Chapter Text
Blossom could hear the cheers emanating from the arena - the rink was waiting for her. Dexter was sat next to her, clinking the toes of his skates to one another and to the ground, rhythmically. His eyes followed the skating duo on the ice as they performed another lift, tension in his shoulders awfully noticeable. With his fingers interlaced with hers on one hand, she could tell he was as nervous as she was. These were World Championships, after all.
"Stop, you'll damage them," she pointed to his skates.
"I won't," he faked a chuckle, and went back to clinking them. Does he ever listen?
Finding that this was the all-too-familiar nervousness of every performance, Blossom tried distracting herself. She searched the front rows for her father and sisters. There they were, waving at her when she caught their eye. Bubbles managed to make Buttercup drop a jam session for this, but it seemed her green-clad sister didn't mind. Blossom grinned back at them, and then met her father's eyes. He winked and mouthed a "can't wait." The words eased her anxiety a little bit.
She recounted their sequence - the idea of organizing it in her head and replaying it over and over reassured her. It began with a combination of spins, followed by quad then triple axels, a dancing combo, the first lift and throw... Their routine started with jumps fairly early, they wanted to ensure their number of technical points stayed high.
As the previous pair's routine came to a closure, she was woken from her memory. It was their turn in about ten minutes, when the judges would decide the final score. It took all her willpower not to bite her lips.
225.53. Her willpower was suddenly crushed. She fiddled with her fingers, eyes to the ground, when their manager, Ms. Bellum, tapped her shoulder. The shade of her trademark red suit nearly matched Blossom's costume.
“Don't worry - you'll do great," she smiled.
"We will," Blossom swallowed and nodded.
They spent hours and hours of each week re-doing the routine, pointing out improvements as they went. They made it this far – all that training mustn’t have been for nothing. Blossom would settle for nothing less than perfect.
Dexter offered his hand, and they made their way to the entrance.
“You know, even if we don’t, we earned enough points in the previous stage to get us a spot in the top five,” Dexter raised a teasing eyebrow - testing her.
“I don’t want top five,” her voice dropped to a growl that surprises even her, “I want gold.”
“Me too,” he smiled knowingly. Dexter had taught her well.
They entered the rink.
Straightening out the frills of her costume, she gave her family one more smile. Bubbles and the Professor showed off a bright pink banner with "Blossom Utonium" written in bold letters. Between them, Buttercup sent a grin and a thumbs-up her way. You'll do great.
"Representing the Unites States of America - Blossom Utonium and Dexter McPherson." Calling her back to reality, the announcer's shrill voice bounced off the walls of the arena.
The audience gave off a round of applause and cheer as the duo steadied itself in the middle of the rink.
"Skating to 'Remember me' by Thomas Bergersen," the announcer concluded.
One. Two. Three seconds. The music started, soft keys of the piano declaring first movements. Blossom moved around Dexter in calculated spins - one, two, and he joined her. More spins, then slow spirals, steps, and their first jumps. Quad and triple axel - both landed flawlessly.
At this point, Blossom would usually feel herself drifting, drowning out the crowd, the judges, the world. She would lose herself in the movement, the light piano leading her out of reality as she danced on ice. But something felt wrong, and she didn't.
Every step she took was walking on eggshells. With each move she made, she was reminded it needed to be nothing less than perfect. And with every spin, she felt the eyes of others all over her. Consuming her. Calm down, calm down, she convinced herself as she drew closer to Dexter.
Music reached its first big height, and at its peak, Blossom was lifted and thrown. She spun - once, twice, three times - before she landed. Relief washed over her when she realized it wasn't clumsy. Her foot fell to the ice, and she continued. The relief was short-lived, though. That nauseating anxiety filled her up, her legs began feeling stiff, but she went on.
She concentrated on Dexter - that did her no good, he seemed even worse than her. His fingers twitched when she took his hand to spin around. Then came the toe-loops. She managed to land four rotations before continuing smoothly. It all looked controlled and coordinated, yet in all honesty, she had never been this unnerved in her entire life. No contest had ever made her feel like this before.
There was the triple Salchow. Blossom over-rotated and landed, having touched the ice with her hand. She cursed internally, but kept going. Their first deduction. So much about perfect.
Dexter neared her once again for a lift and throw. His shaky hands grasped her waist. In seconds, she was above his head, and out of his arms. It was too late for her to realize something was wrong with the way he had picked her up.
A sickening thud echoed across the rink when she fell on her back. The scream she let loose blocked out the music. She hurt all over. The voice in her head began counting down the three minutes she had to get up. Because she had to get up. But no matter how hard she tried to move, she couldn’t. Her eyelids were so heavy. Blossom could hear the panicked screeches of the crowd, the shuffling of her partner across the ice as he raced to her, his voice calling out her name. Soon after, it faded away too.
* * *
Blossom woke up to a ceiling light of a hospital room above her head. Her head felt like hell as she tried to recall what happened. It was then that she noticed her shaken boyfriend sitting next to the bed, his hands holding one of hers in a white-knuckled grip. She opened her mouth to speak to him, but found that her voice had gone raspy and dry.
“Dexter,” she whispered as if she'd swallowed chalk.
It was enough to catch his attention. Dexter sprinted to the nearby sink with a plastic cup. His lips were tightly pursed, as if he was trying not to cry. Blossom heard him muffle a sob with his sweater, and sat up to take a better look. But he was standing at an odd angle – she couldn’t see his face. Her arms propped her up and prepared her to get out of bed, but her hips wouldn’t budge.
Confused, she ran her hand under the covers, pinching her thigh. Nothing. Her eyebrows knitted together as she scratched at her legs furiously, but to no avail. She didn’t feel her legs.
Dexter had never seen her cry before, so when tears began streaming down her face, he didn’t know what to do. With the cup still in his hand, he reached out to her.
“I’m so sorry, love,” he said, arm rushing around her shoulder.
She cried silently – no shivery sobs, no gasps, nothing. Utterly broken. Still, she kept in mind that this wasn’t entirely his fault…
When he offered her the cup, she downed it and wiped her face.
“What did the doctors say?” She finally spoke.
“They’re not sure. You weren’t operated on yet.” Dexter settled back onto his chair. “Professor Utonium fears the worst, though.”
“The worst?” Her eyes widened.
His lips tightened into a line, but he brought himself to say it. “Paraplegia.”
Suddenly, her expression was somber, bordering on apathetic.
“So I won’t skate anymore.”
There was a pause as Dexter found the words.
“Hey,” he near-yelled, “That is just the worst possibility! Who knows? This might not be it! You might skate again!”
She lay back down. “If I do get back on my feet … There’s no guarantee my skating will ever be the same.”
“I can go through it with you. Therapies, training, everything.” He sat back down.
“And what about your own training? Your competitions?” She rolled her eyes.
“I can wait for you.”
“What?!” The sheer force of her shock was almost enough to send her falling off the bed. “You can’t wait for me!”
“Don’t be ridiculous, of course I’d wait for you! I love you!” Dexter grabbed her hand. “Hell, you’re Blossom Utonium, for crying out loud! I’ve never had a better partner – a better girlfriend! No one can replace you.”
“Dexter.” Her tone interrupted him. “And what if all your waiting is for nothing? If I never walked again? Would you stay with me?”
The statement shut him up momentarily. She caught a tinge of uncertainty in his posture, but he continued.
“I would! Because I’d still love you!” He pressed on.
“You don’t understand. Would you love me if I never skated again?”
She had struck a chord that he wasn’t prepared for. Dexter’s mouth snapped shut, his jaw clenched. And somehow, he willed himself to speak again.
“Is this your way of saying you give up?” He asked.
“Dexter, we won’t always be able to skate.” Blossom steepled her fingers. “And if you don’t win gold now, you never will. You have to keep going, even if I can’t. But if I weren’t your skating partner,” her knuckles tensed, “would you love me?”
Dexter moved to the door, stopping just to answer with his back to her. He found the question itself ridiculous.
“I would.” He concluded. “And I have to remind you, if you decide to skate again – all you have is because of me. You’re famous – because of me. You can’t win anything without me, Blossom.”
The door slammed shut behind him, and Blossom was left to drown in the sheets of the Russian hospital. His words rang out in her head like the final verdict of a trial.
* * *
Russian doctors couldn’t do much about her state, because they had none of her papers. It was decided to get her back to Townsville as soon as possible. A day later, she was already there, in a hospital room of her hometown.
Several weeks, X-rays and operations later, the doctors came to a conclusion that any further operations are up for her to decide if she wanted them. Her diagnosis was settled - spinal disc herniation and compression of the spinal cord. It was up to her whether she wanted to go to physical therapy, operate it, both, or neither. If it was not treated at all, she would most likely never walk again.
By the end of March, Blossom kept getting his texts, and she didn’t reply. They were all the same – they were all empty promises. “I’m sorry about what I said. I’ll visit you tomorrow.” He wasn’t, and he didn’t. “There was an important meeting – I’m coming this Wednesday.” He didn’t. “Sorry, there was an interview I didn’t know about. I’ll visit soon.” He didn’t.
“Blossom, please answer me.”
She didn’t.
Hardly knowing what to think, Blossom replayed the idea of therapy in her head. She felt tired of everything – the stay in the hospital and the constant monitoring of medics drained her, but it also made her rethink walking ever again. What was the point? Even if she walked again, it wouldn’t be the same. Skating was out of the question. So why even try? She couldn’t win gold – not without Dexter to skate with her. Because he was right. Nothing would be the same without Dexter. And he basically said he wouldn’t work with her again - that’s how Blossom understood him. The more she thought about it, the more pointless therapy seemed. And the more pointless it seemed, the more hopeless she felt.
Blossom understood the look in her father’s eyes when he came to pick her up from the hospital. Sat in her wheelchair, she looked around the hall, filled with patients and doctors and… paparazzi. Spotting them, Professor Utonium sped up, refusing to give any comments. How she wished she couldn’t hear them all…
“Miss Utonium, how was it, working with Mr. McPherson?”
“Blossom, what are your current goals?”
“Miss Utonium, what was the stay in the hospital like?”
“Blossom, were you given a final diagnosis?”
“Blossom, will you walk again?”
Her stomach churned at the last question. How rude could they get? She suppressed the urge to scream Stop at the top of her lungs until they left. Thankfully, the Professor was quick, and they reached the parking lot.
Bubbles and Buttercup were waiting by the car, worry painted across their faces. They turned to see her, and Blossom believed she could see one thing very clearly in their eyes. Pity.
Upon opening the back door, the Professor asked his other two daughters to help him place Blossom inside. He packed the wheelchair up into the trunk before taking the driver’s seat. In the end, Bubbles and Blossom sat in the back, while Buttercup claimed shotgun.
She could feel BC's eyes on her in the passenger side mirror, but neither of them said anything. In fact, no one said anything. Nothing but the sound of the engine and the trashy rock radio could be heard.
“Well, uhh,” Bubbles killed the silence, “I heard Germany won this year’s World Championship.”
Couldn’t have picked a better subject, Buttercup punctuated her thoughts with a sigh.
“Good for them,” Blossom leaned on the window and watched the world pass by.
“You know, I heard that this isn’t incurable.” The Professor began. “I heard that with enough training and -”
“Can we talk about anything else?” Buttercup groaned, and Blossom internally thanked her for it.
The rest of the ride was spent talking about Bubbles's upcoming fashion show. The blonde talked about the creative process and even showed her a couple of works-in-progress. Blossom marveled at each piece and realized they'd look perfect for ice dance. She pushed the thought back and continued listening. The family fell into conversation all over again, and it continued until they reached Blossom’s home.