~February 22nd 1980, Lake Placid New York. Olympic Center~
"You ready, Y/N?" Bobby Suter, your unofficial body guard on the ice and a great friend off the ice, jabs your ribs with his wooden stick. Bob and you met when you started attending University of Wisconsin – Madison and began playing under a watchful eye of Bob Johnson. Speaking of the Johnson family...at first, you didn't really like coach's son, Mark Johnson, you felt like he was endangering your hard-fought and fair-earned spot on the team you have been dreaming to play for. It took about a year for the two of you to finally get along, but no one could deny the chemistry you had on the ice. With Mark on center and Mike Eaves on the wing, you three were nothing but fuel and creativity on the ice. You were the popular one on the ice, being able to get standing ovation from anyone, that wasn't the case when you were walking around the university. Being an ancestor of Soviet immigrants, who came to the States in the beginning of 20th century, you were proud of your blood. Meaning you were getting weird looks from your schoolmates during the political tensions between USSR and USA. Surprisingly, Mark Johnson was, beside Bob Suter, one of pretty rare individuals who didn't care who you are. Maybe because Magic was too focused on hockey and too mature and kind-hearted to hate you because of that. And Bobby? Well, Bobby has been your friend since the very first day you came to the locker room with big eyes, tensed body language and very short hair. Now, in February of 1980 you are sharing the ice with the two of them once again, facing the nation which is so close to you, yet, due to political and geographic reasons, so far.
"I guess so," you mumble and peek under the glove of your right hand. There, on your right wrist, you wear a red wrist band with yellow hammer and sickle with a gold-bordered red star on it – the symbol of Soviet Union. Despite having an American citizenship, you couldn't just forget your roots. After all, you grandparents have been speaking with you in Russian since the day you could talk and you were fluent in Russian.
"Just don't forget who ya playin' for," Silk pulls the helmet on his head and you look at him, expecting to see him smirking. But you see nothing, he is serious. You look around the locker room and realize they all think you might forget who are you playing for.
"I am wearing USA jersey and I have American citizenship."
"But you are proud of who you are...,"
"I was born in the US. I play for American colors. And I would appreciate if you stopped doubting about my loyalty."
"Just don't forget who are you representing."
When you skate on the ice, their words and doubts still echo in your head. What sadness you the most is the fact after building good relationships with them and after playing countless games, they still doubt. Wouldn't you if someone else had foreign ancestors? You find yourself thinking. Honestly, if anyone of them would be proud of, let's say Swedish ancestors and would make sure everyone knows that, you would have your doubts as well.
"Hey, don't worry, I know you are one of us," Bob leans to your ear and whispers before the anthem starts. You look up at him, thankfulness filling your eyes: "Thanks, Bobby. I just...I wish they knew that too."
"They do. You'll see, they will not treat you differently, okay?"
"Yeah, guess we'll see. Thanks."
Before the puck drops, something weird starts to occupy your mind. As soon as you stepped on the ice, you noticed something you didn't pay too much attention to when you were playing in the Madison Square Garden. And that something you would never admit to anyone, but... you find their star goalie, Vladislav Tretiak, quite attractive and good looking. There's something oddly eye-catching on him, perhaps the way his hair peek from beneath the helmet or his strong nose.
