We are now officially at the halfway point: The Long and Winding Talk is done after this and we'll start moving forward in time again. I hope these answers are satisfying for you guys and again, I really appreciate all your comments and kudos; it's making this fic so much fun to write and post. And once more, I need to give a huge, HUGE shoutout to mscangel2 and lawand_disorder for their stellar and much-appreciated beta work. I hope you enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think; I love hearing from you guys!

Kinematic

May 15, 2012

As she slowly set her mobile on the table, Jayne blew out a deep sigh. She loved Kieran and Jessica fiercely, but to her extreme bewilderment, she had found that she didn't . . . well, she didn't particularly miss them. It was the first time she'd been faced with this, because while they were filming DOI, she was too busy to really notice their absence and she also went home once a week to see them. And when she was home for the summer, missing them was a non-issue.

On the one hand, she felt enormous guilt about this, because they were her children, the family she had fought so hard to build. On the other, she was grateful, because she simply didn't have the fortitude to deal with Phil and the steadily crumbling ruins of their marriage and try to make up missing time with two young, very active children.

But just because she didn't miss having them around did not mean she didn't love them and she sure as hell wasn't willing to leave them with Phil. She couldn't. She was still trying — and having little success — to untangle her morass of emotions about him, but she had already decided that she wasn't going to return to their Sussex home, at least not anytime soon, and she wanted Kieran and Jess with her. Just having the thought shot pain through her, but she simply didn't trust them with Phil.

Not with what she now knew about who and what he was.

Explaining to them why they were coming to London for the summer — over the phone, because she didn't want to risk driving to the house and running into her husband — had been a delicate affair, but she'd gotten through it without actually having to tell her ten- and six-year-old kids that she was separated from their father. And once that task had been accomplished, she'd reached out to their nanny to make both the travel and accommodation arrangements. That had been a much less fraught conversation because Megan's loyalty was to her . . . and her lack of surprise had, once again, been very telling.

So, having made plans to pick up the kids in three days' time, she was caught a little off-guard when her stomach growled; it was the first time she'd actually been hungry in seven days. But for the second time in that same week, the sound of the door opening stopped her mid-reach for a bag of crisps.

Surely Chris hadn't come back to England?

Well, that was ridiculous. There was no way he could have, but since he was the only other person with a key to her flat, Jayne couldn't begin to think who else it might be b—duh. It was the super, though it was odd he hadn't knocked first.

Then Phil sauntered into the kitchen and time stopped.

Jayne recovered first, something that her husband clearly wasn't expecting.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she snapped, unable to decide what pissed her off more: his appearance or his audacity. She also made a mental note to get her locks changed. The necessity didn't even register, much less shock her.

He merely blinked back at her, disgustingly calm and composed, and then said, "I want to know why you haven't come home. The kids miss you and so do I."

Jayne didn't realize her mouth had dropped open until it went dry, because he sounded utterly sincere. And she did not have a clue what to do with that.

Had he forgotten what had happened a week ago?

"I—" she began, only to immediately stop to reconsider her wording. But by now, her irritation at both his presence and his gall had eclipsed her shock at the same, and her voice was dripping with scorn when she said, "Did you not understand me when I said I wanted a separation and that I don't want to see you? Or did you just leave your brain at home in a jar by the sink again?"

The heavy sarcasm rubbed him the wrong way and she watched in growing anger when, once again, he cast himself in the role of hapless, innocent victim.

"There's no reason to be a bitch, Jayne," he chided her, sounding almost paternal. It made her feel queasy. And more than a little incredulous. "I know you were upset and didn't mean it, and I told you that we weren't over. But it's been a week; you need to get over this tantrum and come home. Our children want to see you. And I miss being with you."

This time, Jayne was fully aware of the fact that she was gaping at him. She just couldn't stop herself.

Tantrum? Didn't mean it? Missed spending time with her?

Who the fuck did he think he was?!

How she kept from shrieking her sudden, visceral rage at him, she would never know. Instead, in a shockingly even voice, she simply said, "I'm not throwing a tantrum, Phil. We are officially separated, because right now, I don't want to have anything to do with you. I can't even bear to look at you. And I've already talked to Jess and Kieran, and I'll be seeing them next week."

When he completely ignored the first part of what she'd just said, she couldn't find it in herself to be surprised. Or even angry. All she felt was tired. Exhausted, in fact, and also resigned. Phil's stubbornness had often been an asset, but now, it was clearly going to be a giant headache.

His stunned expression, however, gave her pause, because she could not for the life of her figure out what the issue was.

Other than the obvious, that is.

"How could you have made arrangements?" he asked, sounding as bewildered as he looked, and it clicked.

Well, that was another thing to add to the pile of 'need to think really hard about': Phil's deep-seeded belief that she could not handle any details of life without him holding her hand.

Or, preferably, doing it for her.

Well, that explained a lot.

Too much.

As if he was reading her mind — and dear God, that was a horrifying thought — he kept going.

"You can't do anything like that without me," he declared pompously, with that aura of smug superiority that had always grated on her nerves, though she'd successfully managed to ignore it for years.

When she looked back at it later, trying to determine why this had been the proverbial straw, Jayne could only shake her head.

The irony was that something as small — but not insignificant — as Phil's sanctimonious arrogance was what pushed Jayne over the edge, not his refusal to accept reality. Once she'd absorbed the fact that he'd completely ignored her wish for him to stay away, she just rolled her eyes; Chris wouldn't have, either. And to be fair (and honest), had Chris told her to stay away from him, she would have laughed in his face.

The main problem she had with it was that Phil hadn't come to her because he had finally realized he might be wrong about . . . well, anything . . . but instead to win whatever imaginary game he was playing. But even with that, Jayne didn't hold much of a grudge there; he'd been stubborn like this from the day they'd met, after all. Truthfully, it was surprising he'd waited as long as he had.

No, it was the complete and total disregard for her feeli—no. No, it wasn't. It was his utter disdain for her that forced her to realize their marriage was over. He didn't trust her, he didn't respect her; hell, he didn't even see her as a grown woman, capable of handling her own life.

It went without saying that he didn't love her.

And finally allowing herself to see that, to understand it, shattered Jayne. She was furious with him, yes, but she still loved him and this was killing her. Suddenly feeling claustrophobic, she made for the sitting room, going around the long way so she was never within touching distance of him. He followed like a puppy, which made her angrier, but once they were out of the kitchen and into the open space of the front room, she was able to take a mostly deep breath. Unfortunately, this did little to calm her roiling emotions.

But she somehow retained the wherewithal to stay composed, unruffled, and in enough control to ask the question that had been tormenting her for seven endless days. And if she didn't ask now, she wasn't sure she ever would.

"Why, Phil?" she asked quietly, finally looking him in the eye. She wasn't asking if he loved her; he would either lie or tell her the truth, and she couldn't handle either of those right now. No, she had a different question altogether. "Why did you marry me? And why stay with me?"

He raised his eyebrows, looking faintly puzzled, and then actually shrugged with total nonchalance. "Because I wanted you," he replied simply, devastating her. "And I wasn't going to let him keep you. I know you were trying to make him jealous and I wanted him to know that you could go to his bed as often as you liked, but you'd never stay. I wanted him to know it was because he wasn't enough for you, and you were leaving him to come home to me."

Jayne could not breathe. Literally. Her throat closed in a knot and she was completely unable to take in any air. Concern darkened his features as she choked, but when he took a few steps toward her, ostensibly to help, she managed to recover. Only just, but she couldn't bear the thought of him touching her.

Not ever again.

"Get out," she rasped, her heart aching from unshed tears and unexpressed rage. And a deep, almost cataclysmic grief. "Now," she added in a harsh voice when he gave her a blank look and didn't move. "Get out and don't come back," she hissed, taking a step back, and then another and another, until she reached the door. She refused to look away as she fumbled to get it open and stepped to the side as she pointed to the hall with a shaking finger. "NOW!" she shrieked when he still didn't move.

And then, when he sighed in that tolerant, supercilious way he had, her temper snapped and she pivoted, looking for either her mobile or the baseball bat she kept meaning to take home to Kieran. Why he took that seriously, she didn't know, but with another condescending sigh, he went to the door, only to stop in front of her, breaking her line of sight to the phone she'd finally located.

"Okay, Jayne," he said patronizingly. "I'll play your game for now. Just don't sulk too long, please. Our children need their mother and I want my wife."

Only the fact that she was holding the door open with both hands kept her from punching him in his smug, self-satisfied face, but she held on to her composure.

Outwardly, at least.

"If you come here again, I will have you arrested," she said quietly, her voice so even, so emotionless, that it made them both flinch. But he shrugged it off immediately, clearly not taking her seriously. And when had he ever, she suddenly wondered with more than a little hysteria. When he rolled his eyes, she actually hated him. When he walked out without saying anything else, or looking back, she hated him even more.

When she was sure he was gone, she collapsed onto her settee and buried her sobs in a pillow until she was so exhausted she couldn't sit upright. But she also felt curiously light, somehow. It was like . . . she thought maybe she'd cried something out of herself, something that had been poisoning her for so long, she'd forgotten it was there.

Slowly, carefully, she got up and went to the bathroom. She braced herself before trying to look in the mirror, only to be blindsided when she met her own eyes without cringing or even a second of hesitation. As she splashed cold water on her face and then scrubbed away her ruined makeup, Jayne contemplated the fact that in the span of three weeks, her entire world had been upended twice.

Oddly, considering everything, she never thought that he was cheating on her. Why, she couldn't really say, but . . . no, she could. If he'd been unfaithful, that would have made it impossible for him to maintain the moral high ground, something that was very important to him. And she was right. It also never crossed her mind to try counseling, because this — this — the lack of respect, trust . . . love . . . none of that was new. No, they had been festering and destroying her relationship from the moment it formed, so what use would counseling be now? And even had 'fix it' been a possibility, Jayne wouldn't have done it. Not after finding out that the last twenty-two years of her life had been a lie so great, so all-encompassing, that she still hadn't completely grasped the whole of it.

No, she was just done. Done with his disrespect, done with his lies, done with his jealousy, and done with him.

And while she had a great deal of regret about too many things to count, deciding to divorce her husband wasn't one of them.

In the coming weeks, that would be one of the few things she didn't have genuine regrets about.

But at the moment, all she felt was relief at knowing . . . well, the truth. She couldn't quite believe how blind she'd been and had to wonder at herself for being so oblivious for so long, but now that she did know, an awful lot of things were falling into place. It didn't speak well of her, she felt, that she'd been so willfully accepting of some of the crap he'd pulled with her, but that was something she was going to have to learn to live with. Still, her complicity notwithstanding, Phil had had no right to treat her the way he had, much less believe the utter tripe he'd fed her as justification for being a petty, vindictive child who was fighting a playground war with someone who didn't even know he had an enemy.

God, she needed to talk to Chris.

But she couldn't. Not now. Hopefully, that would change once she'd spoken with a lawyer and gotten things started, but until then, it was just safer for them both to . . . to stay away from each other, if for no other reason than because if she talked to her partner while she was feeling like this, it would devastate him. He wouldn't be able to come to her, or even really comfort her, which would hurt him infinitely more than it was hurting her, and she'd be damned before she did that to him.

So . . . separation, at least for now. It was going to kill them both, but there was no other choice. And once she mustered up the courage to tell him she was getting divorced, Jayne knew he'd understand. He'd be furious, but he'd get it. And he wouldn't press her.

Only, at the moment, that was as useless as a bicycle for a fish, because she needed to talk to someone. And by 'talk', she meant scream, vent, yell . . . have a complete meltdown, really, just not alone. She couldn't handle being alone right now. But who could she talk to? Chris . . . oh, Chris. Not Karen, or Robin. Tammy . . . no, she wouldn't be able to deal with the sheer depths of Jayne's rage, and neither would Diana. Pearl was out of town, Eleanor and Vincent were Phil's friends . . .

Nick?

He'd been there, both that day on tour and at the studio, so he would understand her anger over that, if nothing else. He was also so easygoing that it frequently annoyed Chris, which was really what she needed right now. And she was fairly sure he wouldn't say anything about the reason she'd asked for him unless she specifically brought it up.

She gave this idea more thought while she took a long, long shower, very determinedly not thinking of anything else, in fact, and after toweling off and pulling on workout clothes, she picked up her mobile and scrolled through her contacts. Out of habit, she stopped on Chris' name and just stared at it for several minutes, realizing yet again how wrong it was to be reaching out to another man for comfort. But Nick was the closest thing she'd get to her partner, and he wouldn't judge her. He wouldn't have that instinctive understanding of her, or the hard-won knowledge of when to push, but he'd listen.

And right now, she needed that more than anything else.

So with a deep breath, she scrolled past Chris and after one more minute of hesitation, hit 'call' on Nick's number.

"What's wrong, cara mia?" he asked when he answered on the third ring, making her blink.

"I—what?" she asked, puzzled and momentarily distracted from the reason she was calling him. As far as she remembered, he'd never said that to her before. So why was he now?

"Well, you're calling me on a Tuesday when summer break has barely gotten started, so clearly something is wrong," he replied. "Also, you're calling me, which means it's serious but the world isn't ending. And I'm thinking about learning Italian because I like their terms of endearment."

Jayne blinked again. Twice. Then she shook her head, deciding to ignore that last bit. "Right," was her only reply, followed by a long silence while she fought a second war with herself about dragging him into this. When he said nothing, merely waited patiently for her to speak, that helped solidify her decision and she took a deep breath. "Well, I — you — can you come over?" she asked in such a rush, she almost didn't understand her own words. Thankfully, he did, so she didn't have to ask again.

"Of course," he said immediately, his voice steady and reassuring. "Do I need to bring anything? Wine, food, sledgehammer . . . police escort?"

Despite herself, she couldn't help but snort in amusement, though she knew he was serious. About all of it, and that knowledge warmed her heart even as she teared up again. Then her stomach growled, pulling a rueful smile to her lips.

"If you don't mind, I could do with something from De Beauvoir's," she said hesitantly, hating to impose even though he'd offered.

"Sure," he replied. "Anything in particular or do you want to be surprised?"

"Not today," she answered quietly, her smile fading at the reminder before she gave him her regular order. But he didn't hang up after that; to her surprise, they stayed on the phone all the way through the trip: first to the deli, then a wine bar, and finally her flat, with him actually making her laugh for the first time in days at his only-somewhat-exaggerated descriptions of the sheer idiocy of the traffic he had to deal with — and on a Tuesday, Jayne, what the hell was that about?

In fact, he didn't hang up until he was at her door. And once he was there, after a quick hug, he said not a word as he got the food and wine ready, seated her with a flourish, and sent her a roguish grin before proceeding to cut his own sandwich into bite-sized pieces while she simply took a giant bite out of hers. When he saw her disbelieving glance at his plate, he gave her an innocent look, but after just a few seconds, he lost control of his expression and burst out laughing, which had her following suit until her stomach actually hurt. And if there were some tears mixed in, he never mentioned them.

Actually, he didn't speak unless she did; it was obvious that he could see how fragile she was feeling and, while he wasn't treating her like glass, he had clearly come to the conclusion that in this, it was better to let her set the pace. In the back of her mind, she wondered if he'd picked that up from Chris.

There simply weren't enough words to describe how much she appreciated his tact. So they ate in a companionable silence, punctuated by the occasional request for a refill. And for what might be the first time ever, she didn't object when he, her guest, took it upon himself to clean up after they were done. Instead, she slowly made her way to the sitting room and sank down on the settee, absently futzing with a pillow as she waited for him to come out.

When he did, he paused in the entry, eyebrows raised in silent inquiry. And she knew, suddenly, that she could ask him to leave and he wouldn't even blink. He'd hug her, tell her to call if she needed him, and go, because he was there to support her and that meant giving her anything she wanted. So when tears began sliding down her cheeks as her emotions finally overcame her control and she held out a hand, he came to her without a word and let her pull him down next to her, cradling her fingers in his and caressing them gently, but not speaking. He also made no move to hug her or pull her into his arms. He just held her hand and let her cry, giving her the comfort and support she was desperate for without making her ask for anything.

She wasn't able to talk to Nick that night; it was just too much and too intimate. And he wasn't Chris.

He didn't ask. He simply stayed with her, holding her hand until she wanted a hug, and then holding her for ages as she alternately cried and cuddled against him in stricken silence until she finally felt calm and balanced enough to be alone. When she shyly kissed his cheek and thanked him, he smiled back, handed her a dark red handkerchief, and got up, heading for the door with the easy understanding she needed right then. But just before he left, he gave her a lingering, sincere look and said only, "Anytime."

And in the hushed, darkening shadows of approaching night, Jayne Torvill started to heal.


July 24, 2012

It was a surprisingly tension-free dinner, which they ate in the sitting room (something that astounded Jayne to no end, because Chris was OCD about that sort of thing and she half-expected him to break out in hives at the potential mess), talking about light subjects such as Jack's burgeoning interest in photography and Kieran's new fascination with horses, with Chris joking that the boys really needed to swap hobbies: there were horses aplenty to be found in Colorado; in central London, not so much.

It was so easy and light, in fact, that Jayne was unnerved for the first ten or so minutes. The entire day had been one giant swamp of strain and unhappiness, so the sudden lack of it was disconcerting. Having said that, when she saw that Chris was having a similar reaction, she settled quite a bit. Either both of them had eaten the same bad 'shrooms or this mini-break was really happening. So she — they — took it at face value and simply enjoyed their quiet time.

But when they were done, she let him clean up by himself without any protest, because he clearly needed some space right now.

And it gave her the same space to think, because now that she had a better grasp on . . . well, on what was probably going on in Karen's head, there were two questions that she was dying to ask. And today, Chris would give her a straightforward answer. But a little outside persuasion wouldn't hurt. And they both deserved this.

So when he came back to her and flopped down in his recliner, looking considerably less tired and upset than he had an hour ago, she smiled as she hit 'play' and the soft, mesmerizing opening chords of Glenn Miller's Moonlight Serenade spilled into the quiet room. They both loved big band and swing music, but neither of them was in the mood (ha!) for anything loud or boisterous. And since it was difficult, if not impossible, to find a record with just the soft options, Jayne had elected to cheat. Hence the CD player.

Thankfully, the music did its work, easing the atmosphere even more, and as the song came to a close, Jayne glanced at her partner, relief flooding her when she saw that he was finally relaxed: his body was curved naturally into the chair, one knee was drawn up and listing to the side, and the tight lines of tension around his eyes had faded a lot. Still, she didn't want to startle him — or bring that tension back if she could help it — so she let another song play, smiling a little as he turned so indolent he could have doubled for a sloth before deciding it was time to ask.

"Chris?" she said quietly, causing him to immediately look at her, though with heavy-lidded eyes and lazy curiosity instead of worry or concern.

"Mmm?" he hummed, making her bite back a giggle. It had been so long since they'd chilled and listened to music just for the fun of it that she'd forgotten how . . . well, drunk he got on soft, romantic Glenn Miller.

It was adorable.

So much so that she almost changed her mind about asking, except that this mood would work in her favor. And hopefully his; it was hard to jar him awake when he was this . . . Zen.

She didn't realize that between Phil and Karen, this Zen was, at best, a thin surface layer.

"Do you know why Karen—" she began, only to be immediately interrupted, to her surprise.

"No," he replied, a scowl coming to his face, though his body remained relaxed. "And I'm sorry about that."

This made her blink.

"Why?" she asked after a minute. "You didn't do anything."

"Other than break up with her?" he shot back, sitting up straight. He was clearly awake and alert now, something she felt guilty about, even though it was going to happen sooner or later. She just would have preferred later.

If wishes were fishes. But they weren't, so . . .

"Well, yes," she answered him. "I can understand why that would upset her, but . . . it's been, what, two and a half months?"

His scowl darkening, he nodded, and she nodded back.

"Exactly. And y—did she contact you at all before we got here for this special?" she interrupted herself to ask. It had only just occurred to her, but since Karen had almost completely cut off communication with Jayne — and what little there was had been very chilly and even more impersonal — she had simply assumed her friend had been talking (or rather, trying to talk) to Chris instead.

"No," he replied bluntly, and didn't elaborate. Which was a good thing, because his answer threw Jayne for a loop.

"She didn't?" she said skeptically, staring hard at him in an effort to find the joke. She adored Karen, truly, but the woman did not give up, and especially not easily or gracefully. And from what Chris had told her earlier, she clearly hadn't been expecting the end of their relationship, so it stood to reason that she didn't agree with his motives or his explanation. Therefore, it should have followed that she would be . . . well, she didn't necessarily mean this in a bad way, but Karen's personality was such that she would have been nagging Chris and trying to force him to talk to her, deal with her, until she'd either gotten what she wanted (which, presumably, was Chris) or pushed him to the point that he leveled London just so she'd leave him alone.

God love her, but Karen Barber did not understand the concept of 'middle ground'.

He looked evenly back at her, and she saw that he was utterly serious. Karen had left him alone this entire time, which would indicate that she'd accepted Chris' decision to end their romantic relationship.

So why . . . ?

"I have no idea," he answered her unspoken question, blowing out a frustrated sigh. "And I cannot for the life of me figure out why she was taking it out on you. You had nothing to do with me breaking up with her."

THAT almost made her choke.

"Really?" she asked more than a touch laconically, arching an eyebrow at him.

He had the grace to look sheepish, though he rallied quickly.

"Really," he insisted. "I mean, yes, what happened that night . . . woke me up, I guess you could say. But you didn't make me break up with her. I don—I mean, I'm not in love with her, and once I realized that, staying with her would have just been cruel. And it wouldn't have worked much longer anyway," he added, looking sad now. "Jill and I learned that the hard way. I think she was just being bitchy about you because it gave her an excuse. And it ticked her off because I was — um, hovering, since you finally told me about — about filing for divorce."

"Yeah," Jayne murmured in quiet agreement. She hadn't considered Chris' hovering and protectiveness (neither of which were new, though the intensity was a lot deeper than normal this time) as something that would upset Karen, even if she didn't know the reason why, but it did make a weird kind of sense. Still . . .

"Do you think . . . do you think she wants you back?" she asked carefully, holding his gaze but making no move to approach him yet. There was a spark in the air that warned her touching each other would be an ill-advised move right now, though she couldn't (didn't want to) say why. And she didn't like it. She'd been conditioned her entire life to comfort him and vice versa, so not being able to was grating on both of them.

Closing his eyes, Chris blew out another heavy sigh. "Yeah," he answered after several seconds. "Yeah, I do. Dammit."

He sounded trapped and Jayne sympathized, because — as had already been strongly demonstrated a few days ago — that would make work very awkward. For everyone.

"I just don't understand why she was giving you so much grief," he said again, sounding bewildered now, and Jayne swallowed. This she got, now that she had a solid grasp on Karen's motives and emotional state. But Chris wasn't going to like it. She had to tell him, because he wouldn't be civil if — if? Please — when Karen pulled this crap again unless he knew, but, oh, it was going to piss him off.

Still, she had no choice, so—

"It's because she's trying to cast herself in the best light," she told him gently, watching his eyes closely to gauge his emotional trajectory to this revelation. "Since I'm the woman you're closest to, in her mind, I'm her biggest rival. So if she can make me look bad — especially if she looks better by comparison — then . . ."

She trailed off, knowing she didn't need to say anything else, and watched sadly as the last of his relaxation fled and once more, his body tightened with frustrated tension.

"That doesn't make sense," he bit out, clearly irritated, and she sighed quietly, because he was right. Unfortunately, this seemed to be a 'woman thing', so he never would understood the whole of it.

"She knows damn good and well that I don't let anyone talk about you that way, especially in front of me," he added, catching her full attention. "So how can she think that treating you the way she did would work?" he asked plaintively, though with more than a trace of anger behind it, and she sighed again.

"It's — Karen can be very childlike in her view of the world," she said carefully. When he gave her a puzzled look, she nodded to herself; this was something he'd never realized because it was just Karen. And Jayne had been her confidante for years, not Chris, so he'd had very few, if any, dealings with this side of their friend until now, it seemed. "And that means that she looks at most things as being black or white. In her mind, she's decided that I'm the reason you aren't together, so she needs to get you to agree with that. Once you do, then you'll realize she's the better woman for you and get back with her."

There was a very long moment of silence while her partner digested this, and then he finally said in a remarkably even voice, "Right. Well, that ain't happening, so what do we do?"

His use of the plural escaped them both.

Jayne hesitated and then shrugged. "Treat her the way you did before you got together," she said, offering the practical solution. "With her personality, it's that or flat-out ignore her, and I don't know that we can, not the way training and coaching is structured."

He grumbled in annoyance at this but didn't argue the point, and she let it drop. Her questions had been answered and, honestly, Karen trying to stake a claim on Chris now was really, really low on her list of priorities, because he wasn't going to succumb again. If she hadn't accepted reality by the time training started in October, well, they'd cross (or burn) that bridge when they came to it. But not now.

"Come here, Jayne," Chris suddenly said, his voice gentle, and she looked up, startled by both the request and the sudden change in his attitude.

Then she saw his eyes.

Tender, compassionate, and resolved, they told her that he wasn't willing to wait any longer for answers about the events that had prompted her fateful decision to leave her husband.

But he fully intended to protect her from the world — and his fury — while she told him.

Letting out a shaky breath, Jayne nodded and went to him on unsteady legs, accepting his outstretched hand and sinking into his lap, her body curving into his while she smiled a little at how natural the fit was, how well they went together.

(the soul deep truth of this would absolutely blindside them both)

"It's alright," he murmured into her hair, his hands gently, reassuringly, squeezing her forearms. "I'm here, I promise. You're safe. But honestly, Jayne," he added, his voice suddenly taking on a rueful cast that made her give him a curious look. "I know I asked you to talk — and you have — but please tell me you're almost done. Or if you're not, at least let me kill him. That can be my birthday present."

He looked impossibly cheerful about this and she was unable to stop the laugh from bursting free, even though she knew he was completely serious. All she had to do was nod, and Phil Christensen was a dead man. Or at the very least, a badly injured one.

The reminder sobered her quickly and she blew out a deep sigh through her nose, resting against him both more comfortably and more firmly.

Just in case.

"I wish I could," she told him on another sigh, tilting her head back to meet his gaze. "But he's not worth it, Chris. And I need you with me."

"I'll always be with you," he vowed, those beautiful hazel eyes blazing with heartbreaking sincerity. "But he hurt you, Jayne. And I—"

"Yes, he did," she agreed quietly, cutting him off before the emotion choking his voice reduced her to a blubbering mess. "But it's over now, Chris. He can't hurt me again, because it's all out in the open. There aren't any secrets left. And even if there are," she added, again heading his probable objection off at the pass, "it doesn't matter. I don't care anymore. I don't l—any love that I still hold for him is only for Kieran and Jess' sake, and that's . . . not much. I can't despise him more than I already do, so let it go. For me," she said strongly, refusing to let him look away from her.

He swallowed hard, looking very unhappy, but nodded in reluctant acquiescence to her wishes and buried his face in her hair again before nuzzling further down to her neck, tenderly brushing his lips over his spot and making her smile. After more than thirty years, he could find that spot without so much as a stutter, even blindfolded and in a dark room (that little incident had been the last wrap party she'd gotten drunk at with Nicky and the other judges).

"Okay," he whispered as he drew back enough to tuck her head under his chin. "Then spit it out. I'll take it like a man."

She knew he would, knew that her happiness and peace of mind were more important to him than his need to avenge her pain, but she still hesitated. Knowing her body as well as he knew his own, he sighed and held her a little more closely, but said nothing. And Jayne nodded against his chest, yet another wave of love washing over her as she saw once more how much and how deeply he cherished her.

"When I asked him why he married me and then stayed with me," she began softly, unable to look her partner in the eye as she confessed. Time had given her a great deal of perspective, but this wound hadn't healed much, and she suspected it would always be a little tender and sore. Again, Chris said nothing, but she could feel the effort it was taking him to remain still and as calm as he was going to get. For her, because she'd asked him to.

God, she loved him.

"When . . . I just couldn't understand, you know?" she asked plaintively, and he nodded, his chin rubbing her hair in an oddly soothing way. "Why he would . . . but he said it was to hurt you. Because he wanted you to know that you — you — oh, God, I can't," she broke off, tears rushing to her eyes as she remembered again Phil's cruel, heartless words. And the even crueler understanding they had wrought.

There was a very, very long minute of silence before Chris, his voice so tender that she could no longer hold back her tears, said, "Will not telling me make it better for you, Jayne? Because I don't have to know, not if it's just going to hurt you."

She sniffed hard, rubbing furiously at the tears in her eyes, and gave that serious thought. It was so, so tempting, and she knew he wouldn't ask again if she said 'yes' . . . but he would always wonder, and so would she. So she closed her eyes one more time and just bit the bullet.

"He said he did it because he wanted you to know that I could fuck you all I wanted, but you weren't good enough to keep me. And since I was using him to make you jealous, then he was going to take advantage of it. And that's why this is the last — until everything is finalized and he's gone, we can't . . ."

Her last few words tapered off into quiet tears and she buried herself in her partner's chest, finally allowing herself to purge the last of her bewildered grief and anger at Phil's selfish, callous, unnecessary actions. He held her against him so tightly she couldn't take a deep breath but said nothing other than her name, tender and aching with hurt . . . for her, she realized in a bit of a haze. He didn't seem to be upset at all on his own behalf, and that, more than anything else, was what allowed Jayne to find her footing again: the knowledge that Christopher Dean would burn the world for her while holding an umbrella over her head to keep her hair from getting singed and utterly ignoring any injuries he sustained in the process.

Because he was her partner. Her best friend. And the best part of her.

"So that . . . well, it was less . . . oh, I can't really explain it, Chris," she whispered against his heart, a tiny smile coming to her mouth when he lifted her up enough to actually cradle her to his chest — before shocking the hell out of her by placing the most tender kiss that she'd ever had to her lips.

"Shh," he breathed as he settled her back to his lap but didn't let her look away from those intense eyes, blazing with so much emotion that she couldn't begin to sort it out. "I know. I know. It wasn't the accusation, or even the justification, so much as the complete disregard for you."

One day, she would stop being astounded by his ability to read her mind when the thoughts in question were weeks, months, old. He carefully didn't notice her small start of surprise at his accurate assessment of what had pushed her over the edge, instead taking a slight detour of his own.

"I've wondered the same thing about Jill — you know, why she stayed if she thought I wanted to be with you — but, well . . ."

When he trailed off, Jayne sat up a little, her attention snagged by her long-burning curiosity about this. "I did, too," she told him, puzzled by the shy expression that suddenly came to his face as he bit his lip and looked away. "What is it?" she asked carefully, not wanting to set off an avoidable landmine.

"Well, we're both going to have to wonder," he told her, sounding almost ashamed. "Because I'm not as brave as you are," he added, looking down and letting her see this truth in his eyes. "I couldn't bring myself to ask. And now I don't — I don't want to. I — it won't make any difference, so . . ."

Jayne was nodding even as he trailed off, deeply frustrated and resentful on his behalf that he had been betrayed by three different women who professed to love him, but oddly grateful that he had at least been spared the suffering of knowledge. Jayne would never understand his mother's decision to just abandon her son without so much as a note in the post, but she suspected the woman had done so because she simply didn't want Chris. She didn't want the work, the responsibility . . . or maybe just the reminder. Of course, it was entirely possible that Jayne was wrong about this, but given her own situation, not to mention her love for her children, that was the only thing that made even a modicum of sense to her.

Isabelle required no thought, deep or otherwise.

As for Jill . . .

"Do you think she was having an affair?" Jayne asked gently, hating herself for it but suspecting that he needed to talk, at least a little, about this.

Ironically, this was one of the main reasons Jill hadn't fought harder to save her marriage: she had steadily become more and more resentful of the fact that even after sixteen years, her husband refused to open up to anyone but Jayne about . . . about too many things. And it was in every facet of his life, which only made it worse, because one specific area would have been somewhat understandable.

But the final straw, for Jill, had been when they'd discovered the full extent of Jack's learning disabilities. Despite desperately needing the solace of Chris' arms so they could deal with it together, he had immediately sought comfort from Jayne.

In turn, his divorce had been what prompted Karen to swoop in, as it were, and that had resulted in him leaning more on her than Jayne, because she had lived closer to him than his partner did. On top of that, her daughters were older than Jayne's kids, which gave her quite a bit more free time (and flexibility with that time) than Jayne could manage consistently, so she was able to be there when he'd needed someone. They'd talked every day, of course, but Karen had been able to provide more solid support by virtue of her presence. Still, she wasn't Jayne, so there were a lot of things that Chris wouldn't have shared with her.

But Karen had wanted Chris for years, so when the knowledge of his crumbling marriage became public, she was ready and waiting. And Chris was vulnerable enough — and suffering the lack of both Jayne and her support, through no fault of her own — to allow Karen in further than she would have gotten otherwise.

In retrospect, Jayne really regretted allowing that to happen, even though she knew Chris' reasons for not seeking her out were the same as hers: protection against a bitter, insanely jealous person who would use any- and everything possible to justify their unwarranted claims and turn themselves into the victim.

Oblivious to her thoughts (she hoped), Chris stayed silent for several minutes. "I — I suspect so," he finally said, sounding surprisingly accepting of this. "Or maybe just a one-night stand that lasted a few nights," he corrected himself, shrugging. "But I never — I didn't — well, I didn't. And now it's done and we're actually getting along really well, so . . ."

He trailed off again with another shrug, one that Jayne understood completely and had her nodding in agreement. There was no point in borrowing trouble, especially not just for the hell of it. And asking would neither change nor resolve anything.

"So tell me about Nick," he suddenly said, startling her for several reasons.

"I — what?" she asked, sounding as befuddled as she felt at the sudden change in subject, and he grinned. "Tell me about Nick. How close to moving in is he?"

"Chris!" she gasped, scandalized.

And amused.

And more than a little relieved.

Because it was done. The big things, the ugly things, the things that desperately needed to be said and understood, were all out in the open. Everything else was incidental; something small might come up, but it wouldn't be the end of the world if that happened. And she'd kept Chris from killing her ex-husband.

But her friendship with Nick had taken an unexpected turn, one that she had shared with her partner as best she could, so his mischievous question made her smile.

"Well, given that every time we talk these days, he's either leaving or coming over, it's a logical assumption," he defended himself, sounding impish now, and Jayne's smile widened. He didn't really mind that she was growing closer to their friend, she knew, but Chris was still her partner and her best friend, and he was looking out for her, albeit in serious 'overprotective' mode, something that surprised her not at all. Like her, he wasn't particularly happy she was confiding in someone who wasn't him, but to his own annoyance, he understood the necessity. And if it was what she wanted, then he'd be their biggest cheerleader.

IF it was what she wanted.

And Jayne wasn't anywhere near close to that. Nick was a good listener, undemanding and supportive, but he made no assumptions, nor did he try to take any liberties, so she felt safe. Unthreatened. Simple, straightforward friendship was all she could handle right now, and he understood that as well as Chris did.

"You know, it's strange," she said, continuing her thoughts out loud because she did want to know his true opinion. "He follows my thoughts sometimes as easily as you do—"

The incredulous snort this statement received made her pause until her partner (and his ego) had recovered.

"But he approaches them from a completely different direction and it's been surprisingly helpful," she finished, watching with great amusement as her best friend of nearly forty years pouted at hearing this.

"Hmph," Chris grumbled before gently urging her off his lap so he could stand and stretch, the muscles in his back and shoulders rippling in tantalizing lines beneath his thin t-shirt and awing her yet again at the knowledge that he was over fifty and could outstretch — hell, he could still out-skate twenty-something professionals. Once he'd popped his back to his satisfaction, he padded to the CD player and turned it off before shifting his attention to the pile of records and, after a minute of digging around (accompanied by some inventive language, which made her giggle to herself), he emerged triumphantly waving . . . the soundtrack to Highlander?

Right.

Chris was a huge fan of Queen and she freely admitted that the soundtrack was a lot better than the movie. Also, it wasn't the soft romance they'd been listening to for the last hour or so, nor was it the melancholy reminder of Love over Gold.

And it wasn't a thrice-damned horror movie.

She trotted to the bathroom while he sorted out the record player, knowing their day was nearly done and that she'd need to leave soon. She couldn't stay the night, even though it would do them both a world of good, but there were too many witnesses to her arrival and she simply couldn't afford to give Phil that kind of fodder. So Pearl, Tammy, and a few others were waiting at Tammy's house to give her a different kind of support than Chris could offer, as well as what Sandy had described as a 'divorce hen night'. Which apparently meant snacks, alcohol, and rom-coms nonstop, in addition to bitching about men. There'd even been talk of a stripper, though Pearl had shut that down pretty quickly.

The last day before her partner flew home, after they'd all recovered from the hangover, would be spent with him and a group of their friends, celebrating his birthday.

A cab had already been ordered for her and was waiting only for her call, so she could give that evidence to her attorney as well, proving that she had not spent the night at Chris'. The necessity made her blood boil, but she smothered it with the cold assurance that the end for this tripe was coming, and likely coming quickly. Rex had assured her that while he would negotiate the settlement if need be, his limits were both pre-defined and immutable. And since there were very few lawyers in the area of divorce who didn't know the name and reputation of Rex Tennant, then there would be little trouble in that regard. All of which severely limited the amount of grief Phil could give her, at least over the settlement and division of assets.

Speaking of, Jayne could no longer ignore her unease with his complete lack of contact. At the very least, she should have gotten a bitchy text message.

But she hadn't and, since there was nothing she could do about it despite her misgivings, she let it go, deciding to be grateful that at least she'd been spared that headache today, and went back to Chris so he could tease her about her 'new boytoy', He would also make damn sure she knew he had her back regardless, because he understood that she had to maintain a distance between herself and him until the divorce was finalized. He hated it with a passion, but he got it, and so he wouldn't fight it. Instead, they would gorge themselves on each other until his birthday, after which he had no choice but to fly home.

And then, despite being surrounded by people, they would both be alone in a way that no one else in the world could understand.

But not for long. And that knowledge was the only thing that was getting Jayne through what still had to happen.

When she accepted the wine he offered her, taking a sip before collapsing on the settee with him so they could gossip like little old ladies, Jayne Torvill found herself utterly content for the first time since . . . since the day after the tour ended, when everything changed.

Never in a million years could she have dreamed what was to come.

But had she known, there wasn't a single thing she could have — or even would have — done differently.