File TEB Short Nathalie Péchalat Fabian draktbutikk.info - Wikimedia Commons
The French ice-dancing team of Nathalie Péchalat and Fabian Bourzat said to emote, but steel is required: steel and an up-to-date passport. Nathalie Péchalat is a retired French ice dancer. With partner Fabian Bourzat, she is a two-time World bronze medalist, a two-time European champion, and a . Nathalie Péchalat is a 34 year old French Skater. Born on 22nd December, in Rouen, France, she is famous for With partner Fabian Bourzat, she is a.
At the age of ten, she switched to ice dancing after her coach, Anne Sophie Druet, suggested she was suited for the discipline and her son was looking for a partner. She broke her arm in and missed six weeks of skating during her three-month recovery.
He ended their partnership. He works through feeling and inspiration. As soon as he feels a move, he can reproduce it and interpret it. He does not need to intellectualize.
She brings her extraordinary capacity to work. She always wants to do everything perfectly. From tothey also worked with Pasquale Camerlengo.Nice 2012 ICE DANCE FD -18/21- Nathalie PECHALAT Fabian BOURZAT - 29/03/2012
They made their Worlds debut infinishing 20th, and their Europeans debut inplacing 12th. The duo competed at the Winter Olympicswhere they came in 18th.
They were forced to miss the French National Championships after Bourzat underwent knee surgery for a torn meniscus,  but returned to the ice in time for the Europeansfinishing 5th. They were 7th at the Worlds. They made some changes to their programs following their 3rd-place finish at Skate Canada,  and finished a close second at the NHK Trophy, winning both the original dance and the free dance. They did not qualify for the — Grand Prix Final.
At the Europeansthey were second in the free dance and fourth overall, missing out on a medal by less than half a point.
They finished 5th at Worlds. These results qualified them for their second Grand Prix Final. Prior to the final, Bourzat suffered an ankle injury, but they were able to skate well enough to earn their first GPF medal, a bronze. Kissing had never been the problem in their relationship.
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She withdrew and blinked at him for a long moment. Her expression was half-confused, half-resentful. Her necklace flashed in the dark. She mumbled something incomprehensible and slumped back onto the bed.
However, when — twenty or so minutes later — he reached over and flicked the OFF switch on her necklace, she snored a wine-sour breath into his ear. Fabian lay in the dark and considered his options.
File:European Nathalie PECHALAT Fabian draktbutikk.info - Wikimedia Commons
There would be no taxis on Christmas morning, so it would mean a walk in the snow to get there. And a cold and empty apartment made a dubious destination. No, better to stay here, at the very merry pink Christmas that Nathalie had created. His gaze drifted to Nathalie next to him. Their relationship had ended not in acrimony or tragedy, but in exasperation. Yet the sight of her asleep still made him wistful for days long past.
He pushed these errant thoughts away and went to sleep.
Ready for the rink. Ready for Igor yelling in his ear.
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He took them off and tossed them down onto the bed, where Nathalie still lay fast asleep. She was the very picture of Christmas drunkenness.
The smile seemed to aggravate his hangover and he winced. He dragged himself through to the bathroom. He considered throwing up, but he gripped the side of the sink and the nausea passed. He flipped on the shower and waited for the water to heat up. Her apartments were often bland, as she like he shuffled her life from city to city, continent to continent, leasing any place as long as it was close to the rink. The living room might remain blank, but in her bathroom, she never failed to leave a stamp.
The antique perfume bottles. The faded green shower curtain, decorated with woodcut-style portraits of birds. Plus, of course, there was the gilt frame that Nathalie had transferred from bathroom to bathroom ever since she was Being in that bathroom was an experience like having a laughter-filled conversation with Nathalie herself. Sending out feelers for assistant coaching positions.
Half a dozen cities and rinks — and none of them in France. By contrast, Fabian was not interviewing for jobs, not even informally. Oh, of course, he and Nathalie would see each other. If he was honest with himself, he was still struggling to come to terms with that fact.
In the shower, he groped around for shower gel. He squeezed into his hand translucent-pink gunk. It smelled like grapefruit and breakfast-in-bed and morning sunshine and jetlagged happiness.
It smelled like memories. The sun itself seemed faded; perhaps a little hungover. Among the useless paraphernalia that Nathalie had bought at the mall, Fabian discovered there were also some useful ingredients. The act of cooking aggravated his stomach, but it cleared his mind. He was just about to go and wake Nathalie when she appeared in the doorway. Silly string was still matted in her hair, which also stuck out crazily in every direction. Her tights were laddered.
Her eyeliner was smudged. Nathalie grabbed a grapefruit half and suckled on it like a savage. Or the other way around. Obediently, Nathalie disappeared into the bathroom, still nibbling on her grapefruit. When she emerged, ten minutes later, she looked of course like a vision of loveliness. Her towel-dried hair was curling at the ends. Her clear eyes looked brighter, somehow, without her usual make-up.
Tiredness emphasised her laughter lines. Fabian wanted to kiss her chapped lips. He turned away and poured a mug of hot chocolate for her instead.
The two of them ate ravenously. They ate all the food Fabian had prepared and then Nathalie began biting the heads off chocolate Santas, nausea apparently forgotten. After breakfast, they lounged on the sofa, which was still strewn with tinsel and other Christmas oddities.
Nathalie wore a dark green silk robe that rode up over her thighs and Fabian had to keep reminding himself that he saw her in skimpier outfits on a daily basis. Not drunken or sloppy or accidental. She made that little wounded animal noise at the back of her throat and shrugged a shoulder out of her robe. The silk stretched for a moment and then fell away, revealing an almost overwhelming expanse of creamy skin. Fabian scrambled to match her nakedness — t-shirt tangling over his head, belt buckle catching like teeth against his thighs — and what was unnerving was how natural it felt.
Their bodies understood each other. On and off the ice, their bodies fitted together. The blah blah blah. The stupid parties and date nights. Yet, if life was lived only in moments of eyes-shut, kiss-quick, just-keep-touching-me, then Fabian knew he was capable of devoting himself to Nathalie. The fading light added a clock to the moment — it was a reminder that everything about this was temporary.
Nathalie let out a little sigh in response. She rolled over, perhaps to get more comfortable, perhaps to put distance between them. She mumbled her reply against the pillow and he had to strain to hear it. Instead, she remained silent.