042. you oughta give me wedding rings
Title | you oughta give me wedding rings
Chapter | 1/1
Rating | pg-13
People | Scott Moir + Tessa Virtue
Summary | Twenty years, twenty gifts.
I, I love it when you give me things
and you, you oughta give me wedding rings
-- Peter Gabriel, The Book of Love
i. trust
She spins on the ice, one leg lifted at a forty-five degree angle and her arms stretched out in a sailboat turn (a jazz move, not exactly the stuff of ice dancing, but who's counting?). Scott is there, skating toward her, and without even a moment of hesitation she steps out of her spin by jumping toward him. And he catches her, both arm strong as they lift her. He's there for her, just like she knew he would be.
"You can't just throw yourself at me, Tess," he laughs.
But the thing is, she can. There is so much history between them, such longevity in their relationship - she trusts Scott more than anyone.
He's never let her fall.
ii. flowers
The first thing he ever gives her is a single pink rose, bought by his mother, handed over to her after their first-ever performance together. They're still holding hands after skating off the ice, small fingers a little clammy as they clutch at each other. They still don't talk very much, but hand-holding is starting to feel kind of natural.
"Here, Tess," he says, almost shy but mostly grinning, when he gives her that rose.
Her cheeks, already pink from exertion, feel even warmer. "Thanks," she whispers.
It becomes tradition, for the first couple years, flowers from him after every significant skate. When they get a little older she tells him to stop, and after some insistence he does, but not entirely. Occasionally when they're travelling, competing, she'll walk into her hotel room and find flowers waiting for her there. After their first post-Tessa's-surgery skate, Scott presses a kiss to her cheek, whispers an emotional thank you and gives her a huge bouquet of lillies.
And when they win Olympic gold, he gives her a single pink rose.
iii. laughter
He makes her laugh in a way that must be good for the soul, in a way that conditions her to smile every time she sees him, in a way that lights up her whole world, has her wondering what it was like before she had Scott, because for the life of her she can't remember.
Scott lifts her up - figuratively, literally, all of it. His smile is a cue for her own. He makes faces, does impressions, tells jokes slowly like they're secrets that only Tessa will ever have the privilege of knowing. It makes her cheeks ache, her abs hurt, her body tingle all the way down to the tips of her toes. He can get her laughing until she cries, until she can hardly breathe.
They develop their own secret language, full of silly code words and insider punchlines that no one else will ever understand. It's made up of backstage whispers and sentences laughingly exchanged during practices. No matter how long they are together or apart, no matter what they do or do not achieve, they'll always have their crazy jokes and they'll always have each other.
Tessa notices it all, the speculation and the knowing looks and the way people say you make each other happy. But they are just friends, just partners, and yeah, they make each other happy - there's nothing wrong with that.
iv. mixed CDs
In their early teens, when it's cool, she and Scott make each other CDs like it's going out of style (and they will soon learn that it actually is). Scott's are full of songs-of-the-moment, you'll like track twelve, Tess and number four makes me think of you. Hers are similar, songs that she wants him to love, but she sneaks some classical pieces in, too.
"You're going to force me to like Chopin if it kills me, aren't you," he groans.
Tessa sits crossed-legged on his bed, her soft black leggings and ballerina bun a pretty contrast to his hockey jersey and jeans. She grins. "Yup."
"C'mon, Tess," he pleads, complete with puppy-dog eyes. He rests his head against her leg. "Let's watch Die Hard."
She touches his head gently, presses play on his CD player again.
A couple months before Vancouver, Scott presents her with a volume set of mixed CDs, each titled, complete with cover art. It's every song they've ever skated to, romantic classical stuff, Pink Floyd, Everybody Dance Now and everything in between.
"Thirteen years, Tessa."
She presses her face into his shoulder. "Ready to admit that you like Chopin?"
v. partnership
He is, undeniably, the perfect partner for her. They mesh, they click, they work. People rave about their connection, their communication, their chemistry - but Tessa and Scott, they feel it. They can predict one another, it's all intuitive, it has been since they were little kids.
Critics and coaches marvel at them; you two were made to skate together.
And there are moments when Tessa truly believes that, not symbolically or coincidentally, but in her heart. She can't find the beginnings and the ends, only the in-betweens, when she and Scott move together. They happen at the same time. She can't fathom skating with someone who doesn't catch her at the exact moment she falls. She and Scott don't miss each other, lose each other, or have to grope through the air for one another's hands.
His partnership is the best thing she ever could have wished for, better than she would have dared to dream of. Whatever it is that binds them together delves much deeper than ice dancing; there are days when they are waiting to perform and she feels a little philosophical, wondering if she would feel a little empty, a little incomplete, if she'd never paired up with Scott.
Then he'll smile at her, reach for her hand, and she's just glad that she has him, that she'll never have to wonder what it would be like to go without.
vi. water bottle
"Catch, Tess!"
She looks up from lacing her skates, her hands flying out to grasp the water bottle he's tossed at her. "What's this?" It's pale pink with a swirling purple pattern, a never-ending design that she traces with the tip of her finger.
"A water bottle." Scott grins at her, lets his unvoiced duh echo in the space between them for a moment before he adds, "The new kind, the safe ones. No MSG."
She laughs as she stands up. "BPA, you idiot."
Instantly, he adopts a wounded expression. "Hey, don't call me an idiot. I'm trying to keep you safe."
"I know you are." It makes her heart twist for just a second, the thought of him glancing at an article or hearing something on the news and buying her a water bottle because of it, wanting to keep her healthy.
She stands on tiptoe and kisses his forehead. "You're sweet."
vii. teddy bear
They go to a carnival in the summer of 2009, when they're thriving on the pressure (gold, it's metallic, in their blood now, beating through their synchronized heartbeats) but their coaches and families and friends are saying take it easy, take a break.
So they go to a carnival, tilt-a-whirl until Tessa can hear nothing but her own lightheaded laughter, see nothing but bright lights, feel nothing but Scott's fingers threaded through hers as he tugs her through the crowd, onto the next ride.
When she's dizzy and breathless she squeezes his hand; enough, enough for now, and he takes her to play games instead.
She lets him do the macho thing, pay for the game and hit all the targets, win her a cute little black teddy bear who's wearing a silky white bow tie.
"He's classy," Scott says approvingly, almost proudly, handing her the bear.
Tessa laughs, accepting him with the press of a kiss to his furry little head. "Ferris wheel?"
"As you wish!" He wraps an arm around her, leads her there. (And his hand, it slips into the back pocket of her jeans for just a moment as they walk, and she doesn't mind, doesn't say a word, just pretends it's perfectly normal because that's how it feels.)
She plays with the bear's ears as they go up, up, up, her head resting against Scott's shoulder.
"What's his name?"
Tessa smiles, lifts her head. "Hm, not sure. What's your professional opinion?"
He pretends to think. "Scott's a nice name."
She elbows him. "You are such a goofball."
"It's a good name!" He touches the bear, his hand resting over hers. "Scott totally loves you."
They're at the top of the ferris wheel, suspended for just a moment in the air, and all she can see are the stars reflected in his eyes.
"I love him, too," she says.
viii. comfort
No one, Tessa is sure, no one in the world gets her like Scott does. She thinks that makes her incredibly lucky, to have someone who can tell just from a glance or a touch what she's thinking and feeling.
When something goes wrong he's the first person she reaches out to. Always. Unconditionally. And (always, unconditionally), he is right there for her, intuitively aware of what she needs, catching her like it's choreographed, painted in the stars.
It doesn't happen often, but sometimes it just gets hard or it hurts and she starts crying before she can go home and crawl into her bed - things pile up, the blister on her baby toe that won't stop bleeding, the boy who's broken her, the girl who's chasing Scott, that one stupid part of their routine that she keeps messing up.
And he's always right there for her, always so protective of her, always willing to ignore everything else in favour of pulling her close to him and letting her sniffle against his shoulder. He whispers into her hair, soothing words until her breathing settles, then jokes until she finally lets a watery laugh escape.
He fixes her.
ix. hugs
Scott gives the best hugs in the world. Hands down, no contest. Tessa is so sure of this that once, buzzed on wine coolers, she'd told him that if there were a worldwide contest for best hugger, he would win.
(He'd laughter, pulled her into his lap and wrapped his arms around her, whispered right by her ear, his breath hot on her neck, I save the best ones for you, Tess.)
He's got all kinds of hugs, ranging from hello to I'll miss you and everything that gets tangled in between, we did it and I'm sorry and I need you and you're amazing and that's my girl.
Tessa loves each and every one, and all the things they carry with them. And she knows, at the root of each is I love you. Any way and every way, that's what they (the hugs, she's just talking about the hugs) boil down to.
I love you.
x. pep talks
They are aces at giving one another pep talks. Tessa's not even going to deny it. People know to leave them alone before competitions; they speak to their coaches only during the final moments by the boards.
Scott paces, rolls his neck and stretches his arms. Tessa dances, patterns over the floor, legs and arms moving head bent in concentration. She usually settles first, sitting down to lace up her skates while he continues to move around.
Their pep talks actually don't involve much talking. There are moments of eye contact and the occasional touch; sometimes a quick shoulder massages and rarely a quick run-through of a step sequence together. He kisses her hands, her palms, then gathers her into his arms and breathes her in.
"We've got this," he whispers, kisses the shell of her ear.
When they pull apart she bumps his hip with hers, and he holds out a hand, palm up, for a high five. And they'll smile at each other, and she can feel it, their mutual belief.
We've got this.
xi. a sweater
He lends her his sweater, the warm, deep green one that she loves, the winter she's fifteen and he's seventeen and she has the unbeatable head-cold from hell. She's all sniffles and tissues, gross hacking cough, lots and lots of orange juice. Scott is very chivalrous about it; he barely makes a face when she accidentally sneezes on him.
He pulls his sweater off and holds it out so that she can slip it on instead. He rubs her arms gently, reaches around her to pull the zipper all the way up to her chin. She leans back against him gratefully, feeling a little feverish all of sudden; he kisses the crown of her head.
"Feel better?"
"Mm. Thank you."
Ten days later, when she can breathe more normally and her nose isn't as red as it was before, she tries to give the sweater back (I washed it twice) but Scott won't take it.
"You just don't want my germs," she jokes, hugging his folded-up sweater to her chest.
Scott's eyes fall to her lips. "Don't be so sure of that."
"Ew," she says weakly after a moment of silence that lasts a beat too long.
His eyes focus on hers again, a little dark. He nods to the sweater. "It looks better on you."
xii. hot chocolate
Sometimes, when they're feeling a little rebellious and they need a break, they skip off workouts or beg to end practice half an hour early, and they go to their favourite café for hot cocoa. It's not unhealthy, but it's not exactly healthy either, so it's a good treat.
It reminds Tessa of home, especially because Scott still pays for them both, just like he used to at Tim Horton's when they were so much younger. Tessa tries to sneak change into his wallet, or send him off on some errand so she can buy for once, but it never works.
"It's tradition," Scott tells her insistently.
She licks her lips and frowns. "You're wasting money on me."
"Wasting?"
"You never let me pay you back!"
"Tell you what." He leans toward her. "If we win in Vancouver, we'll be even."
"That makes no sense - "
"Sure it does. You just give me your medal and we'll call it even."
Tessa kicks him lightly under the table, but they toast to it anyway.
xiii. love
Scott is her first, and her last, and in some ways, her only love.
"It just happened," is what she always says whenever she's asked why, why ice dance, why in pairs, why with Scott - and that pretty much sums up the way she loves him, too.
And she knows that he loves her back in all the same ways.
It's as natural as breathing, as skating together.
xiv. hand to hold
Tessa's parents used to joke that she and Scott were attached at the hip, but in reality they were attached at the hand. If you were ever to look for either of them, it was likely that you'd find them linked to one another.
They grew up holding hands. Sometimes he'd reach for her, sometimes she'd reach for him, and eventually they were so attuned to each other that they'd always meet in the middle.
It's the point where Scott is her hand to hold, the one she wants, the one she always reaches for.
She likes it that way, and he certainly doesn't seem to mind.
xv. valentines
With the exception of two years - once when Tessa's doing a workshop with the National Ballet and once when Scott has a girlfriend - they are always each other's valentines.
Their first Valentine's Day she is seven, and they don't talk a lot but he makes her smile and they are (officially, technically) dating, so they exchange cards when they have a break during practice.
Hers is homemade, a deep red heart drawn and oh-so-carefully coloured in with marker. Scott's is from a store, made by someone else and mass-produced, but that's okay because he's carefully written to the best partner ever and love scott inside and he gives her candy hearts.
The first one she eats says be mine; it tastes sweet, a little too sweet, like a wish and a promise all wrapped up tight together and tied with forevermore. She ducks her head, just a shy little girl, looks down at her skates and then his skates and then the intricate criss-crossed patterns their blades have etched into the ice. And it's all right there in the aftertaste; she swallows it down and looks back up to his face and she knows it, in that moment.
She is his and he is hers.
xvi. kisses
They kiss a few times, one another's first kisses and second and third, still kids and still hesitant. Rare kisses and hand-holding constitute their "relationship" - when they break up, they keep the hand-holding but nix the kissing.
Well, the real kissing, the mouth-to-mouth stuff. Scott kisses the back of her head once as they skate off the ice. And then he starts kissing her cheeks. And her forehead. And her knuckles and her nose and her temples and the top of her head and her shoulder. And her neck, a couple of times.
Tessa reciprocates, kisses his cheeks and forehead too. There are a few occasions, when they're older and it shouldn't be as big of a deal, and she lets herself kiss him, her lips actually touching his, just grazing lightly, in a platonic way, so quickly that it's over within a heartbeat.
It's not some big romantic thing. They love each other and they're accustomed to touching each other; their kisses, of every kind, are just an extension and expression of that constant affection. And she likes it, the tendency Scott has to whisper in her ear and kiss her cheek or temple tenderly after their performance.
But sometimes, in small and stolen moments, she lets herself wonder what it would be like to kiss him, kiss him. With all that passion and tension they're renowned for displaying on the ice, mouths clashing, tongues battling. He looks at her sometimes in this way that makes her heart jump, makes her think he might wonder about it too.
Kiss me, she thinks when his lips gently linger against her forehead. Kiss me, Scott, let's just try it.
He's incredibly good at reading her body language, at instinctively knowing what's on her mind, but either he doesn't pick up on the signals she's sending, or he chooses to ignore them as he kisses her cheek again, plants butterfly kisses against her skin.
xvii. mittens
One day after practice he takes her hands in his own, tugs off her gloves and hands her a pair of fuzzy yellow mittens.
She's sixteen, and she's used to Scott, she loves Scott, but he's leaning close and it's doing funny things to her breathing. She tilts her head, blinks at him as she waits for an explanation.
"These don't look very cozy." He waves her gloves in the air.
Tessa smiles (her mouth doesn't know how to do much else, not when he's looking at her like that). She snatches her gloves back. "I was aiming for functionality, not coziness."
He shrugs, half of grin lighting up his face as he wanders off toward the doors of the rink.
A moment later she catches up, slips her hand into his, fuzzy yellow mitten and all. She squeezes his fingers, shares the coziness. Thank you.
xviii. his heart
She can't define this one, can't place it on a timeline, can't pinpoint a moment. It's not like Scott skated up to her at nine years old and handed over his heart. It happened slowly, the transfer, over the days of practice, the weeks of travel, the months of training, the years of togetherness.
She's aware that he puts her first; she puts him first, too. It must be part of the reason that none of their other relationships are as strong as the one they share. She is pretty sure that she knows Scott better than anyone. She knows his biggest smile and his saddest eyes, his most secretive wishes and his crazy dreams, the thrum of his heartbeat at his pulse points, the exact feel of his hands. He has given all of that to her.
And she's given herself back, traded each piece of his heart for a fragment of her own, they are even exchanges; their symmetry is never offset.
xix. surprises
Scott likes to make life - his life, her life, their lives - exciting, which is equal parts adorable and frustrating. He organizes the surprise party for her twelfth birthday, which starts with balloons and the yelling of SURPRISE!, and she's sweaty and sore and a little self-conscious, but she can't help but love him for it.
He doesn't stop, over the years, surprise wake-up calls and breakfast in bed (he eats most of the waffles he makes her), a surprise shopping trip for matching rings where he rambles about their partnership and how he loves her until she cuts him off with a bone-crushing hug, surprise cinnamon buns before breakfast, surprise trips home.
"I'll never let you get bored," he teases one day when he sneaks up on her from behind and lifts her up off the ground.
She steps on his toes when he puts her back down, but she doesn't object, because never is tied to forever; just a few letters in the difference.
xx. engagement ring
He proposes two years to the day after they win gold at Sochi, wakes her up early with a kiss and a suggestion that they should go on a commemorative, celebratory skate together. At the rink, he offers to tie her skates for her, and one moment he's kneeling in front of her, pulling the laces snug, the next he's slipping a diamond ring on her finger and kissing her knuckles.
"Scott..."
"I know." His smile never falters but his eyes are solemn, searching hers, longing to find a yes. "I had this whole day planned for us, but I couldn't wait. I don't ever want for us to wait. We're gonna be together forever. I know it. There's no point in waiting."
"You know it?"
He grips her fingers a little tighter; she's never seen him so uncertain in her presence. "Don't you?"
She smiles. "Of course I do." Her eyes fall to the ring, she breathes, "Thank you."
"Tessa," he laughs disbelievingly, leans in, captures her lips with his.
She laughs a little, too, against his mouth. "Thank you," she repeats slowly, teasing and torturing him before she finally lets the word they're both waiting for spill from her lips, "Yes."
Scott exhales; kisses her again, more deeply. "Thank you." He stands up, offers her both his hands. "Skate with me."
She accepts his help to her feet and then lets herself fall into him, her arms linked around his neck, their chests pressed together. "Marry me," she retorts.
His shrugging is careless, but the extent of his smile and the emotion in the way he looks at her give him away. "Well, okay, if that's what you want..."
Tessa kisses him to shut him up, tastes it on his tongue and feels it down to her toes like she always has.
I am yours and you are mine.
fin
Chapter | 1/1
Rating | pg-13
People | Scott Moir + Tessa Virtue
Summary | Twenty years, twenty gifts.
I, I love it when you give me things
and you, you oughta give me wedding rings
-- Peter Gabriel, The Book of Love
i. trust
She spins on the ice, one leg lifted at a forty-five degree angle and her arms stretched out in a sailboat turn (a jazz move, not exactly the stuff of ice dancing, but who's counting?). Scott is there, skating toward her, and without even a moment of hesitation she steps out of her spin by jumping toward him. And he catches her, both arm strong as they lift her. He's there for her, just like she knew he would be.
"You can't just throw yourself at me, Tess," he laughs.
But the thing is, she can. There is so much history between them, such longevity in their relationship - she trusts Scott more than anyone.
He's never let her fall.
ii. flowers
The first thing he ever gives her is a single pink rose, bought by his mother, handed over to her after their first-ever performance together. They're still holding hands after skating off the ice, small fingers a little clammy as they clutch at each other. They still don't talk very much, but hand-holding is starting to feel kind of natural.
"Here, Tess," he says, almost shy but mostly grinning, when he gives her that rose.
Her cheeks, already pink from exertion, feel even warmer. "Thanks," she whispers.
It becomes tradition, for the first couple years, flowers from him after every significant skate. When they get a little older she tells him to stop, and after some insistence he does, but not entirely. Occasionally when they're travelling, competing, she'll walk into her hotel room and find flowers waiting for her there. After their first post-Tessa's-surgery skate, Scott presses a kiss to her cheek, whispers an emotional thank you and gives her a huge bouquet of lillies.
And when they win Olympic gold, he gives her a single pink rose.
iii. laughter
He makes her laugh in a way that must be good for the soul, in a way that conditions her to smile every time she sees him, in a way that lights up her whole world, has her wondering what it was like before she had Scott, because for the life of her she can't remember.
Scott lifts her up - figuratively, literally, all of it. His smile is a cue for her own. He makes faces, does impressions, tells jokes slowly like they're secrets that only Tessa will ever have the privilege of knowing. It makes her cheeks ache, her abs hurt, her body tingle all the way down to the tips of her toes. He can get her laughing until she cries, until she can hardly breathe.
They develop their own secret language, full of silly code words and insider punchlines that no one else will ever understand. It's made up of backstage whispers and sentences laughingly exchanged during practices. No matter how long they are together or apart, no matter what they do or do not achieve, they'll always have their crazy jokes and they'll always have each other.
Tessa notices it all, the speculation and the knowing looks and the way people say you make each other happy. But they are just friends, just partners, and yeah, they make each other happy - there's nothing wrong with that.
iv. mixed CDs
In their early teens, when it's cool, she and Scott make each other CDs like it's going out of style (and they will soon learn that it actually is). Scott's are full of songs-of-the-moment, you'll like track twelve, Tess and number four makes me think of you. Hers are similar, songs that she wants him to love, but she sneaks some classical pieces in, too.
"You're going to force me to like Chopin if it kills me, aren't you," he groans.
Tessa sits crossed-legged on his bed, her soft black leggings and ballerina bun a pretty contrast to his hockey jersey and jeans. She grins. "Yup."
"C'mon, Tess," he pleads, complete with puppy-dog eyes. He rests his head against her leg. "Let's watch Die Hard."
She touches his head gently, presses play on his CD player again.
A couple months before Vancouver, Scott presents her with a volume set of mixed CDs, each titled, complete with cover art. It's every song they've ever skated to, romantic classical stuff, Pink Floyd, Everybody Dance Now and everything in between.
"Thirteen years, Tessa."
She presses her face into his shoulder. "Ready to admit that you like Chopin?"
v. partnership
He is, undeniably, the perfect partner for her. They mesh, they click, they work. People rave about their connection, their communication, their chemistry - but Tessa and Scott, they feel it. They can predict one another, it's all intuitive, it has been since they were little kids.
Critics and coaches marvel at them; you two were made to skate together.
And there are moments when Tessa truly believes that, not symbolically or coincidentally, but in her heart. She can't find the beginnings and the ends, only the in-betweens, when she and Scott move together. They happen at the same time. She can't fathom skating with someone who doesn't catch her at the exact moment she falls. She and Scott don't miss each other, lose each other, or have to grope through the air for one another's hands.
His partnership is the best thing she ever could have wished for, better than she would have dared to dream of. Whatever it is that binds them together delves much deeper than ice dancing; there are days when they are waiting to perform and she feels a little philosophical, wondering if she would feel a little empty, a little incomplete, if she'd never paired up with Scott.
Then he'll smile at her, reach for her hand, and she's just glad that she has him, that she'll never have to wonder what it would be like to go without.
vi. water bottle
"Catch, Tess!"
She looks up from lacing her skates, her hands flying out to grasp the water bottle he's tossed at her. "What's this?" It's pale pink with a swirling purple pattern, a never-ending design that she traces with the tip of her finger.
"A water bottle." Scott grins at her, lets his unvoiced duh echo in the space between them for a moment before he adds, "The new kind, the safe ones. No MSG."
She laughs as she stands up. "BPA, you idiot."
Instantly, he adopts a wounded expression. "Hey, don't call me an idiot. I'm trying to keep you safe."
"I know you are." It makes her heart twist for just a second, the thought of him glancing at an article or hearing something on the news and buying her a water bottle because of it, wanting to keep her healthy.
She stands on tiptoe and kisses his forehead. "You're sweet."
vii. teddy bear
They go to a carnival in the summer of 2009, when they're thriving on the pressure (gold, it's metallic, in their blood now, beating through their synchronized heartbeats) but their coaches and families and friends are saying take it easy, take a break.
So they go to a carnival, tilt-a-whirl until Tessa can hear nothing but her own lightheaded laughter, see nothing but bright lights, feel nothing but Scott's fingers threaded through hers as he tugs her through the crowd, onto the next ride.
When she's dizzy and breathless she squeezes his hand; enough, enough for now, and he takes her to play games instead.
She lets him do the macho thing, pay for the game and hit all the targets, win her a cute little black teddy bear who's wearing a silky white bow tie.
"He's classy," Scott says approvingly, almost proudly, handing her the bear.
Tessa laughs, accepting him with the press of a kiss to his furry little head. "Ferris wheel?"
"As you wish!" He wraps an arm around her, leads her there. (And his hand, it slips into the back pocket of her jeans for just a moment as they walk, and she doesn't mind, doesn't say a word, just pretends it's perfectly normal because that's how it feels.)
She plays with the bear's ears as they go up, up, up, her head resting against Scott's shoulder.
"What's his name?"
Tessa smiles, lifts her head. "Hm, not sure. What's your professional opinion?"
He pretends to think. "Scott's a nice name."
She elbows him. "You are such a goofball."
"It's a good name!" He touches the bear, his hand resting over hers. "Scott totally loves you."
They're at the top of the ferris wheel, suspended for just a moment in the air, and all she can see are the stars reflected in his eyes.
"I love him, too," she says.
viii. comfort
No one, Tessa is sure, no one in the world gets her like Scott does. She thinks that makes her incredibly lucky, to have someone who can tell just from a glance or a touch what she's thinking and feeling.
When something goes wrong he's the first person she reaches out to. Always. Unconditionally. And (always, unconditionally), he is right there for her, intuitively aware of what she needs, catching her like it's choreographed, painted in the stars.
It doesn't happen often, but sometimes it just gets hard or it hurts and she starts crying before she can go home and crawl into her bed - things pile up, the blister on her baby toe that won't stop bleeding, the boy who's broken her, the girl who's chasing Scott, that one stupid part of their routine that she keeps messing up.
And he's always right there for her, always so protective of her, always willing to ignore everything else in favour of pulling her close to him and letting her sniffle against his shoulder. He whispers into her hair, soothing words until her breathing settles, then jokes until she finally lets a watery laugh escape.
He fixes her.
ix. hugs
Scott gives the best hugs in the world. Hands down, no contest. Tessa is so sure of this that once, buzzed on wine coolers, she'd told him that if there were a worldwide contest for best hugger, he would win.
(He'd laughter, pulled her into his lap and wrapped his arms around her, whispered right by her ear, his breath hot on her neck, I save the best ones for you, Tess.)
He's got all kinds of hugs, ranging from hello to I'll miss you and everything that gets tangled in between, we did it and I'm sorry and I need you and you're amazing and that's my girl.
Tessa loves each and every one, and all the things they carry with them. And she knows, at the root of each is I love you. Any way and every way, that's what they (the hugs, she's just talking about the hugs) boil down to.
I love you.
x. pep talks
They are aces at giving one another pep talks. Tessa's not even going to deny it. People know to leave them alone before competitions; they speak to their coaches only during the final moments by the boards.
Scott paces, rolls his neck and stretches his arms. Tessa dances, patterns over the floor, legs and arms moving head bent in concentration. She usually settles first, sitting down to lace up her skates while he continues to move around.
Their pep talks actually don't involve much talking. There are moments of eye contact and the occasional touch; sometimes a quick shoulder massages and rarely a quick run-through of a step sequence together. He kisses her hands, her palms, then gathers her into his arms and breathes her in.
"We've got this," he whispers, kisses the shell of her ear.
When they pull apart she bumps his hip with hers, and he holds out a hand, palm up, for a high five. And they'll smile at each other, and she can feel it, their mutual belief.
We've got this.
xi. a sweater
He lends her his sweater, the warm, deep green one that she loves, the winter she's fifteen and he's seventeen and she has the unbeatable head-cold from hell. She's all sniffles and tissues, gross hacking cough, lots and lots of orange juice. Scott is very chivalrous about it; he barely makes a face when she accidentally sneezes on him.
He pulls his sweater off and holds it out so that she can slip it on instead. He rubs her arms gently, reaches around her to pull the zipper all the way up to her chin. She leans back against him gratefully, feeling a little feverish all of sudden; he kisses the crown of her head.
"Feel better?"
"Mm. Thank you."
Ten days later, when she can breathe more normally and her nose isn't as red as it was before, she tries to give the sweater back (I washed it twice) but Scott won't take it.
"You just don't want my germs," she jokes, hugging his folded-up sweater to her chest.
Scott's eyes fall to her lips. "Don't be so sure of that."
"Ew," she says weakly after a moment of silence that lasts a beat too long.
His eyes focus on hers again, a little dark. He nods to the sweater. "It looks better on you."
xii. hot chocolate
Sometimes, when they're feeling a little rebellious and they need a break, they skip off workouts or beg to end practice half an hour early, and they go to their favourite café for hot cocoa. It's not unhealthy, but it's not exactly healthy either, so it's a good treat.
It reminds Tessa of home, especially because Scott still pays for them both, just like he used to at Tim Horton's when they were so much younger. Tessa tries to sneak change into his wallet, or send him off on some errand so she can buy for once, but it never works.
"It's tradition," Scott tells her insistently.
She licks her lips and frowns. "You're wasting money on me."
"Wasting?"
"You never let me pay you back!"
"Tell you what." He leans toward her. "If we win in Vancouver, we'll be even."
"That makes no sense - "
"Sure it does. You just give me your medal and we'll call it even."
Tessa kicks him lightly under the table, but they toast to it anyway.
xiii. love
Scott is her first, and her last, and in some ways, her only love.
"It just happened," is what she always says whenever she's asked why, why ice dance, why in pairs, why with Scott - and that pretty much sums up the way she loves him, too.
And she knows that he loves her back in all the same ways.
It's as natural as breathing, as skating together.
xiv. hand to hold
Tessa's parents used to joke that she and Scott were attached at the hip, but in reality they were attached at the hand. If you were ever to look for either of them, it was likely that you'd find them linked to one another.
They grew up holding hands. Sometimes he'd reach for her, sometimes she'd reach for him, and eventually they were so attuned to each other that they'd always meet in the middle.
It's the point where Scott is her hand to hold, the one she wants, the one she always reaches for.
She likes it that way, and he certainly doesn't seem to mind.
xv. valentines
With the exception of two years - once when Tessa's doing a workshop with the National Ballet and once when Scott has a girlfriend - they are always each other's valentines.
Their first Valentine's Day she is seven, and they don't talk a lot but he makes her smile and they are (officially, technically) dating, so they exchange cards when they have a break during practice.
Hers is homemade, a deep red heart drawn and oh-so-carefully coloured in with marker. Scott's is from a store, made by someone else and mass-produced, but that's okay because he's carefully written to the best partner ever and love scott inside and he gives her candy hearts.
The first one she eats says be mine; it tastes sweet, a little too sweet, like a wish and a promise all wrapped up tight together and tied with forevermore. She ducks her head, just a shy little girl, looks down at her skates and then his skates and then the intricate criss-crossed patterns their blades have etched into the ice. And it's all right there in the aftertaste; she swallows it down and looks back up to his face and she knows it, in that moment.
She is his and he is hers.
xvi. kisses
They kiss a few times, one another's first kisses and second and third, still kids and still hesitant. Rare kisses and hand-holding constitute their "relationship" - when they break up, they keep the hand-holding but nix the kissing.
Well, the real kissing, the mouth-to-mouth stuff. Scott kisses the back of her head once as they skate off the ice. And then he starts kissing her cheeks. And her forehead. And her knuckles and her nose and her temples and the top of her head and her shoulder. And her neck, a couple of times.
Tessa reciprocates, kisses his cheeks and forehead too. There are a few occasions, when they're older and it shouldn't be as big of a deal, and she lets herself kiss him, her lips actually touching his, just grazing lightly, in a platonic way, so quickly that it's over within a heartbeat.
It's not some big romantic thing. They love each other and they're accustomed to touching each other; their kisses, of every kind, are just an extension and expression of that constant affection. And she likes it, the tendency Scott has to whisper in her ear and kiss her cheek or temple tenderly after their performance.
But sometimes, in small and stolen moments, she lets herself wonder what it would be like to kiss him, kiss him. With all that passion and tension they're renowned for displaying on the ice, mouths clashing, tongues battling. He looks at her sometimes in this way that makes her heart jump, makes her think he might wonder about it too.
Kiss me, she thinks when his lips gently linger against her forehead. Kiss me, Scott, let's just try it.
He's incredibly good at reading her body language, at instinctively knowing what's on her mind, but either he doesn't pick up on the signals she's sending, or he chooses to ignore them as he kisses her cheek again, plants butterfly kisses against her skin.
xvii. mittens
One day after practice he takes her hands in his own, tugs off her gloves and hands her a pair of fuzzy yellow mittens.
She's sixteen, and she's used to Scott, she loves Scott, but he's leaning close and it's doing funny things to her breathing. She tilts her head, blinks at him as she waits for an explanation.
"These don't look very cozy." He waves her gloves in the air.
Tessa smiles (her mouth doesn't know how to do much else, not when he's looking at her like that). She snatches her gloves back. "I was aiming for functionality, not coziness."
He shrugs, half of grin lighting up his face as he wanders off toward the doors of the rink.
A moment later she catches up, slips her hand into his, fuzzy yellow mitten and all. She squeezes his fingers, shares the coziness. Thank you.
xviii. his heart
She can't define this one, can't place it on a timeline, can't pinpoint a moment. It's not like Scott skated up to her at nine years old and handed over his heart. It happened slowly, the transfer, over the days of practice, the weeks of travel, the months of training, the years of togetherness.
She's aware that he puts her first; she puts him first, too. It must be part of the reason that none of their other relationships are as strong as the one they share. She is pretty sure that she knows Scott better than anyone. She knows his biggest smile and his saddest eyes, his most secretive wishes and his crazy dreams, the thrum of his heartbeat at his pulse points, the exact feel of his hands. He has given all of that to her.
And she's given herself back, traded each piece of his heart for a fragment of her own, they are even exchanges; their symmetry is never offset.
xix. surprises
Scott likes to make life - his life, her life, their lives - exciting, which is equal parts adorable and frustrating. He organizes the surprise party for her twelfth birthday, which starts with balloons and the yelling of SURPRISE!, and she's sweaty and sore and a little self-conscious, but she can't help but love him for it.
He doesn't stop, over the years, surprise wake-up calls and breakfast in bed (he eats most of the waffles he makes her), a surprise shopping trip for matching rings where he rambles about their partnership and how he loves her until she cuts him off with a bone-crushing hug, surprise cinnamon buns before breakfast, surprise trips home.
"I'll never let you get bored," he teases one day when he sneaks up on her from behind and lifts her up off the ground.
She steps on his toes when he puts her back down, but she doesn't object, because never is tied to forever; just a few letters in the difference.
xx. engagement ring
He proposes two years to the day after they win gold at Sochi, wakes her up early with a kiss and a suggestion that they should go on a commemorative, celebratory skate together. At the rink, he offers to tie her skates for her, and one moment he's kneeling in front of her, pulling the laces snug, the next he's slipping a diamond ring on her finger and kissing her knuckles.
"Scott..."
"I know." His smile never falters but his eyes are solemn, searching hers, longing to find a yes. "I had this whole day planned for us, but I couldn't wait. I don't ever want for us to wait. We're gonna be together forever. I know it. There's no point in waiting."
"You know it?"
He grips her fingers a little tighter; she's never seen him so uncertain in her presence. "Don't you?"
She smiles. "Of course I do." Her eyes fall to the ring, she breathes, "Thank you."
"Tessa," he laughs disbelievingly, leans in, captures her lips with his.
She laughs a little, too, against his mouth. "Thank you," she repeats slowly, teasing and torturing him before she finally lets the word they're both waiting for spill from her lips, "Yes."
Scott exhales; kisses her again, more deeply. "Thank you." He stands up, offers her both his hands. "Skate with me."
She accepts his help to her feet and then lets herself fall into him, her arms linked around his neck, their chests pressed together. "Marry me," she retorts.
His shrugging is careless, but the extent of his smile and the emotion in the way he looks at her give him away. "Well, okay, if that's what you want..."
Tessa kisses him to shut him up, tastes it on his tongue and feels it down to her toes like she always has.
I am yours and you are mine.
fin