Hi!

So, I've been a TnD fan for going on 25 years, but somehow managed to miss the fact that RPF exists until about two years ago. It's sad, I know. So, my muse being the fickle witch that she is, decided she wanted me to play in this sandbox. So I did. I present to you: Seismic. It takes place during the 2012 tour through December, just before the 2013 series starts. Umm . . . that's all I can think to say, other than giving a huge, huge shout-out to MCSAngel2 and lawand_disorder, whose beta-reading skills have been invaluable and made this fic something special.

Oh! I am on both AO3 and tapatalk as well, both under the username xfphile, and this will be posted on those sites as well.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything or anyone, this is just for fun.

::holds breath::

Seismic

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Upheaval

December 13, 2012

The day Christopher Dean realized that his world had been turned sideways (or right-side up, depending on who you asked) was extraordinary only in its ordinariness.

In every sense of the word.

What made it interesting was the fact that the realization in question occurred nearly ten months after the aforementioned worldview had, in fact, shifted.

Even he had to appreciate the poetic irony of that.

He was finishing up a meeting with Robin Cousins, Jason Gardiner, Ashley Roberts, Karen Barber, and of course, Jayne Torvill, having finally worked through the first set of routines for the new series of Dancing on Ice.

And by 'worked through', he meant that Robin and Jason had hauled Karen off to a corner and informed her in words of one syllable (Jason was just a little pissed off) that if she didn't immediately stop arguing with every single thing Jayne said about . . . well, everything . . . they would bypass Chris and Jayne entirely and go straight to the execs — and when that failed to make an impression, they also saw fit to remind her that she was on shaky ground with at least two of them and a third was indifferent at best.

When she gasped in outrage and betrayal, Robin actually rolled his eyes and point-blank told her that he was sick of her attitude and had been for weeks (by strange coincidence, since they'd started prepping in earnest for the current series . . . which had been when Jayne announced her divorce and several months after Chris had broken up with her, even though the one had nothing to do with the other), which silenced her so quickly, Jason had to bite his lip to keep from laughing out loud.

Unfortunately, Robin was so aggravated that he forgot to lower his voice, which meant that the other three heard him. This resulted in Ashley (who had butted heads with Karen quite literally from their first meeting, though Karen hadn't started it) being hit with a massive coughing fit as a result of swallowing her laughter, Chris only just managing to smother his chuckle in Jayne's shoulder, and Jayne not bothering to hide her amusement at Karen's discomfiture; Robin's summation of things had been both thorough and accurate.

They recovered quickly, though, and watched with not even remotely-hidden interest as Jason gave her shocked expression a disdainful look and said, "Oh, knock it off, Karen. Of everyone in this room, Robin is the only person who is actually qualified to debate this with them, and he thinks it sounds great." He gave her a beat to process that before continuing. "Ashley thinks it'll work, and I'd agree with a Gregorian chant if it got us out of here. So shut it," he hissed, eyes dark with irritation.

"But—" she began to protest, only for Jason to fling his hands up, turn back to Chris and Jayne, and ask with genuine interest if The Great Torvill and Dean could perhaps be persuaded to find a new boyband; as good as Westlife was, there were other groups who could both look pretty and sing well.

His pathetic, hopeful look was comical and Chris gave it several seconds of thought before drawling, "Well, since you asked so nicely, Jason . . . no."

In a stunning display of maturity, Jason wrinkled his nose and stuck his tongue out at the man who was arguably the best male ice dancer in the world . . . prompting him to gasp and clutch at his heart, looking genuinely wounded by this.

"Oh, that's just pitiful," Ashley observed dryly, shaking her head in such genuinely fake sorrow, every person in the room watched in awe for a few seconds.

The moment was broken when Jayne could no longer contain her snort of amusement, which turned everyone's eyes to her, and — lips still twitching — she asked, "Well, who did you have in mind? Also, were you thinking an original Gregorian chant or something more modern, say . . . from the Enigma era?"

"Gah!"

His outraged squawk, coupled with a shudder and disgusted expression as her suggestion actually sank in, set them all off for a bit before they settled down and started talking. The ensuing discussion drew Robin's attention away from Karen, who was trying to resume her argument, and he quickly added his two cents — which was total agreement with Jason, to everyone's surprise — as he headed back to the table, leaving Karen staring after them, her mouth actually hanging open in astonishment at being so easily and brutally dismissed.

Part of Karen's issue — or, rather, people's issue with Karen — was that she thought she was both a better skater and a better coach than she was, which irritated everyone involved. And that wasn't to say that she was bad, not by a longshot, but . . . she wasn't Torvill. Or Dean.

Or even Robin Cousins, who was a singles' skater. But he was an Olympic gold-medal singles' skater.

Whereas Karen . . . she and Nicky had never advanced further than fourth at any major, worldwide competition, including both Olympics they'd qualified for. Well, except the one year they placed third at the Europeans — only to fall to fourth for the next two years. And . . . they did win gold once, at the British championships in 1985 — after Chris and Jayne went pro — only to achieve nothing else, instead limping along for a bit before throwing in the towel and retiring that same year.

In other words, not what anyone would describe as hugely successful.

So her insistence on behaving as though she was half of Torvill and Dean often proved detrimental to all parties. This was one of several reasons why her stint as head coach only lasted two (interminable, thank you, contracts) seasons.

But because of her somewhat . . . prickly . . . personality, no one was dumb enough to say anything to her face. Instead, it became something of an inside joke that doing the exact opposite of what Karen said was generally a good idea, at least when it was a suggestion unrelated to the established choreography. Chris and Jayne did try to discourage this, if only out of respect for Karen's position, but not all that hard, because the idea, unfortunately, wasn't completely wrong. Instead, they let it be known, subtly, that doing the exact opposite was a bit too far; a ninety-degree angle, to continue the metaphor, tended to have much better results.

Karen wasn't unaware of this perception of her, though she had no clue how deeply entrenched it had become, but she wasn't stupid and took the anvil-sized — and equally heavy — hint, returning to the table with a pout so pronounced, toddlers the world over suddenly had adequacy issues. She then proceeded to participate as little as possible, which sadly meant that work could finally get done, while making sure everyone knew she was Not Happy.

But that was simply how Karen was — and truthfully, when Jason was in a mood, her tantrums weren't on the same continent as his — so everyone mentally sighed and things progressed quickly.

That this only annoyed her more was an added bonus at this stage.

The sound of the door opening as the meeting was breaking up caught Chris' attention and he glanced up to see Nicholas du Lac, the dance and ballet teacher ITV had hired for them four years earlier, stick his head in and give him an inquisitive look. Chris nodded and got a grin as the young man edged into the room.

As Chris watched him make his way down the wall, duffle bag bouncing against his thigh, he couldn't help but scoff a little in amusement. He and Nick were good friends and he and Jayne had benefited immeasurably from his expertise in dance, but the man was a walking cliché: genuinely nice and personable, standing right at six feet tall, with the lean frame and defined muscles of a dancer . . . and the face of a fallen angel. Thick black hair, brilliant blue eyes, and facial features so striking, virtually every woman in the building (and more than a few men) sighed when he walked by, while Jason drooled — literally, handkerchief and all, to the studio's collective amusement — each time he saw Nick.

Nick, who was Jayne Torvill's ex-boyfriend as of about a month ago.

Chris wished he could say he'd been surprised when she ended things with Phil, but that chain of events had been well and truly set in motion the day after that thrice-damned routine had gone so wrong, though the foundation had been crumbling for some time before that.

This did not surprise him either, though she had been reluctant to admit it, even to her partner.

And if Chris were being honest with himself, she had waited entirely too long to get rid of that sorry bastard, though he hadn't known the true extent of how bad things were until nearly seven months prior. He had known for years (and despised, because there wasn't a damn thing he could say, much less do, about it) that Phil had never really understood Jayne and he sure as hell had never respected her, which had naturally grown more pronounced over time — though again, Chris hadn't understood just how deep that ran.

But being outside their relationship — and knowing Jayne down to the core of her being — Chris had realized not long after the wedding that Phil had married an illusion. That had been bad enough, but then he kept desperately trying to force it into reality in the face of not just common sense but also rationality (given how things were with Isabelle, you'd think Chris would have caught on sooner to his own situation; such is the nature of irony). Phil had honestly expected Jayne to stop skating, to leave it and Chris once they got married, and become Mrs Phil Christensen, turning into a housewife and mother while Phil established his career and became 'the head of the house', the breadwinner, the Man in Charge. And yes, Jayne had always made a point about them being above such pedantic gender roles, but an appalled Chris had watched it happen.

And couldn't say a word, because Jill had expected much the same.

Looking back, he had to wonder how much collusion had gone on between his ex-wife and Jayne's ex-husband after Lillehammer. And if he was right, he had to reluctantly admire their efforts as well. Neither he nor Jayne had ever given retirement more than the occasional passing thought . . . and then suddenly Jill turned up pregnant. After four years, and at the tail-end of the massive success of Ice Adventures — which had resulted in the pair deciding to turn it into an annual production. But then, shock! The unplanned, unexpected child!Oh, and despite living abroad for nearly a decade, both with the Face the Music tour and then with Chris, not to mention traveling as a professional for quite some time before that, she wanted to move back to Colorado, even though his entire life was in England.

Literally.

When Chris tentatively suggested that they spend half the year in England and the other half in the States, he was gently but somewhat derisively laughed at for entertaining such a ridiculous idea. Who did that?

And Jayne? Well, yes, she had considered moving to America with them, but in an odd turn of events, not a single place Phil was willing to look at was within reasonable traveling distance of Colorado, much less in Colorado. He also knew from what she didn't say that Phil hadn't argued too much when she decided that she wanted to stay close to her parents.

And since they had been shockingly naïve, even then, about how love could be used to manipulate people, they went along with it, because it seemed like the logical thing to do, and they loved their spouses and wanted them to be happy.

So they suffered for the next eight years, because it wasn't just each other they'd been amputated from. They had also lost skating.

In retrospect, it was so very telling that neither Phil nor Jill suggested that they un-retire, or at least shift to a 'half' retirement, as it were. That possibility was never so much as mentioned despite the up close and personal view they both had about how miserable the pair was, and it never occurred to Chris or Jayne because what experience did they have? Their entire life together had been skating — competitively and at the highest levels at that — and the very nature of both their personalities and their bond meant that the only way they knew how to skate together was 'all or nothing'. A partial timeshare (so to speak) simply wasn't an idea either of them had any reason to think of.

And those rare occasions they did get to see each other were almost completely devoid of an ice rink . . . something that, in hindsight, was also strange. The best ice dance couple the world would ever see never skated together even for fun?

But beyond that, it also spoke volumes that neither Jayne nor Chris thought once about finding another skating partner. Not even when Chris was suffering through a year of depression and Jayne turned into an insomniac because she actually could not sleep for missing him. Missing them.

And yes, they'd skated together for nearly a quarter-century, so losing that closeness was understandably traumatic, but ice dancing was what they did. It was who they were, so finding someone else to skate with because the other person was no longer an option shouldn't have been out of the realm of possibility. Not if it meant they got to be themselves again.

And so it wouldn't have been — for anyone else.

But not for Jayne and Chris. If they didn't skate with each other, then they didn't skate. The very thought was inconceivable.

So yes, looking back, Chris was reasonably sure it had been a joint effort on Jill and Phil's part to keep him and Jayne separated. And with the knowledge he had gained over the last few months, he was also reasonably sure he knew exactly why they had gone to so much effort.

Especially when one factored in the unpleasant truth that Phil (and Jill, though she hadn't been anywhere near as delusional, bitter resentment notwithstanding) had been jealous and suspicious of Chris the entire time he'd been with Jayne and, well . . . yeah, not even a little shocking. Having said that, Chris had no idea how deep and pervasive it had become until the day Jayne had served her husband with divorce papers. Although the fact that Phil had been forced to start answering to 'Chris' when he and Jayne were seen together should have been a giant clue.

So no, he wasn't remotely surprised that Phil had chosen to use Chris' relationship . . . partnership . . . friendship . . . hell, his entire life with Jayne as his excuse for trying to force her to make an impossible choice while simultaneously and openly accusing her of not just a one-night stand, but having an affair with Chris for the entire length of her relationship with Phil.

To his own sorrow, this also didn't surprise Chris at all by the time he found out. Enraged him? Yeah, just a touch. The mere thought of someone insulting Jayne like that was enough to incense him, and the fact that it was the man who had promised to love and cherish her until death did them part?

Jayne had been forced to physically sit on her partner to stop him from raging out of his flat to kill her husband.

But she'd had to think about it first, because the temptation to let him was almost overwhelming.

Especially because her . . . discussion . . . with Phil the evening she'd finally learned the full truth of That Night had resulted in her realizing that she wanted a separation. Not surprisingly, Phil hadn't taken it well and though Jayne hadn't backed down, this had, among other things, also resulted in the unfortunate but very deliberate effect of making her draw back from Chris until she'd finally gotten completely away from her ex-husband.

It hadn't changed things in terms of being able to see each other in person, but their daily conversations had, by necessity, become a lot less personal and weekly instead of every day. It had sucked, to be sure, and it had been unbelievably difficult, but Chris understood: given Phil's irrational jealousy of him and his closeness to Jayne, there was simply no way he could be her main source of support while her marriage finished disintegrating. Not without causing her untold grief and unnecessary pain (which, in the end, turned out to be the complete opposite of what would have happened, but there was no way on earth anybody could have known that).

But that left Jayne unbalanced and without the rock she'd depended on for thirty years.

Robin and Jason, though they were both good friends, weren't around once the series ended, Nicky wasn't around at all now, and Karen . . . well, that would have just been awkward, even if she and Chris had still been together.

Nicholas du Lac had no such issues, which had prompted Chris to ask him to keep an eye on her. He had been there when Phil finally showed his true nature, so he had a decent grasp of the situation. Also, his family was in London, which meant he could be close when she needed or wanted him, and he had the same Teflon personality that Jayne did: insults, threats, and taunts slid off him like water, so long as they were about him, which drove Phil up the wall — but then the fool was stupid enough to insult Jayne in front of him and he proved with more than a little glee that he would — and did, once — punch him if he went too far. This didn't impress Phil overmuch, but when he narrowly avoided getting decked a second time, he stayed civil if Nick was there.

He gritted his teeth until his mouth hurt, but he stayed civil, because Nick was there a lot.

He was a good listener, which Jayne desperately needed, though he was rather useless with advice, having never been married. And since he didn't know her as intimately as Chris did (nor was he her other half), he was able to provide an outside perspective that her partner could not, because Chris took her side without question, regardless of whether she was right, wrong, or had no opinion on the matter. So it followed that Jayne and Nick got very close during the strange turn her divorce proceedings took, something she shared with great bemusement with her partner. She didn't know or trust him the way she did Chris . . . but he never asked her to. He gladly took what she gave him, and in return, gave her only what she asked for.

Therefore, it didn't surprise Chris in the slightest that they started dating not long after her divorce was finalized, and he'd genuinely hoped they would last.

He had.

Really.

When they'd ended things, he'd been more upset than she had (other than that infinitesimal twinge of relief); not only had they been a beautiful and well-matched couple, but Nick was the only person either of them knew, romantically, who was completely fine with her relationship with Chris.

Hell, he encouraged the pair of them to 'do their thing'. As he had rather irritably told their resident 'gossip' celebrity after about five too many unsubtle insinuations, he and Jayne were together because they wanted to be together. If she wanted to be with another man, then she wouldn't have chosen Nick. The end. No cheating, no 'unrequited love', no jealousy. He trusted Jayne to know her own mind and, having been a competitive ballroom dancer, he also understood how close a true partnership could be.

But he also trusted Chris to honor Jayne's choice and not interfere just because he could. Nick said not a word about Chris and Jayne's weekly Monday dinner, and Chris made sure no one held her up on Tuesday after the day officially ended. Anything else was fair game, but they'd made it work. The first time the two of them lost track of time choreographing and skating their own routine, Nick had laughed and asked them to record it next time because he thought the raw footage was even more compelling than a live performance. If Chris and Jayne had plans when Nick tried to set up a date, he would refuse to let her cancel; he'd just shrug and throw out a different day, and vice versa. Plans did get cancelled, postponed, and rearranged, of course, because that was life, but Jayne never had to choose, and neither did Chris (and if, a few times, she had ended up on a — well, basically a date — with two gorgeous men who adored her . . . she certainly hadn't minded).

And not once, by word or deed, did Nick ever indicate that he was jealous, envious, or suspicious of Chris or the close partnership the two shared. In point of fact, the few times the subject had come up in his hearing, he had taken great joy in crushing the moron running his mouth.

THAT was something that neither of them had experienced from a romantic partner before (and very few friends, to be honest). The sheer lack of tension was overwhelming in its absence, and Chris and Jayne tried very, very hard not to take advantage of it.

It was a little nauseating at times, how nice Nick was, but any resentment Chris had held over that evaporated the night he'd finally seen actual anger from the man — and a surprising degree of aggressiveness. Chris had, completely by chance, caught sight of him pinning David Seaman, who was at least three inches taller, against the wall with one arm across his throat and a knee on his groin, informing him in a very pleasant voice that if he wanted to keep his dick on his person, much less in working order, he would never again say a single word to or about Jayne — or any other woman on the show — that was anything less than respectful, polite, and mannerly.

It. Had. Worked.

And not just on Seaman; Chris hadn't been the only one to see their little tête-à-tête, so word had spread, and after the former footballer's attitude had indeed undergone a massive change, the other men who had been following in his footsteps decided that discretion was the better part of valor. Apparently, their ballet and dance instructor held black belts in three different martial arts (well, according to Matt Evers, it was two martial arts and Taekwondo).

And Chris was pathetically grateful for that, because he'd known that the man was making people uncomfortable but since Seaman hadn't actually done anything — and because Chris hadn't directly witnessed any kind of harassment, meaning that the man wouldn't listen to him if he did speak up — there was really nothing he could do. But he hadn't realized that the moron had been dumb enough to bother Jayne, and she'd never said a word . . . mostly to keep him from doing something stupid, she would tell him later (to his annoyance, he could not dispute this). But also because she was quite skilled in the art of eviscerating a man using nothing but words.

Well, that and a frigid stare that had stopped obnoxious ice skaters in their tracks for thirty years.

Unfortunately, David Seaman wasn't the brightest crayon in the box, so her putdowns were largely ineffective. But he never tried anything physical, so she resigned herself to verbally keeping him at bay while lamenting the ridiculously oversensitive reactions people had to other people (mostly men) saying something stupid. She didn't want the idiot to get fired, if only because the reason would inevitably get out and hurt the reputation of the entire show — not to mention do serious damage to the perception of her and Chris' judgment and assessment of potential contestants. But mostly because she was sure that being talked to by a man (ah, chauvinism; the pig no one missed) about toning it down would do the trick. However, she knew that his getting fired was what would happen on general principle if she went to the producers, which was the exact problem Chris had.

And, to make life even more difficult, because why not, due to the relationship the two of them had, they had to be very, very careful about protecting each other. People misconstrued things at the drop of a feather when it came to Chris and Jayne, so even had he known, there was little he could do to stop it or even help unless someone actually did something tangible.

Nicholas du Lac had no such concerns and thus, no need for that kind of restraint.

This made him a highly-effective deterrent against Doing Stupid Things on set, particularly when it came to Jayne (and to a lesser extent Chris, who had no clue how often the female celebs tried to get to him). Both sets of pros had learned that making a play for Torvill and/or Dean was A Very Bad Idea on day one, but the celebs were a lot harder to corral. So the rare times someone got past Chris or Jayne, they ran headfirst into a wall named Nick. And, on two very memorable occasions, Robin Cousins.

For that protection of his partner, Nick would forever be Chris' third-favorite person, and was one of the many reasons he'd been (mostly) thrilled when they got together.

The fact that he was more than twenty years younger than Jayne had caused more than its fair share of comments, but they'd both shrugged it off. It was their business, after all, and everyone else could take a nosedive on the ice. If necessary, they'd get a helpful shove — although after The Hallway Tango, a lot of those people had found it prudent to keep their thoughts inside their heads. And they'd been a good couple, with similar personalities and a lot of common interests, and after the clusterfuck that had been Jayne's separation and divorce from Phil, he had been exactly what she needed. And wanted.

Chris had been truly pleased for her when she and Nick started dating; more than anything else, he wanted her to be happy, and she seemed to be with him (he'd dismissed the little pang of . . . something . . . he'd felt when he heard the news as overprotectiveness because what else could it be?).

But after just a few months, they had both come to the conclusion that they made better friends than lovers, so with only one missed dance lesson the day after the break-up, things went right back to normal. No drama, no trauma, no awkwardness. Though he could do without the meaningless flirting; it was safe and fun, he knew, but still. That was his shtick with Jayne, thank you.

But that was his only issue with the situation.

It really was nice to work with mature, responsible adults.

A certain person could take an Australia-sized hint from that.

Instead, she chose to be both catty and predictable, which made him sigh. She hadn't been this childish while they were dating, though he had to wonder now if that was because he simply hadn't wanted to see it. He rather hoped not, praying instead for it to be nothing more than a bruised ego. He was also disturbed by the fact that she thought this behavior would somehow win him back.

"You know, Jayne," Karen observed in a voice that was designed to call attention to her without actually being loud. "You're the only woman I know who would dump an actual, walking Adonis for . . . nothing."

The walking Adonis in question blinked.

Chris sucked in a sharp breath and started looking for a towel.

Or a giant blanket, or maybe a tarp.

Because there was about to be a lot of blood.

Jayne Torvill was, in the normal course of events, calm, collected, and almost impossible to rattle. It was the underlying reason she and Chris had become Torvill and Dean, a fact that the entire world knew.

But Karen had been needling her since Chris had ended their relationship, and it had gotten worse after she learned of Jayne's split from Phil, which Karen seemed to take as a personal insult for reasons that eluded everybody. And Chris could tell just from the way she narrowed her eyes that his partner was done with that nonsense. It took a great deal of effort to stay where he was instead of ducking for cover.

Thus, her response caught Chris completely by surprise.

And every other occupant of the room.

And quite possibly the entire planet, had it heard her.

"Well, Karen, I'm sorry to ruin your vicarious soap opera," she replied in such a sweet voice, everyone listening winced (and crossed their legs just in case). "But kissing Nick was like kissing Chris."

And thus, the arrival of the aforementioned poetic irony.

Because that statement was, as far as either of them knew, completely and totally accurate.

And for the rest of his life, Christopher Dean would never know what made him look at Jayne and point out, "You've never kissed me."

Because she hadn't . . . other than that once, but that was — it wasn't — well. Romance hadn't had a damn thing to do with it. And, teenage curiosity notwithstanding (and short-lasting at that), neither of them had given the idea more than a passing thought during all their long years of skating together. Rumor and wish-fulfillment aside, off-ice romance had not been something they'd ever considered once the decision had been made.

So yes, that sentence coming out of his mouth was a complete mystery to him.

He would also never know what made Jayne blink at his words, a look of dawning realization coming to her face, and say, "That's true. I haven't." Her tone was unnervingly speculative and everyone in the room swallowed, unaccountably disquieted all of a sudden.

NOBODY was expecting her to stand up, grab her ex-boyfriend by the front of his shirt, and yank him down to her mouth, laying a kiss on him that would have made anyone with less experience than the people who saw it flush with actual embarrassment. And more than a little envy.

Robin Cousins was the only person who didn't look shocked or even surprised when Nick finally drew back, gave Jayne a delighted smile, and said, "Yeah. No," as he stepped back with a nod (and a look that was entirely too amused) to Chris.

He was vaguely aware that every eye in the room was fixed on him — on them — but as he also got to his feet, all he could see was Jayne.

And the wicked glint in her eyes.

Oh, he was in so much trouble.

Well, he had it coming. He was one who'd issued the challenge, after all.

So with a mental sigh, he stepped forward and returned her smile, his hands falling to her waist as she rose up on tiptoe so she could wrap her arms around his neck.

Ah, they were going to do this properly.

As if reading his mind, she gave him a cheeky grin and a wink, and he couldn't hold back his chuff of laughter as his own competitive nature rose in response. Hell, why not? It was the only true kiss they'd share. Her acknowledgement of that was clear to see, but there was also the assurance that this wouldn't change things between them, or hurt them, and he nodded, giving her the same promise.

Then she tilted her chin up, he lowered his, and she pulled him down with the strength that surprised so many people.

And their mouths met.