Happy Saturday! Have chapter 4, fresh back from the editor. Have a few more answers and quite a bit of emotional introspection. I hope you enjoy it and pleasepleaseplease let me know if you do (or don't; I'm easy that way. ). I really do love hearing your thoughts.

To quote a wise LoTR character: "So it begins."

Aftershock

May 8, 2012

The day after the tour ended, Chris, Jayne, the judges, the coaches, and all the producers met at Elstree for the standard 'kiss and cry' meeting, as Karen had dubbed it after the 2007 tour. She wasn't wrong, to the frustration of those in charge who had never skated and thus didn't get the joke, and the amusement of those who had and did.

The male professionals had come as well, getting there more than an hour after the slog — sorry, meeting — started, which no one but them was aware of, because the unspoken arrangement for the remainder of the tour after That Routine had been 'pretend nothing went wrong so we can give our fans the shows they deserve. Also, stay the hell away from Jayne and Chris'.

Or, in other words, That Number was not performed again, nothing was talked about, and the tension rose exponentially from show to show to show. It didn't help that sides had been taken . . . or, rather, a side had been taken, and it wasn't for the male pros. So yeah, things for those last two weeks were tense for everyone.

Literally everyone, because in addition to a lingering fear about Jayne's safety that would not ebb, Chris had gone to great lengths to avoid talking to Karen. And yes, it was because he felt guilty, though not for the reasons one would have assumed. He had finally come to understand one rather profound truth about himself, and that truth had fundamentally altered the fabric of his life. Unfortunately, in the middle of a live tour, much less on the tour bus, was NOT the place to have the resultant conversation, so he took the more expedient (and occasionally ridiculous) route of avoiding his girlfriend until they could finally be still and have the time and space to talk without any chance of being interrupted, or worse, ruining a show.

Knowing less than she liked about the situation, Jayne nonetheless helped facilitate this when he asked, but only when he asked; she was doing the same thing with Phil, after all, for much the same reason, and Chris was more than willing to hit 'ignore' on her phone when she just couldn't deal with him — which ended being the entire remaining length of the tour. Though she would mow people down if Kieran was calling (he was only ten, true, but she was gone so much, him having his own phone just made sense, and it took everyone less than three hours to learn his individual ringtone).

She had found out the next morning what had happened from Nick, of all people, and was horrified for Chris' sake, now that she finally understood why he had been so crazed and out of control. But because she had never felt as though she was in danger, she stayed calm and composed when she was told the whole story, and that helped her partner settle down even more as the tour progressed.

Still, she knew Chris, knew that he was even more protective of her than she was of him, (which was rather frightening when one considered Jayne's protective instincts), so the strength of his reaction didn't surprise her. The conclusions he had reached after he'd finally calmed down from the unremitting panic would astonish her once she heard about them, but they both knew that he needed to speak to Karen and get their situation settled first before sharing with Jayne (a rarity in their lives, but it did happen).

By the next afternoon, the new normal was established: Chris wasn't remotely prepared to deal with the male pros outside of what could not be avoided and though Jayne didn't share this particular emotional reaction, she understood where he was coming from and so wasn't foolish enough to try pushing the issue in the middle of a tour. The required interactions were totally professional, but they did not do any rehearsals with the men, a fact that irked Karen to no end because that meant she got saddled with helping the female celebs for the next two weeks, and despite hearing what had happened, she didn't really understand the implications behind it. So she kept trying to push the pair into splitting the training again, only to be pulled aside by Sean during their third rehearsal and politely but firmly told to stop.

The pros knew exactly why neither Chris nor Jayne could bear to skate with them, and also knew that trust had to be regained . . . which wasn't going to happen in the middle of a madcap live tour. So all four men had resigned themselves to waiting until the thing was over and they were home before trying to apologize and start rebuilding bridges. Karen still didn't like it, but she'd made the mistake of grumbling about it to Robin and was promptly — and irritably — told, "Oh, just deal with it, Karen, nobody else minds and clearly there's a reason."

That had startled her a great deal and she had, indeed, said nothing more about it . . . but the list of things she intended to speak to Chris about had just tripled.

So, on top of the tension Chris and Jayne felt toward the men and the new frustration Karen was feeling toward Chris and Jayne, the female pros were just as furious with their counterparts because they'd been in that tunnel with Chris. The male celebs were even more upset with them because they'd not only had to do something they were fundamentally unsuited for but also because they collectively worshipped Jayne (and Chris). And the female celebs, who hadn't been present, didn't really have an opinion about the fall itself, but they couldn't figure out how that many professionals could be so careless, and since that carelessness had nearly killed Jayne, well . . .

And then there were Robin and Kyron.

All of which meant that in a group as talkative and friendly as this lot was, 'civil' was really the best that anyone could manage . . . which in turn meant that with a cast and crew as big as this production was, not a single thing of consequence was said for two interminable weeks.

By anyone.

Including the husband and wife teams.

And now that the tour was over, everyone finally had a chance to talk (scream . . . curse . . . cry . . .) to the people they desperately needed to talk (scream . . . curse . . . cry . . .) to. Thus, on the final trip home, all the skaters, including Kyron and Robin but barring Chris and Jayne, piled on the Party Bus and had it out. There was more screaming, crying, cursing, and hugging on that bus than had occurred in the entire previous season of Coronation Street (though with no sex, oddly enough), but by the time they were back in London, the male pros had had groveled sufficiently enough to be forgiven and all was well among the skaters.

And without any discussion at all, a vow of silence was taken among all eighteen of them (they were surprised, humbled, and more than a little ashamed to discover they were the last to reach this understanding). They would never speak of it themselves, and should it be brought up by an outsider, they had heard nothing, they saw nothing, and they knew nothing.

So everything was good . . . except with Chris and Jayne. And now that they were done and home and no longer had the obstacle of a live tour, Dan, Matt, Andrei, and Sean thought that they would finally be able to formally and officially apologize to the pair, both individually and together . . . and also see who still had (and really wanted) a job at the end of the day. But after an hour or so of mindless skating and stilted conversation while they were waiting for their mentors to get out of their meeting, Sean had the idea to replay Jayne's fall and see exactly how she'd managed to catch herself several different times, which had slowed her descent and ultimately been what allowed the celebs the time to get to her.

More importantly, he wanted everyone to start learning to do it, because it was a brilliant idea and he felt rather stupid at not thinking about it before their near-tragedy. And he wanted to watch it in the studio rink so they could get a working idea of distance and timing. One of the tech guys was amenable, so off they went.

Three excruciating (and very frustrating) hours after it started, the meeting finally ended, with a solid start and roster of potential celebs for the next year hashed out. The executive producers had also come to a very clear understanding that never again would any of them so much as think about having an opinion on any routines that Torvill and Dean did or, more importantly, did NOT want to do.

They were so emphatic on this point that they were willing to put it in their contracts . . . though none of them apologized for pushing the issue in the first place, to no one's surprise.

Still, their newfound wisdom was greatly appreciated. Outwardly serious, inwardly amused, and relieved beyond measure at finally seeing some sense from these people, Chris and Jayne exchanged a wordless glance as they left the room and headed for the main rink, desperately needing to take an hour or so for themselves and skate just for fun and one last bonding session before they had to go their separate ways for the next several weeks.

They did this at the end of every season, though the need wasn't as . . . intense . . . as it was today, but to their collective annoyance, Karen and Robin followed, as did Nicholas du Lac, who knew how ugly that whole 'not talking about things' situation had gotten and so had been waiting down the hall just in case Chris or Jayne needed someone to run interference (or fetch alcohol, chocolate, a sledgehammer, getaway car . . . whatever). Karen went with them because she'd been trying — and failing — to have a serious conversation with Chris since That Night and saw her chance to finally pin him down, despite knowing that he and Jayne did this every year come hell or high water and weren't going to cancel it for her (which, in her current mood, only pissed her off more). Robin followed for reasons he did not understand. He just felt uneasy.

Thus, it was a tense and silent trip down the halls to the rink, which didn't help anyone's temper improve. Therefore, when the first thing Chris saw as they came through the doors was that particular gaggle of male skaters, his response was . . . emphatic.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" he snapped to no one in particular, a scowl darkening his face as he realized that he and Jayne weren't going to get that final hour of peace they so badly needed.

Jayne shook her head and gave him a fond, understanding look even as she chided his language before turning back to the rink with the intention of politely asking if they could have the ice . . . only to freeze.

On the giant overhead monitor, a video was playing in glorious Technicolor.

And it was of her, losing her grip at the very top of the silk and starting to fall.

Behind her, Chris gave a strangled gasp, but Jayne was utterly motionless, staring in disbelieving shock as she finally realized how close to death she'd come.

Her partner's arms came around her in a fierce embrace, but Jayne could not pull her attention away from the screen, though she gratefully leaned into his strength. She didn't even take a breath as she saw herself do some truly remarkable catch and releases, slowing herself down, but it chilled her to the bone because she knew how insane it was that her efforts had worked now that she'd seen it. And she hadn't realized that at the time, because it had happened so quickly that training and instinct had taken over, as it should. But that instinct had been so strong and so complete that things were a blur, meaning she didn't remember anything but safely landing.

So when Sam and Matthew actually hopscotched over the pile of fallen skaters, who were only just starting to sit up, with Chico and Andy skidding in from the other side, all of them raising their arms so that she tumbled safely down into their waiting hands, a soft sob escaped her throat and she finally tore herself away, burying her face in Chris' chest and shaking from this long-delayed realization as the entire room went silent.

A single, hissed, "Shit!" was the only thing to break that tense quiet, and the video cut off immediately, but no one was able to say or do anything other than watch in helpless guilt as Jayne sought refuge in her partner and he soothed her as best he could, whispering reassurances that she was safe, she was alive, and he would always protect her.

"What the fuck, Jayne?!"

This harsh bellow from a familiar but extremely unexpected voice shattered the moment and everyone jumped, turning wide-eyed stares on the interloper . . . except for Chris and Jayne, who were utterly oblivious to anything but each other.

The pros were already tense and filled with fresh remorse after watching her fall, and now felt even more guilt at accidentally traumatizing Jayne, so hearing her husband shout at her like she was a recalcitrant dog spiked that guilt into a dangerous aggression and they exchanged looks of complete solidarity before turning as one to face him, as did Nick and Robin, all of them shocked and enraged that he would dare curse at her.

He ignored them, his furious gaze locking on his wife, who was so tightly plastered to Chris that it was a wonder he could breathe, and his expression darkened further.

"Jayne!" he roared again, and that finally got her attention.

Unfortunately for him.

Because her response was to cringe against Chris as she gasped in surprise and what sounded way the hell too much like fear before inching to the side and pulling him with her as a partial shield in a way that told him this wasn't the first, or even tenth, time Phil's temper had frightened her.

No, this reaction was clearly too ingrained to be unexpected, much less new.

He was already feeling somewhat . . . emotionally volatile . . . and not just from seeing Jayne's fall again. Her reaction to seeing it for the first time had affected him far more than his own. And he didn't take it well on a good day when people hurt or upset her.

This? This was not a good day.

This wasn't even an 'okay' day.

The only thing that kept Christopher Dean from storming over to Phil Christensen and ripping his lungs out was the fact that Jayne whimpered into his throat and refused to let him go.

It was a running joke among the people who knew her that when Jaynewanted something impossible, she went to Chris — which was true. She didn't always get it, mind, but he was her first call, and he would do anything humanly possible to find whatever it was she wanted (assuming it was in the realm of possibility; a purple crystal royal Indian tiara? He went to Jared's. When she'd finished spluttering over that, he grinned and showed her that he'd also gone to Tiffany's.).

At this precise moment? She could have asked him for the moon and he'd have grabbed a net and some rope.

And Jayne Torvill would have been the proud (and somewhat bemused) owner of the moon.

So when she wordlessly begged him to stay with her, he didn't hesitate for an instant, tightening his hold and shifting a little further to his right, making sure that she felt safe by keeping his body in front of hers.

This did not stop him from pinning her husband with a glare so cutting, by rights, he should have dropped dead on the floor.

Then he very deliberately turned his back on Phil to give his full attention to her, and the man nearly combusted on the spot in sheer rage at being so summarily, so contemptuously, dismissed while being denied access to or even a look at the woman he felt no one else had a right to.

Seeing that blind rage finally shocked Robin back to the here and now. He wasn't as protective of Jayne as Chris, though really, who was? But he was her friend and, like Chris, he did not do well with people treating her with anything less than respect.

The fact that it was coming from her husband made it that much worse, evidenced by Chris' obviously-disintegrating self-control.

All of which meant he moved quickly, pushing past Karen so he was between Phil and Chris and Jayne, and was vaguely aware that the other five men had formed a barrier behind him. His attention was on Jayne's husband and when he saw the dark, jealous fury blazing in his eyes, he realized that he needed to get the man out of the building.

Now.

Or Chris would quickly lose his fight to stay calm for Jayne's sake and kill him.

And that was a tempting thought, but it would cause more problems than it solved, so he took one more step forward, putting himself squarely in front of Phil and catching his gaze, forcing him to look at Robin now instead of his wife and her partner.

"Enough," he said quietly, but in a tone that made everyone who heard it flinch.

Even Phil. And he obeyed. But he did it with a deceptive calm that would ultimately be his downfall and bring about the very thing he was trying so hard to prevent.

"Fine," he said just as quietly, deliberately looking at Robin for the first time. "But—"

"No," Robin interrupted, leaning forward to emphasize his words. "You need to leave, Phil. Go and calm down, but don't come back here today. This isn't the place or the time."

Phil snarled wordlessly in response, but when Sean and Andrei moved toward him, faces implacable but eyes burning with anger, and firmly herded him to the exit, he went. It was obvious to aliens just flying by that every man in the room — apart from Robin — was spoiling for a fight and even as furious as he was, Phil could see that picking one would not go well for him. This understanding only pissed him off more, especially since the other three made a point of keeping themselves between him and Jayne in an unspoken challenge.

Still, he wasn't stupid, so he left, albeit reluctantly and with a lot of looks back, getting more and more upset each time he saw his wife seeking shelter not just in the arms of a man who wasn't her husband, but the man she frequently sought out instead of her husband.

He was so distracted by his bitter thoughts that the slamming of the door startled him and he actually pivoted in a circle to confirm that he was, in fact, in the parking lot. A quick pull on the handle verified that it was locked and Phil Christensen seethed for several minutes before stalking to his car and making his way to the first pub he came across. He'd find her at her flat tonight and they would have it out then.

And if that bastard Dean — or anyone else — was with her, they'd find themselves in a world of hurt. This was between Phil and his wife, and he wasn't going to let anyone interfere.

Especially not Christopher sodding Dean.

Inside the studio, everyone just stood there in a stunned silence before Chris simply gathered Jayne up in a carry and headed for his dressing room — and it was a stark, uncomfortable testimony as to how deeply affected she was, because she let him. No one made a move to stop him, not even Karen, though her face was wistful and her eyes held a trace of resentment as she watched her boyfriend leave without so much as a glance back, cradling a woman who wasn't her in his arms and utterly oblivious to anything and anyone else.

"What?" Robin asked quietly, touching her shoulder.

"Nothing," she replied, shaking her head. "Just . . ."

She trailed off and he nodded but didn't speak, just squeezed her shoulder before turning to where Sean and Andrei were rejoining Dan and Matt. Nick had slipped away at some point, probably to guard the door so Jayne and Chris would be guaranteed privacy — which was a smart move, Robin admitted.

The soft murmur of male voices called his attention back to where it belonged and he turned to the quartet who was currently trapped between a rock and a hard place. Well, at least he could help with that.

"Well done," he told them quietly, his voice full of approval as he made sure to meet each man's eyes. "And thank you. Your support was much appreciated . . . as is your silence."

He said nothing else, but his point was clear and they all nodded, looking understanding and yet so relieved that they all slumped for a minute. Then Matt sighed and gave Robin a woeful look, one the man had no trouble understanding.

"I know," he said, patting Dan sympathetically on the shoulder. "But it's not going to happen today."

The other three men winced, but Robin wasn't done. They did deserve the chance to apologize, at least, and he could give them that, albeit in a rather roundabout way.

"But, if you'll write out a note, I'll see to it that they get it," he promised, unable to stop his grin at the four dumbfounded looks he got in return. Then those looks shifted to speculation and he shook his head, blowing out a deep breath and turning to look for Karen.

She was gone.

He blinked and then bit his lip, hoping that she wasn't foolish enough to try interrupting Chris and Jayne right now.

When she reappeared at the far side of the rink several minutes later, he actually sighed in relief, though it was tinged with pity when he saw the tears she was wiping away.

Oh, he sympathized, truly, but he'd only seen three other people in his entire life who were so blind to the truth of the situation, and one of them had just left the building in a rage. No prize for guessing the other two. Maybe Karen was finally starting to realize what neither Jayne nor Chris knew about the other. Or themselves.

One could only hope.

But as he waited for the boys to bring him their apology notes (again, the thought amused him more than it should), Robin couldn't help but remember the rage he'd seen . . . on both of the men in Jayne's life.

And he was unable to stop the fear that tragedy had not been averted, merely postponed.

Because he was right . . . but not in the way anyone would have imagined.

July 24, 2012

"That night was when I realized what was happening — what had happened," Jayne said quietly, her eyes going unfocused as she remembered.

Chris was understandably puzzled as to which night she was referring to; he naturally assumed it was the night she fell, though on second thought, that didn't quite make sense. But he'd asked her to talk, so he owed it to her to let her tell the story her own way, and forced himself to be patient.

"It was . . . after the meeting, when I saw th—it was that night," she continued haltingly, the memory still vivid.

Chris swallowed but said nothing, though he tightened his grip on her hands in silent support.

"But that wasn't where it started," she added, catching him by surprise, and he blinked.

And bit his tongue until it hurt to keep his mouth shut.

Taking pity when he was unable to suppress a twitch, she gave him a tiny smile and kept talking.

"You have to — it — well, you know what it was like, when we were first starting to really catch people's notice, the kind of interest there was in . . . well, in 'us'," she began, once more catching him off-guard at what seemed like an odd change of subject. But he nodded instantly, still as bemused as she was at how badly people had wanted them to be romantically involved, something that hadn't changed or even waned in nearly forty years.

Oblivious to his slightly-meandering thoughts, Jayne carried on.

"And you know that everyone, really, thought we were together," she said, and he nodded again, because it was true. "Right. So, it made total sense that . . . that Phil thought the same," she added, and that grabbed his attention.

Though why it surprised him, he did not know.

Yes, he did. He'd wanted so badly to think that Phil was worthy of Jayne that he hadn't paid as much attention as he should have.

"And because everyone believed it, I really didn't think anything about it," she almost . . . mused, as though she were talking to herself, and he turned his focus back to her. "And he was never — he wasn't — it — he wasn't aggressive about it. He wasn't even obvious, really, about what he thought. I mean, he made sure I knew it but . . . he always said it like he was joking, so I . . . well . . ."

Chris swallowed hard.

He hadn't expected this and he didn't like it.

Especially because he hadn't had a clue at the time, though now that she was bringing those memories back, he clearly should have.

"And I . . . well, he was my first real boyfriend, the first man I ever thought seriously about, yeah?" she almost implored Chris, looking up at him with huge blue eyes that were begging him to understand. Unfortunately, he did. "So I thought his jealousy was sweet, and protective. He wanted me so much that he couldn't stand even the thought of me being with someone else."

Now Chris felt sick.

"And the more I told him you and I weren't like that and never had been, the more insistent he was that he didn't care. And how would I know what that really meant? Especially since it — he — was always calm and things were civil. I mean, he never even raised his voice and he wouldn't flat-out accuse me of anything, so I didn't realize he didn't believe me. I thought it was okay. I thought it was because he loved me," she finished, her head hanging and her voice thin and almost cracking with remembered—

Chris desperately wanted to hit something when he realized that Jayne sounded ashamed, but he didn't dare for too many reasons to count, even if he could have gotten up. One deep breath managed to calm him down enough to think almost-clearly, so he did what was even better for them both: he pulled his partner into his chest, shifting them so that her back was to him and wrapping his arms around her belly, holding her firmly but making damn sure she had the space to breathe.

As always, she moved effortlessly with him and settled comfortably into his embrace without so much as a bobble . . . but she squeezed his forearms in silent thanks at his consideration, though she didn't speak for a bit, and they just sat in a companionable silence, breathing together and trying very hard not to think.

But that didn't, couldn't, last, and Jayne finally gave in.

"And after we retired, it just got more pervasive, but in a weird way. But by then, I didn't even notice, really. It was just who he was, what he believed," she whispered, and Chris swallowed again. This was way, way too familiar. And one of the main reasons he and Jill had finally split up: he had gotten sick unto death of constantly, albeit subtly, being accused of infidelity. Emotional adultery, true, but that wasn't any better, though at least she had never openly indicated she believed he and Jayne were sleeping together, despite clearly believing they wanted to.

Oh, that had rankled. Had he wanted to be with Jayne — or anyone else — then he would have told Jill straight up and ended their relationship. The fact that she refused to understand this had infuriated him and been a huge reason behind his overwhelming desire to choose adultery when filling out the paperwork. As that hadn't been possible, he had instead filed somewhat emphatically for 'irreconcilable differences'.

'Reverse adultery' really needed to be an option for divorce.

The irony here was the fact that now he and Jill were firmly divorced (and he hadn'tgotten with Jayne), they had once again become very good friends.

Go figure.

"I mean, I finally got a mobile because it really was easier to talk on — and cheaper," she teased him gently, which earned her a weak smile as he gave her his full attention again. "I didn't know for months how furious he was about that, especially when he realized he couldn't cancel the account because it was just in my name and wasn't for the company. And it was years before I put that together with him listening on the other phone while we talked. But then, that mobile meant that when we did actually get to see each other, he was constantly calling and checking up on me."

Oh, God. Chris thought he was going to throw up, because this was finally starting to make sense. Hideous, sickening sense, but it explained so fucking much.

How had he not known?!

"It got to the point that I'd leave the stupid phone in my bag, or even at the hotel, but when I got home . . ." she choked out, clearly upset now, and he tightened his hold but by some miracle kept his mouth shut. As much as he needed to hear this, she needed to talk a thousand times more . . . and he was the only person she could trust with this.

But even if that wasn't true, it would make no difference. He was her best friend, her partner, and her other half. He would be there for her come hell, high water, or the end of the world.

So he took a deep, deep breath and just let her talk. He didn't matter right now. Only she did.

"I didn't — the only good thing about those years was that his suspicions about you and I eased off because we were on different continents," she said quietly. "Of course, that made it a hundred times worse when we did see each other, but, again, it was just the way he was, so. . ."

He was going to kill Phil Christensen. With his bare hands.

"And then, when they called us about DOI, we were both thrilled, yeah?" she asked rhetorically, bringing him out of his bloodthirsty daydreams, and he nodded, a fond smile coming to his lips as he remembered those heady days. "But didn't you ever wonder why the producers talked so much to us?"

That made him blink because no, he hadn't. He and Jayne had the experience and the knowledge, so it just made sense for people to talk to them about the things that required their experience and/or knowledge.

"Well, a few years ago, I did, because Tammy's cousin was in talks for something similar with some new singing show, and she never got a single direct contact from anyone. It was all done agent to agent," she told him, and he blinked again. "But how do you ask that? So I started doing some research and found out that no, that kind of direct communication isn't the done thing at all. Then, by complete accident, I overheard Paula talking about getting in touch with new pros after Fred and Mel left and put that together with what I'd already found out and realized that they started talking directly with us because that was the only way anything progressed. When they talked to Phil, there was always some obstacle or reason it wouldn't work."

He hadn't known that, either.

He was starting to get really ticked off with himself.

"And naturally, the insinuations about you started up again. Literally as soon as I came home from that very first practice session with you. Only, after having eight years of . . . of peace, as it were, I couldn't ignore it any more. And it bothered me a lot. But I didn't know how to argue with him, or even stand up for myself, because by the time I realized, I'd been letting him do it for almost twenty years. It was just Phil."

Going to kill that bastard.

She didn't say anything else, just poured and tossed back one glass of wine, then another, before grabbing a bottle of water and chugging that back too. He was getting seriously concerned at what she was going to tell him next, if she needed that much liquid courage (quite literally), when she got up and headed for the bathroom.

Once he was sure he was alone, he grabbed a pillow from the couch, buried his face in it, and screamed until his throat started to hurt, distantly realizing he was shaking with rage. He hadn't known, hadn't been there to protect her, or at least support her. And yes, he'd been 5,000 miles away and she hadn't told him, but he still hadn't been there for her.

But those were thoughts he couldn't allow himself to have right now, so he ignored the wine because alcohol was a very, very bad idea, and bonged a bottle of water instead, squeezing the plastic until it shredded under his fingers and letting the icy chill of the liquid ease the worst of his rage so he could calm himself down enough to maintain control and let her finish. After taking a few deep breaths to help the process along, he went to the stack of records and dug around until he found Love over Gold, a longtime favorite of theirs, and quickly got the record player set up and running.

He was still a lot more upset than he wanted to be for her, and it took two songs before he finally settled enough to be able to listen to her talk and not destroy his flat because he couldn't kill her soon-to-be ex-husband.

As if reading his mind — which she probably was; it was a gift they shared when they were together, that bone-deep knowledge of when to push and when to back the hell off — she didn't emerge from her sanctuary until he had regained his equanimity. Then she walked straight into his arms and hugged him, wordlessly thanking him and telling him that she loved him. He told her the same with his return embrace, and then lifted her a few inches off the floor and sauntered back to the couch, flopping down with a complete lack of grace that made her shriek with mostly-genuine laughter as she twisted with him, landing comfortably in his lap and tucking her head under his chin, utterly content in his arms.

She wasn't done, he knew, and that was . . . well.

But for now, it was enough to sit in the sunlight with her and just breathe.