Chapter Text
That damn patroller.
Miorine glared down from the lift. It was 9:30 already and that damn redheaded patroller hadn't even opened the course yet. Like clockwork, she insisted on double checking every single gate, turn, and piece of snow. She crawled her way through the gate setup, shadowing the course for any final errors.
“Is she just taking forever on purpose?” One of the other racers groaned, itching at her racing bib.
“She’s always like this,” Miorine hissed, lifting the bar as they approached the lift’s terminal. “Just be happy she didn’t see the wind chill and hold off the whole race.”
“Least she’s a good skier.”
“She’s sloppy,” Miorine said. It wasn’t criticism, just a fact from the #1 racer in the state. She turned to her teammates. “Watch how she runs the flushes. The snow’s fast enough you just have to send it.”
Miorine watched with an icy, appraising gaze as the patroller slashed her way through the flush. She was too cautious. Afraid to let herself rip through the complication.
The three girls pushed off the chairlift, sliding down towards the course start, joining the crowd of other racers. Miorine gently wove her way to the front. The snow was nice for early December, retaining that icy firmness she loved so much.
“Miorine Rembran,” Miorine shook hands with the coordinator. “Asticassia High. Junior.”
“Great,” he muttered. “You’re first, soon as the course is cleared.”
For an agonizing three minutes, the group stalled at the top, waiting for the redhead patroller to make it back to the top of the hill. With her return, she threw up a weak thumbs up.
“Guess you’re good.”
Miorine skated over to her gate, clamping down the last few buckles on her boots. She tugged at her shin guards, making sure they sat on her legs exactly how she liked. She adjusted the hip padding of her racing suit, making sure it covered her frame.
“Racer ready.” The race coordinator watched her, ready to pounce on any violation.
She tapped her poles together. She leaned forward, bouncing on the tips of her skis just inches from the starting timer sitting at her feet. Lock in, Mio. Lock in. She planted her poles in front of the start gate, staring down the thousand feet of slalom gates in front of her. The course wasn’t too hard, but a few hairpin turns wouldn’t help. Slow is smooth, smooth is fast.
“Go.”
BEEP.
Miorine threw herself forward on her poles, crashing through the starting timer and skating off, punching through the first gate like it owed her money. She slashed through the first three gates like they were nothing, punching through each and ragdolling her slight frame through the course. She felt the wind slice through her hair. She was flying. This was her run. It had to be.
The first dozen gates went by in a few short seconds. She cleared the first hairpin, getting airtime on the turn as she pulled around. She threw herself around the delay gate, slicing through the icy snowpack, digging in with her skis. Her heart hammered with the rhythmic motion of turning gate to gate, punching each out of the way and swinging herself onto edge.
Gate fourteen. Nearly halfway through.
Everything went wrong all at once.
She felt something around her right ski tip. The slightest tug. She pulled, trying to overcorrect. Her skis fought right back, drilling into the snow. She threw her body weight to the other side, but it was no use.
Her ski tore to the side, throwing her off the course and her knee into a 90 degree twist. She screamed as her binding popped and sent her flying. A white hot column of pain shot up and down her leg, and her knee felt like someone had stabbed a knife under her kneecap and tried prying up.
Miorine landed with a hard thud on the snow, skidding a few feet. She was probably flailing. Her right leg was out of commission and her left leg barely wanted to move the way she wanted. She kicked and flailed, trying to slow herself. Her knee was on fire. Her hair was in her face. Her hair was in her face?
Where the fuck is my helmet?
Miorine’s mind slowed as she felt her helmet fly off her head, the buckle slipping off and falling back off her head. She turned forward to see herself still skidding towards the trailside trees, right towards a rock. Instinct finally kicked in, and she used her remaining attached ski to pull herself to a stop.
In a moment, the crash was over as fast as it started.
For a moment, Miorine simply stared at the trailside rock in front of her, the chunk of granite only feet from her head. She considered what would happen if she’d skidded a few more feet and slammed into it, her bare skull colliding and cracking.
Her pondering was rudely interrupted when she saw a red jacket and a flash of red hair skid to a stop in front of her. The patroller pulled her mask down and-
Oh. She’s hot.
“You idiot!” The patroller stumbled out of her skis, rushing up the slope and dropping to her knees next to Miorine. Miorine nearly groaned at the saccharine sweet concern in the girl's voice. “You forgot to buckle your helmet, didn’t you?”
“Good morning to you too.” Miorine tried to play it cool, trying her hardest to tamp back the tears in her eyes from the shooting pain in her leg. She screened her previous observation from her mind. She was probably just concussed, making the girl in front of her look slightly more perfect.
“What hurts?” The redhead got to work, leaning over and inspecting Miorine. Her eyes went straight to the ripped fabric around Miorine’s knee. “Tell me what happened. Did you catch something?”
“My knee,” Miorine cringed at how weak her voice sounded. She sounded like an eight year old about to cry. She weakly pointed. “I caught something.”
“Take some deep breaths for me,” The redhead reached down, pulling a glove off of Miorine’s hand and checking her pulse. Miorine looked up at the sky, hiding the reddening in her face. It was definitely just from the cold making her cheeks red. Nothing else. “You’re okay now. You're gonna be alright. How's your head?”
Miorine rubbed her forehead. “Fine, I think.”
The girl reached to her radio, lifting it up to her mouth. “Um, Patrol Suletta to Patrol Max,” The redhead's voice sounded shaky, but determined. Suletta. At least Miorine knew her name now. “I’ve got a racer down on the course. She caught an edge and went flying to her skiers right. I think she sprained her knee. She's breathing fine and she's awake.”
“Received,” The radio crackled to life. “Do you need to close the course?”
“We should,” Suletta agreed. “At least until the equipment is cleaned up.”
“Copy, do you need the sled for your skier?”
Suletta looked Miorine over, considering. “I'll get back to you on that.”
“Copy.”
“Can you tell me your name?” Suletta moved her hands to Miorine’s knee, hovering over. “Can I touch your knee?”
Miorine begrudgingly nodded. “Miorine Rembran.” She sharply inhaled at the touch of her knee, fiery spits of pain shooting through her leg. She considered the pros and cons of racing through the injury, of going back for her second run. “It…it's fine, really, I can keep going.” An impressively bold lie, considering the spasming of her lower calf and visible flinching every time Suletta’s hand moved.
“Absolutely not. You’re coming down with me.” Suletta reached for her radio. “Patrol Suletta to Patrol Max, bring the sled down. Racer is Miorine Rembran. I'll load her onto the sled and I can ski her down. Can you pick up the yard sale?”
“Copy.”
Miorine cringed hard as Suletta ran two fingers along her knee, gauging which spots Miorine reacted to. “Have you ever hurt your knee before?”
Miorine weakly gave a thumbs up. “I tore my ACL once. Other knee.”
“Does this feel like that?”
“Not really,” Miorine was dangerously close to crying. The tenderness in Suletta's voice didn't help. “It's a different place that hurts.”
Suletta hummed in agreement, glancing up to see the sled coming down. “Alright, you're gonna feel a little pain when we lift you up. Tell me if it hurts too bad.” Suletta carefully took Miorine’s other ski off, freeing her feet.
Miorine weakly sat up, trying to move her knee even a fraction of an inch.
“Still good?”
Miorine yelped when Suletta wrapped her arms around her, swinging her up and placing her in the sled. It was a little bit like a sleeping bag. The two patrollers pulled the straps around Miorine's body tight, securing their cargo in place. Like it was nothing, Suletta clicked into her skis and began to turn her way down the hill, the sled in tow behind her.
Even as she got carried down, it felt strangely comfortable. The shooting pain in her knee and the dull throbbing of her head hadn't stopped, but the gentle skiing of the girl carrying her felt oddly safe. The ride wasn’t as bumpy as she’d expected, aided by Suletta’s skilled control of the sled. She was jolted back into reality when Suletta slowed and clicked out of her skis, helping unstrap her from the sled. “Sorry about you getting hurt.”
Miorine blinked, surprised. “It's not your fault.”
“Still,” Suletta protested as she came to a gentle stop. She carried Miorine into the aid room like she was nothing, gently depositing her onto the exam table. “It's terrible that you had to get hurt in a big race like this, and I should have inspected the course better and caught that ice patch and-”
“It’s fine,” Miorine settled onto the plywood surface. “Just tell me how bad it looks.” She immediately regretted the biting tone in her voice. Suletta had been nothing but kind to her so far, even if she was annoyingly doting.
“Um,” Suletta shed her jacket, grabbing her radio. “Patrol Suletta to Patrol Kevin.”
“Kevin here.” The man’s voice appeared over the radio. Miorine reasoned that he was probably the redhead's lead.
“I brought the racer down to the aid room. Should I head back out?”
“Negative. Do you think you can give her a physical yourself?”
“Huh?” Suletta seemed just as surprised as Miorine, frantically looking around the room for her answer. “But I'm new, I'm not like a team lead or anything, I’m not even finished with my certi-”
“You’re close enough. You're the only girl on patrol right now, so unless…”
“Nope, I’ll be okay!” Suletta responded nearly instantly. Miorine frantically nodded encouragingly. She'd take an annoying, skittish girl over a 60 year old man any day of the week.
“That's what I thought,” The man on the other side, Kevin, laughed. “You've got this, Sul. Radio if you need me or Jaxon to come down.”
With one last click of the radio, Suletta took a deep breath and began to undo her ski boots and take her equipment off. Her face was the same bright red as her jacket as she worked down to her T shirt and leggings. Miorine tried desperately to ignore the strength in Suletta’s body, a nearly comical contrast with Miorine’s own slight frame.
“First time?” Miorine said, cocking her head in Suletta’s direction.
“Yeah…” Suletta looked up, grabbing a pen and some form. She was a little hunched over. It was almost cute how anxious she was. “They have me bring the sled down, open trails, that kind of thing, instead of aid room work.”
“I see.” Miorine had figured that much, considering how often she saw the girl on trails, open or closed, in her work jacket.
“So um,” Suletta started. “Can you just tell me your name, age, and if you've got any medical conditions?”
“Miorine Rembran, 17,” Miorine muttered. “Clean bill of health.”
Suletta hummed some songs as she wrote down the information. “You're about 4’11” and…90 pounds?”
“85,” Miorine said, begrudgingly. “And…yeah. About that height.”
“Is there anyone who can pick you up? Dad or mom that I can call?”
Miorine could tell that her face said everything she needed to.
“Oh, sorry,” Suletta murmured, shrinking back. “Is that a no?”
“My dad decided not to come, and my mom…can’t make it.”
“I get it,” Suletta whispered. “Let’s move on. Have you had anything to eat today?”
Miorine silently thanked her. “Well, I had a protein bar-”
“Hold on,” Suletta stood up, jumping over to the fridge to open it. She took out a small bowl of salad. “Do you like salad?”
Miorine debated, before eventually giving in. She hadn’t eaten since five in the morning, and her stomach didn’t let her say no. “Yeah, sure.”
Suletta tore off the Saran Wrap, handing the bowl to Miorine. “Is it okay if I take a look at your knee while you eat that?”
Miorine nodded weakly. “Is it bad?”
“I don't really know,” Suletta admitted. “Is it okay if you take your race suit off?”
Miorine reached for the zipper, helping Suletta peel the skintight suit off. Miorine blushed a little, looking down at the simple, ratty Asticassia High t-shirt she wore under it and the sweatpants with more than few rips in them. She squirmed a little bit under Suletta’s hands, mentally noting that it would take actual torture to make her confess how much she enjoyed the experience.
Suletta ever so gently eased down the suit until she could see Miorine’s knee. “Could you um, point to what hurts?”
Miorine gently pointed to the inside of her knee. “Inside, below the knee cap.”
Suletta reached down, but stopped when she saw Miorine flinch like a gunshot had gone off next to her ear. Tears flooded her eyes, something Suletta had finally noticed.
“It's okay to cry,” the gentleness in Suletta’s voice felt soft as a down pillow. “You can cry if you need to. It's just you and me. I won't judge.”
“I’m fine,” Miorine insisted. It was a bold lie. “The salad is just spicy.”
“I think you have an MCL strain,” Suletta began. “It'll heal on its own after a few weeks. Do you want me to call your dad?”
Miorine nodded, writing down her fathers phone number. “Just…he can be a little hard to talk to.”
Suletta grabbed the phone, stretching the cable around the door and closing it behind her. “Good morning, Mr. Rembran, I’m Suletta, I patrol at Coven Mountain. Your daughter-wait. Um-”
Miorine buried her face in her hands, cringing at how her lousy father must be treating this poor patroller. The distressed, scared look in Suletta’s face said everything. Her old man was probably threatening to sue the mountain, with regular intermissions to complain about Miorine.
“Well Mr. Delling-yes, I understand, but your daughter was hurt in a ski race and-” Suletta held the phone away from her ear for a second, taking a deep breath. “Your daughter hurt her knee. I’m, um, just calling to see if you’d like to come pick her up or if we should call an ambulance. I see. Thank you.”
“Tough talk?”
“He’ll be here in fifteen minutes,” Suletta sighed, after what must have been a very challenging conversation. “Your father wants me to say he's very disappointed in you.”
Miorine rolled her eyes. “Don't even try with him.” Miorine forced herself to be at least a little thankful. “What’s your name?”
“Samaya,” Suletta said. “Suletta Samaya.”
The two sat in silence for a long time. Miorine awkwardly glanced around the tiny aid room, examining the poorly painted pine cabinets and plywood furniture that was surely ancient. Coven Mountain had never been a luxury resort, but Miorine had never known how poorly the patrol office was maintained.
Her eyes followed around the room to Suletta, who seemed to be organizing and reorganizing some cabinet of medicine over and over.
“What are you…doing?”
Suletta swung around, once again looking like a deer in the headlights. “Oh! Um, organizing. Someone has to do it.”
Miorine cocked her head, but the two were interrupted by a knock at the door. Suletta scampered over, receiving a pair of skis and poles from another patroller.
“H-here you go, Miss Miorine,” Suletta set the skis down next to the exam table ever so gently. “Your skis and poles look fine, but you might need a new helmet.”
“Whatever,” Miorine rolled her eyes. “I needed a new one anyways.”
Miorine watched with mild amusement as Suletta gazed at her skis. Miorine couldn’t really blame her. Her racing equipment was embarrassingly expensive, a product of her father demanding she wear the nicest, flashiest, most modern equipment for every race.
“Do you like those skis?” Suletta piped up. “I see a lot of racers use them.”
“They work,” Miorine didn’t give much thought to it. “They’re tools. They do the job.”
“I see.” Suletta nodded.
“Do they give you a pair of skis?” Miorine asked her own question. She’d never really considered it before, always assuming that the mountain would pay for their workers' equipment.
“No,” Suletta responded, glancing at her own skis. Her equipment looked nearly shredded to pieces, with nasty gashes in the topsheet and chips all along the edges. “We buy our own skis. My mom bought them for my birthday. She taught me how to ski.”
Miorine nodded. “Sounds nice.” Part of her was bitter. She wished she had a mother to teach her how to ski. She wished she had what Suletta had. She wished she could smile like Suletta did, thinking about her mother.
Suletta had clearly noticed. She had her head cocked with that annoyingly naive look. “Do you ever go skiing with your family?”
“My mom’s dead.”
Suddenly, the entire room seemed to go still. Suletta froze, staring daggers into her toes. Miorine saw her mind running circles, calculating, trying to answer. Miorine immediately regretted it, squeezing her eyes shut with embarrassment. It was never something she brought up, always something she’d avoid talking about. So why did she feel like sharing it with this random girl she’d met minutes ago?”
“Shit, I’m sorry, I-”
“No,” Suletta interrupted her. It wasn’t a firm command, more of a cautious question. “It’s okay. I’m sorry for asking.”
A sharp knock came at the door to the aid room. Miorine flinched. She recognized it. Her father knocked on the door like he expected it to open itself for him. Suletta scrambled up, rushing to open the door and let the visitor in.
“M-Mr. Rembran! You’re here!” Suletta stood at attention, leading him inside. “Miorine is-”
“Far too uninjured for me to care,” He snarled. He turned his ire on Suletta, that cold, disappointed anger Miorine was so used to. “You said she was hurt. She isn’t even in a brace.”
“W-well she’s been-”
“I don’t care.” Delling approached the side of the plywood exam table, looking over Miorine. “You made me waste precious time to come out because you sprained your knee. Get up.”
Miorine weakly stood up, but was steadied by Suletta. “W-wait, here.” Suletta grabbed a pair of crutches from the corner, along with a simple knee brace. “Use these. They’ll help.”
Miorine nodded thankfully. “Thanks.”
As the Rembrans turned to leave, Miorine turned around at Suletta’s cry. “Wait! You guys forgot Miorine’s skis, and poles, and helmet, and-”
“Keep it.” Delling cut in, more bothered by Suletta’s interrupting than the loss of a thousand dollar pair of skis. “I’ll buy Miorine new skis. You...do whatever you want with them.”
Suletta’s face shifted between five different expressions, all some variety of shock, as the Rembrans left. Miorine closed the door behind her, hesitating only slightly, wanting another glance at that redheads face.
The car ride home was silent for a long time. The BMW’s engine hummed quietly as Delling sped down the dusty, sand covered roads. He broke the silence with one of his naturally condescending questions.
“Did you score any points?”
“Dad, I crashed halfway through my first run.”
“So you DNFed.”
“Dad,” Miorine hissed. “I crashed. Nearly blew my knee.”
“And you didn’t.”
“I hit my head, sprained my knee and a patroller determined I couldn’t continue,” Miorine countered coolly. “Racing with a head injury is a potential disqualification, racing with a broken helmet is an immediate three race suspension.”
Delling dialed a number on his phone. “Is this Coven Mountain?”
Miorine sighed. “Dad, what are you doing?”
“Telling them they incorrectly ruled my daughter ineligible to race.”
Miorine gawked. The arrogance of the man was shocking, telling a seasoned professional patroller she couldn’t do her job.
“Coven Mountain,” The team lead, Kevin, came over the phone. “What’s up?”
“I want one of your patrollers written up,” Delling demanded. “She is an amateur, and incorrectly pulled my daughter from a race when she could have continued.”
Kevin took a deep breath. “So that’s not what happened. You’d know that if you were, well, here for the race.”
Delling’s face twisted with rage. Without an answer, he hung up. “We’re finding you a different mountain to race with next season. A bunch of unseasoned amateurs.”
“She was great!” Miorine protested. “She took care of me, gave me some salad, and she was really cute.” Miorine didn’t even know why she added the last part. The faintest blush crept onto her face.
“What?” Delling looked like he would pop a vein in his head. It reminded Miorine why she said it. It immeasurably infuriated her father. “You know how much I disagree with those particular choices of yours.”
“She’s cute. Really cute.” Miorine couldn’t tell if she was saying this for herself, for Suletta, or to anger her father. She didn’t particularly care. She knew she was pushing it. It felt good to rebel for once.
“Miorine Cathryn Rembran,” Her father’s voice dropped to a dangerous, low roar. His face was red with fury as he invoked her full name. “You will never talk to that girl again so long as I breathe.”
Miorine barely suppressed a giggle.
“Do you understand?”
With a reaction like this, she’d have to get Suletta’s number.