Just a Number

Disclaimer: I don't own MIOBI.

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

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Just a Number – Thank Goodness

Keeler Residence

"Well, isn't this nice?" Kim said encouragingly, smiling around the table at those gathered for the small Thanksgiving dinner at the Keeler home.

"It really is, Kim," answered Chloe Kmetko. "Isn't that right, kids?" she asked sending pointed looks at Emily and her brother, Brian.

"Thank you, Mrs. Keeler," the two Kmetko children answered in unison, sharing a grin.

"You're welcome," Kim answered brightly, sending a brief look at her own children as though to say 'well at least somebody likes my cooking'. "So, Emily," she said, moving the conversation along, "how did you like the Ballet last night? Payson hasn't stopped raving about it since she got home."

"Oh, I bet," Emily snickered lowly, grinning at her friend's flushing face. "It was very good," she replied politely to Kim. "I'd never been to a modern ballet before, so it was really interesting, and the dancers were just beautiful.

"I think everyone really enjoyed them selves, especially the chance to glam up for the evening," she finished with a laugh. "You should have seen Lauren's dress. It was almost scandalous."

"Indeed," Payson agreed dryly. "I covered my eyes every time she moved just in case something popped out." With the exception of Brian (who was, after all, a sixteen-year-old boy), the table looked mildly disturbed by her description.

"Emily and I looked up that ballerina you guys met," Brian said, directing the comment at Payson. "She's really accomplished, especially for her age. Did you know she's the co-owner of the ballet company?"

"Wow," Payson commented appraisingly. "I knew she choreographed the performance but I didn't realize it was her own company."

"It's pretty incredible," Emily agreed. "She's been in companies all over the world and only recently decided to start out on her own. For four years she was the principle dancer in the Royal Ballet in England," Emily answered, clearly impressed by the young ballerina. "Which is probably how Sasha knows her. They were probably in a lot of the same circles in London."

Both Kim and Payson inwardly cringed at Emily's unwittingly dangerous statement, both turning their heads to Mark Keeler with a sense of dread. There had been a silent agreement amongst the women of the Keeler household that it was probably best not to let Mark know about Sasha Belov's sudden appearance in the country or that the English gymnast had been behind the previous evening's outing. Despite MJ's efforts to placate, Mark still took on a rather frosty demeanour any time that Sasha was mentioned in the same sentence as his daughter.

"Sasha Belov?" Mark asked darkly, an inquiring, but stern look on his face.

"You know what I think we should do?" Chloe interjected suddenly in her usual bright manner, her hands flailing around her expressively. "I think we should do that thing that people always do on TV where everyone goes around the table and we all say what we're thankful for."

You knew it was bad when even Chloe Kmetko noticed the sudden tension in the room.

"I'll go first," she continued eagerly without giving anyone a moment to refute her suggestion. "I am grateful," she said slowly, "that we've all managed to go almost a whole year without any huge drama. I mean, how great is that, right?

"Your turn, Brian," she said, forcing things along.

"Um . . . I'm thankful that Mrs. Keeler invited us to dinner so we didn't have to worry about Mom almost burning down the apartment," he said honestly. "Again."

Becca went next. "I'm so thankful I'm not Payson right now," she laughed, earning herself a tight grimace from her sister and a warning look from her mother. "Still worth it," she grinned.

Kim shook her head. "Well I'm just thankful we all get to spend this time together and everyone's getting along and it's just a really nice time with family and friends," she said laying it on particularly thick and giving Mark pleading looks across the table. "Payson," she said, indicating that it was her turn.

"Oh, you know," Payson said vaguely. "Good will. Peace on earth. That sort of thing."

"Yeah, ditto that," Emily said, raising her hand.

"You know what I just remembered," Payson said, cutting in before her dad could offer his own passive-aggressive version of the holiday tradition. "Emily and I promised Kaylie that we'd stop by her house some time tonight."

"Oh yeah," Emily agreed, nodding her head. Payson stood from her chair and Emily followed suit, smiling apologetically.

"We should really head there now before it gets too late," Payson added.

"Of course, dear," Kim smiled and agreed far more easily than was in her nature. "Don't stay out too long."

"We won't," Payson promised, rushing out of the door with Emily hot on her heels. "I'll drop Emily home when we're done. Bye." They were outside before anyone could say anything about it, the two of them quickly situating themselves in Payson's car.

"Oh god, Pay, I'm so sorry," Emily pleaded, looking painfully contrite after the blunder. "I didn't even think about it. I mean, of course you didn't tell your dad about it – he's completely going to freak."

"Yeah," Payson agreed with a pained smile. "He didn't look very happy about it, did he?" Emily gave a sceptical look that suggested 'not very happy' was, perhaps, an understatement.

"If Sasha had walked through the door I think one look would have been enough to kill him," Emily stated without the slightest trace of amusement or hyperbole.

Payson grimaced and tugged her seatbelt around her. "It's just typical," she groused. "The first guy I meet that I really like, and my dad decides to get all . . . parental about it. I suppose I'm lucky my dad doesn't own a gun.

"What?" she asked, seeing Emily freeze mid-action in a startled expression.

"You just said you liked him," Emily answered cautiously, looking as though she was still trying to comprehend the meaning herself.

"For weeks you've been telling us that you weren't interested and that there was nothing to talk about," Emily continued, gaining confidence as she progressed. "You just said you liked him – that you really like him – so what's changed since yesterday?"

Emily grinned as Payson flushed, seeing her friend turn suddenly flustered and coy. "Oh this must be good," Emily said and leaned her body attentively towards her fellow gymnast.

Payson turned away silently and tried to resist the urge to tell all. She had never really had one of those moments before where something happened and it was so huge you just felt like you had to tell everyone you knew at the first possible opportunity. She was surprised she'd even lasted as long as she had so far given how much she'd already said to her mother and Becca on the subject of her evening with Sasha. She doubted she'd be able to keep it from Emily much longer.

In the end all it took was five words from Emily to break the lock. "I promise I won't tell."

"Sasha kissed me," she blurted out. "I mean, it was probably just because of the moment and it probably doesn't mean anything, but yeah . . . Sasha kissed me," she finished lamely and glanced away awkwardly.

"Sasha kissed you?" Emily repeated, surprise and wonder lacing her tone. "As in . . . Sasha kissed you and you're only telling me this now?" she demanded adamantly. "That should have been the first thing you said to me when I got in the door today.

"How on earth could you go so long without telling anyone?"

Payson shrugged. "I'm good at secrets," she answered vaguely.

"But this is so huge," Emily protested. "I don't know how you can sit there looking so calm when . . ." Payson just shrugged again and Emily shook her head.

"Okay, I just have to ask," Emily began, treading carefully, "is Sasha a good kisser?"

The other gymnast rolled her eyes. "So good," Payson replied tightly, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "In fact, we're getting married next week. You're all invited and Sasha even asked Marty to be his best man."

"So . . . he's not a good kisser?" Emily guessed.

Payson groaned in frustration, eying the heavens belligerently. "Of course he's a good kisser," she answered exasperatedly. "He's Sasha Belov for gods sakes.

"But it doesn't matter," she continued quickly, her tone becoming disheartened. "It doesn't mean anything. It was just the snow and the moon and . . . I don't know . . . it was the romantic atmosphere. What else was he supposed to do when the forces of nature gang up against him like that?

"We were just . . ." she finished, pausing to find the right phrase, "caught in the moment."

"And?" Emily urged.

"And nothing," Payson insisted. "He's too old for me. He's not right for me. And the only thing he cares about right now is sweeping the Olympics.

"And sometimes a kiss . . . is just a kiss."

The Rock Gymnasium

Sasha groaned as he tossed himself on the bed inside of his trailer, parts of him still frozen from standing in a barn (with no insulation) in next to no clothing for hours on end. He despised Howard with a passion that he had usually only reserved for gymnastics, and cursed every deity he could think of for inflicting him with such a friend. He also cursed certain men's apparel brands that shall remain nameless.

And now he cursed whatever delinquent had chosen to knock upon his door at the ungodly hour of 5pm when he was trying his best to fall asleep and forget anything that had happened since the previous evening. "Unless you're five-three and blonde I'm not interested," he called out. He was secure in his conviction that whoever had decided to interrupt his attempts at sleep was neither blonde nor five foot three, and quite likely not in combination. His money would have been on Austin if not for the fact that the younger gymnast had gone to visit his parents in Florida for some weird, winter solstice type harvest ritual that looked a lot like the typical Thanks Giving dinner except for a few minor oddities.

The knocking stopped, and for a moment Sasha was relieved and allowed himself to relax into the comfort of his bed. But the brief silence was broken by the creak of hinges, the click-clack of stiletto heels against his faux hardwood, laminate floor and a clipped British accent. "Since when have you been so fussy, Sasha?" a familiar voice asked. "Nice . . . 'digs' by the way," she added disdainfully.

Sasha groaned and turned over in his bed, burying his face in his pillow and doing his best to pretend she wasn't really there. "Please go away," he said firmly. "I'm not in the mood for you 'company', MJ."

"Bad day?" she consoled sarcastically. "Some tiny blonde not falling for your indefatigable charms?"

He lifted his head to glare at her. "What do you want, MJ?" he asked tiredly.

MJ's features hardened and any pretended sense of cordiality disappeared. "I want to know what you think you're doing sniffin' around my client," she said darkly. "Her sponsors are . . . concerned," she told him vaguely, explaining the reasons behind her attack. "They think your whole anti-social, gymnastics rebel persona is going to rub off on her, and their pretty little all-American gymnast is going to go from marketable and pure to unapproachable and tarnished.

"And then I have to go an' intercept this," she complained, tossing a manila folder at him. It landed open on his bed, scattering an array of photos of him and Payson at the ballet – her looking stunning in her simple beauty and him looking enthralled by her mere presence. "There I was settlin' down to a nice, quiet holiday weekend and then I have deal with cleaning up your messes all over again.

"Just when I thought you were somebody else's problem," she muttered sardonically to herself.

He sat up, flicking lazily through the photos and taking a moment to admire them. It really was one hell of a dress, and Payson looked even more beautiful than she did in his memory. "They're making it out to be something it's not," he insisted. "Austin and the others were there too, so it's not like it was a date."

"It doesn't matter what it is," MJ answered in her blasé manner. "It matters what it looks like. You of all people should know that by now, Sasha.

"If it looks like a duck, and it quacks like a duck," she began in the abstract, "and it holds her hand and gives her meaningful looks like a duck," she said more concretely, stabbing a manicured index finger in the direction of the photos.

"I get the point," he admitted reluctantly, seeing exactly what it looked like. "What do you expect me to do about it, MJ?" he asked rhetorically with a disdainful glare.

"Rich," she muttered with a smirk. "I don't know why I didn't see this coming. This is classic, Type A, Sasha Belov behaviour," she accused sourly. "You're like a little boy who wants a toffee apple just because he knows he can't have it. You see something you want and you're completely blind to anything else around you, and you'll pursue it to the point of relentlessness and insanity no matter the cost.

"This is the reason we ended," she told him. "You're impossible."

He tilted his head, an amused smirk pulling on his features. "And all this time I thought it was because you slept with one of my best friends," he commented blandly.

MJ shook her head, rolling her eyes in frustration. "We were over long before that, Sasha, and you know it," she told him coolly. "That was just the only way I could get through to you."

"Sasha!" a third voice interjected before Sasha could give his scathing reply. Like MJ, Marty barged in without waiting for invitation, striding unwittingly into the uncomfortable scene.

MJ clucked her tongue ironically. "Well isn't this a fun little reunion," she mused sarcastically. "Pleasure as always, Marty."

"I'm sure," Marty replied tightly, clearly not sharing the sentiment.

"You know what, MJ," Sasha said, cutting through the clear tension, "I just remembered I had plans with Marty, so if you don't mind . . ."

MJ snorted amusedly, clearly not believing him. "You're not getting out of here that easily, Sasha," she told him. "You asked how you can help and – to be perfectly frank – you owe me."

"How do I owe you, MJ?" Sasha asked coldly.

"I think I have to go with Sasha on this one," Marty echoed in a similarly cool tone.

MJ scoffed at the apparent show of solidarity. "I think you're backing the wrong horse here, Marty," she told him with a taunting lift of her eyebrow. "After all, we do both have only Payson's best interests at heart."

Marty faltered at the undertone of her words, but Sasha could understand. MJ Martin was not someone to make light of, particularly not when it came to the fate and career of an elite athlete like Payson.

"Fine," Sasha relented quietly. "What do you want me to do?"

~ to be continued ~

Was a bit late on the update this week - uni's started back which means I won't have as much time as I like to devote to my writing, what with having to actually do my case readings and what not. I'm gonna be cutting updates down to once a week form now on, and it'll probably be Tuesday morning (my time, therefore Monday afternoon for nearly everyone else), just to give myself a bit a leeway in terms of writing.

Hope you liked that chapter.

Notes:

There's a deleted scene on my LJ for this chapter - just like a random bit between Sasha and a certain men's apparel company that was meant to open this chapter, but didn't make the cut.

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