~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.

"Hey, earth to Y/N. Everything okay?" Bob jabs you with his stick, getting your attention. You turn to him and smile a bit, hoping he doesn't suspect anything: "Yeah, sure. Just nervous a bit."

"To be honest with you, so am I... I am not sure about all this, I know we beat the Czechs already..."
"But the Soviets are...they are different universe."

You look at the team, dressed in red, and shiver. They look so...ordinary and harmless, but they can destroy everyone on the team. And now you are facing them.

During the game, you find yourself flirting slightly with Tretiak, the Soviet star-goalie, whose name has been mentioned a lot ever since you started playing for this team. Anytime you get a chance, you wink at him or just smile flirtatiously. Whenever you see his cheeks turn slightly red under the mask, you smile even wider. And you chuckle whenever you hear his coach swearing his head off on the bench, calling his goalie "Бесполезный гормональный идиот. [Bespoleznyy gormonal'nyy idiot/ Useless hormonal idiot.]"
"Christ, Y/N, focus on the game, you will have time for that later," Rammer smacks the back of your head. When you sit on the bench, Suter slides down the bench closer to you. He pokes you with his stick: "Forgot who you playing for, huh?"
"What are you talking about?"
"I thought you were here to stay, not that you are looking for a way to get to Soviet Union."
"Again, what are you trying to say?"
"Just be careful so Herb doesn't see you."
"Doesn't see what?"He looks at you, his blue eyes beaming with something indescribable: "I really, really thought you were smarter than that. How did you get on Dean's list, again?"
"By using my brain. Bobby, please, don't talk like that."
Before taking his shift, he looks at you once again: "Just think who do you play for and what do you want, okay?"
"Y/N, get ready!" Herb's voice drags you out of your thoughts and you try to shake Bob's words out of your head. Unsuccessfully. 

~VLADISLAV'S POV~
Our captain, Mikhailov, quickly stops next to me and murmurs: "Тренер сердится. Лучше сыграйте в игру. [Trener serditsya. Luchshe sygrayte v igru./ The coach is angry. Better play the game/get your head in the game.]"
"Я сосредоточен. [Ya sosredotochen./ I am focused.]" I object, but he is not captain for nothing. Shaking his head, he quickly continues, just before the whistle blows, he warns me again: "Не флиртуйте с. [Ne flirtuyte s Y/L/N. / Don't flirt with Y/L/N."
But she is the one flirting with me, I keep my thoughts to myself. Arguing with him would be useless, he is the captain for a reason. Not only he is the veteran on the team, he knows exactly how to use his brain. Come on, Vlad, get your shit together.I smack my stick against the two pipes, which mark my territory I have protect at any cost. Especially against this team. Two weeks ago we were leading for four goals against this team, now they are trailing by only one goal. By one goal only. And there's only one minute of the first period remaining. And in this minute, they don't let me breath, but my teammates are not letting the other goalie rest as well. But she... she is the reason I couldn't focus and that Schneider guy scored. At that time she was on the bench, but one quick glance in her direction... she was laughing at something one of the Americans said and I think she looked at me once or twice. Seriously, you have to focus, I mentally slap myself and focus on the game. I carefully watch every play that is being made, every pass, every shot on the goal. Then I quickly glance at the clock on the score board. In that moment Americans get the puck, but I can easily deflect the shot. It bounces far away and I let my guards down, it's over. This period is ov- Red light illuminates my back and I realize I just let an easy goal. Two to two after twenty minutes.

"Что это было? [Chto eto bylo?/ What was that?]"

"Я не знаю. [Ya ne znayu./ I don't know.]" I shake my head in disbelief. The period was over, there's no way this goal could be allowed. But that "2" on the scoreboard under "USA" keeps on shining. As I skate towards the bench, she skates to me: "Vladislav Tretiak?"
"да. [Da./ Yes.]"

"Y/N. Приятно познакомиться.[Priyatno poznakomit'sya./ Nice to meet you.]"

I look at her in disbelief: "Ты говоришь по-русски? [Ty govorish' po-russki?/ You speak Russian?]"

She nods a bit, smiling a bit and furthermore, she wraps a strand of her hair around her finger: "да. [Da./ Yes.]"

Then she continues with a slight smile: "Мои предки приходят из Советского Союза. [Moi predki prikhodyat iz Sovetskogo Soyuza. /My ancestors are from Soviet Union.]"

"Ну, ваш русский идеальный. [Nu, vash russkiy ideal'ny. /Well, your Russian is perfect.]"

"спасибо. [Spasibo./ Thank you.]".Her grin makes me weak in my knees and for a second, I forget I am here to play hockey at the Olympics. Hell, it makes me forget that coach is on the bench and he will probably kill me when I get back.
"Третьяк! [Tret'yak!/ Tretiak!]" coach's voice reaches my ears and I shiver internally. This will not be good.

"Y/L/N!" her coach calls her at the same time. She looks at me and shrugs, her smile still present on her cheeks: "Увидимся?[Uvidimsya?/ See you later?]"

"Если мы оба выживем. [Yesli my oba vyzhivem./ If we both survive.]"
She laughs and somehow lifts herself on the tips of her skates to kiss my red cheek. Still in shock, I watch as she skates towards her apparently pissed off coach. Then I turn around and face my nightmare – my own coach being pissed beyond words. 

The distraction was too much for Vladislav to keep his head in the game. Of course, it wasn't just distraction, it was his poor performance, but Y/N had also something to do with the greatest goalie at the Olympics turning into a bench-warmer. He finds himself replaced with young, but also really talented Vladimir Myshkin.