Disclaimer: Don't own a thing.

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Roy’s played hockey for a long time, and for just as long, Pam has stayed on the sidelines and watched. She always wanted to try her hand at figure skating or even just gliding across on those little skates with shining blades and scuff marks on the toes. But when she goes to Roy’s games, her job is to stand there and cheer if he wins, kiss him victoriously afterward, and if he loses, her job is to stay out of the way and buy him a drink later.

One day she decides that she really, really wants to try, sits down at the breakfast table that morning and says, “Roy, how about we go ice skating today?”

His eyes don’t leave the sports section of the newspaper. “No game today, hon.”

“Well, just the two of us, then,” she says quietly, and at this his eyes travel up to meet hers. “Could be fun.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You really want to?”

“Yeah, I want to try,” she nods and avoids his eye.

“All right then, Pam, just don’t cry if you fall on your ass and it hurts.” A bit of a fury almost rises in Pam, but she buries it under something inside her and just swallows and turns to get dressed.

They get to the skate center and he suits up like it’s a habit, shuffles his feet back and forth and points little things out to her as she fumbles with the skates and tries hard not to think about cutting her finger on them. Then they’re on the ice, and she clings to the edge of the rink while he skates backwards in front of her and laughs a few times.

“Let go of the side, Pam! Go on, try it!”

When she does, it’s a brief moment where she feels like she’s falling and falling and it reminds her too much of another moment she can remember, the fading smell of oil puddles and a silky little rumbling voice – “I’m in love with you” –  

The front end of her left ski doesn’t move when it should, and she stumbles, blindly throws out her arms to catch herself and trips forward on her face. She can hear Roy’s booming laughter echo around the rink and the cold ice is painful on her unprotected wrists. Roy helps her up and grabs her elbow, drags her back to the open end of the rink, still laughing. “You all right, hon? See, I told you.”

The little ball of fury rises again, and she finds herself thinking things like asshole and no more and then, finally, I wonder if he ever takes her skating.  

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Jim wakes up and rolls over to face Karen’s sleeping form. Her hair’s splayed out like a fan behind her head and her head is turned to him, eyes barely open.

“Mm…” she murmurs. “Hey Jim.”

“Hey Karen,” he says, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder. “Want to go ice skating today?”

She shakes her head and stretches across his body, drapes her arm over him. “Hate skating,” she says in the middle of a yawn. “Never could.”

He pauses, then gently kisses her shoulder again and nods. “Okay.” Maybe some other time.

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