A/N: Okay, so this was supposed to be a little drabble about Florence angsting over Freddie/Anatoly but it ended up really Florence/Svetlana-ish, which I didn't even think of until it was pointed out, to be honest. I don't even know if I like this, but I thought I'd post anyway because there is a significant lack of Chess fic in the world.
She knew from the beginning that it wasn't meant to last. It's one of the things that had drawn her to the man. Drawn her to Freddie too, all those years ago. She always knew they'd never work – she just never expected that she would be the one to leave.
Even this time, looking at Anatoly and knowing that he'd made his decision even before he had realized. Florence had always had an amazing ability to read people. It had become her security tactic. Figure them out, and leave them before you get left behind.
There's no doubting that she knew what she was getting into, whether she really ever knew the man or not. Spontaneity was never a passion of hers. Everything in her life was methodical and planned out to the very last detail. That's what made her a good second. She is good at what she does, and there's really no arguing with that.
Anatoly was like a spark, however. One touch, one kiss and she was ready to follow him to the ends of the earth, if only for that moment. She had never been able to do that. To love someone so furiously and intensely. To fall so hard, so fast. Have one great fling, for today. To love someone whose battles she didn't have to fight for him.
In a way, it was to ignore the fact that she had her own battles to fight, to lose.
But losing Anatoly was something she had anticipated, even accepted before it had even begun. Chess would come before anything. Florence, Svetlana, his children, hell, even his country. Except the way Svetlana spoke about her husband's impending return to Russia made it seem like he was less than welcome. Not that she could be blamed, really. The Russian certainly didn't have fidelity on his list of achievements.
Hoping even for one moment that she could have possibly made enough of an impact on his life that he would leave the game for her was futile, but it didn't stop her. In the midst of everything, she actually almost expected him to. But that's not the kind of man that he was, and belatedly she realized that that's not the kind of woman she was either.
There was nothing however, that Florence could have learned about either man that could have prepared her for this.
The National World Chess Championship of 1971, Paris, France, where Anatoly Sergievsky fought for his title as World Champion for the third year running.
With Frederick Trumper at his side.
Freddie did most of the talking, as could be expected. The man was never at a loss for words, not even when he was Champion himself. But yet, he didn't carry around the same bitter air he used to. Anatoly seemed confident too. Confident in his title, his game, his life.
There was something about the way the two men were sitting, not close, but not apart that sent Florence's mind reeling.
She didn't know why she was here, anyway. To cheer him on? To fight for lost love? She felt like she owed it to him to be there though, and that was reason enough for her.
And he saw her in the crowd, she knew he did when he smiled, really smiled, and elbowed Freddie, pointing her out. Freddie nudged him back playfully before following his gaze and giving Florence a small smile and a matching wave.
The conference crew had paused their incessant interrogation briefly and the two players were exchanging small whispers with their heads ducked together, speaking like they were old friends. Florence could sense that something was off.
What on earth had possessed Freddie to support Anatoly anyway? Not two years ago they had been sitting in a room not unlike this one in Merano, Italy where Freddie has spewed ill received notions about Soviets and communism.
But that was Frederick Trumper, World Chess Champion.
This Freddie seemed different. More calm, perhaps. He was perfectly okay with standing at Anatoly's side, hands clasped in front of him, overlooking the game being played with a fond smile.
Florence liked to think that he had put aside his old angry assumptions for his love of the game. Anatoly was a fine player, yet so was he, and seeing them play for the same team was somehow comforting. Like, if they could agree to work together and hell, maybe even become friends, then the world might not be sentenced to it's doom as a bitter planet.
Though, global politics were very rarely based on the prejudices of two chess players. Though it's been done before, and Florence is the last person to doubt anything in the way of politicians anymore.
That's when she saw it. It wasn't a beacon, screaming out their secret to the world- even if that's something the old Freddie Trumper would have loved. No, it was a small gesture, subtle enough to go unnoticed by the occupants of the room.
Anatoly had won the first game (as if that had been a surprise) and while switching sides of the board, he looked up at Freddie and they shared a smile that made Florence's heart skip a beat. Not because it was directed at her, because it most certainly was not, but because she had seen it before.
That small smile had been hers once. Shared by both of them. Just a quick quirk of lips while all the emotion laid in their eyes. And the way Freddie ducked his head almost immediately afterward and Anatoly trained his eyes on the chess pieces before they were even set up.
She knew what it was because she had been the recipient of that smile far too many times to count. It was their way of saying "I love you" when they thought nobody else was looking.
Scanning the crowd, she saw a familiar face and realized that she hadn't been the only person who had seen the exchange. Pain, sadness and acceptance were etched into a pair of crystal blue eyes who had also seen that smile from the man she had loved more times than she could remember.
Florence left the hall before the second game was announced. There was nothing she could be for them but happy, because they were both things that she had given up a long time ago. It didn't hurt though, letting go. Not like she thought it would. Letting go of the past; old fights, old losses, old love. If Freddie and Anatoly could move past old prejudices and be happy the way she knew they were- mostly because Freddie was still stubborn enough not to deal with something if he wasn't happy with it, and Anatoly came with enough baggage for the both of them and then some.
But standing by her car door, not quite leaving but most certainly not staying, she caught a flash of blonde hair and blue eyes, her own grief mirrored perfectly and suddenly she wasn't alone anymore. And she had been nothing but alone for the last twenty seven years, living on borrowed time by somebody else's rules. And maybe, just maybe, it was time to make her own rules.
It was time to be Florence Vassy, whoever that was. Driving down the Rue de Chagny with company that she had hardly ever expected to enjoy, she thinks that being Florence Vassy might be easier than she could have ever dreamed it to be, knowing that she wouldn't be alone for the ride and for once, she doesn't feel the need to read the last page of this story before it starts.
Just this once, she doesn't want to know how it ends, she just wants to know that there's another page after this one. More to this story than she bargained for and she's okay with not knowing, not being in control of every detail.
She was moving on, leaving behind handsome Russians with ambitious desires and self-centered Americans with more demands than royalty. Both men who could find happiness without her. And damn it, she was going to be happy. Happy for them, and happy for herself.
She can do that, she thinks. Feeling sorry for herself was never something that she had been good at, and she'll be damned if she's going to start now.
It's all anyone can ask her for, and really, she's not opposed to it. The idea of being happy was one that she had given up as a very young child, but now she's finding that living with complacency isn't what she wanted to begin with.
Maybe happiness was supposed to come in places you least expected it, and she certainly didn't expect this ending to her story. But perhaps it's just the beginning, and maybe that's okay.
Stranger things have happened than two women who used to be rivals over a particular man's affection finding solace in each other over soft smiles, lingering gazes and a warm cup of coffee.
It was the birth of a friendship that neither had dared to expect, but that was the beauty of life- the ability to take things as they are and not question their intentions. Sharing your grief with someone who understood the feeling as plainly as you do. Sharing stories about a man you used to know and love. Learning things about him that you could never have guessed.
A friend is all Florence had ever wanted, really. And a friend is what Svetlana provided her with.
Something that she could finally look forward to- no regrets.
A new beginning.