Chapter Text
You will be out with friends
when the news of her existence
will be accidentally spilled all over
your bar stool.
Respond calmly
as if it was only a change in weather,
a punchline you saw coming.
Not many things take Tessa Virtue by surprise.
There have only been a few times, in fact, where things haven’t gone her way- and while they’ve been glaring and large and unforgettable (leg surgery and silver medals, anybody?) she can admit that her poker face is better than most. She would credit it to the years of media experience and staying focused in the face of competition, but her mother would say she’s had the skill ever since she could stand up in her skates.
Handling the unexpected is her thing.
So when a woman with dark brown hair, blue eyes, and a shot of whiskey in her hand moves onto Scott the moment they walk into the bar, she is not fazed, suspecting a fangirl who’s had a few too many. She moves to gently pull him aside, always protecting her partner, until she sees Scott’s arm slowly and timidly move to the small of her back, brushing the skin that is revealed by the woman’s bright crop top.
“Hey babe!” She gets on her tiptoes to crow into his ear, dangerously close to spilling her glass. “Oh, I’m so glad you brought her!”
Tessa locks eyes with Scott despite his best effort, glancing everywhere in the room but her. Her stomach does this weird dropping thing and there’s no time for him to explain, but his gaze is apologetic when the brunette holds out her hand for Tessa to shake. “I’m Stephanie! It’s so nice to finally meet you- Scott’s been meaning to introduce us for forever.”
Tessa nods wordlessly for a few seconds until she finds her voice. “Of course, it’s so nice to meet you!” She searches her brain for anything, and lands on the low-hanging fruit. “Where’d you guys meet?” Who are you? Why are you here? Why are Scott’s cheeks red and why is his hand still on your back?
They walk over to the row of barstools while Stephanie delightfully talks about a mutual friend setting them up over coffee a month back, and the delicious scones he bought her and what was that place called, Scott, where we went for dinner a few nights later, over on North Street? You have to try it, Tessa!
The sticky, dark brown wood of the bar has never looked so interesting to her.
When Stephanie excuses herself to go to the bathroom, his mouth is the first to open, beating her questions by a second. “I’m so sorry, I’ve been meaning to tell you, I swear-”
“Scott,” she stops him before she can let herself think about what he’s saying. “It’s okay, really.”
“I didn’t want to surprise you with this.”
Too late, Tessa remarks only in her mind, knowing that a comment like that wouldn’t be appreciated. “It’s okay. I’m glad you’re happy. I’m not your mother, right? I don’t need to approve of every girl you date- she seems really great, though.” He doesn’t notice the hand that tightens ever so slightly on her glass, or the effort she puts into making sure her eye doesn’t twitch, a tick that would effectively give her away completely. She pauses before continuing.
“You know you don’t have to hide stuff like this from me, right? We both knew this would happen- can’t be just us two forever, right?”
Scott looks into her eyes for a few moments, words on the tip of his tongue but never leaving his lips. Resigned (and maybe a little disappointed), he offers her a smile. “Thanks, T. It means a lo-”
“Anyone up for a game?” Stephanie’s returned, and she’s gesturing to the pool table that’s been drawing Scott’s gaze all night. Tessa jumps back from him quickly, already grabbing a stick from the wall before he can say another word. She’s grateful for the distraction, and for the opportunity to hit something. “Sure, why not? You break, Stephanie.”
Steph (which is what he calls her halfway through the game, and it feels like a one-two to the gut) manages to sink a ball with a particularly difficult shot, and casually plants a kiss on Scott’s lips in celebration.
A week later, Tessa leaves for Toronto for a few days to do brand deals and see fashion shows, and manages to only text him back after a socially acceptable amount of time has passed.
(It feels like a dirty, passive-aggressive kind of revenge that their psychologist would call unproductive, but it’s more satisfying than she would like to admit.)
When he calls you, ignore the hundreds of ropes
untangling themselves in your stomach.
You are the best friend again. He invites
you over for dinner and you say yes
too easily. Remind yourself this isn’t special,
it’s only dinner, everyone has to eat.
When he greets you at the door, do not think
for one second you are the reason
he wore cologne tonight.
Someone told you once a soulmate
is not the person that makes you the happiest,
but the one who makes you feel the most.
Who can conduct your heart to bang the loudest,
can drag you, giggling forgiveness from the cellar they locked you in.
It has always been him.
Stephanie is incredibly nice.
She’s intelligent, easy to like, knows her Hall and Oates better than most, and can even beat both of them at pool. An hour in or so, Tessa’s pretty sure she heard her rattle off some complicated hockey stats to the bartender in a friendly conversation about the game that was turned on.
It’s the recollection of this that stops Tessa from gripping Scott’s hand as tight as she normally would when they take the ice the next time, a few weeks later, with the intention of stopping them from getting too rusty.
(Jordan had laughed when her sister told her this over the phone yesterday. “As if you two could get rusty . Twenty bucks you nail a full set of twizzles the first time, deal?”)
She got up this morning barely being able to stomach the idea of being in his arms again- which is crazy. It’s literally her job, or, used to be.
“What’s wrong?” Scott asks her a few minutes into their slow, relaxed waltz. “Is it your legs? Did you not stretch enough?” His urgent tone is enough for her to take pity on him, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. Post-retirement, he’s taken up coaching younger kids, and it’s only increased his capacity to worry.
“No, sorry, I’m fine. Just getting back into the swing of things.”
He doesn’t believe her excuse but accepts it all the same, joining her hand with his once again to slowly guide her around the rink, gliding next to the boards. He can’t shake the feeling of a high school social complete with a couple’s skate, lights turned down low, disco ball turning, and a girl and a boy looking anywhere but each other.
Finally, he presses play on some music, and it gets easier, still feels a little bit like breathing.
They naturally begin to move with each other to the tune of a slower song Tessa doesn’t recognize, but it’s perfect for the step sequences they run and the turns they flow into. He can’t help but gasp quietly when he picks her up, her thighs immediately winding around his middle so her ankles can lock behind his back and their hands stretching to hold as much as they can of each other while swiveling softly to the rhythm. Their palms finally meet, with their fingers intertwined in the special way they have been for years.
Scott can feel Tessa breathing into his neck, can’t help the content sigh that escapes him.
The song ends, and it takes a few seconds for them to recognize the quiet emptiness of the rink, to realize they have to let go now. Graceful as ever, Tessa’s skates land firmly on the ice. She can’t speak, but he can, and it’s a question complete with only a little hesitation and a few stutters.
“Come over for dinner tonight?”
In his kitchen, he will hand-feed you
a piece of red pepper. His laugh
will be low and warm and it will make you
feel like candlelight. Do not think this is special.
Do not count on your fingers the number
of freckles you could kiss too easily.
When he hugs you goodbye,
let him kiss you on the forehead.
Settle for target practice.
They have choreographed entire free dances right here, in front of his oven, by the light of his microwave.
His kitchen only brings back fond memories. Memories of good food and laughs, with just enough space to lock eyes and circle around each other- always under the pretense of a joke until it isn’t anymore- until the chicken in the oven is overcooked or the eggs in the pan turn black and start smoking.
“Mind grabbing the forks?” He says over his shoulder, focusing on cutting the vegetables for their meal. She immediately opens the silverware drawer to his right, grabbing what they need and setting them delicately on the table. She adds folded napkins and wine glasses next to their water glasses, only for him to whistle appreciatively when he sets the food on the table.
“Nice set dressing, Tess. Feeling fancy tonight, eh?”
She giggles and sits down across from him, waiting until he joins her to put her feet up on his lap, wiggling until she’s comfortable. “Only the most sophisticated dinners with you, of course.”
He pretends be annoyed by her socket toes wiggling while he eats, but it relaxes him in a way nothing else does. “I feel like I haven’t talked to you all week. How was the launch party?”
Tessa cringes for a moment, knowing he’s referencing the Nivea event and the lotion helps him hang on to me, I swear! interview, but he would never make fun of her sponsorship deals, knows how important they are to her. “Really good, actually. The meetings leading up to it were longer than they should’ve been, but the party was fun and the hotel they put me in was incredible. The tub had jets, Scott. When I checked in they had a full bouquet of chocolate and like, twenty bottles of lotion waiting for me.” She stops herself before she goes into further detail about the night of relaxation she had, leaving the possibilities hanging in the air between them.
“Oh, uh, that’s awesome. I saw some pictures, it looked fun. Sorry I couldn’t be there,” he pauses for a second. “Wait, twenty bottles of lotion? Do me a favor and sponsor someone really cool next time, okay? Any chance Guinness wants to put you in their commercials?” He teases her at the prospect of free beer.
“Sorry, doesn't it look like it. And before you ask, I doubt the Leafs are hiring cheerleaders or jersey models, so it looks like you’re out of luck,” she laughs while he sarcastically nods his head in disapproval.
“Hey, don’t sell yourself short! They would be crazy to sideline Tessa Virtue. You’d be a great substitute for William Nylander!”
“Hey, that’s your idea for retirement, not mine.”
The mention of retirement breaks him from that jovial attitude for a moment, and he sets his fork down on his plate. “Hey, any ideas for the post-Olympic life are more than welcome.”
The discouragement in his voice kills her, and for a moment she lets every other thought go so she can reach across the delicious meal he cooked for her to brush his hair back and place her hand on his cheek. “You have a plan, Scott. You’re a great coach- those kids love you, worship you- and you’re happiest around family, I know you are, even if you won’t-”
“I know, I know. It is nice to bother Danny from the same city. But you’re jetsetting! I feel like I should be, I don’t know, doing something other than teaching toe loops. I- I feel like I’m letting you down a little.”
She does not take this for an answer, does not think when she blurts out a response. “You know you could never let me down.”
He laughs, maybe a little uncomfortably, and tries to lighten the mood. “Even if all I did was sit on the couch and eat ice cream all day? I could be as big as a bus?”
Her eyes firmly refuse to leave his. “Never.”
She helps him clean up, drying dishes after he washes and putting everything back in its place like it’s her own. The only thing that gives her pause is the pink floral mug sitting next to his black ones in the cabinet- definitely not his, and surely not hers, so really could only belong to one other person. Tessa doesn’t want to think too hard on the idea, so she ignores the tiny feminine touches that were not present the last time she was here. Looks past the vase of flowers he would’ve definitely killed by now, the new throw pillows added to the couch, and worse- the spare toothbrush in the bathroom.
They talk and talk and occasionally break out into little dances, but the night has to end eventually. He laments not being able to send her home with any real food, like always, and she rolls her eyes and reiterates her ability to take care of herself, still with a gentle smile on her face like always.
“See you tomorrow, T?” He asks softly, pulling her in for a hug. He’d asked her to help him demonstrate a few different lifts for his juniors a while ago, claiming Danny was a poor substitute for what he was used to. It hadn’t taken much for her to say yes.
She smiles softly into his chest even though her can’t see her, gripping his waist and shoulder respectively until it feels like it’s been too long to continue. “Of course, I’ll be there.”
“Bright and early, too!” He adds enthusiastically despite her groan. “Don’t worry, your payment will be in caffeine. Flat white, right?” He winks at her, knowing it was and probably still is the wrong guess.
“Yeah, actually, that sounds good. See you tomorrow!” The surprise of her agreement is evident on his face even as she turns to leave.
She likes that she can still do that.
What she hates is how sad this makes her feel, hates how tiny and dependent and girlish sentiments like these paint her. She supposes she can’t blame him for this- he has no idea what he’s doing to her.
Because despite twenty years between them, it still bears repeating to herself: Scott Moir is not a mind reader.
He may know when she’s sick or too tired or when she needs coffee (always, she always needs coffee) but he cannot know the feeling she gets when he gently kisses her on the forehead in front of his door when she leaves after dinner or the large exhale she has to take to clear him from her mind as she steps onto the pavement outside his apartment building.
He cannot know the way her heart feels too high, shoved up into her throat she when she unlocks her own door, stepping into her beautifully decorated, clean, white living room. It’s not emptiness she feels, no, not that. She’s never been less of a person without him- she is still Tessa Virtue, still the woman who studies and works hard and achieves and has five Olympic medals hanging in her hallway. It’s more of a dullness, a weight that she can’t sense until it’s gone and he’s standing beside her.
You will want to call him.
You will go as far as holding the phone
in your hand, imagine telling him
unimaginable things like you are always
ticking inside of me and I dream of you
more often than I don’t.
My body is a dead language
and you pronounce
each word perfectly.
The cramp in her legs only begins to lessen after an hour or two.
Thankfully, this feeling is an irregularity these days, only coming the times she pushes herself too hard, doesn’t get to stretch in the morning, or sleeps in the tight little ball her body insists upon do they really seize like they used to.
Her muscle roller doesn’t help, and ice pack she places on it just becomes lukewarm after a few minutes, so she lays on the stack of decorative pillows on her bed, not bothering to move them out of the way like she always does. Just sits and stares at the ceiling, counting the tiles she’s become more familiar with lately.
Every few minutes, she hisses in pain and goes to coax the muscles, but the half-hearted massages she gives them don’t do Scott’s justice.
She debates calling him, knows he would be mad if she hid it, determined to go it alone- God knows their counselor has heard him say the same things over and over again when it came to her legs, but she can’t bring herself to do it. She refuses to hit speed dial number one, refuses the inevitable massage and the distracting banter and the hugs of comfort that would come from that call, denies herself her best friend who’s probably having dinner with his girlfriend right now and would not like to be disturbed.
Instead, she reaches her arm to her nightstand for the remote to turn on the latest episode of whatever reality television show is on, calls Jordan, and asks her to come over.
Her sister, of course, picks up after the second ring, hears the words “leg cramps” and “The Bachelor” and tells her she’ll be over in twenty minutes, only stopping for ice cream and ace bandages. “Tessa, don’t move a muscle, okay?”
Thankfully, Jordan waits an hour later, longer than Tessa thought she would last, almost until the rose ceremony is over, to ask. “Why didn’t you call Scott?”
Jordan is not an idiot. She can see the way her sister constantly checks her vibrating phone, never responding. The reluctance to talk, in favor of watching a cheesy group date in silence, only shifting to relieve pressure in her legs.
“I just… couldn’t.” She starts and finishes there.
“Okay.”
She falls asleep halfway into the next episode, gratefully using Jordan’s shoulder as a pillow. Her dreams are loud and colorful and confusing, possibly due to her low tolerance for pain medication Jordan had made her indulge in. She sees herself and Scott skating on ice with the olympic rings colored on it, completing lift after flawless lift, until everything changes. She looks down at her own body to see a sparkly evening gown, and Scott surrounded by so many other women dressed exactly like her, as if they’re all on The Bachelor, and Scott’s handing out roses to everyone except her. She hears Stephanie, her vibrant pink dress shining brighter than everyone else’s, ask her where her rose is.
She dreams of doing dishes, just like every other time they’ve done dishes together, but his chest is pressed tightly against her back this time and his arms are looped around her waist, swaying with her slowly, humming softly in her ear.
They are sitting on his bed, under a mountain of blankets, her head pillowed on his shoulder and their legs intertwined like there is no world outside of this, of them.
A seven year old Tessa gets kissed for the very first time, wobbling in her skate guards, looking up at an already tree-tall Scott as he blushes and looks anywhere but into her eyes.
Eventually, we all wake up.
Tessa rises at noon the next day to Jordan bringing her a steaming mug and a plate of toast for her to scarf down,
“You talked a lot in your sleep last night, Tessie,” she giggles while sister sips her tea. “Have any fun dreams?”
Tessa blames the pain meds, murmurs something about a pink dress and keeps eating.
She doesn’t admit that, yeah, the pain meds probably made it a little wackier than usual, maybe a little too vivid for comfort, but dreaming about Scott is kind of her new normal.
Do not call him.
Fall asleep to the hum of the VCR.
She must make him happy.
She must be
She must be his favorite place in Minneapolis.
You are a souvenir shop, where he goes
to remember how much people miss him
when he is gone.
What’s the name of that fancy restaurant we went to last year? With the tiny crab cakes? he texts her one afternoon, as she lands from yet another business trip.
La Cafe Des Lilas? Tessa shoots back automatically, rolling her eyes at the lack of respect over those delicious crab cakes.
That’s it!
Six month anniversary tonight. Any tips?
She knows what kind of advice he’s asking for, but goes for a safe, planning tip instead. Ask for the outdoor seating, it’s a nice night and their patio is beautiful
Her lack of complete punctuation piques his interest, but he thanks her for the suggestion nonetheless. You’re the best, T.
She hopes so. She’s certainly been trying to be. Trying to be supportive, kind, and busy enough to take her mind off of the fact that it’s their six month anniversary and he’s probably wearing a suit and buying her flowers and doing that thing where he puts his hand gently on her knee on the car ride there-
Hope you guys have fun. It’s lackluster, she knows, but it’s the best she can do right now, as she throws her luggage in a taxi and begins the drive home, glancing at her phone only once more.
Are we still on for the rink tomorrow? The kids have been dying to see you!
She doesn’t know if she can do it anymore.
She’s in her own head too much now- unusual, for the ice queen , she thinks bitterly- and this time there’s no team of highly trained specialists to plan her diet, to track her sleeping patterns, to talk to when things got to be too much.
So while there’s no B2Ten, there is a full bottle of white wine and a DVD of the 2005 version of Pride and Prejudice. This, for tonight, will do.
Tessa unlocks her empty apartment, ignoring the dust that’s started to collect on most of her kitchen appliances. She pours herself a glass, turns off her phone, unwraps the whole bar of chocolate in front of her like she’s scarcely let herself do in the past year, and makes it to her favorite part of the movie without falling asleep.
(It’s the scene where the stage is set for the end- Bingley and Darcy are back at Netherfield, the Lydia and Wickham scandal has been cleared up, and Lady Catherine has just been told off by Lizzie herself. Darcy pretends to be Jane so Bingley can rehearse his proposal- sure, it’s not Colin Firth stepping out of the pond in the white shirt, but it’s still pretty great.)
She wakes up to the credits rolling across her screen and the doorbell ringing.
Blindly grabbing the blanket she had been laying under and wrapping it around herself as she stumbles sleepily towards the door, she notices how dark it still is through her window. She looks through the peephole first.
Scott’s staring back at her, then hits the doorbell once more.
Tessa swings open the door before he can wake up her whole floor and whatever he’s about to say flies straight out of his head. She’s rumpled and warm, fingers trying to push the hair that’s fallen in front of her face, absolutely gorgeous exactly like this. Words skip and leap out of his mouth without his permission.
“Did you check your phone?”
She rubs the sleep from her eyes and looks at him like he’s insane. “ Hi, Scott.”
“Tessa, did you check your phone?”
“No, actually. I fell asleep with it off. Why, is everything okay?” She stops yawning and stretching to look worried, searching for any bruises or injuries or signs of concern.
He can do nothing except take her in his arms at once, engulfed in her scent that’s a little different because of her hours spent on a plane today but so undeniably Tessa, not able to help the way his hands splay wide on her waist and back and shoulders and neck because they don’t know what to touch first. They slowly amble in this hold until her back hits kitchen counter and she sucks in a breath, biting her bottom lip. Her blanket is at their feet, and while he’s in the navy suit that’s always been her favorite, she’s just got her shorts and a thin shirt that originally belonged to him but has long since called her drawer home.
“Tessa,” he breathes reverently, leaning his forehead against her own. “Is this okay?”
It shouldn’t be. So, so many reasons- partnership and their longstanding denial that there was nothing here and oh god, Stephanie- give her pause. But she can’t help herself.
She nods only for a second before his lips come crashing down on hers, and Tessa has never felt more loved.