Work Text:
Doug shot furtive glances at Kate while she was warming up and stretching before their performance. Since her shocking announcement a few hours earlier in the foyer of the house, she'd remained withdrawn and distant, determinedly avoiding him. But that time, her keeping him at an arm's length felt different to so many other times. Now, it felt final, as if she was making every effort to pretend that she'd already left him behind after she'd informed him that she intended to retire.
The news had hit like a bombshell, and he had to admit that he hadn't seen it coming, or had firmly refused to acknowledge the signs in front of him.
She opening up the previous evening in the house and admitting humbly that all his accusations against her had hit the nail on the head had surprised him greatly (together with her father and Anton), to the point of leaving him completely paralyzed and speechless. And he neither had expected her to apologize and even less to cry in front of the three of them, allowing them to witness all her vulnerability. Especially when she'd finally brought to light the main trigger of all her issues (her father's obsession with her winning the gold medal, which had stifled and chained her up, stealing her own choices, and making her feel unloved), which had kept festering inside of her for so many years until it all had ended up blowing up.
Doug had always had an inkling of those issues since the moment he'd seen the empty glass cabinet for the first time, but he hadn't bothered much to analyze them in deep detail. Now he understood fully how terribly that damned cabinet had weighed on Kate. He didn't doubt that Jack loved his daughter very dearly, but he'd remained blind and deaf to what she truly wanted and needed, imposing his own views and set on believing that she shared his fixation with the gold medal.
Her confession had confirmed the suspicions Doug had harbored for so long, but that wasn't what had moved him the most, though the fact that she'd finally come clean about the source of all her bitterness and unhappiness had quite knocked him out.
What had touched Doug the most was her defeated expression, as if her will to fight, her fire, had abandoned her. As if her regret was crushing her and devoiding her of her considerable strength.
And his heart had bled for her. He loved her so much that watching her great suffering had broken something within him. He couldn't keep lying to himself or hiding anymore what his heart had been screaming at him for so many months.
He loved her. Was in love with her, desperately, helplessly.
He had to find a way to tell her, to show her. He'd had many glimpses and hints of her own feelings for him, and he believed now that he'd just been given the definitive proof that she cared for him at least as much as he cared for her.
He could tell that her tortured look together with her heart-wrenching apology had been very close to a love confession, the closest she'd ever allowed him to see.
When she left the dining room in tears, he'd felt so overwhelmed with his own turmoil that he needed urgently to go for a walk, to breathe the cold air and clear his feelings and thoughts. As he wandered around the streets of the Olympic Village and searched for an open café, a determination took shape in his mind. If she had been so brave as to open herself up the way she'd done at the house, he must be brave too to confess his true feelings for her. He owed her his own honesty in return, and besides it was useless and frustrating to keep the pretense that he wasn't head over heels in love with her. He would find a way to tell her and encourage her to admit her own feelings for him. He had to be the one to take the first step in that crucial matter because, after all that had happened that day, he feared that she'd withdraw from him more than ever, perhaps believing that he positively hated her or wanted nothing to do with her after his discovery, and her admission, of how she'd sabotaged two years of hard work with Brian Newman and, by extension, all her partners.
As he drank a soothing cup of coffee, his decision felt absolutely right, bringing him a calmness, a peace that had eluded him for weeks and weeks. It was the serenity of seeing clearly at last the path ahead of him. It wouldn't be easy, but then, nothing with Kate had ever been, and nonetheless they had overcome almost everything.
He had to find a way, and he would. He only needed to wait for the proper moment.
The next morning, he'd woken up nervous but hopeful. And for the first time in his life, his impending performance on the ice wasn't at the forefront of his mind, of his concerns. There was something much more important than skating, or rather, someone. Kate.
He'd had breakfast with Anton, as the Moseleys were absent that morning, but that didn't worry Doug particularly. Surely father and daughter were taking that time to resolve their issues with each other, and Doug felt relieved and glad for that. They'd needed to clear the air between them for years and it seemed that that moment had finally come for them. Doug could only respect that and be happy for them.
After breakfast, he'd heard sounds in the foyer and climbed down the stairs to see if the Moseleys had returned, eager to check the situation and that Kate was okay.
But something was wrong. There were suitcases piled on the floor and servants carrying them outside.
Right then, Kate walked into the house, and Doug asked her what was the matter. She'd informed him that she'd leave with her father, supposedly for the rink, and told him that he could take the other car with Anton. Doug hadn't grasped yet why those suitcases were there, and she'd told that she and her father would take the 6:30 p.m. flight, and that he could stay in the house for as long as he wished, as it was already payed for two weeks. Puzzled, Doug had tried to inquire if all that had anything to do with the events of the previous evening, and that was the exact moment Kate had dropped the bombshell.
She'd announced that she'd made the decision of retiring.
Of all the things he'd expected her to say, that word, retirement, hadn't been one of them. Deep inside he was aware that it shouldn't be such a surprise, but it knocked the air out of his lungs all the same.
Because she was declaring blatantly that she intended to leave him forever. Even if he'd braced himself for the great challenge of having to find a way to confess his feelings, breach all her walls and make her admit that she returned his love, he'd thought that he'd still have some time for that, that he might find a chance some moment in the next days.
But her news had totally derailed everything. For some instants, his shock had made him doubt himself, doubt his own ability to read her. Maybe he was wrong, he'd been wrong all the while and she didn't love him back. She was tired of leading a life that made her very unhappy, and he was part of that life, simply and plainly.
However, when she'd said that he would easily find another partner and tried to joke about her skill with the hockey stick, the hurt and sorrow in her bright eyes had told him another, very different, story. He couldn't be wrong. His heart couldn't be wrong in that. He'd never invested practically all of himself in anyone like he'd done with her, and the reason was that he'd never loved any woman before Kate or been loved like he knew Kate loved him.
She'd hurried out of the house quickly after her life-altering declaration, leaving him totally stunned. Another partner? He didn't want anyone else. He wanted Kate. He needed her. Always had, always would. He couldn't imagine himself with any other skater, with any other woman. No one could do. Only her.
She was everything to him. The woman of his dreams. The love of his life.
Well, there was still hope. That setback only shortened and brought forward the allotted time he'd set for confessing his feelings.
It would have to happen sometime that same day.
Later, on the rink, in the middle of all the bustle and watching Kate dutifully getting ready for their performance and keeping her distance, his nerves were threatening to get the better of him. And to worsen things, when they'd practiced some motions together with poor results and she'd asked him politely if he was alright (which he obviously wasn't), the fact that she hadn't even commented on him having fastened the button at the collar of his shirt confirmed that she was making every effort to detach herself from him, to block him. His own answer to her question, fine, sounded shamefully lame and coward in his own ears. His tongue remained tied when he was dying to tell her the truth. She rolled her eyes in apparent annoyance at his numbness and turned to leave him alone and go on warming up.
It was now or never.
The moment of truth had come.
He made a beeline for her, more determined than ever and with his heart pounding.