Work Text:
Scott’s day starts like any other day, easy and unremarkable.
His morning routine is simple: Wake up to his alarm, shower, shave, start coffee then get dressed. These steps all run smoothly, no hiccup or omen to signal to him that today is any different from the countless days that had come before.
Nothing, except maybe a song that that was playing in his head just as he woke up. He sings it quietly as he pulls on his clothes. “I can hear her heartbeat from a thousand miles, and the heavens open every time she smiles…”
Just as he finishes tying his shoes, his phone lights up with Tessa’s picture and buzzes. “Morning, Tess, you’re up early.”
“I know, it feels super weird. I got to see the sun rise and everything,” she says, sounding incredibly cogent for someone who hates waking up before 10am.
“Willingly? Who are you, and what have you done with Tessa?”
“Ha, ha,” she replies sarcastically. “Listen–I was just wondering if you could come over tonight, I just...something occurred to me last night, and I just have something important to tell you. That I want to talk about.”
“I knew it. You’re pregnant,” Scott deadpans, knowing full well Tessa hadn’t been seeing anyone even in a casual capacity.
“No!” she laughs. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I know, I’m kidding,” he says. “I don’t think I’ll be able to make it over tonight, I’ve got a date. Some friend of a friend of Charlie’s that he set me up with.”
There’s a moment of silence on the other end of the line. “Oh. No problem, another night...are you really having a first date on Valentine’s Day?”
“Oh, shit, I wasn’t even thinking about that! I better call and make sure we can get in at the restaurant she wants to meet at,” Scott says. “It shouldn’t be too weird though, right?”
“Meeting a woman for the first time on the most commercially romantic day of the year, when you’re sure to be surrounded by hearts and flowers? Not weird at all,” Tessa replies in a dry tone.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, T,” he says, hearing her snicker on the other end. “Anyway, I gotta go, I’m gonna be late if I don’t get moving.”
They say their goodbyes and Scott pours himself a mug of coffee. Just as he’s bringing it to his lips, the piercing cry of a car alarm right outside the window startles him and his arm jerks, sloshing hot coffee down the front of his shirt. Swearing a blue streak, he puts down the mug and looks out the kitchen window to see his neighbor frantically pushing buttons on his key fob.
“Thanks, George,” he mutters, heading back towards the bedroom to change his shirt.
Ten minutes later he’s in in his car, wearing a clean shirt and with a travel mug of coffee (with the lid secured, he’d checked four times) in the cupholder. Putting the car in gear, Scott steps on the gas and launches himself backwards.
Which is what would be expected to back out of his driveway...except he’d backed into the driveway the day before to bring groceries in.
The resulting crunch tells him exactly what he just did. Groaning, he puts the car in park and jumps out to survey the damage. Fortunately his rear fender just has a couple of scratches on it, but the garage door is...crumpled.
Bringing a hand to his forehead to rake through his hair in frustration, Scott pulls out his phone to text Patch. Just backed into my garage door, I’m going to be a little late.
The reply is quick. Of course, take your time!
Scott stares at the fender-shaped dent he just made. “At least today can’t get much worse, right?” he says out loud to himself.
***
After checking to see if his garage door still opens (it doesn’t) and calling a repair guy to see if they could make it out anytime soon (they can’t), he’s finally at the rink, lacing up his skates. As he steps onto the ice he sees Patch on the other side of the rink, waving him over.
“Scott! Are you alright?” Patch greets him with a look of paternal concern.
“Yes, I’m alright,” he sighs. “It’s just been one of those mornings.”
Patch’s expression is making him feel guilty for being a dumbass. “You are not injured though?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine–I mean, my garage door isn’t fine, but I’m not hurt or anything,” he says with a sheepish tone. “Just wasn’t paying attention, I guess.”
“I’m glad you weren’t hurt,” Patch says kindly. “Please, could you work with Anya and Michel today?”
“Yes, of course.” Skating over to the other end of the rink, Scott sets his coffee on top of the boards and turns around to watch the young pair run through the end of their free dance.
“Your lines on your last transition look sloppy,” he says to them when they’re finished, “but the fix is very simple. You just need to make sure you’re fully extending your arm, like this-” Scott lifts his right arm to demonstrate, swings it wide as he turns his body, and promptly bats his coffee right off the boards, sending the cup flying.
He takes a deep breath as his students try to muffle their giggles. It’s going to be a long day.
***
T minus ten minutes until Scott is supposed to leave for his date, and he’s sitting on the floor in his socks, boxers, and a button down shirt, back propped against the dryer that is currently running because he did not, in fact, move his clothes over from the washing machine and start it before he’d left the house that morning like he thought he had.
He’d also been oddly off-balance for most of the day, to the point where (after the third time he’d knocked his coffee off whatever surface it had been sitting on) Marie-France had asked if he had an ear infection, and told him he should go to the doctor. Scott had laughed it off, but when he got home he knocked over an assortment of snow shovels that had been propped against the wall of the garage, then dropped his keys on the floor because he let go of them before they were completely on their hook.
Maybe that’s it, he says to himself. He’s not cursed, this whole godforsaken day was just a result of an inner ear infection that is throwing him off. The idea is weirdly comforting, or at least makes more sense than the idea that the entire world had shifted around him by three-quarters of an inch.
The dryer sings out its cheerful little jingle, indicating that the contents are dry, and Scott opens the door to dig out his pants. “Ow! Hot! Ow!” After a couple of false positives, he finds the slacks he’s looking for and shakes them out. At least being fresh out of the dryer means they’re almost entirely wrinkle free, no need for an iron–which is good, because Scott has no idea where his iron got to after the last move.
He hops across his bedroom floor towards his shoes as he dons his pants, puts on a belt, and just as he’s grabbing his keys off the hook his phone vibrates in his hand.
Good luck on your date!
Seeing Tessa’s name on his screen–okay, so it’s “Virtch”, but that’s still her name –makes him smile despite his state of panic, and he slows down enough to type out a reply. Thanks! Leaving now, I’ll be sure to let you know how it goes.
She replies with thumbs-up, winky face, green heart, blue heart, kissy-winky face, and then he’s out the door.
***
Pulling up to the restaurant, Scott makes a pass through the tiny parking lot only to find that it’s completely full. He makes an irritated noise and looks at the clock to see that it’s 7 on the nose. His phone buzzes; it’s a text from Rachel informing him that she’s arrived. Shit. Reluctantly he pulls out of the parking lot and starts looking for street parking. He finally finds a spot about a block away, parks and leaps out of the car.
He’s in such a hurry that he doesn’t notice the piece of sidewalk sticking up enough that he catches his toe and stumbles. Somehow he manages not to fall, but his momentum throws him against the chain link fence on his left, and as he steps forward with his left foot to stabilize himself he hears the sound of tearing fabric. Rrriiiiiip.
“Nonononono– fuck , really?” Scott says out loud to himself as he surveys the damage. There’s a neat tear in the shape of an upside-down L, with the seam ripped almost clear down to his knee and a flap of fabric flopped over to reveal the bottom of his boxers, which are–of course–the heart-patterned ones he’d gotten as a joke from someone the previous year, and which he’d thrown on because they were the last clean pair in the drawer. There’s no time to go home and change without making Rachel wait at least half an hour, so he gathers up the torn fabric as best he can and waddles off towards the restaurant.
Scott walks through the doors with his left hand pressed firmly over the hole in the side of his pants, holding the material together. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees that all the tables have tablecloths - maybe he can make it through the date without Rachel noticing, or at least he’ll have a chance to explain himself.
Her last text said she was sitting towards the back, and as Scott makes his way around the bar, he spots her. She spots him at the same time and stands up to greet him.
“Scott, hi!” She comes in for a hug, only for Scott to panic and awkwardly thrust his right hand out to grab hers, resulting in a bizarre sort of intimate handshake as their hands get squashed between them.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Rachel!” he says, practically shouting it in her face, and she flinches. “Oh...oh my god. I’m so sorry. Look, I can explain–” Scott takes a step back and lifts his hand just enough so she can see the top of the tear in his slacks. “I tore my pants on a fence as I was walking up and since I was already late, I didn’t want to make you wait, but it kind of threw me off.”
Her expression shifts from bewildered irritation, to kind understanding. “Ohhh, no, I appreciate it! I’m so sorry about your pants!”
“Don’t worry about it, I’m just glad I can pull the tablecloth over my lap.” They sit, and Scott finally has a chance to take in the woman sitting across from him. She’s pretty in a girl-next-door kind of way, straight wheat-blonde hair cut just above her shoulders and warm brown eyes. “Have you ordered a drink yet? I could really use a beer.”
“I just did,” Rachel says apologetically. “Our server should be back with it in just a minute, though.”
“Ok, great,” Scott says absentmindedly, trying to strategically arrange the tablecloth so his underwear isn’t visible from the side.
“I have to admit, I’m really nervous,” Rachel says, ducking her head just a bit. “I don’t even know what to say to an Olympic gold medalist.”
“Oh, no, just...pretend I’m not,” Scott says. “I have to give T all the credit anyway.”
Rachel looks confused for a moment. “T?” she says, and then her face lights up. “Oh! Tessa! Your partner! I’m such an idiot, I’m sorry!”
“No, you’re not an idiot!” he hurries to reassure her. “I just forget sometimes that not everyone automatically knows her, since we’re together so much...” Instantly he regrets what he just said. “I mean, we’re not together, together. Obviously. Because if we were, I wouldn’t be here. Anyway.”
“I...see.” Is it his imagination, or is there a coolness to her tone? “I would hope you’re not out dating if you were with someone.”
“Of course not,” he laughs nervously. “She’s just my partner. My skating partner,” he amends quickly. “Not my, uh, romantic partner.” Rachel nods, confused, and thankfully the waiter shows up just then and Scott has a reprieve. “Yeah...how many ounces is your largest mug?”
***
Despite their less than stellar introduction, Scott manages to recover enough to get his date talking. “So Charlie’s told me a bit about you, you work in marketing?”
She lights up. “Yeah, I’m a social media coordinator.”
“Oh, nice! Maybe you can give me some pointers, I’m terrible with it,” he jokes. “Tess handles all of that stuff, she’s really good at it.” Oh, no, Moir. Really? Again? Rachel is looking at him with what seems to be a mild sort of disgusted fascination. “It’s–you know what? That’s not important. I’ll be right back, I’m gonna go to the bathroom.”
He clutches the tear in his pants together again, then stands up and awkwardly makes his way to the bathroom, hoping against hope that no one is in there.
The bathroom is blessedly, blissfully empty when he opens the door, and Scott walks straight to the sinks to splash some cold water on his face.
Squish.
In his hurry to pull himself together, Scott had managed to miss a very important detail - the entire floor of the men’s room is covered in water. And he doesn’t want to know where it’s coming from, because it’s seeping into his shoes and saturating his socks.
“Sir…?” a voice calls from the door. “I’m very sorry, I was just on my way to put a sign on the door but you beat me to it.”
“No, it’s okay, thanks anyway,” Scott says despondently. It’s going to be a long night.
After wrangling his pants, again, and penguin walking through the entire dining room, again, he is at least rewarded with the sight of his beer on the table.
“Sorry, where were we?” he asks, adjusting the tablecloth. Again.
“You were telling me how amazing your partner is,” Rachel teases him.
“Right, right.” He relaxes at the revelation that she has a sense of humor. “I mean — there’s a lot of stories to tell that she’s a part of, because we’ve skated together for most of our lives.”
“Something like twenty years, right?” Rachel asks, and he nods. “You must know each other inside and out!”
“Sometimes we do,” Scott admits. Not so much lately . “It’s just a side effect of spending that much time around someone.”
“I can imagine!” she laughs.
Some divine trickster must have been listening in and decided the conversation was going too well, because it’s at that exact moment that their server, on his way back to their table bearing a basket of chips and a much larger than necessary bowl of salsa, trips and all the food goes flying.
All over Scott, that is. Chips and salsa rain down on his head like ash and eye-searing lava, and he hears Rachel gasp but barely registers it because he’d looked over at just the right time to catch a face full of spicy goodness.
The next several moments are a blur of ow ow ow OW and somehow getting back to the mens’ restroom, sewage water be damned, and trying to rinse his eyes out.
Scott hears — not sees, because he’s still salsa-blind — the door open behind him and the squish of someone else’s shoes on the floor. “Eew,” he hears Rachel say. “Why did you come in here?”
“I wasn’t really thinking about it at the time,” he says in what he hopes isn’t too irritable of a tone. “Why did you come in here?”
“I brought you some milk to rinse your eyes out with,” she says. “Here, put your head over the sink.”
Rachel pours the milk over his face, and after a few moments the burning starts to subside. “Oh my god, thank you,” he gasps.
“No problem,” she says. “Um...should we rain check for tonight?”
“That would probably be best,” Scott sighs. “Let’s finish our drinks, at least.”
Finishing their drinks turns out to be ten deeply awkward minutes of silence. Scott’s soaking wet shoes and socks are in a takeout bag on the floor next to him, and his eyes still tingle uncomfortably. Every so often Rachel opens her mouth like she’s going to say something, then seems to think better of it. It’s possibly the longest ten minutes of Scott’s life.
When he asks for the check, their server shakes his head. “I’ve comped your drinks, sir, it’s the least I can do.”
“No, please, let me at least ti—” Scott cuts himself off in shock as he pats his pockets, searching desperately for the wallet he isn’t finding. “Uh...my wallet must be out in my car, or…”
Across the table, Rachel sighs and pulls her wallet out of her purse. “This is for you, thank you so much,” she says, handing the server a couple of bills.
Scott follows her out of the restaurant, all but hanging his head as he stews over his soaked shoes and socks and the debacle he just experienced. Once they’re outside, Rachel turns to him and gives him a quick, chaste peck on the cheek.
“I’m really sorry tonight went so poorly,” she says, “but you know, maybe it’s not meant to be.” Scott starts to protest, but she shakes her head and raises a hand to stop him. “No, it’s okay, I just feel like the universe was giving us some pretty clear signs tonight.”
“Yeah...I guess,” Scott says, crestfallen. “I’m really sorry too.”
Rachel’s mouth curves into a wry smile. “Tell Tessa I say hello, and I hope to meet her someday. Bye, Scott.” Then she turns and walks away, leaving Scott to stare after her and puzzle over what she meant by that.
Back at his car, bag of shoes on the passenger seat, Scott leans his head back against the headrest and sighs deeply, closing his eyes. He hasn’t been on such a terrible date since...well, he’s never had such a terrible date. Starting up the car, he looks at the clock and sees that it’s only 8pm. Still early enough to drop by T’s place, he thinks to himself. Suddenly that’s all he wants to do, is go over to Tessa’s and get a hug from her and tell her about his whole lousy day because he knows it’ll make her laugh, and he likes how her nose crinkles when she laughs really hard and...oh.
OH.
The realization is sudden but it’s like a dam breaking inside of him, and without thinking about it he puts the car in gear and drives off towards London.
***
He raps on the door, hears her walk up to it, imagines her getting on her tiptoes to look through the peephole. A moment later the door opens. “Scott?”
The relief he feels is palpable. “Tess, hey. Uh...Happy Valentine’s Day?”
Her baffled gaze moves down, and becomes even more baffled at the state he’s in. “What happened to you?”
“It’s, ahh...” Scott looks down at his torn and dirty trousers, his bare feet, the salsa stains on his shirt. “It’s been a really long day.”
“It looks like it. Come in, I’ll make some coffee.” She leads him through the doorway, then turns to head for the kitchen. He can hear music on in the living room and he smiles, thinking of Tessa dancing around her house.
Take away my trouble, take away my grief, take away my heartache in the night like a thief
He takes a deep breath. “Tess?”
“Yeah?” She turns back, expecting him to ask for hot chocolate instead of coffee, maybe.
“Look, I came over because...I just…” He’s stumbling over his words. “You should know something.”
She smiles, but her eyes are cautious. “What should I know?”
Scott clears his throat and takes a deep breath. “I had a terrible day today. Like, the worst day I’ve ever had. I spilled hot coffee all over myself, backed into my garage door, got salsa thrown in my face, forgot my wallet and didn’t realize it until I tried to tip the waiter after my date–which tanked, by the way–”
“You got...salsa thrown in your face?” Tessa looks mildly concerned. “Did you get into a food fight on your date?”
“No, I–the point is, after all that happened, all I wanted was to come see you. That’s the only thing that could possibly make me feel better. And then, that’s when I realized–”
The rest of his grand speech is muffled as Tessa steps up to him and pulls him in, and their lips meet and oh my god, Tessa Virtue is kissing him, and it’s for real, not the squeamish peck from when they were kids or the awkward “practice” when they were teenagers, and...what was he talking about again? It’s lost as he relaxes into her and reaches up a hand to cup her cheek.
And when I'm returning from so far away, she gives me some sweet lovin' brighten up my day
He’s dazed when they finally pull apart. “You just kissed me.”
“I did,” she says, and she’s biting her lip and fiddling with her ring anxiously. “Is–is that okay?”
“It’s more than okay,” he blurts out, and her smile is like the sun. “That’s what I came over here to tell you, is that–”
“You have feelings for me?” she finishes his sentence, and he can only nod, still slightly stunned at what’s just happened. “Remember that really important thing I wanted to tell you?”
“Oh. Right.” That phone call seems like it happened eons ago.
“Last week, when you told me you were going to start dating again, I realized...I felt jealous,” she says. “I’ve never felt jealous before. I’ve always been happy to see you happy. So I was going to tell you how I felt, so we could talk through it, and then…”
“And then I turned up on your doorstep like a lost puppy,” he says. “So if I have feelings for you, and you have feelings for me, then what are we going to do about it?”
She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love
“Same thing we do with everything,” Tessa replies. “Make some coffee and talk about it.”
Scott slings an arm around her shoulder and pulls her close, kissing the top of her head. “Deal. With one stipulation.”
“What’s that?” she asks.
“That we also make out some more,” he says, and Tessa’s impossibly large laugh rings through the house as they walk towards the kitchen together.
She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love