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 – One Short Day
"We'll see you next month," MJ said, shaking the hands of he two French Connection representatives as the final 't' was crossed and 'i' dotted on her two year contract with the company.
Payson stood and did the same, forcing a smile onto her tired face. It had been a gruelling morning and afternoon. Once word had gotten out about her meeting with fc:uk, several other London based companies had expressed interest and so the better part of the day had been spent meeting with potential sponsors and organizing a brief trip back to London in late April.
She couldn't complain – at least, not too much. She'd come out of the day with three new sponsors, a few she'd have to think about, and truckload of free merchandise. Her only real complaint was that she'd had to spend the better part of the day schmoozing her future employers, which only left her an hour to spend with her boyfriend before she had to be at the airport to catch the flight back home.
The two company reps smiled as they left, Payson and MJ obviously proficient in making them see that she was the right person for their campaign. Payson realized that the meeting had obviously been some bargain that MJ struck with Howard in order to get her here for Sasha's competition, but it was still on the two of them to close the deal. Payson sighed with relief as they left, tiredly dropping down to her chair.
"Not bad for a few hours work," MJ grinned, complimenting her self on a job well done. Payson shrugged noncommittally as she riffled through her bag for her cellphone, sending off a quick text to Sasha to let him know she'd just finished and confirming the agreed meeting place.
"I suppose you'll be wanting to see lover boy now?" MJ guessed drolly, examining her nails with feigned disinterest.
Payson looked at her agent with a small frown. "Are you okay with that?" she asked, remembering that MJ and Sasha had a lot of history.
MJ shrugged indifferently. "I still reckon he's wrong for you in the long term," she said in a blasé manner, "but he's certainly not hurting your career right now and that's my only concern."
Payson gave her sceptical look mixed with concern. "That's not what I meant, MJ, and you know it," Payson replied. "I'm asking if you're alright because it's Sasha and . . . well, from everything I've heard you –"
"I'm fine," MJ said, saving Payson from having to complete the thought. "I am quite capable of separating my personal thoughts on Sasha from my professional ones.
"As much as it pains me to admit it," she said with a dry flourish, "the two of you are incredibly marketable – I can work with marketable.
"If anything," MJ continued more cautiously, "I though you might . . ." she trailed off, with a cough to cover the change in mood.
"As long as you're okay . . ." Payson replied in the same awkward manner. She couldn't be sure how much MJ meant what she was saying, but she couldn't find a hint of the lie in the expression and was forced to let it be. If MJ was upset by the relationship, she didn't let it show and maintained her flawless professionalism.
"I suppose as long as we are both aware that the potential conflict exists, then there isn't a problem," MJ nodded surely. "I will do everything in my power to promote your interests, Payson," she assured her, "even if that means dealing with Sasha Belov on occasion."
Payson nodded confidently. "I trust you, MJ," she told her. She felt a sense of relief now that the conversation was out of the way, and happily made her way to the Tower of London to meet Sasha for whatever he had planned.
She threw on her best incognito-incognito look, the cold weather helping in some respect as her high-collared tartan jacket, scarf and woollen cap blended in with her environment. She knew she wasn't all that recognisable – especially in England – but Sasha was, and if they wanted to keep their burgeoning relationship from the media, a little bit of covert behaviour was a necessity.
Sasha was easy to spot in the small crowd gathered outside the medieval building. He was just so tall and striking that he stood out even when he wanted blend in. He wore a slanted cap and his reading glasses as a sort of disguise, the thick frames making her think of Clark Kent/Superman and other poorly disguised alter egos. They didn't quite seem to fit his athletic frame or handsome face, but he did look adorable in them and she let out a brief laugh that seemed to catch his attention above the din of the crowd.
It only took him three long strides to reach her and drag her into his arms, leaning in for a kiss, which she happily reciprocated. Kissing Sasha was easily becoming her new favourite pastime. He hadn't been her first kiss – that honour had been stolen by Nicky 'No Drama' Russo – but every kiss with Sasha felt new. It was so different from her brief kiss with Nicky – with Nicky there had been butterflies and tingles, but with Sasha she felt her whole stomach flip from just a look and his kisses would ignite her entire body with fire.
'This is what it's supposed to feel like,' she thought contentedly as they pulled away from their embrace, their gazes meeting meaningfully.
"How was your day?" he asked as he tenderly cupped her face in his hands.
"Long," she answered. "How about yours?"
"Dull," he answered, mocking her one word answer with a grin. She rolled her eyes but smiled as he laughed. "C'mon," he said, joining his hand with hers and tugging her along. "We don't have much time. What time's your flight?"
"Half-past five," she replied. "You get me for an hour and ten minutes, and then I really have to go," she said with a pout.
"Then I better make it a good hour and ten minutes," he said, pressing a quick kiss to her lips before he dragged her through the crowd, nodding at a doorman that ushered them through. She awed at the cobblestone floors and ancient battlements, although she wasn't given much time to enjoy it as Sasha ushered her along a wide corridor and then out into the snowy lawn. A man dressed in orange velour medieval dress greeted them with two pairs of ice skates, and Sasha thanked him as he led her to the empty, open-air ice rink.
Payson gasped in delight. "How'd you know?" she asked him, a bright smile on her face.
"I asked your mother," Sasha replied unabashedly as they sat on a small bench and began undressing their feet. "She suggested sight seeing, but you need at least two hours to see anywhere properly, especially this place. I mentioned the ice skating rink and she said you'd like that."
"Hmm," Payson mused as she pulled the skates onto her feet, "she must be warming up to you. If she really disliked you, she would have told you something awful like horse riding or fishing."
"Oi, there's nothing wrong with fishing," Sasha defended. "It's a perfectly good hobby."
"Of course it is," she conceded in an overly indulgent tone. Sasha sulked in response, his eyes darkening and his lip jutting out in an expression that she was sure he shouldn't have been capable of effecting. She would have laughed if she hadn't thought a small part of him might have been serious about it this time; fishing, after all, held an esteemed place in his heart and was connected to the few fond memories he had involving his father.
She stood to her feet, only taking a moment to find her balance on skates, and trudged the few steps it took to stand before him. She waited for him to glance up in her direction, and when he did, she bent her body towards him and drove away his pout with a chaste, but sufficient kiss.
Payson pulled back slightly, letting her hands rest upon his knees as she smiled at him, expecting him to reflect her expression. Instead what she received was a wicked smirk – the only warning she got before being pulled astride his lap and felt his lips upon her. She let out a brief yelp of surprise and delight, feeling his satisfied smirk against her lips as his fingers tangled into her hair and squeezed at her hip. Her mouth opened to his silent instructions, and tongues met in a heated battle that had every nerve ending on high alert. She anchored her arms around his neck, savouring the contact it allowed her to enjoy and deepening the kiss.
They both pulled back breathlessly after a few minutes, maintaining their position bar the inch of space between their lips. A small purr of enjoyment escaped her lips as his hand on her hip moved in small circular patterns, his fingers burning through to her skin. "This is nice," she murmured quietly, shifting slightly so she could nestle her head against his shoulder.
"It is," he agreed, swallowing deeply as her cold nose brushed against his neck, followed by her warm lips. The contrast was maddening and his fingers clenched upon her hip, probably with enough force to leave a bruise.
"But we should skate," she said, suddenly hopping to her feet, flicking from quiet seduction to playful enthusiasm with no effort at all. She moved to the skating rink and glided backwards, waiting for him to catch up. She couldn't help but laugh at his bewildered expression as he slowly came to his senses.
With renewed vigour, he quickly finished readying himself, doing up the laces and making his way onto the ice with only a tiny bit of initial awkwardness on his skates. He met her in the centre of the rink, slowly moving around one another like electrons on the same circular bearing, the band shrinking with every rotation. Eventually they were close enough to touch, but as Sasha reached out to embrace her, she shot back, her hips swaying as she carved slithering, swizzle tracks into the ice.
"You're pretty good at that," he noted as she slid to an abrupt stop.
"I used to love ice skating when I was little," she said with a bright smile, skating back towards him. She was very agile – more so than him – and so as he moved to meet her, she made a seamless change of direction and slipped from his grasp once again.
"What changed?" he asked as she laughed at his defeated expression. He skated aimlessly nearby waiting for her to come close and let her guard down. In the meantime, he tried to lull her into a false sense of security, letting her believe that he'd given up on his pursuit of her.
Payson shrugged, skating small infinities into the ice, occasionally gliding on one foot. "I loved gymnastics more," she said plainly. "There wasn't room for anything.
"I used to do heaps of sports," she added. "Ice skating, hockey, softball, tae kwon do, soccer. I had so much energy I think my parents were just trying to find anything that would tire me out. But once I fell in love with gymnastics, they all just faded into the background."
"So it was always going to be something," he mused, bringing his aimless skating closer to her and crossing part of her pattern as he took a wide berth around her. "You were never going to be just a normal girl."
She paused to think about the question, halting where the two loops crossed one another. "I suppose not," she said finally and continued in her pattern. "What about you?"
"I was always going to be a gymnast," he replied. "It's what I was raised to do. If I wasn't doing gymnastics I'd be coaching, and if I wasn't coaching I don't know what I'd be doing. Probably holed up in a cabin somewhere fishing.
"It's in my blood," he said, his expression a mixture of pride and resentment. "It's what we Belovs do."
She nodded, letting the underlying sentiments rest for now. "So that's what you'll do after the Olympics?" she asked cautiously, unaccustomed as she was of thinking of a life beyond London 2012. "Coach?"
"Most likely," Sasha nodded. "Probably somewhere on the continent rather than here in England. I'll just follow the talent.
"How about you, Pay? Ever consider coaching?" he asked.
"I thought about it after my accident, but at the time . . ." she trailed off, not wanting to voice the petty thoughts aloud.
And she didn't need to, because Sasha understood. She hadn't wanted to coach others towards a dream she couldn't achieve herself, and she was too hurt and angry at the time to consider it as more than a consolation prize. "It would have been too hard then," he said understandingly, his expression warm. "What about now?"
"Now?" she frowned. "Now I'm not really sure what comes after the Olympics," she admitted with a touch of frustration. "I think I want to get a degree – probably something to do with human biology as I've always been interested in science – but I'm not really sure after that. I suppose I'll just figure it out at college."
"That's what college is for," he agreed. "I can kinda picture you in the lab curing cancer or something like that. Whatever you end up doing, it's going to be world changing," he told her seriously.
"Yeah?" she asked, looking to him for reassurance. She had stopped moving around the ice some time ago and hadn't even noticed as he slowly closed in upon her.
"Yeah," he agreed as he placed his hands upon her waist. "You weren't made for just blending in. You were meant for something wonderful, and that doesn't just end with the Olympics."
"Thank you," she said quietly, his words something she hadn't even realized she needed to hear. She slid a little closer, reaching her arms up around his shoulders and resting her head against his chest. Sasha returned the embrace, his hands joining behind her back and keeping her close.
He ducked his head, pressing a kiss to her cheek as he moved slowly towards her ear. "I caught you," he whispered lowly and tightened his embrace.
She shook her head in disagreement, burrowing further into his chest and making no attempt at escape. "I let you catch me," she pronounced firmly.
"Oh really?" Sasha replied incredulously, raising one eyebrow sceptically even though she couldn't see his expression. "To what end?"
"This," she answered as she looked up, standing precariously on the tips of her skates to meet him halfway and dragging him down to her lips. With his hands securely around her mid-section, Sasha lifted her off the ground and kissed her deeply, opening his mouth to hers. He held the position until it became too uncomfortable and he had no choice but to return her to the feet and pull apart.
"You keep doing that and I won't be able to let you leave," he sighed half-jokingly as he ran his fingers through the soft golden tendrils of her hair.
"You keep doing that and I won't want to leave," she countered in the same tone – a mixture of amusement and yearning.
"Speaking of which," she said, glancing at her watch – a gift she'd received that morning from the Tissot representatives. "We've got twenty minutes."
"Alright," he said, removing his arms from around her and taking her small hand in his larger one. "Then I think we should use the time we have left for you to show me what you can do on these," he said as he nodded down at her ice skates.
"I only know a few tricks," she replied, reluctant to comply, "and I haven't had proper lessons since I was about nine so I'm probably going to fall on my ass and it's going to look really ugly."
"Let's see it, Keeler," he cajoled, letting go of her hand. "No excuses."
She sighed and made her way to the outer edge of the rink so that she had enough ground to work with. She started with some basic tricks to get her in the right frame of mind – skating backwards, gliding on one foot, and a basic spin. When she was ready, she skated back to the edge and began to speed skate the full perimeter to build up her momentum and then skated down the length, taking off from her right foot, doing a half turn in the air and landing backwards on the other foot, lifting the free leg in the air and bending low to the ground with her arms spread for balance.
Sasha applauded loudly, awed by the performance. It wasn't the greatest waltz jump he'd seen in his life – not that he watched a lot of figure skating or even knew what to name it – but it was certainly the best he'd seen by a gymnast. She lowered her leg as she came to a stop and then skated back towards him.
He shook his head in wonderment. "How can you do that and not think you're capable of grace?" he asked her incredulously. "That was incredible, Payson."
"That's different," she shrugged. "And that was really bad. I barely kept my balance on the landing – that's why I had to go into the attitude. I would have been eating ice otherwise."
"You completely baffle me," he said with smirk of approval. "I don't think I've ever met anyone so . . . I don't even have the words to describe you," he said with a laugh, words failing him. "In any language."
"Is that a good thing?" she asked with a hint of mirth.
"It is," he assured her with a charming smile. "You are, quite simply . . . de nedescris."
"And what does that mean?" she asked sweetly, tilting her head to the side and looking up at him through her lashes. He loved when she did that. It gave him a small thrill because he knew he was the only one who got to see that side of her – the coquettish, flirty side of her – and that such a look was reserved only for him.
"It means . . . beyond description," he said, pausing briefly to choose the correct translation. "Like . . . je ne sais quoi.
"Tu ai ceva aparte," he added, resorting to a Romanian idiom that said it best.
"It sounds better in Romanian," she told him.
"Most things do," he said with a touch of national pride. Despite his decision to compete for England and not Romania during his teens, Romania would always be his homeland in a way that England could not be.
"Will you teach me?" she asked him, her voice lacking certainty and the lip caught between her teeth portraying her cautiousness. "I mean, you don't have to . . ."
"Another time, dragă," he told her gently as he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her to his side. "I think our tenure together is almost at its end."
She glanced down at her watch and saw that he was right. They slid together off the ice, taking off the skates and returning them to the orange-attired courtier who met them at the door.
"Will you come with me to the airport?" she asked as they made their way to the car that had been arranged to take her to Heathrow.
"Of course," Sasha nodded, opening the door for her and letting her in before he took the seat next to her. The journey was mostly silent, but a comfortable silence with Payson curled into his side and his arms tightly around her shoulders. It surprised him that he could become so accustomed to having someone around him in such a short time that he was already wondering what he was going to do without her.
She had become so much to him in the few months that he had known her and it continually amazed him. She was already one of his closest friends – someone he felt he could tell almost anything to without judgment or repose. He felt comfortable enough with her that when everything happening with Nikolai had finally gotten too much to deal with on his own, she was the person he choose to lean on and who helped him through.
He'd never had that sort of relationship with any woman in his life outside of his mother and Viola – his mother's best friend and his surrogate aunt. He'd never really been close friends with a woman, especially not like this. Attraction and friendship weren't usually so compatible for him and it was strange to him that he could have that friendship with her and still have this incredible attraction that burned between them. He kept expecting one to consume the other, forcing him to choose between the friendship he had come to depend upon and the relationship that had lingered tantalizingly, just out of his grasp. That he could have both was a pleasant surprise.
His thoughts trailed off as he suddenly felt her shift against him, her hand against his cheek bringing him completely back to the present. "Hmm?" he asked, hoping she hadn't been trying to get his attention for too long.
"You just looked very thoughtful," she replied, using her fingers to shift the crease from his brow. "What were you thinking about?"
"You," he answered honestly. "And maybe a little about us."
She frowned a little, misinterpreting the content of his thoughts. "I thought it didn't change things," she said in a small voice, having a sudden, irrational fear that he was about to change his mind.
"It doesn't," he assured her, kissing her gently on the forehead. "It just gives me more reasons to miss you when you go.
"But it also gives me an excuse to come see you," he added in a brighter tone, giving her a gentle squeeze.
"Not unless it's necessary," she told him in a stern voice, her eyes narrowed dangerously, daring him to argue with her. "You still have to train for the Olympics so no showing up in Boulder without good reason, okay?"
"Alright, no popping up in Boulder," he promised laughingly, already thinking of about a million ways to get around her little condition. She continued to look stern, her expression conveying just how serious she was about it. He smiled gently, running his hand through her hair. "Frumoasa altruistă fată mea," he murmured affectionately, holding her gaze. "I promise.
"That goes both ways," he added, feigning solemnity despite meaning his next words in their total enormity. "I don't want you checking up on me, Pay, just because Nikolai's sick," he said more seriously.
"But that's different," Payson protested. "I worry about you," she admitted with a frown.
"I'm okay," he assured her, feeling glad for her compassion. "Or I will be," he conceded when she looked unconvinced. "It's a lot to come to terms with but I'm getting there and Nikolai's in better condition than he was, and he's got the best doctors in the country monitoring his case.
"You don't have to worry about me, dragă," he told her smoothly, knowing it probably wouldn't do much good.
She frowned and shook her head. "Just promise me you won't keep it to yourself," she said finally. "I'm going to worry about you regardless, so you might as well tell me the truth," she said in her plain, logical way.
"Okay, love," he smiled, finding it hard not to with how sweet and Payson-like she was being. "That I can do."
She nodded and resumed her previous position, laying her head against his shoulder and maintaining their quiet closeness for the remainder of the journey. They said their goodbyes in the car, rather than risk being spotted by some lingering journalist staking out the airport. He kissed her soundly, knowing that it would be the last time he got to kiss her in a long time (although probably not as long as she thought).
"I'll call you tomorrow," he said as they parted, his hands lingering in her hair. "Actually, call me when you land," he said, changing his mind.
"It'll be like, three in the morning, Sasha," she said with a laugh. He looked sulky and she laughed louder. "I'll call when I get back to Boulder – it should be a more reasonable hour by then," she conceded.
Appeased by her concession, he leaned in to capture her lips one last time in a gentle, chaste kiss. "La revedere, dragă," he said as he pulled away.
She nodded and repeated his words, her accent only slightly awkward as she formed the foreign words on her tongue. "La revedere, Alexandru."
~ to be continued ~
I can't say how much I love the phrase "Nicky No Drama Russo". Whenever I see his name now I add the 'no drama' part and it never fails to make me giggle a little. Ah yes, see where I get my kicks. I will continue to think of it as the best nickname (mind the pun) ever.
On other notes, I know realize that they're talking about very disconnected futures here, but it's still early days and plans are liable to change. The future plans they're talking about (Sasha's particularly) have been ruminating for 3 or so years, so these aren't just going to change over night even though he is starting to see the future as something they will have together.
Notes:
Swizzles: A way of moving across the ice on two feet by pushing the feet outwards from a 90 degree angle V and then pulling them together again, forming an oval on the ice. Also known as scissors, fishes, or sculling. (Wiki definition)
Waltz jump: a 180 degree rotation, one of the first jumps skaters learn. (Wiki definition)
Attitude: A leg position in which the free leg is lifted behind the body with the knee bent at an angle and is held behind at a 90-degree angle to the skating foot. (Wiki definition)
Translations:
De nedescris: indescribable (impossible to describe)/astounding/intense/beyond description. Also has a slightly negative connotation – as in cannot/should not be described – but it was the closest I could find to what I wanted.
Tu ai ceva aparte: you have something special/something I can't put my finger on. Essentially 'je ne sais quoi' – I am indebted to Tricia and Farscape of the Romanian wordreference forum for their help.
Frumoasa altruistă fată mea: My beautiful, selfless girl.
La revedere: good bye (for now)