The pre-conference briefing is quick and to the point. Maria glances over and catches Akela's eye, the two of them exchanging quick nods before Akela moves over to where Izzy and Jean are already quietly conversing. Her hands smooth over the skirt of her suit as she stands, and for once she is truly grateful that Darcy insisted on procuring her a "boss-ass bitch" wardrobe, because if she is going to be thrown to the wolves today, she might as well look good doing it.

"Thanks for doing this, Christine. I know this isn't Knights' business, but-"

Christine snorts. "As if Pepper wasn't going to sign off on this and immediately turn around to light fires under asses at USA Hockey. As if I wouldn't have done this without her say-so. You know the entire organization is behind you and the other women since the beginning."

"I know. It's nice to have confirmation, though. Especially for them."

The look the older woman sends her is both irritated and fond. "The Knights will always be behind women's hockey. You're going to get a lot of flack for standing up with them, though. They're not going to be nice."

"Are they ever?" Maria's smile is more a baring of teeth, a declaration of war. "If it's a fight they want-"

A hand lands on her shoulder. "Easy, tiger. You'll get that fight." Izzy Hartley smiles, and the light in her eyes is hard and bright. "But on our own terms. You ready?"

"Absolutely."

The press already knows the subject of the conference. It doesn't stop them from losing their collective minds once Izzy's finished reading the team's statement and Christine opens the floor for questions.

"Why is the women's hockey team boycotting an international tournament on US soil?"

"Our purpose was made clear in the statement," Izzy replies. Izzy has been captain of the women's team since the Edmonton Olympics, spanning multiple IIHF competitions and another Olympics run in Seoul. For Maria, it hadn't even been a question when Izzy called her nearly two years ago, asking her to join a group of female players who were tired of being consistently overlooked and underpaid. Even with a year in the NHL under her belt, this was still her fight and would always be her fight. Being named an A for the team only strengthened her determination to see it through.

"It is about being paid an equal wage, and for longer than simply the few months leading up to the Olympics. Our teammates are expected to play – and win, I might add, which we have done – at least twice a year without adequate compensation. We work full-time jobs on top of playing professionally in order to keep our skills up and allow us to be eligible to play for Team USA. It's a strain, and it leaves many amazing players struggling to decide whether or not to keep playing a sport they love, or be financially stable."

"It is also about growing women's hockey," Jean adds. As a goalie she's never officially worn a letter, but she has always been a prominent face for Team USA, as well as one of its quiet leaders. "We need more local grassroots programs to teach girls about hockey at a young age. We need a national team development program for young women that is on par with the program for the men. We need to show girls that hockey is an option and that they will be supported from beginning to end."

"The Fair Play law requires USA Hockey to fulfill these obligations, but so far they have not, which is why the team is boycotting this year's Women's Worlds Tournament in Minneapolis, Minnesota," Akela finishes. Like Maria, she holds the A for Team USA and it's so important to show that the very leaders USA Hockey has picked are behind this, all the way.

The reporters erupt in a flurry once more, shouting questions over one another. One, however, rings out over all the rest. "Are you boycotting too, Hill? Surely as an NHL player your wage is more than enough to sustain you and the team."

Maria bristles. Izzy's hands close into fists on her lap and Akela sits even straighter, if possible. She's had plenty of tone-deaf questions directed her way, even more so since she started playing in the NHL. This question is so far off the mark it's on Mars. "Would you even suggest that to a male player?" she asks softly, clenching her fists below the table. "A male player who plays for the NHL and most certainly receives an additional substantial stipend to play for Team USA?"

The reporter blinks. "Uh, I mean, but-"

"I didn't always play for the NHL," Maria continues. "Not every woman playing for Team USA will, either, because that is the beauty of choice. Regardless of who she plays for, every woman playing for this country has the right to an equal wage with her male counterparts. That is what we are fighting for, and that is why I am standing with my teammates."

Her notifications are off the charts when she checks her phone afterwards, and her inbox is overflowing with messages. Lois is politely demanding an exclusive with the team for The Daily Planet, a text that she forwards to Izzy for her consideration.

Her teammates are effusive as usual, flooding various group messages with celebratory emojis and lots of, go get em, hills!

One person, however, is conspicuously missing and Maria frowns because out of everyone, she would have expected to hear something from Steve.

"Come on, Hill," Izzy says genially. "I think we all deserve a drink after that, don't you? I'm sure you know a few good places."

She tucks her phone away, firmly pushing down any and all of the doubts bubbling inside of her. "I can think of some, yeah."

They end up in a little brewpub not far from her place in NoHo, the kind of place with lots of good food and craft beers and alcohol. Best of all, the staff knows her and she's never, ever been bothered.

Izzy's phone rings almost nonstop after the presser, even through their first round of drinks. She downs a shot, snatches up her phone, and growls, "You knew our intentions before today. Unless you're actually meeting our demands, we have nothing to talk about." They stop after that.

Maria's phone buzzes with a text from Darcy. Check ESPN. She glances up. "Hey Jenny, could you please change the channel to ESPN?"

"Sure thing, Maria."

A hush falls over the table when they realize that Peggy Carter is in the studio. "-have done so much to bring women's hockey into mainstream sports and I am highly disappointed with how little progress has been made since then," she says. She looks as impeccable and dignified as ever, sitting straight and tall under the studio lights.

"Rumor is that USA Hockey has been courting you in some capacity for the upcoming Olympics, Ms. Carter. What is your response after today's news?"

A small, secretive smile plays on her lips as she looks straight at the camera. "If USA Hockey wants me in any capacity, they can start by paying their female players. Properly."

"Thank you, Ms. Carter. Stay tuned because after the break the conversation of the US Women's Hockey Team boycott continues with members of the US Men's team."

Maria can feel her eyebrows shooting up her forehead at that little tidbit, and exchanges a glance with Akela. "Well, that should be interesting," the other woman mutters.

"Peggy Carter is truly a legend," Jean sighs.

"That's one hell of a gauntlet," Izzy laughs. "Team USA wants her bad, so she's just given us a lot of leverage."

Akela swats her arm. "Hey, shh. It's back."

"-standing by are the leaders of the US Men's Hockey Team, Clark Kent and Oliver Queen of the Metropolis Mammoths, and Steve Rogers and Mike Peterson of the New York Knights."

The four men are video conferencing in. Maria's eyebrows climb even higher because she knows those tall windows behind Steve and Mike – Mike's gone over to Steve's place. The men's clothing is conspicuously neutral, no sign of Team USA or club gear anywhere.

"Gentlemen, what is your opinion on your counterparts' announcement?"

"We are one hundred percent behind Izzy, Maria, and the rest of the women." Clark's quiet conviction radiates off the screen. "They represent the United States and play for USA Hockey in the same capacity that we do. Therefore, they deserve the same pay and the same access to resources."

"They're like us in every way," Steve adds. There's a deep furrow between his brows, the one that indicates an oncoming storm – on the ice, that is. "They are, every one of them, professional athletes and it's disgraceful that they do not have the same wages or resources, and that their development does not parallel ours."

"We're NHL players. We're lucky," Oliver points out. "It's time we recognized that and helped our fellow athletes, especially when they've been the ones consistently bringing the gold home." Maria smiles at this quiet bombshell. It's no secret that the USWNT has been good in bringing home gold and silver, but have consistently been overlooked in favor of a tanking male team.

"Are you doing this because you all have female teammates in your clubs?"

Mike shakes his head. "We won't deny that our female teammates have opened our eyes to their situation. However, all of us – especially those on teams without women – recognize that this is the right thing to do."

Her stomach is both warm and queasy in light of those statements, and the strangeness only gets worse when the reporter gushes over the men for showing their support. She glances away from the screen, contemplating her beer as her thoughts swirl.

"Well," Izzy begins as the segment wraps up. "That was unexpected. Welcome, certainly, but unexpected."

Akela raises her glass. "To unexpected allies."

"Hear hear!" Their glasses clink together and they grin at one another, touched and somewhat bemused.

Izzy wiggles her eyebrows at Maria. "So. Still not banging Rogers? Because I find myself mighty tempted."

"Find your own," Maria mutters reflexively. Her ears burn as she realizes exactly what she said, but it's too late. Akela whoops and thumps her on the back while Izzy raises her glass and Jean snickers quietly.

She's a little tipsy when they go their separate ways, tipsy enough that she doesn't even question herself when she gives the Uber driver the address for Steve's place in Brooklyn.

Steve is waiting in the hallway when the elevator reaches his floor. "Maria?" The furrow in his brow is quizzical, but the entire way he's holding himself speaks of wariness. The reaction is fair, given the fact that she's never shown up at his doorstep like this. "Is everything all right?"

"Could I have a glass of water?" The alcohol is still fizzing in her veins: she can feel it like a gentle haze over her vision.

Inside the loft there's no sign of Sam or Bucky, but Maria makes a beeline straight for the balcony nonetheless. Steve follows quietly, handing her a glass of water. "Thank you, for what all of you did tonight," she says finally, after taking a long sip. "You didn't have to."

"Yes, we did!"

"You didn't have to," Maria continues, glaring at him until he takes the hint. He shuts his mouth with the slightest shake of his head, exasperated but willing to concede. "Because ultimately you don't lose anything by giving your support. Do you understand what I'm saying, Steve? That reporter on ESPN couldn't congratulate you fast enough for supporting our fight."

"I don't understand."

Of course he doesn't. And she won't hold that against him because it's something so far from his own experiences that it would be dumb to do so, but that doesn't mean she can't explain. "At the end of the day, all of you can walk away from the situation and it wouldn't change a thing about your day to day lives. And it's the same for me now, for Laurel and Selina but it wasn't always that way. Before the NWHL and the CWHL the only way to actually get paid for playing pro hockey was through USA Hockey, and that only happened in the lead-up to Nagano. Women have been paid for playing pro hockey in the US for only twenty years, Steve."

The realization comes slowly and it rocks him. "And now you're pushing back against the one thing that provided that opportunity."

"It's brave. It's so brave, and they-we-are all terrified. But we're still doing it, and we intend to see it through." She turns to him now, and she knows that there's nothing nice about the smile on her face, but she won't apologize for it and Steve…Steve would never ask her to. "But instead of talking about that, all the sports news is talking about is how good it is that you're behind us."

He flinches a little at that barb. "Maria, I'm sorry. We just wanted to support you, not steal your thunder."

"That's the thing, isn't it? There's nothing wrong with that, Steve, but men usually get the praise for being supportive, rather than the women for doing what needs to be done."

A muscle twitches in his jaw and he spreads open his hands in a gesture that signifies helplessness and supplication. "What can we do to fix it? Would joining the boycott help at all?"

Maria can't help the laughter that bursts out of her. His expression closes off and she can't help but feel the tug towards him. She always feels it, lately, but now she allows herself to follow it, reaching out to touch his shoulder. Steve means well. He always does. "Steve. Think back to what I just said and tell me if doing so would actually change anything in your lives afterwards. What do you have to lose?"

"Nothing," he says eventually, though it's clear he hates admitting it. "So we'll just…keep supporting you. But we won't be quiet about it."

She shakes her head. "I wouldn't ask you to. Especially because what's done, is done. I came over here because I wanted you to understand the magnitude of what happened today."

Steve smiles. It's a small thing, just a lift of the corner of his mouth, but it's something. "You're good at that, Maria. Making me – and the other guys – understand."

"Someone has to," she quips, and drains the rest of the glass.

"For what it's worth, I'm glad it's you."

"You're just saying that because you're stuck with me." And they really are. After the Stanley Cup win, her new contract is nice and shiny and keeps her with the Knights for the next ten years.

He rolls his eyes. "I'm really not. Now, let's get you home before Nat sends out a search party."

Maria finally turns her phone back on during the ride back to her apartment. The first message she sees is from Lois: They're idiots. Well-meaning idiots, but idiots all the same. Clark already got his lecture.

She laughs all the way home.

They get their settlement. They meet with USA Hockey with Marci Stahl and Bernie Rosenthal at their backs. Members of Team USA get a stipend for the year that they're playing for the team, regardless of whether or not it's an Olympic year. The stipend itself goes up from $1000 to $2500 a month. There's a promise to fund more hockey clinics like the kinds each woman tends to put on in their hometown every summer, and an actual business plan to implement a NTDP for girls in junior and senior year of high school in Ann Arbor, right alongside the boys' team.

It's one hell of a start.

It means they can go to Worlds with their heads held high, and into the Olympics with newfound determination. They have to bring the gold and show everyone that they were justified, and that the future is bright.

"What do you mean, Russia didn't send you any decals with your gear?" Hank sounds outraged by the very idea, standing with his arms akimbo over the pile of black gear bags in front of Nat's stall.

Nat glances up from the glaringly red jacket she's holding, Россия emblazoned on the back. "I don't need them on my bags, not when I'll be wearing this all the time." She sends a sly glance towards Maria, who's loaded down with freshly cut sticks. "Clashes with my hair, don't you think?"

"Nothing clashes with your hair, not even puke green sweaters," Maria replies with just a slight touch of envy. She loads her sticks carefully into her own USA studded bags because of course, USA Hockey has to put their logo on pretty much everything. She's honestly surprised they haven't figured out a way to make hidebound athletes use star-spangled tape.

Hank wanders away muttering under his breath, no doubt to see if Sweden and Canada are as bad with labeling their gear bags as Russia. Ian, filming everything for KTV, follows. Maria takes the time and silence to look, really look at Nat, as the other woman goes through all of her things, item by item. She hasn't asked yet how Nat feels about being with her Russian teammates.

She figures it's something she should ask before they head over to JFK to fly out. It's not exactly something she should bring up when all the other Team USA girls are around. Maria has an A and Nat's her teammate, for all they won't be playing for the same team in Helsinki. Hell, Nat's her friend, and that's enough reason. "There aren't any bad feelings with your team, are there?"

Nat's gaze flicks over to her and she shrugs. "It's Mother Russia," she responds with a wry twist of the lips. "Much can be overcome in service to her." There's a hint of irony there, humor, and a bit of resignation.

"That doesn't sound reassuring."

"Perhaps it's not meant to be." Nat sinks back onto her heels, holding a pair of red gloves in her hands. "I would not have hockey without them," she says simply and Maria knows this story, of the Team Russia scouts that found a pint-sized Nat shooting pucks at the orphanage's sign with pinpoint accuracy. And with the wrong-sized stick, no less.

"Still doesn't mean you owe them."

"No," Nat admits. "But if I do this, they are less likely to make a fuss about me being here."

That at least makes sense. "Good. Because you're ours now."

"God, you sound like Rogers." She smirks. "Speaking of Steve…"

"No."

The red gloves come flying her way and she bats them easily out of the air. "You had no idea where I was going with that."

"Of course I do, we were talking about the Olympics," Maria mutters.

Nat's raised eyebrow says that she walked right into that one. "And you went straight to Rogers, hmmm? Interesting. Well, it is the Olympics, sex Is practically a requirement."

She cannot believe they're actually having this conversation – then she has a horrible thought. "Please don't tell me you're going to be sneaking into the Team USA house." Or worse, Bucky sneaking into the Team Russia house. Bucky and Nat have been taking things slow since Christmas, but as she just pointed out, it's the Olympics.

Nat examines her nails nonchalantly, her lips twitching. "I may. I admit, it would be fun to see just how many ways I can. So you see, if Rogers is going to be sexiled anyway, he might as well have a place to crash."

"I have a roommate."

"And that is a terrible excuse. Sharon is twenty-one and has been in college, she'll be off on shenanigans of her own."

She gets it, she really does. Events like the Olympics are special. Sharon should have fun. But as her roommate and someone who will wear an A regardless of the team they're playing for, she can't help but feel a sense of responsibility. "As long as she stays away from the snowboarders," she grumbles.

Sharon appears in the doorway, loaded down with all of her gear bags and still somehow bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. "Hi!" Her voice is a little breathless as she lets her bags drop to the ground. "They just told me to come through here, is that-?"

Nat rolls her eyes and pats the stall beside her. "Have a seat, Carter." They've kept their tabs on Sharon – a fairly easy prospect, even though she's been sent down. The Knights are lucky that the Commandos practice and play in the same city, so there's a lot of mingling between the two teams.

"I know I probably won't see much icetime, if at all," Sharon says with a sigh, settling into the stall. "Especially with Jean and Trish. But I can't help how excited I am."

"The Olympics are incredible," Nat agrees. "It is the biggest stage in the world. There is nothing quite like it."

Maria's in Sharon's shoes, but those insecurities are something she keeps safely tucked away. Injury had kept her out of the last Olympics, and now she's going in with plenty of media scrutiny. She'll keep her head on straight no matter what. It helps that Nat has been open about her previous experiences, and she too is going into the Olympics with an A. It had been one hell of a surprise, considering the circumstances of her arrival in New York, but Maria's of the opinion that Russia's not dumb enough to discount the experience of one of the best female hockey players in the world.

"Hey, there they are!" The team files into the room, all of them beaming. Clint throws himself into the stall next to Nat and slings an arm around her shoulders. "Thought you could leave without saying goodbye? Come on, now."

"We're going to see some of you in just a few days," Maria says, rolling her eyes.

"Not all of us!" Trip settles in next to her and grins. "Some of us still have to pay our dues, so we'll be over here, watching you guys light it up. USA all the way, huh?"

Wade sniffs. "Excuse you, hockey is Canada's sport." Logan slaps him on the back and Lance starts singing, 'O Canada.'

Nat grins. "And yet Russia's the one that's dominated for how long? Oh, decades."

"Guys, come on!" Steve pleads as the locker room devolves into chirps. "Some decorum in front of the rookie, please."

That gets a rollicking wave of laughter and chirps, because when has the team ever had decorum for any rookie, male or female? And Sharon is most certainly Peggy Carter's blood, because she doesn't flinch from anything, although the Carter connection is probably the reason why Steve's trying to make the team seem a bit more civilized.

Maria watches the way she jokes easily with Mike and Sam and knows that she'll be playing backup to Mike next year. She's been amazing with the Commandos, and is part of the reason why they're gearing up for a Calder Cup run. She's ready for the Knights and with Mike eyeing retirement, the Knights are ready for her.

She glances up, cataloging these last few moments before the team scatters for the next few weeks. When she catches Steve's eye from across the room, she feels like she should be surprised but really, she isn't. He's been looking at her more and more since Christmas, when Bucky cornered them with the mistletoe. Or maybe he's always been looking, and it's only now that she's really allowing herself to look back.

Steve jerks his head to the side and raises an eyebrow in question. She nods, squeezes Trip's knee, and makes her way over. "You guys ready to go?"

"Hank's been double and triple-checking everything, so at the very least they can't blame us for equipment failures." She shrugs. "It'll be fine."

It'll be weird. She's played for Team USA at Worlds and the Four Nations Cup, she's used to leaving her club teams behind. This time however, it feels a little strange. Strange that it's just her and Nat and Sharon, and strange that she won't be sharing seats with Lance and Trip.

A small smile lurks at the corners of his mouth. Is he laughing at her? "You'll miss us."

Maria snorts. She will, but she'll probably only admit it to Trip. "It's only going to be what, four days? We'll all be together for Opening Ceremony." She squints at him. "Don't tell me you're worried that I'll run off with one of the skiers or something."

"It's a legitimate concern. It's the Olympics, after all."

"No kidding. Tell me, is it true that you were propositioned by most of the figure skating team in Seoul?" As he flushes, she grins and continues on. "Or is it better to ask how many of those offers you accepted?"

"I don't kiss and tell," is the prim response, but Steve's eyes are dancing.

"Besides, we all know there's only one person Cap here wants to be kissing," Sam comments, passing by with a wicked grin. Steve goes tomato red but glances her way from beneath his lashes and well, he's definitely not disputing it. Her stomach flips.

As if she doesn't know. He's made it clear that this is her call and maybe she's running out of excuses not to make it.

Maybe something will happen at the Olympics, but the opposite is just as likely. She's there to win gold, but perhaps there's something to be said about keeping an open mind.

Or heart.

The atmosphere in the Olympic Village is electric. Every time she turns around she feels like she's tripping over an athlete from another country. She's been to her fair share of international tournaments, but they've only been for hockey, and only been with other women. Even those experiences have been few and far between since she started playing for the Knights: the length of an NHL season plus longer playoff runs have mostly limited her to summer training.

The feeling of being surrounded by so many like-minded people, people who understand the value of hard work and drive and passion, bound together by patriotism, is unlike anything she's ever experienced. Everyone is so excited and so happy to be here and well, she's not immune. She doesn't even mind being a walking advertisement for Team USA. Even her underwear has stars and stripes, for crying out loud.

Still, there's nothing like wearing the red, white, and blue. The feeling only intensifies because of the lens that is now focused firmly on them.

"Good morning, ladies," Coach Carter greets them as they troop in for their first team meeting. "Welcome to the Olympics." Her eyes glitter as she looks from face to face. "And again, let me congratulate you for winning one hell of a battle and getting the pay you deserve. Did you enjoy flying business class?"

That gets a round of chuckles and cheers. She raises a hand, still smiling faintly. "That's one battle. Now it's time for another. All eyes are on us now and they expect us to deliver. Thankfully, I know we can. So let's get to work."

After the meeting, there's practice, and then the sauna. The Olympic Village boasts some truly extensive sauna facilities because it's Finland, something they gleefully take advantage of before venturing out to explore Helsinki. They wander around the University of Helsinki campus, admiring the elegant, pastel buildings with their white trim before boarding a ferry to the Suomenlinna fortress.

When they get back to the Olympic Village for dinner, the men's team is there, looking both exhilarated and steamrolled. Ah, the joys of international air travel.

"Look what the cat dragged in!" Izzy proclaims, plopping down beside Clark and reaching up to ruffle his hair.

He grins good-naturedly at her. "Izzy. Always a pleasure." On anyone else the statement would seem facetious, but Clark Kent is one of those people who is one hundred percent genuine, one hundred percent of the time. Around the table, the guys are shuffling over to make room for them and she has to wonder if this is going to set a precedent. They've only sat with other Team USA athletes the last few days, even though she's waved to Nat every time she's seen her and received a few playful hip-checks from Lance.

Maria picks a spot between Steve and Bucky. "Got any room for me?" she asks.

"For you, Hills? Always." Bucky beams at her. "You guys been playing tourist?"

"Naturally." It's good to see them – better than she expected, even though she's gone longer periods of time without seeing any of them. Perhaps it's the novelty of it all. "Good flight?"

Steve smirks. "Buck bought about twenty boxes of stroopwafels in Amsterdam, don't tell Carol."

He leans over behind Maria, arms flailing as he tries to give him a good wallop. Steve dodges easily, snickering. "Non-beauty, Stevie."

"Shouldn't you wait for the flight home?"

"Nope. I learned my lesson in Seoul. Olympics are stressful, snacks make it better." He gestures with his fork, broccoli waving wildly in the air. Any harder, and it'll fly through the air and bean one of the German skiers sitting behind them, or the Chinese speed skaters sitting in front of them.

Maria leans out of the way of possible flying broccoli and angles her head to look at Steve, an eyebrow raised as if to say, is this guy for real? If the Olympics do this to Bucky, she shudders to think about what kind of havoc Wade is wreaking on Team Canada.

"He's exaggerating," Steve murmurs in her ear. "He'll eat one or two, tops. The rest are for Nat."

Now that makes sense. Nat's sweet tooth is well known. Bucky just goes the extra mile by keeping Starburst in his bag and locker in case she gets cranky. Even Carol looks the other way because Cranky Nat is likely to morph into I'm Going to Fight Everyone Nat.

Her eyes roam the cafeteria, searching for that telltale flash of red, when she catches Akela's eye. The other woman grins and mouths, "cozy."

And…yes, she is leaning into Steve, shoulders pressed companionably together. She thinks about his voice in her ear and the warmth of him beside her and just…can't bring herself to care. They're far from New York and there's no media to be seen. It's simply them, enjoying one another's company, enjoying the company of their teams. It's different, and she likes it.

So she just shrugs at Akela and straightens up. But she knocks her knee against Steve's beneath the table. And if he nudges back, well. That's between the two of them.

The new format means two things: one, the first two seeds in their group will be guaranteed a place in the semi-finals. Two: their group contains the top four seeds so battling for those top two spots isn't going to be easy. Maria would like a chance to play against some of the other teams in Group B, but understands that the IOC doesn't want any embarrassing blowouts like Canada and the US enjoyed in Seoul.

What it means is that they face off against Sweden, Russia, and Canada every other day, and they need to win every single game. But that's something to think about tomorrow, where there will no doubt be even more video review and analysis to go over with the coaching staff. Tonight is the Opening Ceremonies, and she fully intends to focus on committing that once in a lifetime moment to memory.

The Team USA gear is certainly memorable. It is, in her opinion, like sporting a very patriotic ugly sweater. "Times like this I wish hockey was a summer sport," she mutters to Sharon as she tugs the knitted beanie over her head. "You never see the summer Olympians in stuff like this."

"I would say it looks like a quilt, but my nan made beautiful quilts," Sharon agrees. "At least they're warm?"

"There's that."

Laurel pokes her head in the door. "Oh good, you're ready. Come on, Izzy wants us all out at the buses now."

Izzy and Kent must be on the same wavelength, because the men's and women's teams arrive at the buses at the same time. Maria shakes her head as both teams pile in, laughing and shoving. "If the Winter Olympics are high school, we're definitely the football players," she tells Steve as she settles beside him. Sharon's happily chatting to Sam, probably about Selina's ongoing quest to steal one of Team Sweden's Viking hats.

Steve laughs. "Yeah, I can see Ollie shoving the curling team into the lockers."

"Excuse you," Oliver protests from the seat in front of them. "I would not."

"Don't lie Queenie, you were a little shit in juniors and you absolutely did shove people into lockers," Luke Cage chimes in over the other man's indignation. "Anyway, the ice skaters are definitely the theater and choir kids."

The debate lasts all the way to the venue, where their bus idles as teams are offloaded in the order of the procession. The noise of over 2,500 athletes in the tunnels is intense, even though they're trying their best to be quiet because there is still a performance and anthems before the actual parade. It's just impossible, and they're all too excited.

All of Team USA converges in the tunnel. It seems like everyone has their phones and cameras out, and everyone wants to take pictures with everyone. Maria's accosted by some of the younger female athletes, a mixed bag of speed skaters and skiers who look at her with unabashed admiration. It's intimidating because all she ever wanted to do was hockey or something related to hockey.

But nothing can change the fact that she's a role model now. All she can do is set an example for others to follow or break away from as they wish.

Eventually Akela elbows her way through the crowd and links her arm through Maria's. "Come on, line's moving!"

A wall of sound hits them when they make the arena floor. The sheer number of people there takes Maria's breath away and for the first time, she truly feels like this is the Olympics.

It's difficult not to just stand there with her jaw hanging, looking ten kinds of idiotic but somehow her free arm goes up and she's waving. She waves until her hand goes numb and her ears are already ringing from how loud it truly is.

Somewhere along the way Steve disappears but her team pops up around her, Nico pressing into her other side, filming everything with her phone mounted on a selfie stick. Selina, America, and Sharon are in front, arms linked and laughing gaily. Even Jessica is smiling, wide and genuine, tugged along by a gleeful Trish. Izzy's bouncing around like she's lost fifteen years, and all of them look as awed and honored and overwhelmed as she feels. Suddenly she's incredibly cognizant of the colors she's wearing, of the name knit into her god-awful sweater, and the flag being waved around by the people around her.

It's not as though she's forgotten her purpose here, but the abrupt change of leaving the Knights and the novelty of being with new people in a new country can be disorienting. It's easy to get caught up in the minutiae but here, in the stadium with not just her team but the team and thousands of screaming people, everything is clear.

Maria came here to win, and that's exactly what she's going to do.

She's still buzzing after the opening ceremony, riding the adrenaline high of the parade and the performances. Sharon is off with Selina and America, doing goodness knows what and she's not going to police them. Not too much, at least. They still have to prep for their first game against Russia.

Sleeplessness has her rolling out of bed and tugging on a thick Team USA jacket before heading down to tiny little square shared between the Team USA and Team Canada dorms. There's a small fountain at the center, surrounded by benches that are usually occupied during the day, but are blessedly empty now. The dorms themselves are sleek, sustainable, and state of the art, and will serve as residences for University of Helsinki students once the athletes have cleared out. It shows excellent planning and forward thinking by the Finnish committee.

Maria's not thinking about that, though. Her mind is going a million miles an hour, already leaping ahead to tomorrow's – and it is tomorrow, because the clock has already passed midnight – game against Russia. How Russia will try and use Nat to shut her line down, how her line needs to be able to break through. Izzy is one of the best wingers in the world, period. She works so fast and is always moving, which delights her because they can make a play almost anywhere. Jessica is a more physical player despite her size, with a playing style that reminds Maria of Bucky, maintaining a strong presence around the net and keeping the other team's defense on high alert.

As long as she and Izzy keep moving, and Jessica keeps the play concentrated around the net, they'll have plenty of opportunities to score.

"You should be asleep."

"I could say the same for you, Steve. I know my excuse, what's yours?"

He shrugs. "Would you believe jetlag?"

"I'll allow it." Maria nudges his shoulder with hers and if she stays pressed to him afterwards, well. It is Finland in winter. It's cold. Steve certainly doesn't say anything, just waits for her to say what's on her mind. "How strange is it to play against Thor or Wade?"

Steve nods, the lines on his forehead disappearing. "A little weird, since Thor's usually the one getting people out of my way, not blocking it. Is this about Nat?"

"Kind of." Maria shrugs. "I've had international teammates in college and played against them at Worlds.

"I get it. It's tough but at the end of the day it's always about your team winning, you know?" His grin goes crooked and it strikes her there that that's Steve's real smile. This one is dorkier and endearing, and far less practiced than the movie star Marlon Brando one he uses for the press. "Do or die, remember?"

"I've always thought that was a bit melodramatic, but sure." It's true, she can't think about it as playing against Nat or Coach May. It's about USA vs. Russia, or USA vs. Canada. It's no different than playing against Laurel and Selina, because they're her friends now, too.

His shoulders shake with laughter. "Aw, come on. I know you've sung it in the locker room at World Juniors at least, it's a requirement."

"I'll never tell." Maria snickers and easily dodges the playful jab he aims at her ribs. Everything about this moment feels loose and easy, so far removed from the norm of their everyday lives even though they're playing hockey on the biggest stage in the world. Maybe that's why she settles more firmly against him and doesn't even twitch when Steve stiffens for one tiny moment before dropping his arm around her shoulders. "So. Why else are you up? Don't lie, I know you packed at least five books."

A puff of air stirs her hair. "Nothing gets past you, Hill. Nat snuck in, so I've been exiled."

"I didn't think she would actually do that," she murmurs, amused despite herself.

"It's Nat. If she didn't come over, Buck would be over there, and it's going to be much easier getting her out of our dorms than him out of hers."

Her eyebrows go up. "So what, you're going to be kicked out of your room for the entirety of the Olympics?"

"Of course not. Just every once in a while." Steve rolls his eyes good-naturedly. "Who am I to stand in the way of them right now, anyway? It's the Olympics, and they're in the honeymoon stage."

"That's not the point." The decision is obvious and she acts on it before she can second-guess herself, standing and offering her hand. "Come on."

Steve blinks up at her and she has to sigh a little bit because those long lashes of his really are ridiculous. "What?"

"Sharon can bunk with Selina and America. Come on, you're sleepy. Don't argue."

"But I can't sleep on Sharon's bed!" Still, he's standing and following her as she busies herself with her phone.

Sharon, I'm kicking you out tonight. You'll be able to get in before breakfast, though.

r u serious, maria? The three little dots pop up, then, GET IT!

Maria rolls her eyes and tucks her phone back in her jacket. "You're not going to sleep on Sharon's bed, I will. You'll stay on mine."

"But-"

"You'd do the same for me."

That shuts him up right away, and when she finally glances over at him it's to find him watching her back. The corner of his mouth twitches that tiniest bit, that lopsided smile once more.

Oh.

She shoves down the flutter and pushes him into the room and towards her bed. "Flip my pillow over or something, just don't sleep naked in my sheets."

Steve's smile vanishes in one long wave of affront. "I wouldn't!" he protests, shedding his jacket and carefully draping it over a chair.

"Just saying." Although that's one hell of a picture and honestly, no one would blame her for taking advantage of that but…no. Not yet. She bundles up her pajamas (navy blue, with USA across the front of the shirt and the seat of the pants) and disappears into the bathroom to change. When she comes back out, Steve's already under the covers, sheets pulled up and his body tense.

Honestly. She tosses him a bottle of water and arranges herself on Sharon's bed.

"You know what people are going to say tomorrow," he murmurs as she reaches for the light.

"I do. And I don't care. Do you?"

"I care about you." It's so quiet. Emphatic.

Maria lets out a breath and rolls to face him. As her eyes adjust to the dark, she notes that his face is turned towards her. "I know. That's why you're here. And why you have an open invitation if this happens again, unless we have a game the next day."

He's quiet for a moment. "I guess that makes sense."

"Ugh." She'd throw her pillow at him if she didn't need it. "Go to sleep, Rogers."

The next morning, Steve steps into the hallway to a chorus of catcalls. He blushes so prettily, Maria thinks as she leans against the doorframe, watching as his hand comes up to rub the back of his neck. "Uh. Morning, ladies."

"Report, Hill!" Akela calls, sporting a shit-eating grin.

"I don't kiss and tell," Maria replies, to a wave of ardent boos. Steve turns even redder. She didn't even think that was possible.

Sharon appears out of the crowd and eels between Maria and Steve to get in the room. "Sorry Maria, but Selina wouldn't let up until I told her why I had to crash and…I have to shower." She hightails it into the bathroom before Maria can respond.

"You're not even going to kiss him goodbye, Hills?" Jessica's grin is absolutely devious. "That bad, huh?" The rest of the team loses it. Monica and Akela are laughing so hard that they're propping each other up, and even Izzy has her hand over her mouth.

She's in the middle of convincing herself that she actually does need her team and that she can't win a gold medal by herself when Steve leans into her space, using his bulk to block everyone else from view. "Thanks for letting me crash here," he murmurs, placing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. Then he winks, the little shit. "See you later, Hills."

She watches him go, the way he walks down the hallway at a sedate pace, greeting every player by name. He really is something else. "No muffins," she tells Laurel. Because their team has a truly terrible tradition of sending a small plate of blueberry and raspberry muffins with whipped cream to any Olympic hookups. Just yesterday plates had been delivered to an Italian cross-country skier, a Dutch speed skater, and one of their own team's ice dancing couples.

"No can do, Hills." Her lips curve upward, only slightly smug. "Who am I to argue with tradition?'"

It's like watching a train wreck in slow motion, she thinks later when they're in the cafeteria. Can oatmeal actually taste like resignation? Her entire team tracks the waiter's progress across the room, each of them wearing identical shark-like grins. Heads go up as the waiter passes, especially at the table where the men are sitting because they know what those muffins mean-

The table explodes when the plate is placed in front of Steve. Bucky and Sam are on their feet, Oliver is clapping, Clint is up and running towards the Team Canada table like some absurd red, white, and blue Newsie, and Mike swings around in his seat, his expression absolutely incredulous. "Are you serious?" he calls.

Maria crosses her arms and scowls while her teammates dissolve into laughter once more, the assholes. It's not that she minds everyone thinking something transpired between her and Steve last night, but they're all acting like five-year-olds.

Speaking of five-year-olds. "Hills," Lance all but wails, wriggling between her and Izzy. "You couldn't have waited a few more days? The pool!"

"Finish that sentence, and Nick will have to find a new winger for me when we get back to New York."

He drops the overdramatic pout, suddenly all smiles. "Aw, Hills. As if you didn't know that we were going to make one." He winks and stands. "Proud of you though, didn't think you'd actually do it!"

"Want to sign a contract with the Knights?" she asks Izzy as Lance saunters away. "Looks like I'll need a winger."

Izzy pats her shoulder. "Pretty sure you still need him, but thanks for the offer."

When Maria looks back up, she catches Steve's rather chagrined look. I told you so, it seems to say, and she just shakes her head at him. Let everyone else be ridiculous. She knows what's going on, he knows what's going on, and that's all that matters, really.

Thor walks by festooned in blue and gold, and gives her a hearty slap on the back. "Many congratulations, Maria," he laughs. "I'm glad to see you and Steven together at last."

Perhaps Nat will have to find a new defensive partner, too. She glares at Clint, who just shrugs innocently from behind Thor.

The next afternoon, Nat skates up to Maria at the center line during warm-ups, provoking a few curious looks from both of their teams. "I'm not going to go easy on you," she drawls, tossing the puck up and down a few times, catching it in her glove.

"I would never ask you to." She smirks. "Don't want it to be an easy win, after all."

Nat rolls her eyes, but taps her stick against Maria's shin pad. "Fighting words, but you'll be crying over them later." Someone on her team calls out to her and she raises a hand in acknowledgement. "So I heard Steve received a very special plate of muffins yesterday." She laughs at the look Maria sends her. "Yes, that's what I thought. You certainly don't look like you've been fucked into the mattress."

She nearly slams into the boards. "Nat!"

"Maria. Look me in the eye and tell me that I'm wrong."

The thing is, she can't. Steve doesn't sleep around but she's heard rumors that his previous girlfriends certainly had no complaints.

"See? Better get on that." She pauses and nods towards the crowd before skating off. "By the way, I think Sarah has a surprise for you."

When Maria looks out into the crowd, she feels her expression slide into one of pure astonishment. Sarah Rogers is in the family section alongside Ruth Barnes and Darlene Wilson. The other women are sporting Team USA sweatshirts, but Sarah's in a Team USA jersey. Only it's not Steve's #4 on the back, it's her #44.

Sarah catches her staring, of course, and beams as she waves. Maria waves back, her mind for once utterly and completely blank. Thankfully, Izzy skates over to talk some last minute strategy, and whisks her off before she can embarrass herself by standing there like an idiot.

Akela looks at her knowingly, but maybe she's just thinking about her discussion with Nat. "Get your head in the game, Hills."

And she does. The game is difficult, in the sense that whenever her line is on the ice they're hyper-vigilant about getting around Nat and just getting to the net. But Nat can't be everywhere at once, something Maria takes advantage of by setting herself up near the net and attracting defenders. She gets the puck out to Izzy at the point, who ferries it through a tangle of bodies to a wide-open Jessica. Tic-tac-shoot: it's Maria's favorite way to play.

The US scores two more goals after that, and Nat takes Russia's only goal by doing what she does best, joining the rush and sliding into an open lane at the best possible moment.

"Excellent start, ladies," Coach Carter tells them in the locker room after the game. "You did a lot of really good things out there, really amazing passing and movement. Keep it up, we're going to need it for Canada. I'll see you tomorrow."

When she checks her phone, there are a few messages from the guys back home.

already racking up the points there eh, over-achiever :P

USA all the way!

go hills go!

The best ones, of course, are from Trip and Lance. Trip's messages are practically a play-by-play breakdown, full of his signature effusiveness and good cheer, but there are a few, you're not leaving us for them, right? I'm the best-looking linemate you ever had! type statements littered in there.

Lance is no better, and he should have been at practice with Team Canada but apparently still managed to catch some of the game, because his message reads, hartley n jones r cool but me n trip r better. pls don't beat canada.

In short, her linemates are both ridiculous and slightly possessive. She adores them, and would also like to knock their heads together.

The team goes out after dinner to see what nightlife in Helsinki has to offer. Maria stays long enough to have two very expensive beers and explain to Sharon that she is not going to go clubbing, thanks, before heading back.

She's climbing the stairs to the dorm when she spots a very familiar figure sitting in the courtyard. Maria's outside before she knows it, her hands on her hips as she declares, "Shouldn't you be sleeping? Don't tell me Barnes has sexiled you again, Steve. You have a game tomorrow!"

He tilts his head back to look up at her, lips twitching. "Are you drunk, Maria? And no, I told you Buck wouldn't do that. I'm just clearing my head."

"I'm not drunk. I have to save some celebration for the end, don't I?" She takes the seat beside him, even though the smart thing to do would be to insist that they both go and get some sleep.

"Well, you definitely earned some celebration tonight. You looked good out there."

She refuses to be distracted by how warm his voice is. A question's been lingering in her mind since the game, and he probably has the answer to it. "Why was your mom wearing my jersey?"

Steve looks at her like she's crazy for even asking. "Maria. My mom loves you, why wouldn't she want to wear your jersey?"

And that is something she's still trying to wrap her brain around. Sarah's brand of, well, love is difficult to escape so she doesn't even bother trying to resist it at this point. It doesn't make it any less baffling. Finally, she just shakes her head and smiles. "Tell her that I appreciated it."

"You can tell her yourself, you know, it's not like you don't have her number. And she'd love to hear from you."

"I will." To prove it, she texts Sarah then and there, making sure to show him once it's sent off. From there it's easy to talk about her game, the things that went well and the things that need to be improved upon before they face Canada. They go over possible strengths and weaknesses for his game against the Czech Republic tomorrow before switching to stories about other events they've heard about throughout the day.

He doesn't relax. It's not as though he's tense, but he's still carrying his shoulders high and it's pretty obvious that he's nowhere near sleep, not the way she is with the way she keeps blinking to keep her eyes open. If he goes back to his room he's just going to stare at the ceiling, and if she leaves him here he's going to keep staring at the fountain. His team needs him to be one hundred percent tomorrow, and if she can somehow help with that…

Well. She's not going to examine the rest of it. "Come on, you're coming back to my room."

Steve's already shaking his head. "I'm not going to deprive Sharon of her bed again."

"So don't."

He goes so still beside her, every muscle locking up tight. "I can't do that."

"Sure you can," she says reasonably. "You slept fine the other night, didn't you? Either way, you're going to sleep. Your room or mine, it's up to you."

"And how," he responds, equally bland. "Are we supposed to fit on your bed?"

He's trying to spook her. It might have worked a few months ago. A reasonable person would probably try to figure out why, and she's usually all about reason. But somehow, she simply doesn't care. "There's this thing, Steve. It's called cuddling. I do believe you know what that is, you and Sam certainly do enough of that on the plane." Maria tilts her head to the side and smirks. "Scared?"

Athletes are incredibly predictable. Give them a challenge and they can't resist. Steve's no different. Here at the Olympics, the balance of risk versus reward has completely changed. He stands up, full of resolve, and this time he's the one to offer his hand. "Okay, Maria. We'll do it your way."

It's definitely a squeeze, fitting two hockey players onto a twin bed. Maria's elbow catches him in the kidney as they cuddle up and he nearly falls off the bed, clutching his side and muffling a curse in what sounds like Irish Gaelic. "Maria, this-"

"Will work just fine," she finishes, grabbing his arm and tugging until he's settled against her back, his knees tucked up behind hers. The bed groans a little bit, but holds. "See? Fine."

The arrangement is surprisingly comfortable. Even with his arm draped over her and their bodies pressed together, he doesn't cling or become octopus-like with his limbs. He is, however, putting out heat like a furnace and even though it's winter in Finland, they probably aren't going to need the comforter.

They're both quiet for a moment, their breathing syncing up and filling the quiet of the room. "This is nice," he murmurs into her hair, cautiously linking his fingers with hers. He drops off not long after that, his breathing slowing, deepening.

Nice is an understatement. This feels natural, easy. As easy as hockey, which is terrifying because hockey is also the hardest thing she's ever done in her life. So what does that say about all of this?

Still, he's right. "It is," she murmurs, and falls asleep too.

Steve's alarm wakes everyone in the room the next morning, including Sharon, who bolts upright and squeaks with surprise when she realizes just who's occupying the opposite bed.

This time, Steve actually does fall, arms wind-milling and landing with a rather unceremonious thump on the floor. "Ow," he mumbles, still half-asleep. His hair is sticking up in tufts and it's…pretty adorable.

"Hills, why didn't you tell me to clear out?" Sharon's blinking blearily, which tells Maria why she hadn't noticed anything last night.

"Because nothing happened. Clearly."

Sharon looks suspiciously at Steve as he clumsily steps into the rest of his clothes, still very clearly not with it. "Should I just clear out for the rest of the Olympics?"

They both tilt their heads to the side as he bends over to put on his sweatpants because they're only human. And Steve's ass is spectacular. "Believe me, you'll be the first to know."

"Pretty sure that it should be me," Steve objects, trotting back over to the bed. Maria's mind goes blank as he leans down, brushing his lips against her forehead as his fingers trail ever so softly along the side of her face. "Thanks, Maria. I'll see you later." Then, with a salute to Sharon, he's gone.

She just barely resists the urge to touch her forehead. When she chances a glance at Sharon, the other woman is biting down on her lip, her eyes shining like some kind of absurd anime character. "Not a word," she grunts, levering herself up.

"You don't even know what I'm going to say!"

"I can guess." The bathroom door shuts firmly behind her.

No one delivers Steve a plate of muffins this morning, so she probably owes Sharon one.

They take the win against Canada, and then Finland, taking the number one spot in their group. They play the winner of the Sweden/Finland matchup in the semi-finals and Maria can't help but be relieved that Canada will be the one to face Russia in the semi-finals.

The team bands closer and closer with each passing day and every win. Sharon in particular is a treasure, every inch Coach Carter's niece and yet her own person to the core. She's wry and levelheaded, and hasn't once complained about not having any ice time. In fact, when she's on the bench she's usually taking notes.

America is the youngest member of the team, the only one still in the NCAA. She's a Shattuck alum like Maria, currently plays for Harvard, and is deciding whether or not she wants to put her name forward in the draft or wait until she's graduated to try for the NWHL. "A few NHL teams have made inquiries," she tells Maria over breakfast. "It's tempting, especially when I see how well you and Laurel and Selina have done. But I've never played with the guys, never really thought about it, actually." She shrugs.

"You don't have to make a decision now. Take your time and decide what's best for you." Maria knows that she would love to see America playing NHL hockey – she's the same kind of power forward that Steve is – but also knows that it might not be to her liking. "And even if you miss the draft, you could always sign as a free agent. Keep talking to people and find out everything you can. But only you can make that decision."

America nods, spooning up the last of her smoothie bowl. "Yeah, I get that. Thanks, Hills. You've been a big help." She grins. "I can't believe I thought you were scary."

"I've been told I'm pretty intense," is the wry response. "I'm glad that didn't stop you, though."

"Same." Her smile gets even bigger and her gaze slides past Maria. "Jess, on the other hand…"

"I'm a delight, rookie," Jessica snarls, mostly into her peanut butter banana toast.

Trish rolls her eyes. "Sure you are, hon. Now finish your breakfast."

Maria smiles to herself, looking up and down the table and thinking about how badly she wants to win gold with these women. It's a somewhat daunting prospect, as it's all but certain that they'll face Canada in the end, but they've already beat them once. They can do it again.

The guys join their table in a noisy clatter, fresh off their final group stage game the previous night, a decisive 5-3 win over Russia. America wiggles her eyebrows and pointedly makes room between them for Steve, who settles into the space with a warm smile. Maria smiles back.

He hasn't slept in her room since the night of their Russia game, their schedules ramping up and becoming a bit too hectic to do much more than something like this, sitting beside each other in the cafeteria. Her team has been able to watch them play, of course, and she's fascinated by the way he anchors Barry Allen's speed and provides direction for Dick Grayson's skill. It's strange to see Clark centering Bucky and Sam, but she admits the combinations are effective because the men have only suffered one loss in the group stage, to Canada.

She won't say that she misses him, exactly. Well. Maybe a little bit. Slowly, stealthily, she hooks her ankle around his, nonchalantly continuing to eat her oatmeal.

"Unfair," he says under his breath.

Maria just laughs. "So, we're both facing either Sweden or Finland in the semis. Who are you banking on?"

"Finland's women have been stronger overall, but I wouldn't be surprised to see a major push from the men. The drive to medal at home is pretty strong-"

Sam throws a piece of Weetabix at his head. "Aw, come on guys, it is way too early to be talking hockey. Change of subject, please."

"Yes, let's talk about your very obvious crush on Sweden's goalie, what's her name, Brunnhilde? How predictable can you be Wilson?" Bucky chirps.

"What do you mean, predictable?" he squawks.

She allows her head to drop to Steve's shoulder briefly, because everyone knows Sam has a massive weakness for goalies. When she raises her head they roll their eyes in mutual agreement and turn back to their breakfasts, letting everything descend into chaos around them.

Her team takes Finland, catapulting them into the gold medal game against Canada. This relegates Russia to the bronze medal game, and Maria's not surprised to come back to her room that night to find Nat curled up in her bed. She's buried beneath the covers, with only a hint of red peeking from above the blanket.

"Hey Nat." She settles at the foot of the bed.

"Can I stay here for a little while?"

"Of course. Stay as long as you like." She grabs her phone and turns on a podcast, like they do when they're driving up to Tarrytown for practice, and settles in.

Bucky comes around about an hour later, knocking on the door and poking his head in. "Hey Maria. Is Nat here?"

Maria nods towards the lump on her bed and his face goes impossibly fond as he steps into the room. "Hey you," he whispers, kneeling down as Nat blinks at him. "Want to stay here with Maria? Or do you want to come back with me?"

She sighs. "I should probably head back. But you're welcome to walk me there." She emerges from her little nest, setting everything to rights before turning to Maria. "Thanks."

"Anytime."

"Do me a favor and beat them, okay?" she asks as she walks out the door, arm in arm with Bucky.

Maria laughs. "You got it."

This isn't the first time the women's team has faced Canada in such a high stakes game; it isn't even the tenth. But it's the Olympics, and they haven't beat Canada since Nagano. Add to that everything they've struggled with in the last few years and Maria knows that now is the time.

There's a buzz beneath her skin in the lead-up to the game. It's as though there's too much energy inside of her, all of it threatening to spill over at any moment. She doesn't mind. She's learned to use it, to push harder, skate faster, be better.

In the locker room, Izzy stands up and says something to each and every member of the team, bolstering them with her words and her unshakeable belief in each and every one of them.

Izzy turns to her last. "Maria. What can I say about you? You're our impossible one, the one who made it to the NHL. You've paved the way for so many and you don't even know. Your drive has pushed all of us, has pushed me, to be the very best players we can be."

Dammit, she can't cry, not now. Her knees are a little shaky she stands, grabbing Izzy in a hug. "As if we can let you sit down without telling you how we feel," she scolds. "You have been an incredible leader Izzy, not just for us but for every woman and girl currently playing hockey. You lead by example, with hard work, dedication, and such passion for the sport. So." She swallows, and smiles. "Lead on, Cap. We'll follow you."

Even Coach Carter is discretely wiping away tears as she steps into the center of the room. "Ladies, it has been an honor to be on this journey with you. You amaze me, both on and off the ice. For tonight's game, I really only have one thing to say to you: you know your own worth. You've proven it, over and over. But now it's time for you to go out there and show everyone exactly what you're made of."

The crowd is roaring when they skate out, a sea of blue and red, chants of "U-S-A! U-S-A!" blending with "CAN-A-DA! CAN-A-DA!"

Canada grabs the first goal within the first five minutes, with an absolutely insane play by Betsy Braddock behind the net, shooting from between her legs and catching Nelvana North right in front of the net before Monica can even try to nudge it out of Jean's way.

"It's all right, it's all right!" Izzy calls. "We'll regroup, keep making plays towards their net."

The team takes her advice to heart, shutting down Canada's offense for the rest of the period. They get a few solid looks, and one of Selina's feeds bounces right off the crossbar, much to their chagrin. That changes in the second period, when Laurel feeds in the puck from along the boards. America's turning as she receives the pass, and taps it in behind her with barely a look over her shoulder. The puck scuttles in, five-hole.

The bench erupts and the chant of "U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A!" swells.

"All right, all right!" Maria yells as her line jumps over the boards. "Let's get that lead now, no backing down!"

This time, Canada's the one to regroup and hold them scoreless for the rest of the period. The third period plays out like one long war of attrition, with neither side able to gain much traction. Play moves from one side of the ice to the other and back again, and again. It's frustrating. It's grueling. The last thing she wants is for this game to go into overtime, but with each passing second that's what it looks like.

Until Akela dives in front of a shot that Jean's just seconds too slow to catch, and Canada doesn't manage to get the rebound for a second attempt. Akela goes down, barely managing to flick the puck up to Maria.

Time slows.

There are about ten seconds left on the clock as she streaks up the ice. The crowd is deafening, but through the haze all she can hear is her teammates screaming for her to make the shot. That's what everyone's expecting, and up ahead she can see Beryl Hutchinson coming out to meet her, leaving her open on the left.

Maria fakes the shot and passes the puck across the ice, trusting every instinct she has that Izzy will be there, that Izzy will have a wide open net-

Izzy makes the shot and the buzzer follows.

The next few moments are hazy. Maria's incoherent as she skates into Izzy, shouting something along the lines of, "You did it!" while Izzy screams back, "That was all you, baby!" Then Jessica's on them, and Akela and Monica ("Hills you fucking beauty, what a goddamn play!"), and they are barely able to hold it together, not even attempting to make their way back.

Her team piles onto the ice, gloves and helmets and sticks flying everywhere as they all scream and cry and hug at center ice. It's like winning the Stanley Cup all over again, amplified a million times. It's all dizzying sensation after dizzying sensation, bright lights and the roar of the crowd and the press of her teammates' bodies. Coach was right: they had to show the world what they were made of, and they did.

It's difficult facing Coach May in the handshake line, just like it's been difficult to look over at the opposing bench to see her directing other players. She can't help but feel a slight twinge, but all Coach May does is smile wryly and pull her into a hug. "What a play, Maria. I wouldn't have expected anything less from you."

"Thanks, Coach."

The weight of the gold medal around her neck is everything and more, and she sings the national anthem at the top of her lungs as the flags rise to the ceiling, the stars and stripes flying above them all.

They've done what they set out to do, and it feels so damn good.

"Time to party!" Jessica crows, throwing her hands in the air.

The rapping at the door is like thunder in her head. Maria fumbles for her pillow, dragging it over her ears. "Why?" she whines.

"Are you two decent?" Sharon doesn't sound much better than she feels, and Maria manages to peel her eyes open to see her swaying in the doorway in front of…Steve. Well, that's not exactly unexpected, but still. "Oh good, you're not in the shower yet. Dibs." She's not entirely steady as she walks in, bouncing off the wall and into the corner of Maria's bed.

"Steady now, rookie," Steve chuckles, taking her shoulders and gently steering her towards the bathroom. "You sure you can manage?"

Sharon flaps a hand at him and disappears inside.

Maria closes her eyes again because the sun feels like it's jabbing needles right into her eyeballs. So she feels, rather than sees, Steve settle beside her, his hand warm on her side. "Come on, Maria. You guys have press soon."

"Don't want to." She feels as though she's been hit from head to toe with those curling brooms and there's a dry, sour taste in her mouth. She hadn't even felt this bad after the Stanley Cup celebrations.

He just laughs, but it's not unkind. "Come on, sit up. I have water and ibuprofen for you, but you shouldn't take the meds until you've eaten."

The mere idea of food makes her stomach rebel, but she struggles upwards anyway because she can do water. Steve's hands are gentle as he helps her up, tucking the pillow behind her back to support her and brushing her hair back from her face.

Most of last night is a blur in her head. She definitely remembers Izzy shoving her into Steve at the end of the night and a lot of raucous cheers, but after that, nothing. "Did I proposition you?" She's still wearing her shirt from last night, but her pants are decidedly missing.

His lips twitch. "You tried, but then you kind of fell asleep in the middle of it. You also tried to kill me when I woke you up to make you drink more water."

"I guess I should apologize for the lack of finesse, then."

"So long as you're not apologizing for actually propositioning me." The look in his eyes is so intense, it makes breathing somewhat difficult.

"Hardly."

Sharon pokes her head out of the bathroom. "Okay, I hate to ruin the moment because you two are absolutely #relationshipgoals, but Steve, you need to leave because I can't leave the bathroom until you do." She nods towards Maria. "And that one needs to shower too, we have to be down at the practice facility in like twenty minutes."

"I take it back, you're no longer my favorite," Maria mutters as Steve leans away, chuckling under his breath.

"Lies. I'm giving you guys thirty seconds."

Her scowl quickly fades as Steve leans over to press a kiss to her cheek. "We'll revisit this conversation later," he promises, solemn. "Congratulations again."

This time, he exits to no fanfare, but that's probably because everyone in this hallway is too hung over to do anything about it. Maria levers herself up and stumbles over to the bathroom, hissing because her limbs do not want to cooperate. "Out, you troublemaker."

Sharon breezes out. "Hurry up, okay? You and I are in dire need of concealer."

Somehow they all make it down. Akela and Izzy are sporting sunglasses, Jean's so pale that her hair looks positively fiery in comparison, and Jessica is probably still drunk. "Let's try not to embarrass ourselves, okay guys?" Izzy asks. Despite the sunglasses, she's absolutely beaming and Maria gets it. It's her fourth Olympics, her last Olympics, and she finally has gold. Nothing can take that away from her.

Christine's media training kicks in the moment the microphones are shoved in her face. Hangover or not, it's easy to be effusive in her praise for her teammates and she's more than happy to relive the moments that led up to Izzy's overtime goal.

"Your team made quite the statement last year by telling USA Hockey that you would boycott Worlds and the Olympics if necessary. Now you've won both. Is this a statement?"

"All we wanted was to receive the same treatment as the men, regardless of the results. Were there expectations for us coming into the Olympics because of that? Of course. But winning and developing women's hockey has always been our goal, regardless of the outcome."

"But you did win."

Her smile is victorious. "Yes, we did."

After that, there's really nothing left to do. The men's gold medal game against Canada is tomorrow, and the closing ceremonies two days after that. Izzy is informed that she's been selected to carry the flag in, which causes her to burst into tears and the rest of them to fall in around her.

"The captainship is yours after this, you know," Izzy tells her later, as they're walking back to the Village.

Maria nods because she's expecting it, even though it would be her first captainship since World Juniors. "If I'm even half the captain you are, I'll be happy."

"Somehow, I think you'll do pretty well."

"Maria!" Sarah Rogers runs up to her, with Steve following at a more sedate pace. She plows right through the crowd of teammates and, beaming, takes Maria's face in her hands.

"Oh, hi Sarah-"

Sarah kisses her forehead and all her words stick in her throat. "You were glorious yesterday, a leanbh. I am so very proud of you." That fierce pride that she recognizes so well when Sarah aims it as Steve is now focused her way.

For a moment, tears prick at her eyes and Maria realizes how very different this feeling is when it comes from someone like Sarah. It's not like what she gets from Coach May or Coach Carter, who had hugged her within an inch of her life last night. This is what it's like to have a parent, to be the center of love that's given unconditionally and without reserve.

She doesn't fight it this time. Doesn't run from it. Instead, she wraps her arms around Sarah and buries her face in her shoulder. "Thank you," she mumbles, the words muffled by her jacket.

"Oh, a stór." Sarah hugs her back. They're both a little teary-eyed when they draw back, and Steve's staring at them both like they're the best thing he's ever seen. He wordlessly hands Maria a handkerchief while Sarah blows her nose. "Well, now that we have that out of the way. Do you have other obligations? We'd love you to join us for lunch."

Maria smiles. "That sounds wonderful."

The atmosphere in the Village rec center is genial, chaotic, and raucous. It's a mixed bag of athletes, many of them joyously sporting their medals because it's so close to the closing ceremonies. Her teammates are spread all over, singing karaoke, playing Ping-Pong, dancing, and of course getting delightfully drunk.

The noise floats out the door towards where Maria's standing outside, her breath creating clouds in the air as she looks up into the sky. So much has happened over the span of mere days; it's almost difficult to make sense of them in her head.

The warm weight of another jacket settles over her shoulders, startling her out of her thoughts. "Sorry," Steve apologizes, smiling ruefully. "You looked cold."

Her fingers curl into the thick navy blue fleece, betraying her before she even has a chance to refute the statement. "Thanks." Maria nods towards the door. "Avoiding the bobsledders?"

Even in the dark she can see the way he flushes red. "That wasn't it at all. We were discussing Eurovision."

"Sure about that?"

Steve shakes his head. The blush still clings to his cheeks in a rather endearing way. "It really isn't my scene."

"Not mine, either." Though the proposal from the Danish ice dancing couple had been flattering, to say the least. And the Dutch speed-skater. She hadn't expected those at all. It's nice to be around everyone having so much fun, but after last night she's a little partied out. The quiet out here is just what she needs, and she boosts herself up onto a picnic table, her feet swinging in the air.

"No shenanigans, then?" It's a joke, of course, because besides their teams, they've spent their time here together. He knows it. She knows it.

So what are they going to do about it?

"I didn't say that." Maria nudges his arm with her knee as she says it, curious to see his reaction.

Steve turns to face her, eyes dark beneath the faint glow of the porch lights. His expression is wary and just short of incredulous. "I don't want to be your Olympic shenanigan, Maria." But his hand comes up anyway to curve around the base of her neck. There's no pressure in the weight of his hand. He just waits, as he always does, for her to make the first move.

Maria admits she's been waiting for Steve to grow tired of all this dancing around and to seek someone else out. Someone less harsh, less guarded, someone with fewer jagged edges. And yet he's remained, as steadfast as a compass pointing north. Even here, where there's no shortage of eager partners. If anything, they've grown closer through all the time spent simply supporting each other through this entire crazy process.

That's the plain and simple truth – they've grown into partners, both on and off the ice. Steve challenges her. He pushes her. He shows her all the possibilities and dares her to make them a reality. He's change and chaos and maybe they will burn and fizzle out and maybe she's been afraid of what that means but no longer. She can choose this, choose him and not be afraid of what it means because they're in this together.

"I didn't say that, either." She tips her head back; her intentions clear in the way she presses back against his hand.

It is then and only then that Steve moves, coming to stand between her legs. Even seated on the table as she is, he looms over her, but she feels anything but trapped. His other hand lands on her waist inside his jacket and again he waits because there's always been a line between them, a line they've never crossed.

He didn't cross that line last night, even though she's fairly certain she all but threw herself at him. "We both know that everything that's happened so far is not because of the Olympics."

"Not even last night?"

Her arms come up, looping around his waist. He's so very solid beneath her fingers, and she itches to explore. "Let's get this straight, Rogers. Gold medal or not, drunk or not, the way I feel about you is entirely real."

His eyes flash, bright, burning blue. "Yeah?"

Maria rolls her eyes, clinging to that last vestige of nonchalance because admitting it out loud is one hell of a leap. "I may also be tired of everyone assuming that I'm getting well and truly laid when I'm not. That should probably be remedied."

"Maria." He's so close that her name ghosts over her lips in a rush of air and of course Steve would want her to say it before taking that final step.

"Everything we've had here has been…" Revelation isn't the right word, because nothing about it has come up and clubbed her over the head. It's been more like wrapping one's self up in a favorite blanket, familiar and welcoming and so easy. "Easy. Natural. And I don't want it to end here, I want it to come back with us to New York. I want us. I want you."

She barely even has time to finish the sentence before his lips crash down to hers. There's no hesitance to the way he moves, one hand still cupping the back of her neck and tilting her face up to his. The hand at her waist migrates to her hair, fingers twisting through the strands. It's as though he's filling all the empty space within her, around her, until there's nothing but him.

Her fingers dive beneath his shirt as she nips at his lower lip, seeking the warmth and strength of him. That's all hers now, she realizes. It always has been. Steve shudders when her hands make contact with his skin. "You're a menace, a rúnsearc."

The endearment is warmth. It's all the times he's brought her coffee from the break room and talked through plays with her long after everyone's left. It's every moment they've spent here, so very solid and so very together.

"Get me back to my room and I'll show you menace."

Steve's answering smile is a bright flash in the dark, sharp and just this side of dangerous. "Better tell Sharon not to come back, then." He steps back, offering his hand to help her down from the table and doesn't let go the entire walk back to the dorms.

She wastes no time when they get inside her room, pressing Steve against the door and stepping up on her toes to kiss him, long and slow and filthy, her hands skimming up, then down his chest.

"So." Steve bites back a groan as she switches to pressing kisses up the line of his throat. "You've had eleven points throughout the games."

"Uh-huh, and?" His words register and she rocks back a bit to catch his eye, raising an eyebrow. "Are you saying you want to get me off eleven times tonight? That's kind of ambitious, don't you think?"

He shrugs and pulls her jacket off, tossing it onto the dresser. His jacket follows, and his hands steal under her shirt in an echo of what she did earlier. "We have all night."

She arches into his touch, into those big, hockey-calloused hands. "So, Mr. Eight Points, does that mean you expect eight orgasms in return?"

"My refractory period is good, but not that good." With that he flips their positions, slipping her shirt over her head as his hands explore every inch of newly exposed skin. He ducks down, nips lightly at her collarbone before continuing down, hands cupping her breasts over her bra before sliding back to undo the clasps.

"I don't know, I'm sure we could try." Her breath hitches as he sucks a nipple into mouth, flicking the peak with his tongue. Sparks shoot up her spine, her back bowing even more at the sensation.

"Try what?" And she can actually feel his smile against her skin, the bastard.

Maria's head falls back against the door with a soft thud. "Steve. If you have eleven orgasms to get me to, don't you think you'd better get started?"

He hums against her and makes quick work of her pants and underwear, so it's a good start. His hair tickles the thin skin of her inner thighs as he hoists one leg over his shoulder. "Impatient, are we?" The teasing tone is at odds with how he looks at her, all challenge and hunger and possession.

"You're the one making promises here-!" One of her hands comes up to brace against the doorframe, breathing deeply at the first touch of his tongue. It feels good, and it's clear that he only intends to use his mouth to bring her off this first time, alternating long, slow laps of his tongue against her clit before fucking into her. Her hips move in slow circles, grinding down onto his face. The door is cool against her back, something she's infinitely grateful for as that first orgasm washes over her in one long wave.

"Steve," she murmurs, reaching down with her other hand to comb her fingers through his hair. His eyes flick up to hers, all mischief, and then there's one, two fingers sliding inside her. Her hips buck and he moves quickly, pinning her down with his other hand.

"Steady."

Her knees are turning to water and it's all his fault Maria thinks a little blearily, her mind going white with pleasure as his tongue works in tiny circles around her clit, his fingers moving to the same rhythm as they slide and press where she's tight and slick. "Steve," she says again. "Come on, what the hell are you waiting for?"

"Maybe I'm enjoying this." Steve stretches up a little, nips at her hipbone. "You look good, you taste good, and you feel even better."

Well, what can she say to that?

He adds a third finger and the stretch is exactly what she needs, her back bowing away from the door as she comes again, sharper and more intense than the first. The power of it thrums beneath her skin and it's every bit as good as the adrenaline high she gets from a win.

No wonder athletes like sex.

"That's two." He's a little smug, saying that as he presses a line of kisses to the thigh that's still slung over his shoulder. The look he sends her from beneath his lashes is entirely unfair, but he's definitely affected too, she thinks, taking in the brightness of his eyes and the rosy flush of his cheeks. Yeah, he definitely enjoyed getting her off like that.

"Seems like we should probably get you caught up then, huh?" She lowers her leg and uses the fingers still threaded through his hair to tug him up slightly, more than just a suggestion. "You're overdressed."

Steve just smirks and reaches back to tug his shirt over his head and she's completely unabashed in the way she lets her eyes track the ripple of muscles. It's nothing she hasn't seen in the locker room before, but this time she can actually enjoy it, allowing her eyes linger. And when his fingers dip into the hem of his pants to pull them down, she can't resist stepping forward to get her hands on that ass. It feels every bit as good as it looks.

"Enjoying yourself?" His wry tone is at odds with the way his cock presses against her belly, hot and hard and ready to go.

"Immensely. Now get me to bed."

He lifts her easily despite the fact that she's, well, a professional hockey player. It's pretty damn hot. But he's gentle as he lays her down, something in his eyes making her heart slam against her ribs. "You don't know what it's been like, staying with you the last few nights," he confesses. "Holding you, falling asleep with you, waking up with you in my arms. It was…"

"Easy," she finishes, remembering what she said earlier. "The easiest thing in the world. Feeling's mutual, Steve, I just…needed some time to come around."

His smile is soft and sweet as he bends down to brush his lips against hers. "I'm glad you did."

"Me too." She drags him down for a proper kiss, sliding her tongue into his mouth and grinding her hips against his until they're both gasping. Her hand flies out to the bedside table, fumbling around until she can open the drawer that is full of condoms, something that amused her to no end when she discovered it last week. Now she's grateful, tearing one open and reaching between them so that she can roll it down over his cock in one smooth stroke.

It's a little surprising when he sits back on his heels, offering his hand to her, but yeah, she definitely likes the idea of sitting in his lap and riding him to oblivion. There's already a light sheen of sweat on his shoulders and she can't help but duck down, lapping up the slight tang of salt as her hands map his abs.

"Dammit, Maria." His fingertips press into her hips as he positions her over his cock and she can't help but wonder at the marks he'll leave on her skin. She doesn't mind at all – hell, she's a hockey player. Bruises are a badge of pride.

She sinks down on him, long and slow until he's bottomed out and she's can hardly breathe with how full she feels. His muscles are locked tight, she can feel it beneath her hands, against her body. "Come on," she murmurs, the challenge clear.

Steve curses under his breath. The pace is steady, deep, hard strokes that fill her in the best possible way, driving the breath from her lungs and sparking that fire beneath her skin once more. Her hands slide around his back, her nails digging into his skin with every upward thrust. She tilts her chin to kiss him, though at this point it's less a kiss and more of an exchange of air and sound, her soft gasps a counterpoint to his sharp grunts.

Her third orgasm takes her entirely by surprise, lighting up everything inside of her. His pace falters as she clenches around him but he doesn't stop, the constant movement just prolonging the pleasure as it ripples through her.

"I-" His voice breaks a little. "Maria, I have-"

"Come on." Her nails score a line down his back and he shivers against her. "You've got it."

She's on her back before she can even finish the sentence, his forearms braced on either side of her head as his hips snap into her, a little rough now that he's seeking his own release. Her hands trail all the way down to cup his ass, urging him into her.

When he finally does come, it's with a muffled shout and a shudder, his breath hot against her neck. His arms go limp and suddenly she's smothered by more than 200 pounds of sweaty hockey player.

Not a bad way to end things, she thinks with a smirk, hiding her smile in his shoulder and running her fingers through his hair. She's going to need him to move soon, but for now she likes this.

"Three down, eight to go," Steve murmurs, sounding absolutely wrecked, in the best possible sense.

Maria snorts. "Slow down, cowboy. I thought you said we had all night."

The grin he sends her is positively goofy. "So we do. Just in case we're keeping score."

"I think you're the only one doing that. Now come on, let's shower." But maybe she'll blow him there, just to even things out a little.

She should probably make sure he gets that plate of muffins for breakfast, too. Tradition is tradition, after all.

"Ready?"

Maria turns and touches one finger to Steve's medal – bright, gleaming gold, to match hers. The men's gold medal game is a red, white, and blue haze in her memory. She'd screamed herself hoarse and spent most of it on her feet until overtime, when a power play goal from Clark to Steve won them the game.

They're in the stadium tunnels once more, but this time there are no lines, just one large mass of exhilarated athletes. "If you mean to go out there, yes. If you're implying other things about the future, then…" She reaches down to twine her fingers with his. "The answer is also yes."

His smile shakes her to her toes. When he leans down to press his lips to hers she can't help but respond. He inhales sharply, like he still can't believe he gets to have this, and his arms tighten round her. "I'm glad."

"You two are going to be so gross now, aren't you?" Bucky's grinning at them, his arm slung around Nat's shoulders. "Those heart eyes are even worse now, Stevie, how is that even possible?"

"Shut it, Buck."

"You know what I want to know? Who actually won the pool." Clint's texting away on his phone, no doubt asking Darcy.

Maria glances up, ignoring Steve's gentle huff of laughter, muffled by her hair. "That money better go to charity."

Nat scoffs, her fingers trailing along the edge of her bronze medal. "What are we, amateurs?"

Wade bounces into the group, resplendent in red and maple leaves. "I'll tell you what we are – we're OLYMPIANS, BABY!"

That gets a round of cheers and well, he's not wrong.

Please review!

IT FINALLY HAPPENED, HALLELUJAH.

Thank you to tielan and Kavi Leighanna for pushing me to keep at this, I know you guys have been looking forward to it. Thanks to R and D for pinch-hitting the beta read even though you've never done it before - you guys were awesome!

Notes on translations:

A leanbh = "my child"

A stór = "my treasure"

A rúnsearc = "beloved" x 100000

As always, I'm available to scream MCU, hockey, and other things on my tumblr: somanyfandomssolittletime.