He asked for a beer instead, and found they didn't serve that here. Which was absolutely ridiculous given what they did serve. He told them exactly what he thought of that and left to find a real bar.
It figured that he didn't get into trouble until he finally gave up on his little adventure and decided to go home. Radek would have told him to stay away from the airports, but Rodney had practically forgotten about the press by then.
The phone in the Olympic village room didn't often ring, so Rodney's coach already had a slack-jawed look of surprise before he answered it. The name on the other end left him puzzled.
"Mr. McKay?" he answered.
He was silent, then shook his head with a quick reassuring gesture that the older McKay calling from Canada couldn't see. "Amsterdam? No, Rodney is here," he said with assured patience, standing straighter, one hand on his hip. "His practice was just this--"
Interrupted, he nodded as fervently as any man who knew who paid the bills, wide shoulders hunched. "Yes, yes, I realize he's my responsibility… the news? Airport bar?" He switched the phone to his other ear. "You're kidding. Yes, Mr. McKa—I assure you, I had no idea. He was right here. I'll—I'll see to it. Of course he's grounded. Yes, sir, thank you for informing me."
He'd just hung up when Rodney came in, head down. He held up a tired hand. "Don't talk to me right now, I've had a very bad day."
"Just what the H.—E.—double-hockeysticks are you doing?! Why do you think you're even here?" He sounded more betrayed than angry.
Rodney goggled at him, lips parted. "But I might not get another chance."
The Metro - Berlin
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no subject
Date: 2007-07-20 04:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-20 06:30 pm (UTC)In Rodney's case he's been exposed to a lot of publicity. In Radek's, he's been exposed to a lot of political corruption. So they have a sort of "cool and cynical" outlook; they think they have the world pegged.
But they're still kids.
They have that boistrous energy (especially Rodney) and sense of play. Their cynicism hasn't beaten down their enthusiasm, it's just made them feel a little (okay, a lot) superior to the adults.
But the experiences they have to draw on still cause them to think like kids:
Rodney's been under his dad's hard-driving control for so long, he can't imagine having the chance to visit Europe on his own as an adult. It doesn't even occur to him.
Radek is so used to being the "good one" and the "unnoticed one" with a famous brother and large family in a small town, that he doesn't imagine a situation where his actions -- rather than his existing reputation -- are all that count. It doesn't occur to him. (He thinks he's sneakier than he is, too.)
You could say that they have adult intelligence and experience (in some respects) but in their judgement and attitudes, they are definitely kids.
Icarus