Well, here we are: the penultimate chapter. Umm . . . all I can say is 'enjoy!' and please let me know what you think; this chapter was The Problem Child to write, but I'm proud of how it came out. Again, a huge 'thank you' to lawand_disorder for a stellar beta job and an even bigger 'thank you' to my readers, because without you, this wouldn't be nearly as much fun.
So - have at it.
November 21, 2013, post Children in Need special, Chris' London flat
Robin blinked.
'Told each other everything', huh? Well, it was Chris and Jayne, so . . . yeah, he could see that. There wasn't anyone else he knew or could think of for whom vague allusions would suffice as 'told the other person', never mind 'everything', but . . . well, Jayne and Chris.
And it had apparently worked; he'd seen the change in their relationship not too long after that, subtle though they'd been. And yet again, another vaguely-alluded to incident provided clarity to a long-held question: why the tours? Because as fun and exciting as Australia had been for all of them, Chris and Jayne weren't thirty anymore (none of them were and wasn't THAT a depressing thought?), and the sheer amount of pressure of starting that many new skaters from scratch had just about killed them all from utter exhaustion. Touring, on the other hand, while still exacting and taxing, was also a) familiar to the pair and b) a hell of a lot easier taking people who already knew how to skate and had established routines on the road for eight weeks.
But he remembered the tension riding so high and tight in Jayne's shoulders, and the pressure steadily building on Chris', and nodded to himself. Now that he knew how unhappy Phil and Jill had been at the success of DOI, their response to the pair's desire and ultimate decision to tour after the show made a lot more sense.
And for the first time, he found himself wondering why in the hell Jayne and Chris had held onto their patience throughout those obnoxious tantrums. Robin could be excitable, just like anyone else, but his well of patience was on par with Jayne's — and he would have thrown up his hands and said 'screw it' before walking away from the never-ending argument. And in Phil's case, his anger had followed the tour, because he was one of the producers. Jill, at least, was across an ocean, so they didn't have to deal with her hot rage on top of Phil's icy anger.
But Jayne and Chris had matter-of-factly ignored it and Robin finally understood why: for them, these reactions were normal, at least when it came to Torvill and Dean. And since they wouldn't — couldn't — stop working together, they'd just decided to do what was best for them and their skaters, and to hell with everyone else.
Again, Robin could not begrudge them this.
And now that he knew certain things, he could only be impressed that Chris' forbearance — and Jill's dogged determination — had lasted another two years before the problems finally became insurmountable.
But Jayne's problems had not, so she had stayed with her husband, without a single outward sign of trouble, even as Chris' marriage imploded.
And that finally explained Karen and her new role in Chris' life. He knew, as did most people in their circle, that she'd had a crush on Chris for going on twenty years, but she'd gotten tired of waiting for him to see anyone but Jayne and the ice. Or so they'd all assumed. On the heels of that thought came a wave of pity for poor Steven, who'd loved Karen with everything he had and had been utterly blindsided by both the divorce and the news of Karen getting with Chris.
He also knew that Karen had deliberately made sure the press caught them kissing so she could confirm their relationship, because Chris certainly wasn't going to, and by doing so, she'd effectively trapped him — especially because she'd either lied about the end of her marriage or, at the very least, had skillfully laid out the facts she wanted known and just as carefully avoided those she didn't.
And with Chris being as vulnerable as he'd been . . .
Jayne would have known, of course, but her options had been limited. She wasn't leaving Phil, meaning her support for her partner had to be very carefully rationed and even more carefully presented. So the combination of the disintegration of his marriage, the heartbreaking discovery about Jack, and his feelings for Jayne . . . yeah, Chris had been a basket case. And he would be the second person to admit that he did not do well on his own, so Karen made total sense. Well, she did at the time. The problem now, Robin understood, was that Chris was still . . . well, he wasn't in love with Karen. Not even a little bit; his feelings didn't come close to the way he'd loved Jill, never mind Jayne. He liked her, certainly, and appreciated her, and enjoyed spending time with her. But if she decided tomorrow to leave him to do another show or start a new business overseas or whatever, he'd be fine.
Karen, though . . . Karen honestly believed she was in love with Chris.
She wasn't, of course; she was in love with who she wanted Chris to be. She thought that if she was patient enough and understanding enough about Jayne, Chris would eventually transfer those feelings to her and she would become The Woman in his life. God only knew why she thought that, having known both of them for thirty years now, but there it was. And Chris, poor man, didn't understand the reality of her feelings; he actually thought they were just having a . . . not a fling, but — friends with benefits? Yeah, that was the closest definition.
Oh, this wasn't going to end well. Karen felt things very deeply, good and bad, and could be a very nice person. The problem was that, in her own way, she was also just as big a bitch as Jason, and had proved it more than once (That Show in 2011 immediately sprang to mind; even now, two years later, Robin still shuddered to think about it). And when she didn't get what she thought she was 'owed' . . . a bad time was had by all. So when one of them finally figured out that the other one didn't want the same things . . . well, hopefully London would remain standing when it was all said and done.
On the heels of that thought, incongruously, he suddenly remembered Chris mentioning something about Jayne telling him 'nearly five years later' and found himself insatiably curious about it. That would be . . . either late 2010 or early 2011, and he thought back, trying to see if there had been any noticeable (for them) changes in their behavior. But there hadn't been, other than—
Right. That's when the more blatant, albeit still circumspect, handholding had started, followed the next year by soft forehead kisses and sideways hugs. And Chris' choice of songs . . . oy, vey. Taking out a billboard would have been less obvious. And then, during the 2012 series, with Jason and Karen both off the judges' panel, the looks had begun. Heated, lingering, and noticeably lacking in subtlety.
But they still hadn't done anything. God above. Robin had never seen two people more determined to Do the Right Thing, even when it was killing them by inches. It was enough to make a grown man scream, even as he respected their commitment to their commitments.
But 2012 had also been the year that Jayne had gotten that spinal cyst, though it hadn't been diagnosed for almost a year. But the symptoms had been strong, the aftereffects unpleasant, and—
Oh! How could he have been so blind?
She'd also stopped wearing her wedding ring that year, in public as well on the show. Only, she hadn't gotten with Chris, so what . . . right. That had to tie in with what she'd told her partner during that 'five years later' talk.
Well, this was going to be fun. How in the hell was he supposed to ask that?
He decided, after a few minutes of hard thought, to try humor. He didn't think he could handle much more angst, at least right now, and Chris' sense of humor was often on par with his. Hopefully, that truism would still hold, so after taking an unobtrusive breath that was as deep as he could make it, Robin met those hooded eyes.
"So did Jayne ever concede that frozen molasses moves faster than she does or are we still waiting on the official results?" he asked, his lips curving in a genuine smile. He really did adore Jayne, but she was in the dictionary next to 'deliberate'. Also, 'thoughtful', 'methodical', and 'does not do any damn thing quickly'.
That mobile mouth quirked in amusement and his friend nodded sagely. "It's official," he replied easily, eyes dancing with humor now, though darkness still lurked behind it. "And she's embraced it wholeheartedly. Jess and Kieran got her a plaque."
Robin took a moment to picture this and nearly burst out laughing, because he could see it as clear as day. Chris' chuckle mingled with his and for just a few minutes, they basked in the humor that had cracked the oppressive atmosphere that had been crushing them for the last couple of hours.
But there was still more to ask, and more to tell, so with a soft sigh, Robin rose, refilled his water glass, and tossed it back like it was Scotch — and when he fleetingly wished it was, he also remembered that he would get the real thing later tonight. Assuming he survived this with his sanity intact, that is, and filled the glass again, this time with a mental salute.
"So, what—" he began after retaking his seat, only to stop instantly to regroup. He needed to go in chronological order, here, or they'd both get lost. "Sorry; I mean . . . when Jayne got shingles, you — she—"
He stopped again, because he wasn't quite sure how to ask what he really wanted to know; thankfully, Chris took pity on him and didn't pretend to misunderstand.
"There wasn't even a question," he replied, eyes calm and voice even.
It made Robin twitch.
"The second Jayne told me she was ill and asked me to come, I told Jill I was going and would be back in no more than three weeks. She didn't like it, but she never said a word," he explained as Robin absently nodded. Jill wasn't remotely stupid, and after her earlier . . . misstep . . . she wouldn't risk that again. No matter her opinion about it, she'd learned a brutal lesson about the consequences of keeping Chris away from Jayne when she truly needed him. But what about—
"Phil?" he asked carefully, not wanting to kick that hornet's nest if it could be avoided.
A sardonic snort was his answer, and Chris took a healthy swallow of his own drink. "The same," he answered. "He never said anything, at least while I was there, though he didn't bother keeping his face under control. But Jayne didn't care that he was pissed, so neither did I. And to be honest, it was really satisfying to see him have to swallow his tongue when she wanted me to help her bathe and dress instead of him."
For whatever reason, this surprised Robin and he couldn't keep his eyebrows down. Another snort was Chris' response, though this one was amused, and he rose to refill his glass before turning back and leaning against the fridge, a fond smile curving his lips.
"Yeah," he confirmed, the memories clearly playing behind his eyes. "He wanted to do it and she tried to let him, but he kept hurting her because he doesn't have a clue how to lift her properly — or the muscles, frankly. I do, and because she trusts me, she could relax and let me do the work. Oh, that pissed him off. And you know what?" he said almost wonderingly, eyes glazing over for a few seconds before refocusing on Robin with that unnerving intensity. "All I could think, even then, was that it sucked to be him. He never tried to learn anything about our lives, how we worked, and then took it as an insult when I gave Jayne what he couldn't. He really thought I'd let her suffer before 'behaving so inappropriately'. Even worse," he spat, suddenly angry, "he thought I should let her suffer. I knew from the beginning that he didn't like how close we were, but the fact that he was willing to let her be in pain and hurting just to soothe his ego . . ."
Chris trailed off, almost panting, and once again, Robin blinked. He'd never pegged Phil for a stupid man, but this new knowledge was making him rethink that assumption. How could anyone who knew the pair think for a second that one would allow the other to hurt or be in pain if they could stop it?
Right. Jealous insecurity.
He took a minute here to be unabashedly grateful that he'd never been forced to endure that particular hell in his own life. Chris, unaware of this short tangent, kept talking.
"He wasn't brave enough to actually say that to me, but he grumbled about it about three times too many to Jayne. I was coming to get her for a bath when she finally had enough and told him that since he couldn't be bothered to figure out how to lift and carry her, he didn't get to moan that someone else did — and how, precisely, was I different than an EMT or home nurse?"
How, indeed.
Robin refused to dignify this with any response, though it was a near thing. He wanted to snort in sarcasm so badly his throat tickled, but he was not going to give in. If he did, he just knew they'd wander off into a tangent that would give him information he neither needed nor wanted to know, and that Chris would regret telling him.
"Well, Phil didn't have an answer to that, because he could hardly say 'because it's Chris', so he shut up and skulked away and quit bothering us while she was bathing and getting her lotion put on — oh, that was a nasty job — but the second we were out of the bathroom, he was there. I can't tell you how many times I literally, actually tripped over him because he was standing either in the doorway or on top of me. The only reason he got away with it was because Jayne was so ill and we had to be so careful with the pain meds that she was barely coherent for long on a good day, maybe an hour at a time, and I wouldn't hit him with the kids in the house."
Yeah, okay, Robin could understand that.
"But it solidified a few more of my suspicions," his friend continued, and he nodded. He could see that, too. "I never said anything to Jayne, because she still hadn't seen it herself, but I didn't forget. What I did do was make more of an effort to stay in touch with her."
As compared to? By their own admission, they'd talked literally every day.
"We stopped with the 'just wanted to say 'hi'' calls," Chris explained, like that made sense. "And started actually talking about . . . well, about things. Jayne got a lot more comfortable telling me when she was hurt or unhappy about something he'd said or done, and I could tell her the same about Jill."
Okay, wait. What had he missed?
Chris gave him a faint smile — well, it was more of a grimace, really, and explained further. "Before that night at the hotel, we'd been very . . . spare . . . about sharing our marriage woes," he said carefully, clearly feeling his way through his own mental minefield. "I dunno why, really, we just . . . didn't talk about the bad. But after that night, it was — well, 'safe', I guess, so we started sharing more, and after we got her through those damned shingles, we were really able to open up, which actually helped relieve the pressure and made things better for all four of us. For a while, at least," he finished quietly, looking away and taking slow sips of water while Robin thought this over.
Once again, this new information aligned neatly with what he already knew, so after several seconds of consideration, he decided not to ask further about that. He was almost certain now that Jayne's confession to Chris — whatever that entailed — had taken place in 2011, and he would even be willing to wager a few pounds as to what had set that conversation off. Also, he had — like virtually the entire fanbase of DOI, even the people who liked her — wondered for ages both how and why Karen had been given the position of head coach for those two years.
Because that had royally sucked, for quite a few reasons.
And since he was finally comfortable enough with the situation (or maybe 'resigned to it' was a better choice of words), he simply shrugged to himself, met that dark gaze, and asked, "So, how did Karen become head coach instead of Mark?"
To his credit, Chris just blinked at the sudden change in subject.
But the deep breath he drew set him off in a brutal coughing fit and Robin's eyes narrowed. There was definitely something going on with that, then, even beyond what he already knew and also suspected.
With a final soft choke, Chris shook his head, looking incongruously like a freshly-bathed dog, and Robin had to bite back a sudden laugh; it shouldn't have been funny, but the image wouldn't fade and after more than two hours of tension and angst, even humor as soft as this threatened to be too much. Thankfully for both of them, Robin's discipline hadn't eroded over the years and he quickly brought himself under control, waiting patiently until Chris did the same a minute later, and then his friend let out a deep sigh.
"That . . . to tell you the truth, Robin, I'm still not completely sure," he replied, looking vaguely mournful, and Robin's eyebrows shot up. This, he hadn't expected. "Jayne and I had decided that we'd have to reduce our duties, because the Olympics people were talking to us and trying to get everything worked out — and there was a lot more in the beginning than we ended up doing," he said, sounding a bit disgruntled, and Robin blinked again, this time in fond exasperation. He still couldn't quite grasp how two people as experienced as Jayne and Chris were so often caught off-guard by the vagaries and fickleness of anything as bureaucratic as organized sports — never mind the flipping Olympics. But he digressed.
"So, knowing just how much time we were going to need to prepare for that, we sat down and worked it out, and reducing our roles from coaching to polishing was the only thing that made sense and still let us meet all of our responsibilities," he explained, getting an understanding nod in return. Of course, it didn't answer his question, but . . .
"The first thing we — I — knew about it was when Karen came bursting in my office to tell me. No one had asked Jayne and I about it, which I really don't understand," he added with a frown. This was also echoed by Robin, because Chris and Jayne were DOI. Without them, the show didn't exist. So one would think that they'd be involved, at least peripherally, in major decisions like their replacements as head coach. "The only thing we can figure," Chris continued slowly, "is that either Mark refused when they asked, which . . . well . . . or . . . I mean, it wasn't a secret that Karen wanted the position and I guess — maybe someone assumed that because we were dating, of course she would be given the job."
He paused here, clearly thinking over what he'd just said, before giving a decisive nod. "In fact, I'm positive that's what happened. I just wish . . . God, I wish someone had talked to Jayne and I. We could have told them it was a bad idea — not Karen coaching, necessarily, because she wasn't so . . . touchy . . . when the show started," he said hastily, clearly afraid Robin thought otherwise. As it happened, he didn't. "So maybe they thought the attitude change was a fluke. But letting her sit out front during the judging, and letting Holly question her after certain comments . . . dear God, that was a Grade A stupid idea from the beginning."
Yes, it had been. And why no one in charge had realized that and taken steps to alleviate the issue was just as baffling.
Which, in retrospect . . . yeah, okay, that suddenly made a lot more sense.
"So, Jason . . ." Robin said — delicately, because Chris was dating Karen and did care about her. So he watched his friend's expression closely for clues as to how best to proceed.
"Was absolutely right," was the dark, almost angry reply, and Robin swallowed, looking down. He'd thought so at the time, but after that horrific display, not a single person on set had wanted — never mind been willing — to talk about it. Instead, it was like the entire wretched event had never happened.
"Unfortunately, I couldn't say anything. Not a single damned word," Chris snapped crossly, still clearly annoyed by that ridiculous tantrum.
Though annoyed at who, Robin didn't want to guess.
"I know exactly why Jason said what he did, and while I would have given anything on earth for him to picked both a different time and place, I can't argue with the fact that it needed to be said," he continued, irritation roiling beneath the words and making Robin's chest ache because, though he wholeheartedly agreed, it had still put Chris in a very awkward position. "Of course, her refusing to accept his apology — which was genuine, and frankly, it took a lot of balls for him to admit he'd gone too far and say so on live fucking TV — much less listen to what he was actually saying, only made it worse. God, that was horrible," he groaned, burying his face in both hands and falling quiet for a few minutes before sucking in a harsh breath and looking up. His eyes were full of angry resentment, even two years later, and Robin found himself wondering just how badly that little tantrum had hurt their relationship.
As though reading his mind, Chris answered.
"She was furious that I didn't say anything, either then or after the show was over. But I couldn't!" he exclaimed quietly, his frustration obvious, and Robin winced in sympathy; the poor man had been stuck between a rock and a hard place. "I couldn't agree with her, because she . . . well, Jason was right about her taking our comments too much to heart, as a personal insult to her ability to coach, and given the fact that nothing changed after that show, I'm pretty sure he was right about our relationship protecting her, even though I never intended for it to do so. And frankly, I don't want it to, either, and I resent that it does. But I can't say anything," he growled bitterly, giving Robin a hard look that he understood too well, before sighing heavily and sagging in his chair. "So I told her — and Jason, though to give him credit, he didn't actually ask — that it was between them and they're grown fucking adults and need to deal with their issues as such and leave the rest of the world the hell out of it. Jason just nodded and left; Karen . . ."
He blew out a deep sigh and buried his face in his hands gain. "And then the producers came nagging at me too and I — God, Robin, I'd speak up in a heartbeat because that cascade of stupidity caused so much trouble but those damned producers gossip worse than high school girls, and I'd never get another second of peace if I get in the middle of it. And if Karen knew that I think she can't be impartial enough to do it . . ."
This last statement was grumbled under his breath, though Robin had no trouble hearing him, and he sighed himself.
That had been a very ugly occasion for everyone. Though it was enlightening to know that Chris wasn't any more open with Karen than he was with Jayne, at least when it came to messy personal stuff.
Hmm.
If he were Jayne, Robin rather thought he'd be offended by that.
Once more reading his mind, Chris scoffed with no small amount of sarcasm and looked up, holding Robin's gaze with a gravity he hadn't seen yet today.
"So I'm sure you won't be surprised in the least to know that Jayne hauled me back to that hotel two weeks later."
No. No, he wasn't.
"And after twenty interminable years, I finally got to hear her story."
February, 2011, Embassy Suites, Room #804, London, UK
She'd gotten the same damn room.
Only Jayne.
Of course, to be fair, the only reason Chris registered this was because his mind had been conditioned to notice anything that had '84' in it — and he'd be lying if he didn't admit that sometimes, it annoyed the hell out of him. He was immensely proud of Bolero, of course he was, but dammit, he and Jayne had done a lot of other things that deserved tribute as well.
His own thoughts amused him as he let himself realize that he was actually a little nervous today. Jayne had been the one to set up this . . . encounter . . . and he didn't have a separate room waiting once they were done with — well, once they were done. He was going to get to hold her again tonight . . .
And she was waiting patiently for him on the other side of this bland, beige door.
He took an almost painfully-deep breath, inserted the keycard, and stepped into the softly-lit room, a smile curving his lips as his gaze met hers. A matching smile came to her mouth and she moved forward, molding her body to his and tangling her fingers in his hair as she brought his face down and kissed him. His suitcase and coat tumbled to the floor as he responded, wrapping his arms around her and tilting their heads until there was no way for them to be any closer.
Unlike the other five times this had happened, there wasn't any raging passion, no hunger, and no desperate longing. No, this kiss was a simple statement of 'mine', and as their mouths moved together with a tender assurance that surprised him a little, he couldn't help but feel like he'd finally come home. Jayne was in his arms and kissing him because . . . because she wanted to.
God help him, but he almost swooned at the thought.
Reading his mind, Jayne deepened the kiss for just a few seconds before releasing him with only a little reluctance and crossing the room backwards, her eyes never leaving his as she curled up on the little sofa and held out a hand. He went to her instantly, kicking off his shoes and shrugging off his outer shirt before flinging himself onto the other end and then falling over, his head landing with perfect accuracy on the pillow she'd just put in her lap. Her fingers instantly buried themselves in his hair, playing happily with the strands and making a purr rise in his throat. He would never understand his partner's fascination with his hair, but like hell he was gonna say a word — she might stop doing it.
He was enjoying the silence and that relaxing, yet arousing, feel of her fingers stroking and petting him — alright, yes, he was purring softly in the back of his throat, too, but dear Lord it felt so good — so when she spoke, it caught him completely off-guard.
"I'm sorry, Chris."
It took a minute for that to sink in, the lassitude brought about by her tender, soothing fingers making his thoughts sluggish, and he finally blinked.
Well, that was . . . odd.
"Why?" he said slowly, tipping his head a little further back so he could meet her eyes.
But she was looking straight ahead, refusing to let him see her, and a shiver of apprehension rippled down his spine. It was several minutes before she answered him, and that silence was the most uncomfortable time he'd ever spent with Jayne.
Ever.
Which, given some of their . . . history . . . that was saying a lot.
And what it said was scaring the hell out of him.
So when she finally spoke, it took most of his control to keep from spasming straight off the sofa.
"I'm sorry for not — for — ah, Chris," she whispered tenderly, leaning down so she could look straight in his eyes. "I'm sorry that I let that bloody car accident ruin what we could have been."
His entire being just . . . stopped.
For twenty-three years, he had wanted more than anything to hear her say that, to acknowledge what they should have been for each other. It had been the one overarching dream of his life.
Only, now that he'd heard it, he was stunned to realize it wasn't.
Because hearing her say it didn't change a damn thing — and he wasn't talking about the past. Unless he'd missed something monumental, which was unlikely, given how much attention he paid to Jayne (whether he wanted to or not), she hadn't left Phil, and didn't intend to.
But he said nothing; frustrated though he was, yelling at Jayne would solve nothing. And, quite frankly, he'd either hurt her feelings by doing so, or get himself slapped upside the head with a skate. Either way, problem: not solved.
And he loved her far too much to hurt her like that just to make himself feel better — for the ten minutes that feeling would last. Instead, he huffed out a soft breath and twisted his head, trying to catch her gaze, until she finally gave in and looked down, meeting his eyes and holding nothing back, for the first time since . . . since the day he'd had that damned car wreck.
And her look was so full of love that his heart skipped several beats and he forgot to breathe.
She didn't elaborate any further on her shocking statement; instead, she buried her fingers back in his hair and resumed petting him, closing her eyes on a sigh of her own. And then, with no preamble whatsoever, she started the tale of her journey.
"I was never in love with Phil," she said candidly, startling Chris again; he'd wondered a few times over the years, of course, but he'd ultimately come to the conclusion that Jayne had fallen for Phil the way he had for Jill, and had sorta-kinda (only, not really) reconciled himself to that.
Apparently, he'd been wrong for twenty years.
If you cried while you laughed, was it humor or angst?
Knowing him so well, Jayne took no notice of his reaction to spare his dignity and kept talking. "I mean, don't get me wrong. He's — well, he was — a nice man, sweet, and he adored me. And I did love him, Chris. I just . . . after that night, I knew I'd never feel that deeply about anyone but you, and since we couldn't be together—" (he sucked in a sharp breath at this, but didn't try to speak; there was nothing to be gained by rehashing the real truth of that) "—I knew that I'd have to look for other things. And Phil had them. He had a mobile career, he was a stable man, intelligent, easy-going, and because of his work, I thought he'd be able to understand ours. And he wanted a family. It really was the best I could hope for and exactly what I wanted since I couldn't . . ."
She trailed off and Chris swallowed hard, lifting his right hand to caress her lips and giving her a wan smile when she met his eyes; as much as this was tearing him apart, he was ridiculously glad to hear it. This conversation was long overdue, even for he and Jayne. So he said nothing and just looked at her, making sure she saw only love in his face.
Her mouth curved up in a tremulous smile and she stroked his forehead, her fingers caressing the few wayward strands of hair and making him fight back a shiver.
"I think the worst part is that I'm supposed to say 'being with Phil gave me Kieran and Jess and that made everything worth it'," she whispered, biting her lip in an attempt to keep her tears in check. "And I love them dearly, I wouldn't want to be without them, but I . . ."
She trailed off again, tears sliding down her cheeks as she lost the battle with her emotions, and Chris, aching with her pain, breathed her name. He made no attempt to get up or hold her; that would only make it worse for her, he knew, and he cursed that particular quirk of hers. But he could hold her hand, so he did, twining their fingers and squeezing tightly to let her know that he was there and it was okay. Her return squeeze felt wan, if the touch of a hand could be such a thing, but she rallied enough to give him an equally wan smile, and for now, it was enough.
Besides, he knew exactly how she felt.
"I know," he confessed quietly, holding her eyes. "I have — I feel the same way, sometimes. Especially given how and why Jill got pregnant with Jack."
Jayne hiccupped in response, biting her lip and sniffing hard, and searched his eyes, surprise clearly visible in hers.
"I . . . I had no idea," she finally breathed, sounding stunned, and he nodded.
"Well, I didn't tell you," was his reply, paired with a deep sigh. "And it's not a feeling I have all that often, to be honest," he added, getting a nod from her. "But sometimes, I wish . . . I think . . . well. You know."
She did know and that knowledge lay heavily in the sudden silence.
But after only a few minutes, Chris couldn't take it anymore and nibbled on his upper lip in a nervous tic before cautiously breaking it.
"You . . . you said 'he was a nice man'," he said very carefully, watching her closely but not trying to meet her eyes yet. "What happened?"
His partner blew out a long sigh and slumped back against the cushion, rubbing her face with her free hand before suddenly grabbing his shoulder and urging him to sit up. Puzzled, he nonetheless complied and instantly found himself sitting where she had been, with her in his lap and her face buried in his neck.
Ah, bugger. This did not bode well.
Still, he was getting to hold her and she clearly wanted comfort, so he wrapped himself around her, took a deep breath, and whispered, "It's okay, Jaynie. I'm here."
She sniffled against his shoulder in response and then took a full breath of her own and pulled away enough to rest her head just under the hollow of his throat before she spoke again.
"You know the answer," she chided him almost playfully, absently rubbing her free hand over his heart. "He was your friend; that's how we met."
Oh, yeah. Chris had tried, with varying levels of success, to forget that fact; the knowledge that without him, Jayne would probably never have met Phil was not something he wanted to dwell on. Or admit. Or have anything to do with, really. He much preferred to believe that they'd met because Phil had tripped on the sidewalk and landed face-first on the ground at Jayne's feet, invoking pity.
But he knew all-too-well that you couldn't change the past, so he simply nodded and hugged her a little closer to his heart.
"And you know, I really think he was when we met," she continued, sounding speculative, and at this, her partner rolled his eyes. For a woman who thought everything on the planet through four times before she did anything, her refusal to do that with conversations was really fricking annoying. "Looking back, I don't think things started to go sour until he realized that I wasn't going to quit skating after we got married, or even after Lillehammer. And I still don't get that; I mean, we never talked about it, not once. And even if we had, I would have refused, so why he got so upset is something I've never figured out."
Ah, Jayne. Chris adored her beyond all reason, but her naiveté about men and their motivations both amused and infuriated him. Even after all this time and all the tantrums Phil had thrown about her relationship with Chris, she still didn't understand that the man was just flat-out jealous. He hated her closeness to Chris, he hated that she would, even now, tell her partner things that she never even considered sharing with her husband, and he hated that Jayne and Chris had exactly zero inhibitions and reservations about touching each other.
The memory of the time Jayne had stumbled coming down her stairs, teetering dangerously for only a few seconds before being caught, lifted, and set safely down by Chris as he climbed them, came to mind. Oh, Phil and Jill had both been pissed off about that, though he'd been puzzled for the longest time as to why. It wasn't like anything indecent had happened; he'd simply caught her arms when she lurched forward and taken a single step back down as he turned, bringing her past his body before putting her on the stair below him.
It had actually been something like two years later before he'd realized that 'bringing her past his body' had encompassed full-frontal contact, and then he'd just been irritated. Was there no end to Jill and Phil's insecurities?
But once again, he'd said nothing, and that was a habit he was truly beginning to regret now. Not that he wanted, in and of itself, to hurt Jayne's marriage, though his reasons weren't particularly altruistic. No, he wanted her to choose him, not run to him because he was her safe harbor and non-threatening, which was still primarily how she saw him, in love with him or not. Since he had gone to a massive amount of effort to make sure that's what she saw, he couldn't — and wouldn't — complain, though the irony was more than enough to drive him to drink. But it was what it was, and so he had resigned himself to the situation.
Now, should things change for real, well, that would change the entire story.
Because if he were to be lucky enough to have Jayne come to him as the man she loved, then by God, he was going to have every single part of her.
Ooh. His thoughts were wandering into dangerous territory again, so he clenched his fist until his nails bit into his palm and let the pain ground him in the here and now before meeting her eyes once more.
And for the first time in . . . since DOI had started, he was grateful that Jayne hadn't followed his thoughts this time, because he wasn't about to tell her the cold truth about jealousy and men in general, at least when it came to their women, and her husband in particular. Besides, he knew his partner well, and knew that if he did disclose this information, the entire conversation would go sideways and it was unlikely they could get back on track. So he kept his mouth shut and waited patiently for her to continue her story.
"But anyway," she said, obliging him the way she always did, even when she didn't know she was doing it. "Phil was . . . the best 'not you' I knew I'd find, and I — I needed that, Chris. I did."
She paused again and craned her neck until she could see his eyes, hers begging him to understand. And he did, dammit. Oh, he did.
But this wasn't about him, so he swallowed and gave her a reassuring nod. "Yeah, I know," he murmured in hair, releasing an inaudible sigh when she kissed his neck and cuddled back into his chest.
"And things were good for a long time," she continued, absently stroking his belly. The sensations were about to drive him crazy, so he gently caught her hand and pulled it up to his chest. Safer territory; if she was going to torture him with her touch, he wanted at least a half a chance of surviving with his sanity.
Well, most of it.
"I think now that making him our business manager was a good idea in the beginning," she said, bringing her left hand up to play with his hair again and pulling a sigh of pure satisfaction from his lips. "But we shouldn't have let it continue; not after Lillehammer. I mean, neither of us had any reason at the time to think it was a bad idea, but . . . yeah."
Chris could only grunt noncommittally; he'd come to a similar conclusion when they'd been negotiating the first DOI tour and knew that their reasoning was likely the same. But again, they couldn't change the past, so there was no need to dig into this insight; it wouldn't help or change anything and they already had more than enough to talk about.
"Mm," Jayne murmured in agreement, her fingers tightening in his hair for just a second before going back to ruffling and smoothing the short strands. "But we didn't know, or have any reason to suspect, and so it never occurred to us that it might become a problem," she almost whispered, and once again, Chris could only hum softly in reply. "And it's so obvious now, looking back, how . . . how calculating he'd become. I mean, he rejected everywhere in the States I was interested in maybe moving to and agreed wholeheartedly that we really shouldn't leave my parents, despite the fact that America has plenty of places they could have stayed and been close to us, and then once we finally retired, the first thing he made sure we did was move to a completely different city, where I didn't know anyone or anything, and without you . . . I mean, it was tailor-made to force me to become completely dependent on him."
This? This forced Chris to honest-to-God bite his tongue. Yet again, he'd come to the same conclusion — and yet again, he'd kept it to himself because he'd wanted Jayne to be happy and she'd told him she was. The kicker was that she had been happy, at least for a while.
Twenty years later was a hell of a time to realize that no, actually, she really hadn't been.
"The worst part is that it worked," she told him in a remarkably steady voice. "And I didn't have a clue; I got pregnant so fast and then I . . . and then I . . . yeah." Her voice dropped abruptly to a whisper that trailed off into quiet tears at the reminder and Chris cursed under his breath as he shifted her on his lap until he could wrap himself completely around her. No further words were spoken as Jayne grieved again for the child so cruelly taken from her and Chris wept for Jayne. But the storm passed quickly and she sniffled against his chest, rubbing the damp spot on his shirt in silent apology.
"So there I was: alone, missing you so much it actually hurt, unemployed, and not a clue what to do next. And Phil didn't make any effort to encourage me to find things to do — and he sure as hell made sure skating never came up. He wanted a housewife and he'd finally gotten her, and he was not going to give that up. And he wanted kids so badly that I . . . well, after the — after, I felt so guilty and so . . . not 'empty' but . . . well, I can't really describe it, but I didn't feel quite right physically. So when he suggested IVF, I thought 'why not?'. It would make him happy and finally give me something to, to focus on, so . . ."
A moan clawed its way up Chris' chest, but he stopped it from sheer force of will. He'd wondered more than once before and after they'd retired just how genuine Jayne's desire for children really was. It wasn't something either of them had ever talked about until they'd gotten married and even then, it had only been in the most abstract of terms. After all, they were ice dancers. The best in the world, at that. And while there were those who could balance children and a skating career, the skating always came second and tended to be rather simplistic. Which made sense, really, only that wasn't something he and Jayne could do. They were wired to be the best and they thrived on pushing boundaries and trying new things, and children would make that impossible. In fact, Jayne hadn't really started talking about it until . . . until Jill announced her 'surprise' pregnancy.
Sometimes, he harbored the dark thought that if Jill hadn't gotten pregnant with Jack, they might still be together. He loved his son fiercely, but Jack had forced a change in his obligations that he hadn't wanted at the time. He didn't resent the boy for it, of course, but he could admit now that he did bear a grudge against Jill for her determination to trap him so she could prove her 'superior' claim.
Jayne made no mention of his mental tangent, assuming she saw it, and took a deep breath, preparing to bare the darkest part of her life to her partner. The man who could have, would have — maybe even should have — been her lover, her husband, and her mate.
"Of course, that didn't take, as you know," she said carefully, and he nodded, kissing her hair again. "And it took the doctor telling us that it was too dangerous to try again before he'd even begin to consider something else. And adoption was really the only other choice at the time. But by then, I was so worn out and . . . and drained . . . that I couldn't bear the thought. And I couldn't really talk to you, because you were dealing with poor Jack, and Jill was still recovering, and . . . oh, Chris, I was so alone. Phil couldn't understand why I wasn't jumping for the joy at the thought of adopting and I finally just gave up trying to explain. He didn't want to get it and I just didn't have anything left by then, so . . . yeah. And then one day, he tricked me into going with him to his friends who'd adopted and you — well, you know the rest."
He did indeed.
"And I can't say I regret it. Not really," she said, and he didn't, couldn't, resent her for that. Hindsight was all well and good, but it was just that: knowledge after it was all said and done. It was the exact same reason he'd made the absurd decision to leave Jayne and sever their partnership; how could he possibly have known the true extent of the devastation that would cause? "But if I could do it again . . ." she added, only to immediately trail off, and Chris sighed heavily into her hair.
But he didn't say anything; it would still make no difference and, frankly, he had neither the desire nor the strength to play 'what if'.
"So we adopted Kieran and it . . . well, it worked, in a way," she said, her face oddly serene now. "I was so focused on him that I let myself forget how lonely I really was, and how directionless. I mean, how could I possibly allow myself to miss skating and my life with you when I had this wonderful baby boy who needed me to be his mum?"
He could hear her sincerity, but there was also more than a little sarcasm there and he felt a surge of empathy. Like Jayne, he'd found himself trapped in a situation of his own making, unable to break free and equally unable to explain why he wanted that freedom. It wasn't like he could have told Jill, "Hey, babe, I know I agreed to move to Colorado with you and quit skating to raise our family, but now that we're here, I didn't really mean it'. His mother had done that to him and his father, and Chris would die before inflicting that pain on his family. Plus, he'd truly thought that Jayne was happier, with her husband and kids, than she had been with him, and that was his primary motivation.
"But then you and I did the Notts gala, and I got a taste of our old life and what I'd given up. And it started to wake something in me, Chris. It did," she told him, tears in her eyes, and he swallowed. Once again, they had been in sync, because he had awakened as well . . . and he'd had the added pressure of knowing exactly how far Phil and Jill were willing to go to keep them separated. "And now that I can look back, I think that's why Phil came; he was worried that would happen and wanted to stop it. Because it wasn't but a few months later that he started talking about adopting another baby. And then we were offered Jessica as a newborn and . . . and how could I say 'no'?"
Having never suspected any of this, Chris felt rather like he'd been sucker-punched and it took a great deal of effort to keep from wheezing in response. The tears that came to his eyes decided to stay there, thankfully, and he bit his lip to keep from sniffling. Jayne didn't need to know how badly he felt about this new information; she had more than enough of her own stuff to deal with.
"So there I was: raising two children I'd almost convinced myself I wanted but still loved, going another year without so much as looking at a pair of skates, never mind an ice rink, and trying to remember that Phil was supposed to be my best friend and the man I wanted to see and talk to every day, not you. So when they decided to be 'clever' and send you and I on vacation alone . . ."
Her voice was bitter now, and Chris swallowed again. Hard. Like her, he was both angry at the power play and pathetically grateful, because he'd needed to see Jayne so badly by then that he'd worked himself into having panic attacks for a while. He'd never told Jayne about them, because there was no way their spouses would have allowed her to come to him and he flat-out refused to put her through that. Not after suffering it himself.
"Oh, Chris, I was so happy to see you," she whispered, stroking his cheek and gazing at him from her position tucked into his chest. "But I was so miserable, too, because I had my left arm back and my life had snapped into focus again, but we both knew it was a temporary thing. You know?"
"Yeah," he answered hoarsely, kissing her wrist and nuzzling into her palm. "I felt the same."
She smiled against his heart and for some stupid reason, that made tears spring to his eyes again. It took more effort this time, but he managed to wrestle his emotions under control and waited for her to continue, albeit not very patiently. He didn't really want to hear this, he'd found, but he knew he needed to and she needed to talk, so . . .
When she read his mind again and kept talking, he had a sudden flashback to the first time that had happened, during one of their training sessions for Barnum — and the realization took his breath away, it was so brutal. He'd fallen in love with her while they were working on that program, but had he really just now realized that their ability to read each other's minds, so to speak, was an unmistakable sign that their partnership had solidified to an even higher level at the same time?
Egads, he was an idiot.
"And it was cruel of them to do that," Jayne said, her voice trembling a little. "Now that I know how Jill was feeling — and Phil, but he — but at the time, I had no idea, so I thought it was sweet, that they understood our need to be together. I had no idea, and for that, I'm sorry. I could never understand why you were so . . . well, 'remote'. As much as you could be with me, anyway."
"Mmm," he muttered in a non-response. What could he say?
"Yeah, well, sometimes you want to believe so much," she replied. "And to be honest, I had no reason to suspect otherwise. Not really."
He was unable to keep his disbelief locked down and it screamed loudly in the silence.
"I didn't," she insisted to his unvoiced objection. "That's why it took me so long to see it: there were a ton of little, inconsequential things, things that on their own didn't mean much. And I didn't have any reason to start putting them together until we agreed to do DOI in Oz."
. . . dammit, he hated when she out-logicked him. Especially when he considered that Jayne wasn't nearly as cynical as he was, on top of being so even-tempered and good-natured. He hadn't been the raging asshole a lot of people tried to portray him as when he was younger, but he'd definitely been mercurial. And Jayne had never taken it personally, or made an issue of it beyond what she needed to get him back on an even keel. So of course she'd treated everyone else in her life that way, unless and until they'd proven beyond a doubt to be the jerks so many people had thought him to be.
And she'd hardly suspect her husband to be one of them.
Thus, why it had taken five years for them to have this talk.
Dammit.
"But after that, when he was so hateful, I couldn't ignore it anymore. And then you and I really got back into our groove, which . . . ironically, at the time, I thought that had made things better. Because I was happy in a way I hadn't been in so long, and I thought that he — but he wasn't. He'd just learned to keep his reactions hidden. Nobody told me, not for years, but he tried so hard to block us taking DOI on tour that people were worried I was sick."
(he would remember this conversation in a year and the irony would make him scream)
She pressed another kiss to his heart and sighed, cuddling even closer and pulling a tender smile to his lips at her display of utter trust.
"So after you told me your side back in '06, I started to think. I didn't want to believe you, you know," she added, sounding frustrated now, and he nodded silently. It hadn't been the highlight of his life, either. "And for about a year — until we started pitching the idea of touring, actually — I was able to ignore it, pretend it wasn't happening to me. But then it came up and smacked me in the face so hard I got a nosebleed, and that was that."
She fell silent again and he let her, content for the moment to just hold her; her pain was searing through his veins like acid and there wasn't anything he could do to make it better, or even ease it, but he could hold her and make damn sure she knew she wasn't alone.
"Do you still love me, Chris?"
She could have stabbed him in the heart and it would have been less shocking.
He actually choked, nearly throwing her to the floor with the violence of his reaction, and it was two full minutes before he remembered how to breathe. Talking took a little longer, even as he hauled her around so she was straddling his lap, her arms around his neck and his hands on her hips, face to face, with his eyes boring into hers as he tried desperately to wonder what he'd done wrong to make her need to ask that question.
All he saw was the serenity that was unique to Jayne, and her deep love for him, which calmed his panic even as it stoked his confusion.
But there was ever and only one answer he could give.
"With every beat of my heart," he whispered, letting her see that truth in his eyes before tilting his forehead to rest against hers and feeling a purr rise in his throat when she began to stroke his hair. His body was beginning to respond to her position, but for the first time, he didn't care. It wasn't like she didn't know.
For a long, endless moment, she didn't speak; they simply looked at each other, communing in that way that was theirs alone, seeking and giving reassurance that no matter what, they would always love each other.
And then Jayne did to him what they'd done to skating in 1984 and turned his world absolutely and utterly upside-down, inside-out, and backwards.
"Do you still want me?"
Once again, he forgot how to breathe. But even as he gave her a wide-eyed stare of astonished disbelief, his hips surged up, rocking his arousal directly against her, and she gasped, her fingers curling in his hair and her eyes full of shock.
Only . . . she didn't move. And her shock heated to arousal almost immediately.
It took some time, but once he'd gotten himself under control, he was able to identify the confidence behind the shock — and the arousal, which, wow — and, for the first time, he allowed himself to answer it.
"Until time ends, Jayne, I will love you and want you and need you," he said fervently, eyes blazing into hers with so much conviction, the room temperature rose. "I never believed in soulmates, not until I left you. And when you were given back to me, I swore that for the rest of my life, where you go, I go. And whatever you need or want from me is yours. Always."
Silence fell after a confession thirty years in the making.
Tears filled Jayne's eyes and spilled down her cheeks; without thought, Chris' hands came up and he tenderly smoothed them into her skin without looking away from her, forcing her to see the whole truth of him for the first time since the night she'd sealed their fates.
Jayne finally whispered his name and swayed forward, burying her face in his throat and sniffling as she rode out the last waves of her emotional storm, and Chris held her tightly as he did the same.
And then he asked the only question that had any meaning left. For either of them.
"Where do we go from here?"
Silence. But this one held a hint of darkness that made him nervous, though he couldn't say why.
Until she spoke, and behind his pain-filled resignation was the thought that he shouldn't be surprised. Nothing else about this part of their lives had been easy, so why would that change now?
"I don't know, Chris," she whispered, pulling back enough to meet his eyes. "I honestly don't know."
His barely-formed dream of finally taking her to bed dissipated even as she cuddled back into him, knowing it would comfort him — as much as he could be, at least — and clearly gleaning her own reassurance from his embrace, despite the turmoil they were both drowning in.
"And I wish to God I did, because this can't go on."
