Chapter Text

Overture

“You’re going down this time, Reyes,” Amélie said, reaching across the table and snatching a piece of crunchy roll off his plate with her chopsticks.

“Didn’t you get one of those military guys?” Gabriel snorted, sucking on some pickled ginger, unconcerned by his best friend’s sushi theft. “There’s no way you shape him up better than my chef. Have you watched her show? She was an athlete in college.”

“Military guys could be athletes,” Amélie replied, shrugging. “Besides, have you seen this guy? He’s Captain fucking America in the flesh.”

She popped a piece of eel into her mouth, then fished out her phone and poked at it for a minute before turning it around to hold up a photo for Gabriel to see. A cocky-looking blonde grinned at him, all blue eyes and strong chin. Gabriel rolled his eyes and shoved her phone away from his face.

“Just because he’s cute doesn’t mean you can train him to dance.”

“You think he’s cute?” she said, frowning and looking at the picture.

“What? Don’t you? Wasn’t that your point in the first place, calling him Captain America and showing me his picture?”

Amé rolled her eyes. “Well, of course he’s handsome Gabriel,” she said, “and viewers are going to eat that up. We’re going to get all the votes this season. But I meant, you think he’s cute? Isn’t he a bit… boring for your tastes?”

Gabriel drained his water glass, smiled wickedly. “Less boring if he were bent over the bed screaming my name.”

A deadly smile spread on Amélie’s lips. “You have a point,” she conceded. “Too bad he’s bound to be straight as an arrow. Military types. So square.”

Gabriel had been a dancing instructor for Star Dance for three seasons now, though not consecutively. The producers didn’t like having the same instructors every season, though some fan favorites came back a few times to keep viewers hooked. He had gotten pretty far two seasons ago with his partner, a TV actress who had taken dance classes as a kid and had a good sense of rhythm. She had been fearless, trying new moves, lifts, and flips. And then she had been ruthless when Gabriel had turned down her multiple advances, and their success streak tanked.

Amé, on the other hand, had competed last season and gotten third place with a hockey player.

This was their first season competing directly against each other, so they carpooled from their apartment block for the first day, bickering about who was going to make it farther in the competition. Gabriel had to admit, winning the $100,000 prize money would do him all kinds of good, but beating Amé was possibly more motivating.

They arrived a good ten minutes early and greeted familiar faces, other dance instructors brought back for the new season. Lena, whose footwork put the other dancers to shame every time. Satya, who seemed aloof but was actually just kind of awkward and had a hard time reading people, and could move like silk over glass. Akande, whose grace belied his huge frame. Sombra, who specialized in Latin dances (he did, too, and the two of them had a lot of fun tearing things up together during breaks and special performances).

Finally the producer appeared and called them to order. The chatter and movement died down.

“Welcome, welcome,” the producer, a hulk of a man called Winston called. Winston was one of the few Hollywood folks Gabriel had come across that he didn’t instantly hate. “Thanks for coming back, returners, and for joining us, new instructors. You’ll be meeting your partners in about an hour and we’ll be filming the initial meetings and interviews all day today. My assistant is distributing the schedule for this week.”

Gabriel turned to see Athena handing Amé a page, then Sombra, then him, and on down the line. He looked over the schedule. No surprises; it looked about the same as the schedules from the previous seasons he’d participated in.

“Let’s go ahead and start instructor interviews. If we can have new instructors first, we’ll need more time with you all, that’s good, thanks.” Winston waved to everyone else and disappeared with the new instructors down the hallway to the interview rooms.

Amélie twirled into Gabriel’s arms and he reacted quickly, dipping her back in a familiar gesture. “Waltz is the first week’s dance,” she said, her long ponytail sweeping the floor as she arched her back and arms dramatically in the dip. “You imbeciles do not stand a chance.”

Gabriel hauled her back to her feet. “If you can get your ox of a soldier to not step on your toes,” he said, spinning her to Sombra, who took up the lead position with a cackle.

“...and that’s how I got into cooking,” Fareeha Amari finished with a laugh and winning smile. Gabriel smiled for the camera, but also because he found the woman charming and pleasant. She seemed far more down to earth than his last partner, the actress.

“Gabriel,” the interviewer said, “how do you think this season will go for you and Fareeha?”

Gabriel cleared his throat, glanced at Fareeha and nodded. “So far, Fareeha and I are getting along great,” he said cheerfully, knowing the producers would just make him say it again if he didn’t lay on the cheese a bit. “I’ve watched her show a lot, so I know she’s a hard worker and a perfectionist, so I’m sure we’ll do well together,” he finished with a chuckle.

“Great,” the interviewer said, gesturing over her shoulder to the camera crew to cut the video. “We’re done for now, thanks Fareeha, Gabriel. See you tomorrow.”

“What now?” Fareeha asked as she followed Gabriel out into the common room where lunch was set up.

“Now we wait to be cleared for our first practice. Everyone is supposed to have the same amount of time, so we have to wait for the rest of the interviews to finish and Winston to do his big intro for the cameras.” He gestured to the lunch table. “Hungry?”

Gabriel finished filling his plate and turned when he heard Amé’s voice nearby, running directly into a wall of blue and blond. His pile of veggies exploded as he reared back in surprise.

“Whoa there,” a gruff voice with a subtle country twang to it said, a hand reaching out to steady Gabriel by the elbow. “Sorry!”

Covered in lettuce, carrots, and Italian dressing, Gabriel could do little more than gape at the man in front of him. He recognized him from the photo on Amélie’s phone, the military guy who was here to compete. But he hadn’t gathered from the photo just how muscular the man would be.

“You alright?” the man asked as Gabriel struggled to find words.

“He’s fine,” came Amélie’s amused voice, and Muscles turned to reveal Amélie peeking her head around his shoulders to smirk at Gabriel. “Jack, this is my best friend, Gabriel Reyes. Gabe, Jack Morrison.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Jack said politely, offering his hand.

“Likewise,” Gabriel muttered, suddenly acutely aware of the mess his lunch had made all over the both of them. “Sorry my salad went nuclear on you.”

Jack laughed. “Sorry I made your lunch ‘go nuclear.’”

A set assistant was already there to mop up the salad, so Gabriel thanked the kid and turned to help himself to a new plate, then introduced Fareeha to Jack and Amélie. The four of them settled at a table to eat.

“My mother was military, too,” Fareeha told Jack. “Sniper in Egypt’s special forces.”

“Wow, a sniper,” Jack said, spearing a huge bite of lettuce. “Bet she has a lot of stories from her service, huh?”

Fareeha shrugged. “She was killed in action when I was thirteen,” she said. Jack’s face clouded.

“Sorry to hear it,” he said quietly. Gabriel made a mental note to look up why a military guy had made the cut to be on the show as one of their celebrity guests. Usually people had some kind of entertainment background—singers, actors, TV stars, athletes, sometimes politicians. But military?

“What about you, Gabriel?” Jack said.

Gabriel looked up, startled out of his thoughts, and straight into that dazzling blue gaze. Oh shit, he had joked with Amé about Jack being cute the other day, but up close and personal, the man was fucking gorgeous. “Uh,” he said eloquently.

“Gabriel has two older brothers and an older sister,” Amé said smoothly, rolling her eyes at Gabriel. “And apparently his brain isn’t getting enough oxygen today.”

Fareeha snorted a laugh and Gabriel shot her a dirty look. “Hey,” he said, mock offended. “I thought we were a team.” His dance partner grinned, shrugging.

“Baby of the family, huh?” Jack said, kindly taking up the conversation point instead of the teasing. “Me, too, but I only have one brother.”

Amélie tossed her long hair over her shoulder. “Babies,” she scoffed. “Fareeha and I understand the superiority of being an only child.”

“Careful, Amé,” Gabriel said. “You might sound like a bitch if you keep talking.”

She scoffed. “Might?”

Fareeha and Jack laughed at their bickering, not put off at all. Gabriel grinned, too. This was shaping up to be a good season.