Chapter Text
Pairs skating was not going as easily as Stede hoped. It was not just the skating that challenged him but also the constant, unwelcome heat that coiled in his stomach every time Ed touched him, lifted him, or steadied him. He kept trying to push those feelings down, trying to pretend they were not there, but every practice reminded it was unavoidable. Not to mention the sleeping arrangements, though bunkbeds were better than a double bed.
Ed, meanwhile, was making the best of a situation he outwardly insisted he hated. He did everything he could to appear unfazed, even though every time Stede leaned in or braced against him. Ed caught himself noticing those annoyingly perfect calves or the way Stede’s arms tightened under his grip. He shoved those thoughts down too.
Frenchie’s choreography was going about as well as a house fire. He dragged them both to a dance class at his studio to get them to loosen up. Stede took to it with surprising ease, settling into the steps a bright smile on his face. But Ed stubbornly refused to relax, stiff as a board and complaining the whole time. Recoiling each time anyone touched him as if a snake had fallen from a tree attacking him.
Izzy, of course, had predicted this level of nonsense from the moment he agreed to coach them. “Two fucking twats,” he had muttered on the first day, and every practice since had proven him exactly right.
Then came the disaster-prone training on the ice as they began to practice the harder pair moves. Every throw went wrong at first either from too much power, early release, not releasing soon enough, or just another fight between the pair that resulted in Ed holding Stede close for far longer than was necessary. Most of the time, they ended with Stede falling or barely catching the landing evading another bruise to his growing collection.
One particularly dramatic attempt at a twist lift sent Stede careening into a spiral landing rather roughly like a rag doll across the ice straight into a crate of fish at the far end of the warehouse. His yelp echoed. The thunk echoed louder. Ed grimaced scrunching his shoulders before skating over to check on his partner. Izzy rolled his eyes as he stomped over to make sure Bonnet didn't have a concussion.
Up in the rafters, hidden between beams and old equipment, Mary crouched with her camcorder, filming every embarrassing moment. Every misstep. Every near fall. Every time Ed and Stede wound up rolling on the floor during Frenchie’s limbering drills wrestling, red-faced, limbs tangled… and absolutely not from exertion alone. All of the falls captured for the viewing pleasure of her siblings. She grimaced witnessing the crash into the fish crate.
Back at the Von Rackham chalet. Jack and Anne were snuggled together on a round chair draped in furs, both wearing matching sheer white outfits embroidered with oversized silver snowflakes. A roaring fire crackled behind them, casting a warm glow across the room. Mary stood beside them in a blouse layered under a sweater with wool shorts over tights and Mary Janes, trying to maintain her composure as her siblings cackled.
Jack had the footage up on their enormous television. Onscreen, Ed tossed Stede into the twist lift that went horribly wrong, resulting in Stede slamming hard onto the ice before sliding across it and colliding with the fish crate.
Anne clapped with glee bouncing in her seat, “Rewind, play it again.”
Jack laughed harder, wheezing through it grabbing the remote, “I want to see his head bang down again. It’s funny, kinkier than it sounds. Bet he bangs down good on ole Eddie.”
Mary swallowed back the urge to vomit as she scowled at them both hating her part in all of this.
On another day of their practice, Frenchie is walking them through a move as they spin around each other, their bodies close but not touching, breath mingling in the cold air. Stede’s jaw is set in a stubborn tilt he gets whenever Ed is too close. Ed, meanwhile, keeps flicking his gaze over Stede’s face eyes momentarily landing on his lips then back to his eyes when he realizes he might have been staring at them too long.
"Bodies close. Then raising our arms into a beautiful butterfly," Frenchie directs, fluttering his own arms for emphasis.
Ed and Stede raise their arms in the same motion, their timing irritatingly perfect despite the obvious tension simmering between them.
"Into a prayer," he continues to direct them as they circle matching the other.
Their arms glide down in front of themselves, wrists crossing. Then, at the exact same moment, they flip each other off sharp, practiced, almost elegant in its pettiness. Their eyes lock, sparks clearly flying from whatever argument they had before practice even began.
"Nice, into…" Frenchie starts, but his voice trails as he realizes then watches them drop one arm while keeping the other extended. Middle fingers remain raised, held dangerously close to each other’s faces as they continue to spin, circling like two furious planets caught in one orbit. Even angry, even insultingly childish, they move flawlessly together every turn synchronized, every glare matched in intensity.
Frenchie stands beside Izzy, who is scowling, he pats him on the shoulder offering him a smile, "Just let them get it out. At least they are moving together as one. It’s close enough, innit?"
"Fucking twats," Izzy growls not giving into Frenchie's sunnier optimism.
After several more sessions in Frenchie’s dance studio. They are back on the ice, Izzy standing in the middle directing them through another pairs move. Ed and Stede skate around him in perfect time, both jumping into a synchronised spin, landing perfectly. It is effortless like breathing as they continue to skate matching the other in perfect time under Izzy's watchful gaze.
They move to the same portion they kept messing up before as they come together. Ed lifts Stede to toss him. Stede spins in a twist lift looking flawless in the execution landing perfectly with a flourish, rather proud as he skates around back toward Izzy and Ed.
Izzy jumps yelling in surprise, "You actually fucking nailed it."
Ed adds a little pizzazz to his move as he skates towards Stede to meet him, tearing off his jacket. "Yes, I did. See that?"
He is smiling, staring at Stede, his eyes not leaving him. He can feel the heat rising as Stede skates back to him, his smile broad and shining like the sun.
"Pure power, mate," Ed says not breaking eye contact afraid to break the magic that connects them. "Could use a bit of that yourself."
They line up again. Stede smiling brightly but the bitchy tone is ever present, "If you would release me at that quarter turn, I wouldn’t have to save your ass with my landing."
Ed rolls his eyes, flicking a strand of hair back that has fallen from his bun. "It’s called improvisation. Even your precious Kenny G does it."
Stede looks dumbfounded, a heat to his cheeks as they are standing close, noses almost brushing. Unsure of when they had gotten that close to the other.
"I listened to Kenny G that once, Ed," he complains in a huff, pouting slightly at the accusation that a) Kenny G is precious to him and b) he is that big of a Kenny G fan because well...sure, he likes him well enough. "You act like that’s the only music I listen to."
He and Ed continue to bicker as they set up for another run at their routine. Frenchie and Izzy are watching them closely from the side of the ice.
Frenchie leans over chuckling crossing his arms, "At least they are getting the moves down," as he watches them continue to argue but execute the first part of the routine flawlessly.
Izzy snorts keeping his eyes on each of their moves watching carefully, "But can they do it in front of five judges and thirty million people? Especially without killing each other or causing another near international incident?"
Frenchie just stares at him, mouth hanging open not sure what to say to that.
Opening credit rolls National Figure Skating Championships
Lampley leans slightly forward in his booth, "Denver, Colorado, last stop on the road to the World Wintersport Games in Montreal."
As the broadcast cuts to sweeping aerial shots of the arena, "The finest skaters from all over the country have trained tirelessly for years at the chance to make it onto the world stage."
More scenes of mostly pairs skaters, then cuts to the scene of Stede in the peacock outfit from his last performance before he was banned.
"But all those stories have been eclipsed now," he continues as it cuts to scenes of Ed’s skating performance before shifting to a Sports Illustrated magazine cover of Ed and Stede.
They are standing together wearing matching silver shirts with black and gold jackets and black jabots around their necks. Each wearing skin tight leather pants and flashing diamond belts, holding hands in a pose that makes them look more like the next it gay couple than pairs team.
"By what many dub as the sideshow of the century. The male-male pair of Stede ‘The Gentleman Skater’ Bonnet and Edward ‘Blackbeard’ Teach."
Images flash of Stede dressed in his pastels, then Ed in his signature black leathers rolling to black and white film footage of them walking together in a corridor wearing matching training suits and carrying their bags.
"The anxiety is palpable when they arrived this morning as the skating community continued to voice its outrage."
An interview with a male division skater, Roach, holding a bloody cleaver and apron as he preps for his routine, one of the winners from last year. "Those two are turning this sport into a freak show."
Another interview with skater Pete Black, "As if Figure Skating wasn’t gay enough already, amirite? I mean, they aren’t the only openly gay skaters. Not like they are making some big waves, I used to skate with Blackbeard back in the day in the underground…" the video cuts off to another interview.
Oluwande is one of the trainers standing arena side in his orange beanie, "I just hope they can manage not to set something else on fire."
Jim Jimenez dressed in a vest, jabot, and riding pants prepping for their routine later, "Those two pendejos are the reason I won Silver by default three years ago. I would rather skate against them to earn it on my own merits than have to get it because they can’t figure their shit out and just f— already, carajo."
Lampley cuts back in quickly as they try to cut over Jim's interview at the end, "And now let’s join Anne and Jack Von Rackham as they wind down their routine, an edgy look at urban culture told in the language of the streets."
Anne and Jack are wearing matching denim outfits, both with faux midriff sheer shirts that have fake tattoos on them in script letters. They are doing the wave with their arms holding hands. Their outfits in full bling, with chains, hats, and Jack wearing a fake grill.
Jack wearing Timberland skates and Anne in black Converse skates.
It’s a very sad display of culture appropriation meets we are so white Christ this is bad, set to the tune of "Good Vibrations." It’s like if the "That’s hip hop" lady did their choreography inspired by Vanilla Ice to Marky Mark & the Funky Bunch.
The crowds are absolutely eating it up, because of course they are.
They shift seamlessly into backward skating, Jack leading with his back to Anne. He pushes his hips out in an exaggerated jut, and Anne leans in with a theatrical little air‑spank, fully committing to the bit. The bright graffiti splashed across the backs of their jackets flashes under the spotlights, loud and garish as the rest of their routine.
Scott laughs shaking his head, "And boy, look at them. They are really having fun with this."
Jack spins around, pulling Anne close to him, his arm wrapping low around her waist as she mimes smoking a cigarette. As Marky Mark sings "Come on! Come on!" Jack waves his hands, urging the audience to build even more energy, his movements sharp and practiced.
He then lifts Anne cleanly in the air, balancing her above his head as he leans back with theatrical flair. He spins her with controlled precision, her hands splayed out, legs drawing together in a crisp cross as they settle neatly into their finishing shape. The crowd rises into a rhythmic wave of cheers.
Jack lowers her slowly, letting her slide down into his hold until they are face‑to‑face. One of her arms drapes around his neck while the other rests boldly on his chest. He keeps both arms locked tight around her waist as they pause there, suspended in a moment thick with tension, holding it just long enough before they break apart to offer broad, flashy waves to the cheering crowd.
Scott yells loudly as the routine comes to an end, "Wow, flawless as always."
Lampley follows his fellow announcer's enthusiasm, "These two blue-eyed funk machines are going to find themselves popping and locking their way into the championship in Montreal."
They move to exit blowing kisses to the crowd. As they exit, Ed and Stede are preparing to go out. Ed dressed in a shimmering unitard that looks like it has flames running up from his feet to shoulders in red and gold. A red band in his hair. Stede in a matching unitard, icy blue and silver to look like ice.
Jack walks closer, smiling, lingering on Ed down to his crotch then back to his face. "Hey Eddie. Looking good." He looks back out to the crowd cheering then yells, "What, what?!" smiling brightly, still in his funky character.
Turning his attention back to the other two men, he runs a finger along Ed’s shoulder. "Should catch up sometime." He glances at Stede to watch his reaction, then back to Ed, still keeping Stede in his peripheral. "Strike up our old dalliances. Reignite that old flame." He laughs as he walks to join Anne who has a predatory smile on her face watching them.
Ed rolls his eyes turning away from him focusing on the ice, "Whatever Jack." Stede bristles, feeling an urge of anger and heat striking within. He tamps down what he doesn’t want to admit is jealousy at the idea of Jack and Ed.
"Sure, babydoll," Jack smiles broadly. "Break a leg."
One of the techs is watching, then looks at them both. "You’re up."
Stede and Ed share a look, almost nervous, giving each other a nod. Ed skates out with Stede behind him. There is nothing but silence from the crowd as they take their places on the ice. Each waving to the silent crowd. A few camera clicks from the press.
Scott reverently begins to speak, "The moment this crowd has been waiting for. And how is this going to work? Completely different skaters. Known to be enemies of one another, combining to be the first male-male pair team in the history of the sport."
Jack and Anne sitting in the viewing area both looking confident and smug. Mary nearby watching nervously.
Lampley more subdued than he was before, "Either the locked-in technical style of Bonnet will not mesh with Teach’s improvisations…"
Ed skating behind him as Stede takes his spot, then circling with slow, deliberate confidence. He makes direct eye contact with Stede, their foreheads nearly brushing, a charged hover of closeness that feels far more intimate than either will ever admit out loud. Stede reaches out for him on instinct, an unthinking gesture that sends a warm jolt through both of them, signaling Ed to move behind him. Ed does, stepping in close until their bodies align, Ed’s chest brushing Stede’s back in a way that is barely a touch but impossible to ignore.
"Or they create great music together and reinvent the sport in their own image." Lampley's voice rings out as he continues his thought watching the pair set into place.
Ed looks down then huffs before tapping at Stede’s skate to broaden his stance. Stede doesn’t speak or react, just follows the silent order to get into position. Their feet aligned. They pop each of their knees out, the right foot pointed toe down, left arms hanging.
Only silence meets them as they wait for the music to cue except a few whistles and murmurs.
"They’re laughing at us, Ed," Stede says softly his voice wobbles as he feels the emotion of the moment, not wanting to fight tears back as well.
Ed gets closer to him, his chest touching him, his breath in his ear. "They laughed at Louis Armstrong when he said he was gonna go to the moon, mate. Now he’s up there laughing at them."
Stede scrunches his nose then looks back at Ed, giving him a what the fuck look. Ed just smiles, nods for Stede to look forward.
The song begins to play – "I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing" by Aerosmith.
"They titled this routine Fire and Ice. They’ve always been that way as competitors. As individuals." His voice carries that analytical awe he reserves for routines he cannot quite predict, his tone tightening with interest as he leans in toward the rink as if afraid to miss a single detail.
Stede and Ed move in unison, lifting their right arms slowly with the rise of the music. Their left arms follow, sweeping in a mirrored arc until Ed’s slides naturally around Stede’s waist. His hand settles firmly on Stede’s hip, guiding him into the next glide. Stede’s fingers rest on top of Ed’s without hesitation, the contact sparking a warm jolt that spreads through both of them as they shift seamlessly into the next synchronized step.
Almost as if under his breath, "And now as a pair team? So appropriate."
They turn their heads at the same time to look left as the opening words begin. Their push-off is smooth, almost seamless, and they fall into the rhythm of the choreography with surprising ease. Ed lifts his hands, his leg crossing elegantly as Stede circles around him in a clean, fast arc. Stede leaps twice, sharp and airy, returning to Ed each time as Ed reaches out for him in a way that feels like both invitation and challenge.
Ed spins, extending a hand toward Stede, who mirrors the motion as he glides around him. Their fingertips hover close but never touch. Ed breaks the moment with a burst of finger guns, firing them dramatically in Stede’s direction. Stede lifts his knee, arms poised, fingers resting primly as he jiggles his leg in perfect comedic timing, as if the invisible bullets are actually hitting him.
With a practiced flourish, they sweep forward, arms outstretched, skating chest to chest. Their hands slide down toward their knees before parting as both lean back into matching deep edges, arms reaching toward each other until they pull forward again, rising together with fingertips brushing. They close the gap until their bodies bump lightly—chest to crotch—before they each glide backward in opposite directions, carving a half circle that brings them neatly back face to face.
They rise together, hands linked, and Ed spins Stede in a controlled waltz turn that ends with Stede’s back pressed to Ed’s chest as they lift their arms in a mirrored line, left arms high, right arms extended, then glide forward in a perfectly matched pose.
Skating backward, they shift into position for the throw triple axel.
Lampley voice is shapr with an anticipatory edge, "First throw."
Scott chimes in both impressed and tense, "Their first move so difficult."
Ed sets his stance cleanly before launching Stede into the air, the motion sharp and powerful. Stede rotates in a tight, controlled triple axel, the shimmer of his icy blue costume and the sweep of his blonde hair catching the lights beautifully as he spins. But the throw carries too much force, sending him drifting off‑line. The moment he finishes the final rotation, momentum yanks him sideways, and he careens toward the boards before crashing hard into the side of the arena. He drops onto the ice with a jarring thud, and the entire arena erupts into startled "Ohhh"s and "Oh no"s.
Scott nearly choses on the words as the audience continues to gasp, "Oh, man down!"
Izzy cringes, shoulders tightening as the impact echoes. Jack and Anne burst into delighted laughter, leaning toward each other with matching, smug little grins at the mistake. Mary, however, goes still her brows pinching with genuine worry as she watches the two men on the ice.
Scott says in dismay clearly disappointed on their behalf, knowing as a seasoned skater himself how hard these falls can be on scores and self esteem, "What an unbelievably disastrous beginning to this routine!"
Ed hurries toward Stede, panic tightening his movements even as he keeps his expression composed, trying to make it seem intentional, part of the performance. Stede blinks hard, holding back tears, swallowing the sting of humiliation and pain. When Ed gets close enough to hear him, he mutters, voice trembling, "I’ve never fallen once in competition."
Ed crouches beside him, offering his hand without hesitation. "Get up, babe. We have to keep going. You got this." His tone is steady, warm in a way that cuts right through the chaos.
Stede looks up at him wide‑eyed, breath shaky as he reaches for Ed’s hand. The moment their hands touch, Ed pulls him to his feet quickly but carefully, steadying him until he’s fully upright.
They snap back into position almost instantly. Ed leans in close, his breath brushing Stede’s ear, lowering his voice so only he can hear, "We can do this."
Lampley brigthens a clear relief in his tone, "And they are up."
Ed is now shouting at the crowd, waving at them, "Come on, Denver! Get off your asses."
The crowd erupts into cheers, rising from their seats in a rolling swell of excitement. Ed and Stede fall into stride without hesitation, hands linking smoothly as they gather speed. Their skates carve clean, accelerating arcs across the ice before they launch into perfectly timed side by side double axels, landing in unison with crisp, confident precision.
Lampley yelling, "Side by side double axels! Beautifully delivered." His excitement rings out clean and sharp.
Ed and Stede glide together with Ed just behind him, their frames aligned, arms stretched outward as they lean into the ice with matching precision. Their left legs extend gracefully, forming a clean mirrored line that carries them across the rink in perfect unison.
They add a few flourishes as they pass the judges, blades whispering sharply through the air before transitioning into a hand‑press lift. Ed steadies himself, lifting Stede upward in one smooth, practiced motion. The move shifts seamlessly into a star lift, Stede’s body opening into a perfect five‑point extension, his torso elevated as Ed supports him firmly at the hips. Stede beams, his arms and legs held straight out, every line polished and confident as they sweep through the element with surprising ease.
Voice pitching in disbelief as Scott comments, "They are able to do what no other pairs team can do! Look at that strength!"
They transition into another pose, Stede lifted with his legs angled upward as he grips Ed’s legs for balance. The movement folds them into an acrobatic knot of limbs, each of their heads positioned uncomfortably close to the other’s crotch. Heat floods Stede’s face a deep, mortifying red as he fixes his gaze straight ahead. Doing everything in his power to stay focused on the routine instead of the very real proximity he desperately wishes to ignore.
Ed’s breath hitches in a way that betrays he is just as tense, both of them silently praying the protective cups in their costumes continue doing their job as they hold the pose. Trying to keep it professional despite the charged awkwardness hanging thick between them. Praying the hard-on away silently each hoping the other has no idea.
Lampley says in a hushed voice, "Incredible." The single word comes out reverent as if he has forgotten for a moment that he is live on air.
They move into the next element, skating in tight unison until Ed steps in behind Stede and grips him firmly at the hips. He hoists Stede upward in one smooth, practiced motion, Stede instinctively wrapping his legs around Ed’s back. The position is bold, intimate, their centers aligned as Ed skates them confidently across the arena. Stede’s arms stretch outward in a steady line while one of the photographers along the boards flashes a thumbs‑up, the crowd roaring their approval.
Stede slides back down lightly and they part without a word, each gliding toward opposite ends of the rink. They turn at the same moment, eyes locking across the distance before they drive into a hard, accelerating skate toward one another. Just before impact, they both drop low, bodies angling back as their momentum carries them forward. Legs outstretched, one up and bent, arms sweeping behind them, they glide toward each other in perfect timing until they connect cleanly at the crotch.
The collision is controlled, seamless, their breathing heavy as they hold the final pose while the music fades. Their arms lift high together as the arena erupts into cheers, the audience rising to their feet in thunderous approval.
Scott stands up yelling in excitemenet, "They did it. They have wowed the crowd. This might be enough to send them to Montreal as the first male-male representatives this sport has ever seen. History in the making." His tone swells with triumph, clearly caught up in the electricity of the moment, letting himself revel in the significance of what he is witnessing.
Jack and Anne are clearly not taking it well. Anne kicks at the floor in a childish stomp while Jack folds his arms and sulks, lower lip jutting so dramatically it almost looks rehearsed. Mary, on the other hand, allows herself a small, relieved smile, quietly cheering for Ed and Stede.
Ed and Stede rise from the ice, still standing close enough that their arms brush. Stede gives his signature flourish, a polished wave followed by a deep, elegant bow. Beside him, Ed thrusts both fists into the air, fingers sparking with his signature fire burst. Stede huffs out a laugh and resumes waving while Ed keeps up the theatrical flames.
Ed calls out loudly, “We love you Denver. City by the bay. John Denver!”
Stede snorts at the mangled geography and musician reference as he glides toward the rink’s edge, blowing kisses to the crowd. Ed hurries to catch up. One of the kids clearing stuffed animals and flowers off the ice hands Stede a rose, which he promptly offers to Ed who blushes slightly turning his head away.
“Was the fire really necessary?” Stede asks, amused.
Ed flashes a grin, jerking his chin toward the roaring audience, “Ask them.”
Izzy is already celebrating with Frenchie and Lucius, all three of them sweeping onto the ice the moment Ed and Stede skate off. They converge in a tangle of arms, congratulating and clutching at the pair with unrestrained excitement.
"You fucking did it. You twats might have actually fucking did it," Izzy says, an almost smile on his face.
They move to the waiting area where Anne and Jack are leaving, the air still buzzing with the crowd’s roar behind them. Ed and Jack share a tense, silent moment as they pass each other, something sharp and unspoken flashing between them. Anne rolls her eyes dramatically before yanking Jack forward by the sleeve.
As Mary passes by, juggling her siblings’ bags and looking mildly exhausted, she pauses when she spots Stede. Her expression softens. "You guys did great out there." Her tone carries genuine warmth, a quiet pride she does not offer lightly.
Stede pauses, smiling as though he has been briefly reset by kindness. "Oh, thank you. I’m Stede." He stands a little straighter as he says it, voice still tinged with adrenaline.
Mary laughs brightly. "I know. I’m Mary." She shifts the weight of the bags on her shoulder as she says it, amused at his formality.
"Oh, yes. I ugh, actually knew that." Stede’s laugh is breathy and awkward. They share a small chuckle together, and Stede feels a warm flush climb his neck. He can practically feel Ed’s stare burning into the back of his head, heavy and unmistakable.
Ed calls out suddenly, voice edged with impatience a slight icy hint of jealousy, "Stede, scores are up." The sharpness of it cuts through the moment like a tapping blade.
Stede startles a bit, then chirps, "I‑ugh, yes. Well, I like your buttons," blurting the first thing that crosses his brain. He gestures vaguely toward Mary’s sweater, a little flustered, before quickly excusing himself to join Ed.
Ed keeps his eyes locked on Mary for a beat too long, giving her a look so pointed it nearly qualifies as an attack. "Good luck." His tone is flat, a quiet warning wrapped in fake politeness.
Mary only lifts a brow, brushing it off with ease before heading after Jack and Anne.
Anne is already sneering once Mary reaches them. "Did you see that? They were actually pretty good." Her voice is clipped with irritation, clearly not thrilled about it.
Jack, still vibrating with fury, continues his over the top pouting. His voice comes out sharp and spitting, "They were actually really good. None of that was in your video, Mary." He waves his hands in agitated circles, the dramatic flair almost comical.
Mary stays quiet, looking tired of the entire sibling circus. Anne pats Jack’s arm with a practiced calming gesture. "Calm down, it’s all right. Let’s not let them get into our heads."
Jack rounds on her. "Into our head? Not only did we embarrass Marky Mark, we let the Funky Bunch down!" His outrage echoes off the hallway walls.
Anne rolls her eyes with the weight of a woman who has done so too many times. She turns on her heel, walking off. Jack sullenly follows behind, still muttering under his breath.
The scores are being announced as Ed and Stede sit close to one another in the viewing area, shoulders touching, breaths still uneven from the adrenaline of their skate.
Announcer over the arena speaker, "5.9, 5.8, 5.9, 5.8, 6.0."
For a heartbeat the world holds its breath with them then both men explode upward with matching shouts of triumph. Ed grabs Stede without hesitation, pulling him tight against his chest, arm wrapping around Stede’s shoulder and cinching at his waist like he has no intention of letting go.
"We are going to Montreal, Babe!" he yells, voice cracking with joy, eyes shining in a way he doesn’t bother to hide.
Stede beams, dazed with disbelief and relief, not even registering that Ed has called him babe—again staring into Ed's large brown eyes.
Scott strides over with a mic, his grin wide enough to split his face, clearly delighted to catch the moment on camera. Ed and Stede ease apart just enough so Scott can wedge himself into frame, both still riding the high as they wave at the crowd.
"It’s all smiles here in the Crest Kiss and Cry area," Scott announces warmly, gesturing broadly toward the gleaming sponsorship board for Crest Whitestrips behind them camera operators zooming in l.
"You are the guys everybody’s talking about. How does it feel?" Scott asks excitedly as Ed grabs the bottle of champagne from the bucket being carried over to them by an attendant.
"Oh, Champers!" Stede says, then turns to Scott, "We are so grateful for the wonderful opportunity to be out here on the ice." Ed leans in, pulling the mic still in Scott’s hands, clinging to the bottle of champagne.
"Bonnet Teach is Figure Skating!" he yells, then lets go before opening the champagne, spraying it, then taking a big drink. Stede just laughs as the spray comes down, taking the bottle from Ed when he offers it to him.
Ed leans back into the mic, "We are a freight train from hell. We are going straight up the ass of the competition Scott!" He waves, whooping at the crowds. Stede laughs, waving along with him, riding the high of the moment.
Off to the side, Izzy, Frenchie, and Lucius were watching from behind the partition near the Kiss and Cry, the chaos of the arena softening into a distant rumble around them. The three of them stood in a loose cluster Lucius clutching his notebook to his chest, Frenchie rocking on his heels with nervous energy, and Izzy with his arms crossed watching them give the interview.
Lucius let out a breathy laugh full of disbelief. "I am not going to say wow. But okay, wow." His eyebrows shot up as Stede and Ed basked in the celebration, still riding the adrenaline high.
Izzy scowled, jaw tight as he watched the crowd roar for them. "They got by on ninety seven percent adrenaline and three percent bullshit. If those two fucking twats want to take home gold, they gotta do something spectacular."
He spoke through his teeth, clearly irritated that excitement alone had carried them this far.
Frenchie frowned, leaning closer to Izzy with that look he reserved for when Izzy was absolutely about to make a terrible decision. "No. You swore never again," He said it quietly yet stern.
Lucius blinked between them, lost already. Izzy ignored them both completely clearly an idea churning through his mind.
"Izzy, how many times do you have to make the same mistake? My crystals for good energy are a safer bet," Frenchie insisted, hands fluttering in anxious emphasis. "Hell, we get them cats as motivation. You know they're just witches with knives in their paws. That's dangerous enough, mate."
Izzy growled low in his throat as if offended by the very idea, "Until I get it fucking right, you gotta trust me, Frenchie."
Lucius raised a tentative hand, looking even more confused. "Okay, like I am so missing something here, but what’s so bad about spectacular?" His voice pitched upward, hoping someone might actually explain something to him.
Frenchie immediately backed away from the entire conversation, waving both hands as if physically pushing the topic from himself. "Not touching that," he muttered.
Izzy gave Lucius a long‑suffering, almost pitying look. "You will see soon enough, Twatty." He shook his head turning his gaze to the ice as if bracing himself for what must come next.