So this is my first attempt at a Chess fic. This is based off of the concert version as it is the only one I feel comfortable enough with to attempt a story. I'm considering a few other ideas to post, but I wanted to do a tester to get a feel for the fandom. All thoughts are more than welcome and greatly appreciated

How does one begin to describe home?

Is it simply a place of residence? Is a structure with four walls, a door, and numerous windows really what makes up the idea of home? If it were only that simple.

Over the course of her life, she had heard many people say that home was where you hang your hat. While that might have sounded similar to the concept of a building in which one lived, she came to realize that it simply meant that a home is any pace that you feel comfortable. Perhaps a better way to say it would be that home is the place where you heart is. A place where you are loved, needed, and accepted. On the surface it sounded wonderful; why wouldn't it? And she was sure that it was. Sometimes.

But then again, how would she know if she had never had it?

It wasn't that she didn't have options; in fact, she had had several. It was the simple fact that none of them had proven to be permanent. Though it may have been a relatively trivial trait, stability was something that she craved; something that she desperately wanted in a life that oftentimes proved to be the epitome of chaos.

Her first chance at home had been taken from her by forces beyond her control. After all, she had only been a girl of eight when the Russians invaded Hungary. What could she have possibly done to stop them? The days of her early life were something she remembered with a dreary fondness. Days of time spent with family and friends, walking through the park with her parents, and enjoying the simplicity of life as a child.

It was her father who had fostered her love of chess from the time she was young. Every Sunday after their walks, he would set up the board and they would play. Though sorely inadequate compared to him, there were times when her father would let her win. Of course, she never realized this until years later, but it never failed to warm her heart. Her skill had never been close to his own, not even after all of this time. But it had been his passion. It soon became hers as well.

She supposed it was only fitting then to fall for a man who shared the same passion. Perhaps a bit too much. Freddie Trumper had moved her in ways she had never thought possible. He was crass, arrogant, and impulsive. Everything she despised and nothing she expected. As the years passed, however, she found that they balanced each other quite well. She kept him grounded and he tested every last nerve in her body. Alright, so it wasn't perfect, but she was able to see him for what he could be.

A gift and a curse, really.

America had failed her as a home as well. Seven years she had spent within its borders, traveling as Freddie's lover and second. Years of laughter and tears, joy and frustration. Even now, as she allowed her thoughts to drift to that time that seemed so far away, she felt a smile cross her face. She knew that they could never last. His fuse was too short and her tolerance too low to go back to the way things were. That was the truth. Still, she had felt a sense of intimacy in his arms that she had lost as a child. Was this where she was meant to be?

Of course not.

And then there was Anatoly. Her lips curved into a soft smile as thoughts of him danced through her mind. She was certain she had found her home with him. He represented everything she had been fighting against. His heritage alone should have been right enough to hate him; an entity on which she could place the blame for the loss of her innocent childhood. No matter how diplomatic her outer façade, inside the bitterness still burned like a midnight lamp. It had taken everything within her to remain silent as Molokov threw accusations about the American.

And then Anatoly had stepped up and calmed the situation with impressive skill. There was something about him that drew her in and held her captive with little hope of escape. Their affair grew out of a whirlwind attraction, fueled by the shared love of competition. Chess was his world, something that he embraced whole-heartedly. Their days in Britain were often spent around the board. She would push him to his limits, challenging him to better himself in every way.

His wife was a factor she had not counted on. But then again, perfect situations had a funny way of turning out less than perfect. Even the best things in life must end. She envied Svetlana for the simple fact that she was Anatoly's wife. She had never understood her husband's passion for the game and encouraged him to give it up. Well, Svetlana and Anatoly had won in the end. She acquired the return of her husband and he retained his status as world champion.

And where did that leave her?

Alone once again.

She knew he had only agreed to return to secure the release of her father. She loved him all the more for it. But not even that was a sure thing anymore. Nothing in her life was. Every man she had ever loved had been taken from her, once by her own recklessness. Her father, Freddie, Anatoly. Every place she had hoped to call home had rejected her. Not Hungary, not America, not England, and certainly not Russia. Wasn't there even one place in this wretched world that she could call her own?

Now, as Walter walked away from her, his face sporting that smug smile with a touch of irony in its creases, the truth became clear. Sometimes there simply is no place to call your own. It's what you make it. The road ahead would be long, tedious and lonely, but as the smoke cleared, she knew.

One route or another, she would find her way.