Chapter Text
February 2nd, 2017 — 1 month and 27 days until the World’s Championship
With a groan, Yennefer wakes up.
“Fuck.” A scream accompanies it, which, granted, is probably why her neighbors kept complaining about her volume control. Maybe Sabrina will cover for me if I ask her nicely enough? She thinks, pawing for her phone on the bedside table. No, she won’t, especially not for the third time this week.
And with a groan, Yennefer gets up.
It's still early. She needs to be at the Chameleon, serving the best coffee in the city! — Ha, what a lie — in two hours and yet, Yennefer is already up and running, literally running. She is disciplined, she doesn’t know how to be anything else, so none of it matters — how early it is, or how tired she feels. Yennefer has never run quite this fast on the treadmill though. Her shoes click anxiously against the belt, the only company to her thoughts.
I think I have enough money to pay for this month of practice… Every day, after she gets out of her second shift, Yennefer walks north without stopping, towards the Brotherhood Arena, house of the city’s hockey team, and also the place she has been skating for most of her life. What am I even practicing for? There’s no way I’ll be able to compete without a coach. Again. Oh, yes, that happened.
Yennefer has been ice skating since she was eight years old, older than most of her competitors. At first, she was placed in pairs, and together with Geralt of Rivia, she collected a multitude of trophies during the short time they skated as a duo. But Yennefer wanted to be alone on the ice, just her, her skates, and the feeling of success when she wins. And Geralt? Geralt hated skating, but he was enough of a prodigy to be good at it without trying. When they parted ways, both were content.
A third person though, was not. Coach Nenneke. A mediocre figure skater in her time, but a competent trainer who was able to get Yennefer and Geralt a fair amount of medals, almost bending their necks with the weight. Between Geralt going back to his dark room and refusing to leave it and Yennefer deciding to skate alone, Nenneke’s choice was obvious. She stayed with Yennefer.
It worked. Their partnership led Yennefer to the podium multiple times during her years skating in the Junior category and when she rose to the Seniors, they found no problem in continuing the winning tradition. Everything was great.
And then it was not. She had just gotten silver in the Grand Prix Final, in Japan, it was a disappointing result, sure, — That gold should’ve been mine — but was it enough to drop her? To go back to Geralt and his fucking new partner? To leave her without a coach, knowing that the Olympics are just around the corner?
Fuck her. Fuck him. Fuck everyone. Yennefer curses as she hits her time on the treadmill. And fuck Ida for stealing my gold. She is panting and supporting her whole weight on the machine. “Fuck.”
It is not early anymore. She spent too much time reminiscing about her memories and trying to run away from them, that she forgot to escape from her responsibilities too. Her shift starts in thirty minutes. Yennefer doesn’t have a car, she never had one, spending that much on something would make her practices more scarce. Skating is her number one priority. By not having her own transport, all that is left for her to do is run — again — to her workplace. Maybe I should buy a bike .
The Chameleon is not hard to spot. It is probably the biggest building on the block, serving as a coffee shop in the morning and evening and as a pub at night. It’s quite versatile, to be honest.
When she gets to the door, Sabrina is already there, looking at her with sleepy blue eyes that could rival her violet ones.
“Here, eat.” Sabrina says, shoving an apple and sandwich her way.
“Oh, Sabrina, I didn’t know you were such a softie.” Yennefer says, her mouth already full. “Come here, gimme a hug.” Her co-worker, and childhood best friend (even if neither of them would ever admit it), is a small woman, and Yennefer, on the contrary, towers over her.
Sabrina gets crushed. “Get off… Yennefer! Get away from me…” She is putting up quite a fight, her hands trying to poke her attacker in her weak spots. “Jaskier! Help!”
Jaskier, the owner of the place, does not appear but it is enough of a threat to make Yennefer let go of her, it also gets her a nasty side-eye from the skater. “That was low, Glevissig.”
“You’re low.” A playground rebuttal, none of them complain. “Now get to work, these tables won’t wipe themselves.”
Yennefer’s work at the Chameleon is not bad, it could be worse. At least I’m not scrubbing the toilet. Sabrina turns on the TV as they clean the place, and the noise is a welcoming distraction. The local news is playing, but it will say very little of interest. Living in a small city in Aedirn does not typically bring more than a simple weather report; nothing of importance happens there.
“[...] Vries Industry, which ended the year with a 17% increase in profits, this growth is strongly linked to the new CEO of the company, Tissaia de Vries, [...]”
What?
Yennefer freezes. The cloth falls from her hand, splashing water onto the table. “Tissaia de Vries?” She half-whispers, but it is loud enough that Sabrina hears.
“Oh, yeah, I heard she came back to the city to inherit her father’s company, or something.” Sabrina reveals, paying more attention to the messages on her phone than to the conversation, the dirty cups on the corner long forgotten. “My mom said she’s just a rich brat that milks daddy’s money, and when has she ever been wrong?” In a second, Yennefer can think of more than seven moments, but it is not important right now.
Tissaia de Vries, here. “Do you know where this Vries Industry is?” She needs to know.
“Hm, okay, so you go around the corner and then right for like four blocks and then, hm…” She pauses, still scrolling through her phone, Yennefer is about to press for a quicker answer, but Sabrina continues. “I think you go left and then right again, and you’re there.”
That’s what I’m going to do. “I’ll be right back.”
“What?” Sabrina lifts her head to find no one with her, and the door wide open.
Yennefer is already two blocks away, but she is sure she hears someone screaming her name. Wind on her face and leg muscles burning, she is running again. I need to talk to her. She spots the office building before actually reaching it, it is a small town, any big construction is seen from miles away.
Okay, okay. She stands in front of the glass door looking at her reflection, ignoring the fact that the receptionist is watching her. She wipes the sweat out of her forehead and tries to make her hair look presentable. That’s the best I can do.
Doing her best, Yennefer enters the Vries Industry.
The inside is not as cold as she expected. Being a company that produces drugs — and not the fun kind —, Yennefer assumed that the interior would consist of white walls, white floor, white ceiling, and white people. Well, the ceiling is, indeed, white. Vries Industry is old, and its architecture is as ancient as the first prescriptions they handed out. There is dark wood everywhere, and Yennefer is sure she caught someone going up the stairs while smoking a cigarette. This is exactly what a 60’s The Office would look like.
Still doing her best, Yennefer approaches the receptionist, who after sparing her a glance through the glass door, has not lifted her head from the computer screen in front of her.
She is a young woman, probably her own age, but the tailored shirt together with what Yennefer thinks is a pencil skirt, already gives her a degree of importance Yennefer will probably never achieve. “Hey, uh, hello?” Good job, already making a fool of yourself.
“Hello, how can I help you?” Well, I kinda have to talk to your boss, like urgently.
Here goes nothing. “I need to speak to Tissaia.”
That makes the woman lift her head, and finally, stare at her. “I’m sorry?” When Yennefer does not add anything, she continues. “Did you schedule a meeting with Miss. de Vries?”
Fuck, of course, she had to ask that. “No, I haven’t—”
“Then there’s nothing I can do for you.” Already getting up from her chair, the receptionist is coming towards her. “I’ll accompany you to the exit.”
“No!” Yennefer extends her two hands towards the woman. “Please, I need to talk to her—” The woman won’t listen to her, motioning for her to leave.
From the side of her eyes, Yennefer sees a huge man walking in their direction. The last thing I need is to be thrown out of here, or worse, arrested . “I’ve known Tissaia since we were kids, please!” Yennefer was never great at lying, so half-truths always came easier to her.
This, of course, was the perfect moment for the elevator doors to open up and for Yennefer to be caught — in the highly embarrassing situation of being ushered away by a receptionist and security guard — by the person she was looking for all along. Yes!
“Tissaia!” The scream catches her attention and for half a second, Yennefer sees recognition swimming on that frozen ocean, sometimes referred to as Tissaia’s eyes. A step in her direction is all Yennefer can do, the bodyguard has grabbed her arm in a death grip. “Please.”
She knows who she is. Tissaia would be a fool not to, and Tissaia de Vries may be many things, but not a fool. “Yennefer of Vengerberg.” Her name coming out of the CEO’s mouth is foreign, something never done before. She said the wrong stressed syllable, but I’ll let it pass.
“Yes… Yes, it’s me.” Yennefer tries to move towards her, but that brute is still holding her arms. “Can you tell your dog to let me go?” That makes the hold on her arm tighter. I deserved that.
Tissaia settles for staring at her, glacier eyes analyzing every bit of information she can get from Yennefer’s face, before waving the security guard off. “I’m sorry for the situation, Triss…” She refers to the receptionist while handing her a few papers. So, that’s her name, Yennefer makes sure to note . “I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.” The last sentence is paired together with a pointed stare in Yennefer’s direction.
“I’ll be in my office, Triss.”
She walks to the elevator, Yennefer trailing in behind her. No one stops her this time. Yennefer tries, really tries, but it is impossible not to look. All those years of training did great things to her body.
They stay silent, pushed close to one another by the metal walls surrounding them. Yennefer opens her mouth, ready to explain herself but Tissaia is faster. “Not a word.”
One. Two. Three floors later. The doors open with a ding! and Tissaia is already out, leading the way to where Yennefer thinks must be her office or the room she wants them to meet. The inside of it is similar to what was going on at the front desk. The difference this time is the big table and a chair on each side, on it, a plate written “CEO” is sufficient for Yennefer to conclude that this is, in fact, her office. Tissaia walks straight to the window and turns.
“Sit down.”
She does, her body answering on command.
“Talk.”
She does that too, keeping eye contact. “Look, I’m sorry that I came in barging through your company, it’s just that I really need to talk to you about something and—”
Tissaia interrupts her for the first time. “I gave you time to talk, not to spend it rambling out excuses, get it together.” Her violet eyes flash in response to that, but Yennefer does nothing other than a slight twist of her head. You fucking…
“So! As you probably know, I lost my coach—”
Tissaia interrupts her for the second time. “I didn’t.”
Let me talk! “Now you do.” Their eyes are still connected, a battle of their own happening. “I lost my coach right after the GPF, that was in December, in case you don’t remember.” They both know she knows, but Yennefer mentions it either way. “Then I skated the Continentals without a coach, you can probably figure out how that went.”
That gets a reaction from Tissaia, her mouth contorting in a sudden movement. Yes, of course, who in their right mind would skate without a coach. “The World’s are in less than two months away, I need a coach.”
The link between them, through eye contact, is broken by Tissaia. Choosing to stare at the window beside her, she says: “I fail to realize how that has anything to do with me.” Bitch.
“No, you don’t.” Tissaia is testing all of Yennefer’s limits by being a fucking little shit. “You know why I’m here, you knew since you saw me at the reception.”
Tissaia’s sly smile reflects on the window she is staring at. “Humor me, Miss. Vengerberg, why are you here?” Fuck you. “I can’t seem to phantom why your lack of proper coaching has anything to do with a CEO of a pharmaceutical company.”
Through her teeth, Yennefer hisses. “I’m not here to talk to the CEO.” When a perfect sculptured eyebrow lifts itself, she jumps on the moment to continue. “I’m here to talk to the fucking two-times Olympic champion.”
With a deep sigh, Tissaia turns back and walks languidly to her chair, taking her time to rest her arms on the grooves of the leather. I do not have time for this!
“No.” One word, but enough to knock Yennefer out of her footing, even when sitting down. “I won’t coach you.” What?
They are maintaining the same eye contact from before, but this time, Tissaia can see the way those lilac eyes flicker as Yennefer stands up. Tissaia expects, and prepares herself, for her desk to be slammed to the floor, to maybe even be slapped by the woman, what she does not expect is what actually happens. “I’ll beg.”
“I’ll go on my knees and beg.” As humiliating as it is. Skating is her number one priority. Yennefer will not give up. She is disciplined if nothing else.
Tissaia does nothing to stop her. Some would say she allows it, the way she rises from her chair and circles the table, placing herself in front of the woman. Not a word comes out of her mouth. But Yennefer can hear her all the same, saying: “Do it.”
She does. As before. Her body answering on command. “Coach me.” Yennefer cannot bear to look at her, not like this. “Please.” Time passes, and her knees ache, not only from kneeling, but from last night’s practice.
“Get up, Miss. Vengerberg.”
She does. Again. Briefly glancing towards the CEO on her ascent, there is surprise on that face, as if she never thought Yennefer would actually do it. She does not watch her for much time though, the shame still buried deep in her mind.
They stand in silence. If you’re going to reject me again, just say it already. Tissaia is watching her, and she is watching anything but Tissaia.
“Okay.”
“What?” she bleats, almost looking up despite herself.
“Leave your preferred way of contact with Triss, I’ll get to you soon.” Tissaia is already back at her desk, typing on her computer.
Yennefer stays still, head still low. “That easy, huh?” She half chuckles. “I didn’t know you got off on being in control.” Lifting her eyes and staring at winter itself was not an easy feat, but she did it.
She is already at the door, before Tissaia can think of a way to refuse her again. “I’ll give Triss my number, don’t get too jealous.” A flying kiss and a door shut on her face later, Yennefer is on her way to the elevator. Steady, keep going.
The metal engulf her and it is what was left to make her feel her legs giving in. Knees on the floor again. “Shit, shit, shit...” Skating is her number one priority. But, fuck, did it have to be so humiliating? On the way here, Yennefer’s thoughts were divided into two options: Tissaia would accept her or Tissaia would deny her, not once did it cross her mind that she would have to kneel in front of the woman and beg for her to coach her.
She watches as the numbers decrease on the elevator screen, like descending into a hell of her own making. Pulling herself together, Yennefer leaves the box. She is composed, disciplined . Not a single detail in her appearance is off, nothing to indicate what happened upstairs.
“Hey, Triss, right?”
Now that Yennefer was not trying to — possibly — murder her boss, the woman looked… likable. “Tissaia said that I should give you my number, here it is.” Extending a card, Yennefer contemplates when a mix of confusion and surprise take over Triss’ face as she reads the paper.
“Yennefer of Vengerberg, figure skater.
[email protected] — 44 7123 4567890”
Oh, c’mon, do people really not know she was a skater? “Thank you, Triss, have a nice day!” Not waiting for an answer, Yennefer is already walking out of the building, but not before tossing an unpleasant glare at the security guard. She won two Olympics and people don’t even know her name?
Going back to the Chameleon is hard. Her knees hurt, her legs burn, and her mind is in shambles. “Fuck.” She lets out, practically her meditative mantra now. A few people stare at her, but she does not care. She has already bent low enough today to not even give a fuck, and look at what had come of it. Tissaia de Vries is going to coach me.
Tissaia de Vries, who was arguably the best figure skater of all time. She’s going to coach me… Me! Tissaia de Vries, who won five back-to-back Continentals Championships. Holy shit. Tissaia de Vries, the woman that made her kneel.
Yennefer walks inside the cafe and before Sabrina, who knows nothing about figure skating and is just interested in screaming at her for leaving, can open her mouth, she says:
“I have a new coach and she’s a fucking bitch.”