PRICELESS adj.

of inestimable worth
so precious its value cannot be determined

Disclaimer: I do not own Make It or Break It.

Summary: No matter what it always came back to him – to the one person who had seen her at her best and her worst and found beauty in both. Who could put a value on that? Payson/Sasha

XI. All This and Heaven Too

Payson frowned, features creased with curiosity as she took in the familiar building, evidently a part of her 'training'. She held back a grimace, wary of what that might entail given their current location.

Sasha was oddly quiet, not having a word to say as he led her into the building and then through different hallways with a hand pressed to the small of her back. She paused in the lobby, giving him a dubious look before she let him take her any further.

"I must have a death wish to agree to your 'surprises'," she commented drily, lifting an eyebrow in silent demand of an explanation.

Sasha just grinned back at her. "You'll like this one," he assured, urging her through one last set of doors. He dropped his hand from her back as they walked into the theatre (the same that they had visited several months earlier when they attended Swan Lake together) and she felt instantly disappointed. And then a familiar voice rose from the orchestra pit.

"If I wanted to see a faille that heavy footed, Miss Worthington, I would have cast an eight tonne elephant in your role,"the voice called clearly, each word so sharp and precisely British. "Again, and this time try to actually SPRING as you come forward."

"Yes, Mistress Viola," the dancer replied, her head ducked in submission.

"You are late," the same voice called from her clove of darkness.

"You're still rehearsing," Sasha retorted, a slight whine of petulance to his tone. Payson followed, keeping close to his side as he walked purposefully towards the stage.

"That doesn't stop you from being late, Alexandru. You know I abhor tardiness," came the reprimanding reply as Viola Pettinger herself stepped out into the stage. But she smiled all the same, her eyes on Payson rather than Sasha. "Miss Keeler," she greeted warmly, a hand outstretched towards her second most difficult pupil. "Come here and show my ballerinas a thing or two about being light on their feet."

"Me?" Payson asked, completely floored by the suggestion. "I don't think so." She shook her head, backing from the imposing stage and letting Sasha fall between them.

"Why not?" Viola asked imperiously. "If anyone would know about being light on their feet I would think it would be a gymnast such as yourself."

"Vee," Sasha cautioned, putting a stop to the banter. He knew Viola genuinely liked Payson and that this was her way of showing her regard for a former pupil, but he could also see that Payson was uncomfortable at the thought of performing in front of real ballerinas. This was simply something he would have to continue to work with her on – on finding grace and beauty in herself outside of gymnastics.

"Very well," Viola huffed. She turned back to her ballerinas, dismissing them for the rest of the afternoon. Then her gaze was back upon Payson. "I assume you have something suitable to wear," she questioned, followed by the haughty addendum, "Remember I teach ballet, not acrobatics."

"Got it covered," one of the ballerinas on stage piped up holding up a shopping bag.

Payson admonished herself for not recognizing her straightaway – she always got a little thrown off whenever she saw Jayden without her customary baseball hat. She let out a girlish gasp at the recognition, pleasantly surprised to see the unlikely ballerina centre stage

Sasha grinned at her smugly, dipping his head towards her so he could whisper in her ear. "I told you you'd like my surprise."

She beamed back up at him for a moment, her eyes bright with gratitude, before following Jayden backstage to get into her something suitable. Sasha was glad to see her looking so excited.

Once Payson returned to the stage, Viola put her straight with ballet drills.

"Thankfully you've retained most of what I taught you," Viola noted, sending a look towards Sasha that suggested he was to blame for any losses that may have occurred. Payson had not continued in her ballet lessons in his absence and he had to admit that there was a small part of him pleased by that fact. Ballet was something that belonged to the two of them, and it seemed wrong for her to be there without him.

Once Viola was completely satisfied, it was Jayden's turn to take up the position of taskmaster. He, Payson, and Viola all took their seats while Jayden cued up the music and took to the stage.

The music opened with the tinkling of a harp, light and quick. Then building into something stronger as it continued, bringing with it percussion and string instruments, and eventually the paunchy beat of a rock ballad. Booming drums that practically demanded the most difficult tumbling pass he could imagine.

Jayden's choreography followed in the same way, building from precise, delicate movements towards more expressive and dynamic movements, pulling back suddenly as the percussion dropped out, and then instantly back to where it had left off. It was all immaculate lines and flawless twirls, and constantly moving forward like perpetual motion.

He could immediately see it in his mind's eyes – Payson performing this routine in the O2 Arena in London and taking home the gold medal (a full sweep of them if he had his way). He was already planning the gymnastics choreography in his mind, figuring out where the most work would be needed and a timeframe for when it would be competition ready.

"That was amazing," Payson enthused beside him as Jayden finished.

Jayden gave a flourishing bow and eyed the rest of her audience. Viola looked both impressed and slightly aggravated, pointing out that a classical composition would be more appropriate and that given some time she could surely find a suitable piece to suit the choreography. Which left Sasha to settle the tie with three pairs of eyes upon him staring intently.

"C'mon, Sasha," Jayden said eagerly, her expression the most forceful of the three – she certainly wasn't beyond physically forcing him to agree with her. "No one ever said that being an artistic gymnast meant limiting Payson to classical ballet music.

"You know me," she added with an easy shrug. "I'm all about breaking stereotypes."

Viola hummed in disagreement, eyes narrowed sternly in that look that she'd probably perfected from years of watching his mother deal with his mischief as a little boy. But it was the third pair of eyes – a muted blue-green framed with light brown lashes – that did him in. Payson smiled at him pleadingly, her expression making it impossible to go against her wishes. Not that he even considered thinking otherwise. The National Committee thought they had her figured out – kept trying to fit her into boxes and tell her who she was – and it was about time they mixed things up again.

He paused for a moment, though, goading her that little bit just so he could see her pouting response. "Well," he said slowly, thoughtfully. "I know how much you've been dying to incorporate some more power elements into your routines."

Payson almost yelped with joy, doubly pleased by his response. She'd regained a lot of her old skills over the last few months (as evidenced by her vault at Worlds) and he hadn't missed any of the heavy-handed hints she'd been dropping in that regard.

She held his gaze for a moment, conveying her gratitude and somehow the distinct impression that she owed him a kiss later, before she joined Jayden on stage so she could start learning the choreography. Under Jayden's expert tutelage, she picked it up quickly.

Viola gave a small hum of amusement beside him. "That girl has you wrapped around her finger and she doesn't even know it."

He froze, startled by Viola's observation. She shook her head and continued. "I'm not blind, Alexandru," she said drolly. She looked straight ahead, watching Jayden and Payson rather than looking for his reaction. "It was obvious the first time you came to see me about her."

"I'm . . . we, I mean . . . nothing's happened," he spluttered uselessly, unsure of what he needed to say.

Viola shrugged. "That's none of my business," she said plainly. She turned her head slightly, not quite meeting his gaze. "I'm glad you came back, Alexandru."

"I meant to stay away," he admitted, his voice wistful. "She wouldn't let me."

He saw Viola grinning from the corner of his eye. "I knew I liked her," she declared. "Even with the gymnastics," she added disparagingly. "Such a waste of talent."

He'd always known that jealousy was at the heart of most of Viola's barbs about gymnastics. "What do you expect?" he asked with a small smirk. "They don't give out gold medals for Pas seul."

It was afternoon by the time they left the theatre, most of the day already gone and the light already dimmer than when they went in. Payson hugged both Jayden and Viola before she left, swapping cellphone numbers with Jayden and promising Viola she'd be in studio next week to reinstate her ballet lessons.

"Ready to go home?" Sasha questioned rhetorically, keys jiggling in his hand.

"Not yet."

She knew he hadn't meant it as anything more than a casual herding towards the car, but her answer slipped out before she could stop herself. It had been such a good day – one where she didn't have to think about Lauren or training or whatever dramas were happening at The Rock. One day without the constant reminder that the only the thing she had ever wanted more than she wanted to go to the Olympics was dangling teasingly just out of her reach.

She wasn't ready for this day to be over.

Sasha's expression turned sympathetic, guessing at least part of her thoughts. "How about a drink?" he suggested gently, gesturing to the row of cafés and restaurants across the road from a theatre.

She nodded her thanks, smiling as he took her hand in his and led them across to a small café on the corner. It was early enough in the afternoon that the café wasn't busy and they would probably have it to themselves for at least the next half hour until the afternoon rush began. They ordered their drinks and found a table in the corner to sit at while they waited.

It was quiet for a few moments – not quite awkward, but tense all the same. Sasha had his 'we need to talk' face on, and she could probably guess the impending topic du jour.

As Sasha opened his mouth to gently entice her into conversation she got in first, steering them in another direction. "You should speak Romanian more," she told him. He blinked at her, frowning at her unexpected conversation starter.

"I never hear you using it around the gym," she said, attempting to explain where the random thought had come from. "It didn't even occur to me that you could speak Romanian until we found you there."

He shrugged his shoulders. "I wouldn't really have anyone to talk to if I did," he answered vaguely.

She shook her head, not accepting that as an adequate answer. He tried again, reaching for her hand across the table and lightly stroking her skin with his thumb. "There wasn't anyone I wanted to talk to," he explained, his gaze meeting hers meaningfully to emphasize his deliberate choice of words. "Speaking Romania . . . it always seemed too intimate for casual use."

There was an implication behind his words – it was too personal for casual conversation but not too personal to use with her – that warmed her heart. His language, his childhood, his homeland – these were all things that he wanted to share with her in spite of his guarded nature. It was only right that she return the favour. That she share something in return

"I'm sorry about talking to your mum without you, Pay," he said, perhaps sensing that she was ready to broach things now when she hadn't been earlier. "You know we were both just trying to look out for you," he added, both explaining and excusing the iniquitous behaviour.

"I know," she said, grimacing slightly at the reminder. She understood the motives, but it was a bad habit of Sasha's (and her mother's) that needed to be dealt to. "I know you mean well, but . . . if we're going to . . . if this . . ." she trailed off, struggling to find a word to describe what was happening between them. Nothing seemed to fit, and it seemed wrong to try and put a label on something that was still very much in early days.

"If we're going to have this thing," she said, finally settling on being completely vague, "then you need to talk to me. Not my mom."

He looked genuinely contrite at her rebuke, so she threw him a bone. "Don't do it again," she commanded seriously.

He laughed lightly, gently squeezing her hand. "I promise, dragă," he said, his choice of words clearly intentional. It was a pleasant reminder of the thing – as poorly defined as it was – that was building between them. It was nearly tangible in the easy silence that lay between them

"You know you can talk to me about anything, dragă," he urged gently.

She nodded, waiting a moment as the waitress came over with their order, placing two steaming hot drinks on the table – a low fat hot chocolate for her and a very strong coffee for Sasha. "I just . . . it's such a mess," she said, looking into her hot chocolate. "Things were just getting back to normal and Lauren had to go and mess it all up.

"Typical Lauren," she muttered with a bitter laugh. "I know I should be happy that she came forward on her own – that she actually wanted to tell me – but all I can think about is how she's ruined everything. It's like everything I did to keep things together was for nothing."

She risked a glance in his direction, expecting to see disappointment in his expression, but he just continued gaze at her gently with eyes full of understanding and unconditional regard.

"It was so awful," she continued, her expression falling in response to his acceptance. "Even though I already knew, just to hear her say it and try to justify what she did to me . . . to us . . . it's like I didn't even matter to her," she said soberly.

She swallowed thickly, trying to regain control over her emotions. Sasha shifted closer, his arm around her shoulder drawing her towards his chest so that she could lean upon him for support. In the back of her mind she was glad that they'd chosen a table in the corner, just slightly out of sight of anyone milling around inside or outside of the café.

He didn't say anything and simply waited for her to calm enough to continue. She felt so completely betrayed by Lauren. And yet there was a part of her who felt guilty for feeling that way.

"I can't even be mad at her," she said, almost bitter. "Not properly. I feel like I'm not allowed to be mad because of everything that happened. I made her pay for it and that was supposed to make it even.

"I don't know what to do," she admitted to him pitifully.

He looked at her gently. "You can be mad at Lauren, Payson," he assured her as she looked at him incredulously. "You can," he said again, "because this time it's about you, not me.

"Lauren hurt the both of us," he reminded her. "And you put her through her paces trying to fix what she did to me," he said with a small, somewhat proud smile, "but I don't think you ever let yourself be mad at her for what she did to you.

"That doesn't make you a bad person, Payson," he added, addressing the underlying sense of guilt that she hadn't spoken aloud. "In fact, it makes you a better person."

She scoffed despite how lovely the words were to hear.

"It does, dragă," he countered. "Not many people would be able to overlook a personal slight like that. You're allowed to be angry at people when they hurt you."

She sighed loudly, leaning further into his embrace. "It just feels so petty," she said quietly, her expression turning to a pout.

He shook his head, pulling back slightly so he could look her surely in the eye. "You are the most generous and un-spiteful person I know, Payson Keeler," he told her with a warm smile and such certainty that she almost couldn't help but believe him. "That you even feel that way is proof of it."

She smiled weakly in response, incapable of seeing his warm expression without smiling in return. "Thank you," she replied, her eyes darting away shyly. He nodded, kissing her forehead discretely before pulling away completely.

They absorbed themselves in their drinks, letting the quiet wash over them once again. It was nice – nicer than she had ever expected just sitting in silence to be. She expected to have many moments like this ahead of her, eventually becoming accustomed the unexpected ease that came with being so close to another person.

And with his hand gently resting on top of her own, his fingers brushing lightly against her skin . . . she knew that no matter how it might seem, he'd never truly be out of her reach.

~ to be continued ~

You know a post is way overdue when you have to go look up the format and you have no docs hanging around in doc manager to copy and paste into. In my defense I've been ridiculously busy with school work - it's almost non-stop assignments and I've got a group project with a partner who doesn't know the difference between a Fixed Interval and a Fixed Time schedule, which is a very important difference that anyone who passed first year Psych should know.

Anyways, I can make no promises as to when the next chapter will be up, but I will try to finish this. I hate not having time to write, but 'tis reality at the moment and I don't see it letting up any time soon.

Notes:

Payson's Floor Music: I did want to use something classical, but the problem is that the coda from Swan Lake is so damn perfect that everything else seems completely inadequate. So I just went screw it and broadened my search, and started looking to youtube for some ideas, which somehow led me to a clip from the 2011 Pole Dancing Convention. And I think the song meaning kind of suits both these characters with it being about someone who wasn't looking for love and tried to fight it and hide when it came along, but comes to accept it (at least that's how I interpret it).
And so with all these hints, including the title, you all know what song it is, right?

Translation:

dragă: darling