Alright, folks, I was informed rather emphatically that I couldn't leave it there, so I haven't.
This is it: The Final Chapter.
I will confess that I made myself a little - well, no, a lot - sick with nerves while I was writing it, because I needed it to be a worthy end to the story I've told up to this point.
For one last time, I must give massive, MASSIVE thanks to lawand_disorder and mscangel2 for their stellar beta work. But more than that, I need to say just how much I appreciate their encouragement, the times they slapped me upside the head when I veered too far off course, and even the occasional shriek of frustration when I would 'go there, but then laugh and say 'just kidding!'. Seismic would not be a quarter of the story it is without the two of you and words cannot express my thanks and appreciation, but I'll say it anyway: thank you.
I also need to thank you the readers for your comments and kudos'; they've made writing and posting this story 1000 times more enjoyable and your encouragement has meant the world to me.
So . . . that's it, I think. Have the final chapter and I really, truly hope it's a fitting end to this story and that you enjoy it.
IMPACT
You know, people want to hear that, um, the sun shone and bells started ringing and hallelujah, it was all great — Christopher Dean, Piers Morgan interview, 2013
When Chris and Jayne finally, properly, kissed, the people watching honestly expected light to shine down from heaven, a few (thousand) angels singing, confetti, fireworks . . . and possibly an earthquake when thirty-seven years of 'will they/won't they/of course they have/no, they haven't, but they want to' finally came to fruition and the world as everyone knew it completely reshaped itself.
What they got was a soft, gentle kiss, one that lasted maybe thirty seconds, an equally soft, gentle parting accompanied by a wordless conversation that no one but Jayne and Chris could even begin to decipher, and then the two of them acting like nothing at all had happened.
It was infuriating!
They'd all been expecting, with varying levels of hope, to see more than a quarter-century of pent-up, repressed, and/or uncontrollable passion finally manifest itself into a kiss that would shame Hollywood for decades to come, and instead they were met with matching blank expressions and a complete and utter lack of explosives.
Unless one counted Karen, and then there was a slight misfire.
"That's it?!" she demanded, looking so affronted that Jason forgot his own disappointment for a minute and fished out a handkerchief again, this time so he could smother his laughter. "How c—"
Chris gave a careless shrug, his hand brushing Jayne's, and said, "Sorry, Karen. But we've hit our entertainment value for the day, and we still have work to do."
This pointed reminder visibly slapped Karen in the mouth and she sucked in a harsh breath in clear preparation to say something that would likely be hateful, inappropriate, and/or scathing.
But then Jayne shook her head very slowly, without blinking, and to the stunned disbelief of the entire room, Karen blew out a deep breath, gave the partners the most disgruntled look anyone had ever seen, and swept regally out the door. It was a very good attempt at recovering her composure after being so thoroughly humiliated — and in so many ways — so no one tried to stop her; she might have poked the bear, yes, but it was blatantly obvious that the bear had just farted in her face. It was equally clear to all of them that she would not make that mistake again.
Well. Not anytime soon, at least.
Robin, however, had known Jayne and Chris almost as long as Karen . . . and he wasn't nearly as personally invested in things. So his gaze remained on the pair instead of watching Karen, and he saw.
He saw their fingers twine together the way they had a million times before . . . but he also saw the tender caress Jayne brushed across her partner's thumb and the shy, pleased smile she got in response, tinged with more than a little wonder.
He saw the noticeable blush dusting both of their cheeks, though in the atrocious lighting of the room, they both appeared to be mottled green instead of flushed, so it was no surprise that no one else noticed, and he saw the way that blush deepened each time their eyes flicked to the other as though making sure they were still there . . . or like they were really seeing each other for the first time.
He saw Chris shift so that his entire side was touching Jayne's, and he saw her mold herself to him, just like always . . . only with a brand-new awareness that was so blindingly bright and yet so fragile, Robin found himself holding his breath lest he shatter it by exhaling too harshly.
He saw their eyes meet for an infinitesimal second in a conversation as complex and in-depth as a Dickens novel.
He saw.
And to say that he was utterly unsurprised and yet somehow shocked stupid was putting it mildly, particularly since he correctly assumed they were caught by complete surprise at this rather unexpected (for them) turn of events. Thus, he couldn't begin to fathom how in the hell they were going to extricate themselves from this rather sticky situation. Not unexpectedly, this led him to wonder if there was any way he could help, if for no other reason than to keep his blood pressure under control.
(had he known just how deliberate their non-reaction really was, a direct result of both the silent communication they had perfected so long ago and their flat refusal to give anyone the satisfaction of saying 'I told you so', he might well have just thrown his hands up in total disgust and disappeared to his dressing room, leaving them to fend for themselves. And then he might or might not have laughed for five minutes straight.).
He was so involved in his thoughts that when Chris suddenly cleared his throat, Robin was the only one who jumped, to everyone's amusement. And if their humor was tinged with relief, well, it was certainly understandable.
"Right," his friend said to the room without actually, you know, saying anything, his eyes not quite leaving Jayne's. "Well, we've got things to get on with, so . . ."
He wasn't remotely subtle about kicking them out, which Robin couldn't help but find humorous, despite himself. Jason and Ashley took it with good grace, leaving together and bickering amiably as they went, completely unaware of the seismic shift that had, after nearly a year, finally been realized. When he glanced over at Nick, it was to see a speculative gleam in his eyes and Robin nodded to himself. Good; Nick might not know for sure, but it wouldn't surprise him. And given what Robin had seen just prior to The Kiss of Fate, Destiny, and About Damn Time, he was sure the other man would be nothing but supportive.
He'd tease them both to the ends of the earth, to be sure, but he'd support and protect them, same as Robin.
So neither of them was remotely surprised when Chris and Jayne got involved in another wordless conversation, but after just a minute, the intensity was such that both observers started to feel a little . . . uh, voyeuristic. In a desperate bid to break that mood, at least long enough to let certain people come back to the here and now before they forgot themselves completely, Robin cleared his throat and the partners started rather violently, glancing wildly around before settling matching glares on their friends. But before either of them could actually speak, Jayne said, "We need some water, Nick. Robin, would you mind helping him?"
And Nicholas du Lac, who possessed a level of control that Robin occasionally envied, was utterly unable to stop himself from looking pointedly at the half-empty case on top of the fridge . . . and the two unopened cases on the floor beside it. Everyone's gaze followed his, but Jayne proved yet again why Chris so highly valued her utter unflappability. And why he was so smug when it was used on his — their — behalf.
"With electrolytes," she added, sounding positively imperious, and Nick just shook his head, his lips curving in a fond, knowing grin.
"Sure," he replied, making no effort to hide his amusement, which only increased when she and Chris both ignored it and returned their attention to each other. Clearly fighting down a laugh, he gave Robin a meaningful glance and grabbed his bag before heading to the door. Robin fell into step beside him and they left the pair to it, though Nick did pause just before he pulled the door shut and cocked his head, studying Jayne and Chris thoughtfully.
Robin couldn't see a damn thing from this angle but when his companion took a sharp breath and then bit his lip, looking absolutely stunned, he craned his neck and shuffled until he could see as well . . .
. . . and found himself genuinely, honestly, unable to breathe.
Chris' hands were resting on Jayne's waist, his thumbs lightly stroking back and forth, while hers were curved around his neck, her fingers playing with his hair, and they were just . . . looking at each other. But it was so tender, so newly aware, and so full of love that tears actually came to Robin's eyes. And then they leaned in, eyes still open, and their mouths met in a sweet, reverent kiss, one that had him (and Nick, who had to put a hand over his mouth to keep quiet) fighting back the urge to coo at them. It was soft and gentle and adoring and, really, just amazing . . . and more than a little nauseating, to be honest.
Right up until seven months of 'hey, I've fallen in love with you' finally deigned to make its presence known.
When Chris lifted Jayne off her feet and staggered to the closest wall, their mouths now devouring each other so hungrily the temperature of the room spiked in response, Robin jerked his head to look at Nick, both of them wide-eyed. Then they hastily but silently stepped back and Nick locked the door before pulling it closed so quietly, Robin didn't hear it and he was standing right there. They exchanged another look, this one comprised solely of 'hallelujah!' and then, in perfect concert, hauled ass down the hall. In quite literally any other course of events, one or both of them would have interrupted the pair with the express purpose of smuggling them out of the building for some guaranteed privacy (and the promise of a vow of silence, at least when speaking to anyone else, though a reasonable amount of teasing was to be expected. And allowed.).
Right now? They weren't going back to that room unless the building was on fire . . . and that fire had to be a genuine threat to the room in question (as it happened, this wasn't necessary, although it was a very near thing — and the fire in question would have come from Chris and Jayne, no outside forces necessary. But neither Nick nor Robin was dumb — or masochistic — enough to ever ask. And, quite frankly, they didn't want to know.).
After they rounded the corner, Robin stopped and caught Nick's sleeve. The other man glanced back, nodding when he saw Robin's expression, and they had their own wordless conversation (the studio walls had ears and like hell either of them was risking that), mutually agreeing to make sure no one noticed that the couple weren't seen in the studio again until the next morning — which, in Nick's case, just meant leaving the building without being spotted. Of course, that left Robin alone to ensure that no one tried to interrupt what they thought was a dance training session (this was unlikely, granted, but not impossible, especially when one considered The Torvill and Dean Factor™). The aggravating thing? He couldn't even be annoyed about it, because if Nick stayed and was seen not training with the pair, it would only raise questions nobody wanted to answer.
Oh, Chris and Jayne were going to owe him big for this.
Nick's gentle prod at his shoulder brought Robin's attention out of the mental list of favors he was compiling (he'd just reached 'all-expense paid cruise') and he turned to his friend, exchanging another nod and some truly comical hand gestures to convey their mutual agreement that they wouldn't speak of what they'd just witnessed, whether or not they were at the studio. Unless and until Jayne and Chris said anything, Robin and Nick were the three blind mice.
Though they both strongly suspected they were about to become a lot more familiar with the building's closets, unused rooms, and out-of-the-way corridors than either of them needed or wanted to be.
Eh. It would be a small price to pay for the pair to finally be happy.
It would also provide them with a great deal of amusement as they watched the others try to figure out what those subtle differences in the new couple's behavior actually meant.
So, really, it was win-win for everyone.
As he watched the younger man make his way to one of the closer side exits, looking like an actor in a bad spy movie with the way he was craning his neck to make sure no one saw him, Robin had to shake his head and smile. Only Chris and Jayne would wait thirty-seven years to fall in love and STILL not realize it until they were quite literally double-dog dared into kissing by the only person who had anything — and everything — to lose by it.
Still, despite the months of craziness, more than a little insanity, and just plain weird happenings, Robin knew neither of them would change a thing.
It had taken an earthquake of epic proportions to jolt their foundations out of the long-established fault lines. It had taken another to clear the path of obstacles, and also to eliminate any remaining excuses. Now the seismic shift was complete, and the reshaped pieces of Jayne Torvill and Christopher Dean's world had finally settled into place.
But even knowing that everything had happened exactly how and, more importantly, when it needed to, Robin was unable to stop himself from mentally screaming 'It's about damned time!'
God, he needed a drink.
No, he needed the entire damn bar. And he was putting it on Jayne and Chris' tab. They'd thank him for it in the morning.
If he sang a short rendition of the Hallelujah chorus, well, they'd never know. But they would understand.
And agree.
(but privately, their song (discounting Bolero for obvious reasons) would forever be You Can't Hurry Love)
}}{~}{{
"When did you know?"
The question is whispered into the intimacy of a dark room, butterfly soft in the night.
"When did you?"
Point, counterpoint. The most seamless, flawless partnership the world would ever see.
Chris smiled and stretched, relishing the faint burn of his muscles, and nestled his head a little more firmly against Jayne's shoulder. Her hands tightened on his stomach in response and she feathered a tender kiss over his jaw before nipping his ear in a clear demand for an answer, and his smile widened to a grin.
He would never have imagined, when they surfaced from their second kiss, that they . . . well, actually, he'd never imagined a second kiss, to start with. Or a third.
Or a fourth, or a fifteenth, and certainly not the most joyful, passionate encounter he'd experienced in the whole of his life.
And hers, if her moans and cries and those beautiful, breathless screams were any indication (and who could have predicted that Jayne Torvill would be a screamer? It was a good thing his neighbors weren't the curious sort . . . and yes, he was ridiculously proud of himself).
It was comical, truly, how stunned they'd both been by the revelation of their changed feelings, which sprang to overwhelming life the instant their lips touched that first time. They'd both been so shocked, it had taken almost ten seconds for them to recover enough to mutually agree to keep this new understanding to themselves. It had taken another six or seven seconds to lock down their physical reaction enough to also agree that presenting the calm façade they were (in)famous for was their preferred option, at least for now, and then they decided to simply enjoy the rest of their genuine first kiss. And it just went to show how well-matched they truly were that this all occurred in less than thirty seconds, with nothing but touch as a guide . . . and they were able to maintain that control, that discipline, despite how blindsided they both were.
Though in his defense — and hers — they'd spent their entire lives not thinking about romance between them, so on the surface, it made sense that they'd never considered that might change, especially since they'd been together nearly forty years.
Now, having said that, he could not believe how stupid he'd been in failing to understand what all those little jabs of irritation and twinges of jealousy while Jayne was dating Nick, never mind his new, intense desire to hurt Phil, had really meant. And that wasn't counting the veritable plethora of random times he'd noticed things like her lips and her hands and the fact that she matched him in every possible way, as though she'd been made especially for him.
Seriously. He'd been telling himself for months that he was in love with Jayne and he had ignored Every. Single. Hint.
(Of course, so had she, he'd find out in a few days, once they finally had the time to actually talk . . . and could summon the discipline to be alone together and not make good (and immediate) use of the nearest flat surface and/or convenient piece of furniture. When he wryly observed — after the third round in two hours — that this level of sexual activity shouldn't be possible at their age, she gave him a droll look and pointed out that they regularly skated circles around 20-something professionals . . . and had he forgotten that they were also highly-competitive perfectionists?
The point was well-made and gracefully conceded.
On an unrelated note, Chris would soon start buying cheap button-down shirts in bulk and regardless of who she was with or what she was doing, Jayne would not be wearing knickers by the time she walked through the front door.
But when they finally sat down and talked things out, it would be . . . well. Informative.
He would haltingly explain those twinges of unrecognized jealousy, which made her smile, as well as the unexpected — and new — observations about . . . well, about her. How well she fit in his arms and the fact that she had, you know, lips and was . . . um, a woman. THAT sent her into a fit of laughter that lasted a good three minutes, which he couldn't really squawk about, and when it finally tapered off, she kissed him so emphatically that they very nearly didn't get to the second half of the conversation. But somehow, sense managed to prevail and she told him the truth about how often he was the comparison she made after Phil and also how frequently she thought of him when she really shouldn't have . . . and about the guilt that always accompanied those thoughts because it was just wrong that she wasn't with him.
In true Torvill and Dean fashion, this discovery made them shake their heads in rueful solidarity and share a laugh that was more than a little self-deprecating. For two people as intelligent as they were, they'd certainly left their brains at home on an embarrassing number of occasions.)
The feel of her hand caressing the sweet spot on his shoulder made his breath catch and he heard her smile behind him, which pulled up the memory of what had happened after that third kiss. He couldn't help but blush when he realized he still had no clue how he'd gotten both of them not just to the other side of the room, but a good thirty feet further up as well . . . or how he'd managed to sit down in a chair with Jayne straddling him, the two of them kissing like it was the last kiss they'd ever have.
And, oh, that had been beyond erotic, her squirming and rocking against him and obliterating every coherent thought in his mind while he touched her like they'd been lovers all their lives and tried to break through the unbelievable, overwhelming desire drowning him long enough to decide whether he wanted to take her against the wall or in the chair (the padded mat on the floor was twelve steps away and there was no way that was happening). He wasn't sure he'd ever been that out of control from sheer lust and how she'd found the willpower to stop them would forever be a mystery, given that he was fighting with her front-clasp bra and she'd finally gotten his belt unbuckled.
The pull between them had been so strong that Jayne had had to move, shakily and unsteadily, to the other side of the room and stand facing away from him for a solid five minutes before he was able to stand up. Looking presentable wasn't going to happen, but by some miracle (and with the help of a judiciously-applied bottle of refrigerated water), he — they — were able to manage a very shallow version of 'not disheveled'. It would pass muster until they got their dressing rooms, as long as they didn't stop and interact with anyone.
Only then did they risk meeting each other's eyes, with the genuine intention of cooling things down until after they were done with work. But when yet another wave of desire surged up and immediately threatened to drown them — from nothing more than a look — they finally realized that they had no choice: their feelings were too strong and too long denied to rein in now. It was simply impossible. They accepted that with the same unflappability that had gotten them through the stunning ramifications of their first kiss and moved as one to grab their stuff so they could get the hell out of Dodge. Nick had vanished, along with his own things, though even if he had still been around, neither of them gave a damn right then. It was most definitely time for them to not be there.
Or anywhere in public, apparently.
Perhaps not surprisingly, this all happened without a single word being said.
Well. Not out loud.
And honestly? Neither of them felt so much as a hint of guilt at skipping out early, since their session with Nick finished their day. They both spent more time at the studio than at home, which was the way they liked it, providing extra help and assistance in addition to their own duties, so they'd earned taking this afternoon for themselves.
Just this once.
It wasn't like either of them would be able to concentrate on work and in his current . . . uh, state (in every sense of the word) . . . Chris might well have punched Nick (or any man) to the middle of next week and left him there for the crime of touching Jayne, training or not. Given her own rather inflamed state, Jayne would have let him. So getting out of the studio instantly became their most pressing issue, if for no other reason than the safety of the men on site. And if their exit from the building looked like a deleted scene from Mission: Impossible, it . . . well, yeah, it probably did.
At least the theme song wasn't playing (they were ridiculously grateful for this on later reflection, because Robin would absolutely have done that had he thought of it).
That being said, Chris might just build a shrine to Robin and Nick for taking it upon themselves to give them the privacy they so desperately needed without actually having to tell them it was done (yes, it was sad that it took he and Jayne a good two minutes to figure out what the locked training room door meant. The unnaturally empty hall leading to the side exit was another giant clue, albeit one that was considerably easier to decipher. Also, the best surprise present either of them had ever gotten.).
The drive to his place had been an . . . interesting . . . experience as well. Jayne had taken his hand at the first red light, the way she always did, but their newly-woken desire had sparked so quickly and so high that he'd actually stalled the car.
Which was an automatic.
She hadn't touched him again. And still neither of them said a word. He was pretty sure neither of them breathed, either.
In retrospect, anyone watching the two of them make their way to his door must have thought they were furious with each other: not only did they not touch, but there was a very calculated eight inches of space between them and not once did they make any kind of eye contact.
Once safely inside his flat, with the door shut and locked against the world, Jayne had made one token attempt at . . . you know, he wasn't entirely sure what she'd been trying to do, because it certainly hadn't been slowing them down.
"Are we going to talk about this?" she asked softly as their eyes met, and they probably should have, but the desire, the passion, the want, between them was so intense, Chris would swear later that flames were actually flickering in the air around them. The unshielded love and lust blazing in her vivid blue gaze knocked the breath out him even as his emotions rose in response to her call and he took a step closer, needing to be near her, touch her . . . and her eyes flicked to his lips as she licked hers, reducing any and all coherent thought he still possessed into 'guh'.
"Not now," he rasped, catching her wrist and pulling her against his body, marveling at how good she felt as she molded her frame to his the way she'd done for thirty-seven years . . . before she stretched up to wrap her arms around his neck and tangle her fingers in his hair, very deliberately sliding her chest over his in the process, and what little control he had left shredded under her heated, possessive touch.
"Good," she murmured against his lips before claiming them and him in a kiss that was so hot, so passionate, so full of newly-aware love, that they both actually whimpered.
Then she slid her tongue in his mouth like there was nowhere else in the world it should be and those tiny embers of fire surrounding them flared into an inferno so intense, so out of control, it was a wonder the building was still standing.
He would never remember getting to his bedroom, though the trail of things knocked off walls and tables — not to mention the extremely heavy sculpture from the top of that one display case — told its own story . . . and again, he was smugly proud of himself.
And once they had reached that place of safety, with nothing else to hold them back, they had given themselves so wholly and completely to each other that even now, tears sprang to his eyes. It hadn't been slow or gentle, or even tender, but beyond the powerful, fiery, overwhelming passion as they finally came together, he'd never felt that close, that connected, to anyone in his life. And just as she had been since he was fifteen, Jayne was right there with him, because they were partners, equals, in all things. Her hunger for him was every bit as voracious as his desire for her . . . and she wasn't remotely tentative about staking her claim. Nor had she shied away from his need, his intensity. Oh, no. Not for a second. She had eagerly welcomed it, taking his heart and body into her keeping and giving him hers in return.
Twice.
It had been incredible, breathtaking . . . and so scorchingly hot that that his body was on fire again, demanding its mate.
He shifted, about to turn so he could look at her, kiss her, touch her, when her question (or rather, her rebuttal to his curiosity) chose that moment to register.
When had he started falling in love with Jayne?
To his own surprise, it wasn't the — it wasn't the fall that came immediately to mind, or even making love to her after. No, it was that first realization of how naturally she fit in his arms when he'd caught her at his bathroom door and how nice she felt against him. He'd never thought that way about Jayne until that moment . . . and now that he was thinking about it, he also clearly remembered being surprised that he'd noticed.
But the fact that she'd trusted him so much and so completely that she'd given herself to him because he wouldn't survive without that connection had been the catalyst, even if he hadn't realized it until . . . well, now.
Hopefully, he could explain that without sounding too incoherent, because she deserved an honest answer.
"I started falling that night, I think," he began, tilting his head in a wordless request for another kiss to his ear that she gladly obliged, making him shiver when her wicked, talented tongue caressed his earlobe, keeping his attention firmly on her, so the memory didn't pull him under. "Not when you . . . not when you fell," he added a little haltingly, for it would always shake him a bit. "But when you realized that I was . . . that I needed you or I was actually going to go crazy and you . . ."
He trailed off and twisted until he was facing her, his reverent, adoring eyes tracing her beloved features, which were, as ever, full of understanding. Her soul-deep knowledge of him calmed the overwhelming heat rushing through him to a banked, though still powerful, simmer, and he took her mouth in a kiss that expressed his feelings better than words ever could.
They lost themselves in the joy and the freedom of exploring each other for a while, marveling yet again at how new it was, and yet, how very familiar and right and natural. This first coming together had actually been perfect for both of them, which wasn't surprising at all once they took the time to really think about it. After all, they didn't just know every inch of each other's bodies; they were also so mentally and emotionally attuned that they frequently didn't need to talk out loud to have a conversation.
Hell, standing next to each other wasn't even a requirement now.
So it only stood to reason that their first (and second, in very short order) time had been incredible and explosive and so good it should have been impossible . . . only they were Jayne Torvill and Christopher Dean. 'Impossible' wasn't in their vocabulary. Or rather, it was, but only under the definition of 'how to do it.' Of course they had been amazing together.
And yes, it had been perfect. This was a cliché that Chris would gleefully succumb to every chance he got (or could create). Understanding and sharing this sentiment — and laughing at him, because it was such a Chris thing to do — Jayne had no problem letting him be smug about it (and if she was just as smug, well, could anyone really blame her?).
But that utter perfection was a gift for which they would thank God for the rest of their lives.
"I'd never had — no one has ever loved me so much or so . . . so selflessly," he told her, his voice a little hoarse now for a lot of reasons. "And that's when I really started to understand that I cannot be without you, that without Jayne, there is no Chris."
She sniffled softly in his ear but didn't speak, though her arms tightened in wordless encouragement and he smiled again. As always, he gave her what she wanted, feeling positively gleeful at the shock he was about to spring on her. Oddly, this new realization didn't surprise him at all.
Huh.
Oh, well. Time to take his partner by surprise for the first time in — in — yeah, it was past time for that to happen again.
"I think — no, I know — that I landed that day in my flat, when yo—when we finally talked everything out. It was . . ."
He trailed off once more, his amusement fading when her eyes darkened a little as she too remembered everything that had happened that day, and brushed his lips over her cheek in tender reassurance before continuing.
"It was when you told me not to feel guilty about not being in love with Karen," he murmured, unable to hold back his delighted smile when her eyes, full of shock, met his. "Yeah," he confirmed with a nod. "You told me that I should never apologize for my feelings, and that . . . it . . ."
Again, he trailed off, because he couldn't say it any better than that. And of course Jayne understood; she was as fluent in 'Christopher Dean' as she was in English, so she only nodded, blinking back tears, and kissed him so deeply, his entire body turned to sand. When they finally drew back enough to breathe, he arched his eyebrows at her and waited.
Impatiently, to be sure, but he did wait.
But not for long; Jayne wouldn't tease him about this.
Well, not now. She made no promises for later.
Urging him to his back, she settled next to him, her head resting in the hollow of his shoulder and her fingers curled over his heart, which they both finally knew beat only for her.
"I started a little later," she whispered, smiling when her breath made both him and his chest hairs quiver. "It was the day after we got home; after Phil and . . . and that video . . ." she continued slowly, feeling him tense against her before deliberately, slowly, relaxing. But his hands tightened a little and she swallowed, hating that she had to rouse those memories again.
"It was when I brought up Karen and you — oh, you hated that, because you were so worried about me and I couldn't let you," she told him, grinning despite herself at the memory of his disgruntlement, and he chuckled in response, the mood easing once more. "But you listened to me and respected what I was telling you, and you trusted that I would talk to you when it was safe for both of us. That . . . it wasn't new, not from you, but the contrast that day was just so . . ."
"Yeah," he murmured, tilting her head up so he could see her eyes. "I know."
She stretched up and kissed him, forgetting everything but the joy of touching him. Loving him. His response was just as joyful and it was a long time before they felt like talking again.
"When did you know?" he finally whispered, nuzzling her neck, and she smiled, pushing herself to a seated position and letting her fingers trail across his chest before coming to rest once again over his heart.
"Looking back," she began, catching and holding his eyes. "It was after court, when I called you and asked you to bring my skates because I wanted to go home to Nottingham, and you just knew. And you came; no questions, no comments, no . . . I could have told you I wanted to go to Siberia and you would have bought First Class tickets, wouldn't you?"
He sat up as well, his gaze never leaving hers. "I'd have been waiting at the airport," he confirmed, and she nodded.
"I know," she said, meaning it utterly. "And that's when it happened. I finally realized that you — there's nowhere I can go that you won't follow me."
"Not quite," he corrected her, hazel eyes dark and intense. "There's nowhere you can go that I won't be there clearing the way."
She paused for a minute at that, trying to decide if she wanted to cry or hit him, then punched his shoulder.
"God, you are such a man! Have to win at everything," she accused, but the tears in her eyes and the wobble in her voice only made him smile before he drew her into his arms with an aching tenderness that had her heart swelling with love for him.
"Guilty," he admitted with a shrug. "But you have to admit, it's worked out for us."
"Oh, shut up," she groaned, kissing him to keep him from answering and smiling when he let her. Neither of them needed to ask anything else; for other people, it would be insane to think that they'd been in love for months without the thought once crossing either of their minds, but they knew and understood. And they also knew that it needed to happen this way, because they'd both had to reach the end of their separate paths, of their own accord, so they would truly be ready for their shared journey.
As words faded away to soft moans and whimpers and they gave themselves to each other once more, the last tremors of the seismic shift that had so thoroughly upended both of their lives finally ebbed and solidified, setting them free to walk this new path.
Hand in hand, side by side, and in perfect step.
As they always had been and always would be.
Together.
}}~{{
fin