My betas are getting this back to me fast; I think I'm flattered. So, have . . . well, a lot more emotional introspection. And yes, this is also the build-up to certain things that . . . well, that I enjoyed writing. I really hope you guys enjoy this and please let me know if you do or don't, or if there are things you'd like me to look at, or if you just want to say 'hi (or 'what in the hell is going on in your head?').

::deep breath::

Reflection

April 19, 2012

As Chris scrubbed his hands through his hair, enjoying the hot water pounding down while he rinsed out the last of the hair gel and shampoo, he had to marvel at how quickly his world had moved in the last . . . good grief, it hadn't been even an hour since life as he knew it had . . . not quite ended, but shifted irrevocably. And in a direction he never imagined it would go.

For one, he had now had first-hand knowledge of what life without Jayne would be like.

The frigid ice of desolation gripped his heart again, but he was able to beat it back with the soul-deep knowledge that she lived. She was alive and well and had given her body to him so he would have that reassurance, that knowledge. That security.

He'd made love to Jayne.

Even now, he couldn't quite believe it, though he had to shake his head ruefully at the fact that it had been exactly that — making love — but nothing about it had been romantic. He wasn't in love with Jayne, nor was she with him, but they loved each other down to their souls, and when he'd thought half of his very being had been stolen from him, it had nearly destroyed him.

So Jayne, knowing him more intimately than even he could have dreamed, had realized what he needed to set his world right again.

And it had brought him back. Feeling the warmth of her body as it moved beneath his, with his, while she breathed in perfect rhythm with him and let him take what he'd needed, had finally gotten his mind, heart, body, and soul to know that she was unharmed. That she lived. It had allowed the splintered shards of his existence to come back together and reform into the cohesive whole that was Christopher Dean.

She lived, so he lived.

The end.

He did consider with a great deal of amusement that if their fans ever found out about this, their disappointment might well flatten the world, because he had no real desire to do it again, and it hadn't been the hot, sweaty, passionate encounter one could actually have reasonably expected to happen. Not that it had been cold or clinical — far from it! — but it hadn't been . . . well, not to put too fine a point on it, but it hadn't been the explosive fuck that would have resulted from the pent-up passion of 'I've wanted you for thirty years and I can't ignore it any longer'.

No, this had been both a confirmation of life and a celebration of it. He had touched her everywhere so he could imprint the feel of her, alive and warm and breathing, beneath his hands, but she hadn't done the same for him, though she had given him a tender kiss of affirmation when he finally eased himself into her willing body. Nor had she climaxed, and his had been perfunctory because that hadn't been the point. And she hadn't wanted to, though he'd done his best to make it as good for her as it could be. This wasn't the start of an affair, nor was it a stolen one-night stand. Neither of them felt guilty, because they hadn't cheated. Had Chris not honestly believed that Jayne had died, it probably would never have happened.

And it wasn't likely to happen again, even if Chris had to duct-tape her to the ice should someone else be stupid enough to try forcing her to skate with a man who wasn't him. It had been made abundantly clear to the world at large that his partner wasn't safe on the ice in anyone else's hands — and like hell he was losing her to a skating accident that would not, could not happen with him. No. Never again. When Jayne left this world, he would be with her — he would go with her — and God help anyone who thought otherwise.

(it never occurred to him to wonder why he was so sure of this . . . or so emphatic about it)

So, no, neither he nor Jayne felt guilty about or ashamed of what they had just shared, because it had been necessary to his survival, and thus, hers. They now had irrefutable proof that one could not survive without the other.

This brought Chris to the major understanding he'd been slammed upside the head with, though it wasn't the seismic shift he'd already unknowingly experienced. And with this knowledge came guilt.

Because he'd been stringing Karen along from the beginning, and Jill before her. He hadn't realized it, much less intended to do so, but that didn't change the fact, and he knew with a heavy heart that he needed to end things with Karen. No, he wasn't in love with Jayne (and he scowled, knowing damn good and well he was going to hear that a thousand times before the conversation was over), but he was . . . he'd been rather brutally forced to realize that Jayne was, in every possible way, the most important person in his life. He would never again put anyone else above her.

It would surprise a lot of people to know that his visceral, traumatic reaction to what had happened truly had no effect on his realization, nor was it a knee-jerk response. It had simply gotten his attention . . . admittedly in the most dramatic way possible. Because he'd always wanted to put Jayne first — and for twenty-three years, he had, much to the annoyance of the few people in his life who weren't her (with the sole exception of Betty Callaway). Then, once they'd retired and it had been made abundantly clear to him that his priorities were going to change, he . . . well . . . he'd wanted to be a good husband and father, so there were plenty of times when he hadn't put her first, because he wasn't 'supposed' to.

And the worst part about it was if Jill had simply let him be, he would have adapted on his own. It wasn't like Jayne was high-maintenance, after all. Quite the opposite, actually; she had the rather infuriating habit of not calling him when she really should, because she didn't want to 'bother' him.

But Jill had been too insecure and too jealous. And because she'd successfully separated him from Jayne by not only an actual ocean, but also half a continent, Chris had capitulated to her wishes.

And he'd been unhappy, resentful, and just downright tetchy each time it had happened, because she kept him away even when doing so was the height of cruelty. When Jayne lost her baby, she hadn't been able to let him know until it was all over and done with (again, in retrospect, it was very telling that Phil didn't contact Chris for two days; he'd never thought to ask if Phil had told Jill first, though it wouldn't surprise him to learn the answer was 'yes') . . . but Jill had successfully guilted him into staying in Colorado instead of going to her, something he'd been very bitter about once he'd learned the full truth.

But it was mostly the little things. Since she'd been unable to prevent their daily calls, Jill found ways to limit the amount of time they were able to talk. This was generally accomplished by using their sons as the reason, so it took a long time for Chris to catch on. But even thinking that he was setting Jayne aside for his children didn't help, because his entire being had been conditioned that putting anything ahead of her was wrong, even though he honestly didn't have a clue why.

Now he kn—no.

Now he understood what the natural order of things should be, at least for him.

Jayne came first. She was his highest priority and always would be.

The only exception would be for his sons, and even that wasn't set in stone, though he freely admitted things would be different if he weren't on another continent — across that same literal ocean — from them for more than half the year. Not that he wouldn't be there for them, and Jayne would never ask him for anything less than the end of the world when he was with them (and again, that was iffy; she hated 'bothering him' when he wasn't in England, much to his frustrated adoration) . . . but even that didn't change things. Because if he was with his partner and needed to get to Jack or Sam, she'd be with him the entire time, in perfect step as always . . . and it would be Jayne's hand he held, Jayne he looked to for answers, Jayne he leaned on for support.

Not Jill.

And not Karen.

If Karen called him while he was with Jayne, anything less than 'I'm in hospital' would probably result in him going to her, yes . . . eventually, and only once he and Jayne had finished whatever they were doing (or she insisted that he go and meant it).

He and Karen could be having sex and if he heard Jayne's ringtone, he'd stop and answer the phone — and if she was calling to tell him she had a hangnail, would he come over and cut it, he'd be out the door barefoot and carrying a shirt.

Why it had taken almost forty years for him to truly understand this was anyone's guess, though he supposed living in someone's back pocket for thirty of those years made the knowledge a bit redundant.

But — and he grimaced at his reflection as he started the annoying process of re-styling his hair — he couldn't have this conversation with Karen now. Or for the next two weeks; they were all in too close quarters and the very nature of a live tour put the kibosh on any kind of serious personal discussions. And that was true for everyone . . . which was why 'relationships' that formed on tour never lasted long once it was over.

Oh, wonderful.

That meant he was going to have avoid his girlfriend for the next sixteen days, because she wouldn't let it be if he simply asked her for space. She'd been the nosy, curious sort since they were kids, and that could be very endearing, yes, but it could also be a giant pain in the ass.

And as she'd aged, that tendency had shifted more and more toward 'giant pain in the ass'.

Because of that, he knew that she would ignore his wishes and prod him endlessly in the hope of making him cave, which would only set him off — and let's be honest: he was a lot calmer and more reasonable than he'd been forty-five minutes ago, but 'calmer' did not equate to 'calm'. Or 'reasonable', for that matter. So letting her push him on this was something that needed to be avoided at all costs.

He was still on edge about Jayne and her safety, though they wouldn't skate that number again (something that not a single person would argue, not even Jayne, though the team responsible for updating the programs actually cried), and he knew full well that his temper would be on a hair trigger until the tour ended because he wouldn't have the chance to truly blow off some steam until then. It was one of the unfortunate side effects of touring, though so far they'd been lucky; the cast and crew got along rather well in the normal course of events. Obviously, this was far from normal, and between that lack of normality and the emotional upheaval he was going to have to work his way through, he really had no choice but to stay away from Karen until they were home and had time to talk.

Or scream, depending on how things went.

Or? Of course there would be screaming. And he was honest enough to admit that a fair bit of it would be him.

Hmm. He made a mental note to have this conversation at her house instead of his flat; it was a sure bet that things were going to be thrown at some point and her house not only contained her stuff, but it was substantially bigger, which meant he'd have room to dodge. Or at least something to hide behind.

With that settled, at least for the time being, he patted his hair into place one final time and went to the bathroom door, yanking it open and promptly catching his partner when she pitched forward into his chest.

"Sorry!" he exclaimed, setting her down and making sure she was stable before releasing her. She gave him a smile in return, but when he didn't move, a little startled at the burst of fear he'd felt at something as small and stupid as her losing her footing (and a lot surprised that he noticed how nice, how natural, she felt in his arms), she rolled her eyes and firmly pulled him out of the bathroom so she could get in there. When he saw the garment bag and makeup kit she carried, his eyebrows rose in surprise. He hadn't taken fifteen minutes to get cleaned up and there was no way she had gotten to her dressing room and back that fast. If nothing else, people would want to ask if she was okay, and that alone would make getting that fifty feet take an hour.

"Someone left this at the door, with our skate guards," she replied to his silent question. "And we actually have someone standing guard outside, so we're good until we need to leave."

He blinked as that sank in, sure he'd heard her incorrectly, so he blinked again to see if it would help.

Nope, still wasn't computing. Then he shrugged, deciding to just go with it; it was enough to know they wouldn't be bothered and could truly enjoy these last few minutes of peace.

So after they were both dressed and ready, Chris asked the man standing watch at his door to tell people that he and Jayne were ready and to please let them know when it was time (seeing it for real did boggle his mind; he'd never had someone literally guard him before and it was a little odd. Cool, and in this case a giant relief, but odd.). The man nodded and did as he was told, and as Chris closed the door, once again shutting out the world for just a little longer, Jayne came into his arms and they curled up in a contented pile on the sofa. They were so tightly tangled together that anyone walking in would wonder how two humans could be that flexible. Or that comfortable with each other.

In perfectly content silence, they waited, and breathed, and let the foundation of their partnership set itself even more firmly.

And when it was time, they walked out hand in hand, in total sync, and started to seal the final crack in their world. They skated.

Everyone who saw them knew that they would never see anything quite like it again. It wasn't magic the way Bolero had been, though; this was something more primal, more vibrant.

This was two people who had faced death and refused to let it break them.

So when the singer asked what they had done today to make them feel proud, Jayne Torvill and Christopher Dean shared an intimate smile. Because they hadn't just survived. No. No, they had conquered. They were going to thrive.

And they would . . . even in the face of what they would never see coming.


July 24, 2012

They sat silently through the entirety of the record, cuddled together and letting the music soothe some of their ragged edges, before Jayne finally stirred, sighing heavily against Chris' chest and opening her eyes.

"So, now you know why—" she began abruptly, only to cut herself off mid-sentence and swallow hard.

Aching for her pain, Chris held her a little closer and hoarsely said, "Yes," because he would be damned if he made her actually say it.

She swallowed again before taking his hand and twining their fingers, something that was as natural as breathing for them, and yet she still smiled a little at how perfect the fit was, in spite of the difference in size.

And it occurred to her suddenly that despite decades of mentally scoffing when people said 'oh, he/she was made for me!', that statement really could apply to her and Chris.

Well, that was a random thing to notice.

And completely irrelevant to the conversation they still needed to have.

The reminder killed her semi-light mood and she frowned, pulling his arms a little more firmly around her, trying to figure out where to start.

Being Chris, he knew exactly what she was thinking and saved her the trouble.

"You said he always thought we were together," he murmured into her hair. "Why? I mean, once you started dating him, what could possibly have made him think that?"

He was angry that Phil had thought so little of her, she knew, but his bewilderment was stronger. It was something that she understood well, because she'd felt the same for so very long and still could not fathom how the ones who professed to love them honestly thought that she and Chris would do that — both to themselves and to the people they'd married. For heaven's sake! If she and Chris were in love and wanted to be together, then they would have gotten together. Not fallen in love with other people, much less married them.

But at least she had an answer to his aggravated question, even though it would make them both roll their eyes, since it was the same reason everyone else had.

"Because of how comfortable we are with each other and how in sync we are," she replied simply. "We're so used to it that we never think about changing our behavior when we're around other people — as if we could, or should — and that bothered him, though I didn't know that for the longest. I guess he thought that once we were officially a couple, you and I would completely change how we worked together and . . ."

She trailed off again, still perplexed by this, even after twenty years.

What she thought was stunned silence from her partner confirmed that, as always, they were of one mind in this. She didn't realize that he'd known this before the marriage was a year old. He wasn't stunned or shocked or surprised.

He was angry.

"I'd say 'what an idiot'," Chris finally replied when he was sure he could keep his voice even, "but Jill was the same. She wasn't as annoyed as I know Phil was, but it always irritated her that I would never just . . . just touch her, even after we got married, and I really didn't like her grabbing me, but you could . . ."

Now he trailed off, even as Jayne nodded.

"Exactly," she confirmed. "Why they thought we'd just . . . stop . . . being best friends, stop trusting each other, and completely ignore everything we'd conditioned ourselves to do for two decades, is something I've never understood. Apparently, a woman isn't supposed to be that comfortable with anyone but her husband."

She was no longer able to contain her sarcasm, making Chris snort in her hair, and she couldn't help but giggle softly in response. It wasn't funny, as such, but she appreciated his equally sarcastic sentiment.

"And I — I never quite figured out where he got that," she added. "Why I shouldn't be so physically comfortable with you. I mean, someone with a desk job, sure, but with us being partners in a sport that requires complete trust . . . I still don't know why — or how — he expected that to just . . . stop. And it wasn't like he didn't know how we were before we got married!" she exclaimed, only just realizing how truly irritated she was about that, even after all this time. "But—"

"—the sheer audacity of it, the attitude, was the worst. Like there was some kind of switch we could hit and turn everything off, but we refused just to spite them."

He finished her thought, bristling a little at his own remembered frustration at the never-ending arguments with Jill about how he and Jayne were together. As if being Jayne's best friend took something away from his love for Jill, or hers for Phil. Especially because neither he nor his partner ever got jealous or upset at the time their spouses spent with their best friends. But then, he and Jayne had trusted them.

Love really was blind, wasn't it?

"That's the main reason that ridiculous idea of you and I skating and choreographing in two different locations came up when DOI finally got going. Like that would ever work," Jayne said scornfully, jarring Chris out of his thoughts. Once he caught up with what she'd said, he nodded in emphatic agreement. They were Torvill and Dean, for heaven's sake. They were a package deal, like fish and chips, or gin and tonic — actually, no. One could have fish without chips just fine. One could not have Jayne Torvill without Christopher Dean. You just . . . couldn't. It violated all known laws of the universe (and had anyone wanted proof, they need only look at the single time Jayne had skated without him after his knee surgery).

That one he had wondered about, but having no knowledge at all about how TV shows worked, he'd simply assumed it was part of the 'hashing it out' process. Never in a million years would it have occurred to him that it was a deliberate attempt to keep him and Jayne away from each other.

It was a little frightening to look back and see just how naïve the two of them had been, even as recently as 2005.

It was a lot frightening to realize how many reasons they had to be grateful for that damned routine going so wrong that night. Because the cold, hard truth of the matter was that without their near-tragedy, neither he nor Jayne would have realized a lot of things. And that would have left them in the limbo they'd been drifting along in for too long already, not knowing they were unhappy and becoming more and more apathetic about and accepting of their dissatisfaction until it was simply too late.

Even the idea of it made him shiver, because that reality had come way too close to happening.

And that was not a thought he needed to have right now. It was over and done with, Jayne was alive and fine, and the nightmares were (finally) tapering off.

Today was about Jayne: making sure she felt safe — making sure she was safe — and shattering the only real barrier between them. They'd held back on a lot of personal relationship stuff out of respect for the wishes of their mates, but . . . well, not be vulgar or hateful, but fuck that. As much as she needed to share, to unburden herself, so did he, and now they finally could.

Speaking of . . .

He took a deep breath in preparation to answer her, having also finally come to understand that his partner needed to know what he honestly thought about certain things, as well as some of the conclusions he'd reached. He'd kept quiet about the aspects of Jayne's relationship with Phil that he really didn't like out of respect for her, because Phil had been her choice and they had been happy for a long time.

Or so Jayne said.

But no longer.

And their comfort and ease with other, physically, mentally, and emotionally, was the first thing he needed to talk about, because he'd only just realized that Jayne genuinely didn't have a clue about why Phil had such an issue with it, especially the physical. He kept forgetting that his partner hadn't been there while he was going through this with Jill and thus was unaware of his own epiphany. Also, he'd never told her — and he never would — the conclusions he'd reached in that regard simply because, Jayne being Jayne, she'd take that guilt on herself, when in truth, neither of them had done anything wrong.

"I think," he began slowly, absently stroking her hair as he considered his wording. "I think that Phil . . . he really resents the fact that no matter how long we're apart or what reason we're together, we can touch each other anywhere, any time, for any reason, and we'll just . . . go with it. Neither of us has to explain or ask because we just know. But sometimes, with him — or anyone else — if you don't know they're going to touch you, you'll flinch because you don't immediately recognize them and it catches you off-guard. It grates on him that I know your body so intimately that I don't have to ask, and he despises the fact that you know mine just as well . . . but not his."

He paused to swallow, because Jayne had gone very still against him.

"I . . . you . . . my God, you're absolutely right," she finally whispered, sounding stunned. "That's exactly it. That's why he thinks we're having sex. That's why he always took it so personally. Oh, my God. I'm an idiot."

"Don't!" he interrupted sharply, refusing to let her take the blame for her husband's irrational, unfounded jealousy.

When she shook her head but said nothing, he groaned internally. He couldn't see her face but he knew perfectly well she was blaming herself, so he decided to live dangerously for a minute and skated his fingers down to tickle her ribs, grinning in triumph when she squealed and twisted in a vain effort to escape him. It wasn't happening, of course, but then, she wasn't trying all that hard. And after a minute or so, when he felt a lot of tension melt from her body, he relented and drew her back against him again, sighing quietly, before tilting her head up so he could see her eyes and ask a question he never dreamed he would need to ask.

It was the only question in existence whose answer had the potential to destroy him. But he had to know.

"I won't kill him, Jayne, I promise," he vowed, meaning it utterly in this moment because he didn't have that right unless she gave it to him. Well, and she wouldn't tell him the truth if she knew he'd snap. So he gave her his promise and waited until he was sure she believed him, only to pause and swallow again, so hard it actually hurt this time, before speaking. "But — has he — has he ever—"

No. He couldn't do it. He physically could not force himself to finish that question . . . until he saw her puzzled expression. When he understood why she was confused, the relief nearly flattened him.

Finally, he was able to ask. And she needed to hear him say it, because even though neither of them had realized it until two months ago, things had gotten that bad. It was a legitimate question, damn Phil Christensen to hell.

"Jayne, has he ever put his hands on you?" he asked in a rush, flinching despite his best efforts as he looked down through his lashes to meet her eyes. Just because he knew the answer was 'no' didn't make the alternative any easier to contemplate.

"No," she replied instantly, holding his gaze and letting him see the truth in her words — and behind it, the shock that he'd asked. "Not once."

"Okay," he replied, nodding, not relinquishing her eyes as he followed up with something that had been driving him crazy for two fucking months. "So why did you cringe and . . . and hide behind me that day at the rink?"

The air around them suddenly went tense, as did Jayne, and it took him a great deal of effort not to succumb and start fidgeting.

It was a long time before she answered, and that answer nearly made him throw up.

"He's so even-tempered," she finally replied, each word sounding like it was being torn from her, "that when he's pushed too far, like he was that day, it — it — well, you saw," she told him, gesturing wildly with her free hand. "He's — there's no 'middle' when he's angry. So he shouts. A lot. But once we've shouted it out, it's fine."

There was a moment of utter silence at this.

"Bullshit."

Chris didn't snap. He didn't growl or yell or even raise his voice.

But he was pissed, and she knew it.

. . . no.

He was furious. So furious that he was shaking. And despite his promise, she knew that if Phil suddenly fell out of the sky, Chris would at the very least put him in the hospital.

But she wasn't remotely afraid of him, or his reaction. Chris would slit his own throat with a skate before he ever deliberately hurt her, something he'd proven in every possible way over the last forty years. And because of that, and what she had done today, she knew it was time to tell him everything.

"No, Chris, truly," she insisted, twisting so she was sitting sideways on his lap, her eyes boring into his and her touch on his hand keeping him as calm and centered as he was going to get. "If I hadn't already been . . . if . . . if I hadn't just seen—"

"I know," he cut her off, unwilling to let either of them relive that particular moment.

"Yeah," she agreed. "But that's what it was: I was already upset, and I wasn't expecting him to just show up, much less . . . go off like that, and it just caught me off-guard."

Her partner didn't reply, but he did stare deeply into her eyes for a very long moment before slowly nodding.

"Okay," he said in soft acceptance, caressing her cheek.

She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, letting him soothe and ground her the way he so often did.

After a minute, she felt up to continuing.

"The thing is, he was still in that mood when he came to my flat a couple hours later. And you know, I don't blame him in the slightest for being upset that I didn't talk to him for those two weeks, and only texted him maybe twice. I mean, I just couldn't deal with him . . . him . . . well, throwing a tantrum—" Chris snorted again, and this time she lightly thumped him on the chest, deliberately ignoring the flash of anger in his eyes at her assessment of her husband's character "—but then, he didn't know what had happened and wouldn't have really understood if I had told him. From his point of view, I just vanished for fifteen days."

"Hmph," her partner grunted, making her smile. He knew she was right, but he didn't want to admit it because he was in full-on 'Protect Jayne from a Papercut' mode. It was adorably ridiculous.

Her mood darkened as she recalled what she had only found out after Phil's bitter accusation of her disappearing on him to screw Chris. Which was an exact quote.

Unfortunately, there was no reason or even a good excuse to belabor the point. Chris was going to be furious any which way you looked at it, so she might as well just bite the bullet.

"Well, what nobody knew is that Karen called him the next morning, because you and I had managed to get away after the show and she wanted to know if he knew where I was," she told him in a bit of a rush, and he nodded.

"Yeah," he said heavily, hating the reminder. "Did we ever send a fruit basket to Robin and Nick for that?" he then asked out of nowhere, making her blink before a soft giggle escaped her lips at his irreverent tangent.

"No," she replied, "and we're not going to. Robin doesn't like fruit and Nick prefers seafood."

"Point," Chris conceded easily before deftly bringing the conversation back on track. "So . . . Karen called him," he repeated, his voice now dark with both speculation and anger, and Jayne had to fight down a shiver. This conversation was not doing his blood pressure any good, and it wasn't even close to over. She was suddenly grateful that he had ended things with Karen that night, or things would very quickly get ugly between the two of them. Which, given how badly Karen was already acting . . . that situation didn't need any more wood for the fire.

"Yeah," she confirmed softly, stroking the back of his hand in a failed attempt to soothe him. "She didn't know where we were and got worried."

"Bullshit," Chris snapped again, startling her a little this time. "I mean, no, she didn't know exactly where we were — that being the whole point of them smuggling us out that bloody side entrance — but she knew we were together and safe, because Robin told her so she didn't worry. And we got back well before the bus left; in fact, the only person who knew we weren't there was Karen. Which meant there was no reason at all for her to call him that morning."

He said nothing else, clearly choosing not to follow that thought to its logical conclusion, but anger was radiating from him and Jayne mentally sighed. She badly wished she hadn't needed to tell him that, but it was the only way the rest of it would really make sense. And given what she and Chris were going to have to do — and suffer — until the divorce was finalized and she was free, well . . . today, nothing would get held back. From either of them.

But that didn't make it easy, because it was going to hurt Chris so much, and there wasn't a damn thing she could do to ease his pain. Or her own.

They'd get through it, though. They would.

She refused to allow anything else.