Disclaimer: I don't own MIOBI.

Just a Number

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 – Daddy's Little Girl

Keeler Residence

"Alright," Payson said seriously, stopping him before he could take another step in the direction of her house. "These are the things you need to know about my dad," she said straightforwardly, the grim expression on her face conveying the perverse gravity of the matter.

"Okay," Sasha said slowly, his tone incredulous. He was tempted to point out that he'd already met her mother and things had gone perfectly fine there, but the look in her eye warned that such a comment would get his head bitten right off. He had no experience with which to determine whether he was good or bad with parents and could offer nothing to persuade her that the warning was unnecessary, thus he would sit back and take instruction.

"First thing is, my dad's from Apple Valley, Minnesota. You can't joke about that," she said with an expression so serious you'd think she'd just told him that Rassilon was dead.

"About apples?" he asked curiously.

"Exactly," she pointed out. "It's a sore subject.

"My dad doesn't own a gun, but he has a gun license and he knows how to use one," she warned. "He won a shooting contest at the country fair when he was a teenager. He's going to want to show you that," she warned.

"He's mostly Republican except on certain issues," she continued, "so don't even think about starting a conversation about how you think Tony Blair and Obama should breed and make the ultimate left-wing politician who could rule both countries simultaneously."

"I wasn't actually serious about that," Sasha protested against her dark look. "Everyone knows that Tony Blair is really centre-left," he scoffed derisively, clearly not sold on Blair's Third Way.

"So no political talk?" he surmised from her warning.

"You can talk about progressive taxation and GST," she told him firmly. "You can't talk about subsidized health care, universal social welfare, or crime. You can talk about education reform – he likes talking about education reform – just don't make it about the gendered nature of wages. He's still old school and thinks men should be the breadwinners.

"He likes hockey and tennis," she said, moving on to sports and other more appropriate subjects. "He doesn't mind football, but if you try to call it gridiron you'll probably start an argument. He knows a bit about soccer, and I suppose you can talk about that as a last resort, but don't even think about mentioning cricket."

"It's okay, dragă, I think I can talk enough around tennis that we won't have to resort to soccer or cricket," he assured her gently, lightly squeezing her hand. The laugh he added on the end didn't seem to appease her.

"He works for IBM, so no Mac-PC jokes," she warned. "And he's in HR so no jokes about that either. He likes spy thrillers and mystery novels, and he's pretty much read every Grisham book ever written and collects old editions of Agatha Christie novels.

"Dammit, I should have gotten him a book," Payson muttered admonishingly to herself. "He'd like you better if you brought him a book."

"Payson, it's fine," Sasha told her earnestly, placing his hands firmly on her shoulders. "You don't need to worry."

She gave him a painfully pathetic look, biting her bottom lip between her teeth and looking unconvinced by his words. "I just want him to like you," she said in a small voice. It almost broke his heart to see her looking so nervous and uncertain.

"And fishing," she added, looking both hopeful and relieved. "You can talk about fishing," she said with a heavy sigh.

"Alright, we'll talk about fishing, dragă," he told her with a gentle smile. He lifted her hand to his lips, hoping the gesture might settle her a little. "Now," he continued, "I think we better head in because I'm pretty sure I just saw the curtain twitch and if we stay out here any longer your dad's going to think we're up to something."

"Right," she nodded, managing a small smile but still looking uncomfortable about the prospect of purportedly polite dinner conversation between her father and her boyfriend.

"I'll be on my best behaviour," he assured her. "I want him to like me too."

She smiled weakly and kissed him on the cheek. "For someone who told me he was bad at relationships, you seem to be saying all the right boyfriend things right now," she said with a hint of mirth.

"Only for you, dragă," he smiled at her as they walked up the path to her front door. "Should I ring the bell?" he asked, unsure of where the etiquette lay in this situation.

"I don't think so," Payson frowned. "I live here."

He shrugged as she reached towards the door, but it was pulled open before she could make contact.

"Took you long enough," Becca tsked, her blonde hair pulled back in a tight French braid. "Dad was about to send out a search party.

"Did you get me anything in LA?" she asked with a bright smile, the look reminding Sasha of Payson's expression when she was trying to wheedle her way out of going to the ballet.

"Yes. He's all yours," Payson replied sarcastically with an extravagant gesture towards her boyfriend.

"Don't I have a say in this?" Sasha asked. He felt slightly awkward in the midst of it, having never seen the two sisters interact for more than a few moments. The girls looked at each other and then burst into laughter, that being the obvious answer to his question.

"Sasha, it's good to see you again," Kim greeted warmly as she entered the room, wiping her hands on a tea towel. "Oh don't mind them," she said with a dismissive wave towards her two daughters who had descended from girlish laughter to hushed whispers.

"It's nice to see you too," he offered awkwardly, unsure of how he was supposed to greet his girlfriend's mother. A handshake seemed a touch too formal and a kiss on the cheek too forward. In the end he settled on avoidance by holding out the bottle of port he'd had the forethought to purchase at Denver Airport.

"That's so thoughtful, Sasha," Kim said as she accepted the bottle. "Don't you think that was thoughtful of him, Mark?" she asked as she spotted her husband enter the room where they were gathering. He grunted indifferently.

Sasha swallowed thickly as the man approached him. He wasn't really sure what he'd been expecting, although when Payson mentioned HR he had been swayed in the direction of tall and weedy. Mark Keeler was most definitely not weedy. He looked like he had probably played football in college, or worse: ice hockey, and had the build for it – tall, broad shoulders, and a sturdy frame. He suddenly wished that he'd taken Payson's warnings a bit more seriously.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Keeler," he said, offering his hand to the other man.

Mark nodded, and took the proffered hand, applying more pressure than necessary and giving Sasha a strong silent stare. It was a little taste of his own medicine as Mark played the same intimidation game that Sasha had tried on Nicky Russo the other night, only Mark Keeler was better at it and Sasha was just as damned either way.

"Mark," Kim warned, placing her hand on his arm.

"Likewise," Mark said as he finally dropped Sasha's hand, his eyes still narrowed.

"Dad," Payson said as she came to stand beside Sasha, giving her father a cautionary look. "I'm glad I finally get to introduce you guys," she said, forcing the cheer into her voice. It seemed to work to whatever end she intended as her father's expression softened and he only looked like he wanted to injure Sasha rather than kill him.

"Sasha, would you like something to drink?" Kim asked cordially.

"Only if you're having something yourself," Sasha answered.

"Mark?" she asked. He nodded but didn't take his eyes off Sasha. "Becca, do you want to come help me get the drinks?" she asked, ushering her youngest daughter out of the room. She wasn't quite sure that she was doing the right thing in leaving Mark alone with Payson and Sasha, but she knew it wasn't fair leaving Becca to play buffer.

Silence reigned in the room as they left. "Um . . . Payson said you like . . . Agatha Christie," Sasha tried awkwardly. Payson gave him an encouraging smile as he tried to initiate conversation. "I saw The Mousetrap last year in the West End. I did not see that ending coming."

"I thought you weren't supposed to reveal the ending," Mark replied blandly.

"Of course," Sasha said. "I mean . . . you can say what you like about it so long as you don't reveal the killer. Although I heard that Wikipedia gave away the secret a couple of years ago. Long live the internet," he offered with an awkward laugh.

Silence descended once again and Sasha couldn't help but feel as though he was under some kind of examination. Mark carefully watched his every move, waiting for him to step out of line in some manner and analysing the deeper meaning in every word or gesture. This only made Sasha more reluctant in attempting conversation as she shifted uncomfortably under Mark's stare.

"Drinks," Kim called as she re-entered the room. It was obvious that they'd been hastily prepared in order to return as quickly as possible. She handed a glass of pinot noir to Mark and Sasha. "Becca's just putting the dishes on the table, so we can all move to the dinning room," she suggested, looking both relieved and nervous. She and Payson seemed to have reached a silent consensus that this evening was not going to go well.

There was a slight scuffle as they navigated their seats around the circular dinner table, carefully ensuring that there was at least a seat between Sasha and Mark, and placing Payson between them as the neutral middle ground. Unfortunately, this put the two men almost across from one another and Mark hadn't stopped glaring at Sasha from the moment of his arrival.

To their merit, the three Keeler women did their best to carry the bulk of the conversation, with Sasha offering the occasional comment when he thought it was safe to do so. When Mark finally decided to speak, his words were directed at Sasha with a fierce glare.

"So how old are you exactly?" he asked coolly.

Sasha hastily swallowed his food and replied. "Twenty-six. I'll be twenty-seven in March."

"Payson's eighteen," Mark said seriously.

"Uh . . . I know," Sasha replied weakly, tensing for whatever Mark was working his way towards. He felt uneased as Mark continued his careful appraisal without saying a word, the tension building until he was ready to make his point.

"Do you think that's appropriate?" he asked plainly without a hint of malice. He sounded more worried than angry and Sash could understand that protective instinct even as Payson and Kim protested his question.

"If you had a daughter," Mark continued despite their protests, "and she was dating a man nine years older than her, what would you do, Mr Belov?" he asked firmly, his tone formal. He leaned his elbow on the table and clutched his hands together as though in prayer and looking all the more formidable.

"I . . . uh . . . I guess I'd be . . . concerned," Sasha said, choosing his words carefully. "I'd want to know he wasn't taking advantage of her," he added with a greater degree of certainty. "Mr Keeler, I promise you – "

"Sasha, you don't have to defend yourself," Payson cut in, stopping him by putting her hand on his shoulder. Her eyes narrowed at her father and he didn't push the topic further. To ensure the matter stayed dropped she turned to her sister (who was sitting on Sasha's other side) and started a conversation about the beam routine Becca would be showing at the next Junior National team practice.

Sasha relaxed a little as Mark's gaze dropped to the table and he offered more to the conversation, suggesting ways that Becca could bolster her scores without disrupting her routine too much. It was easier to talk about gymnastics with the girls – a nice safe subject – rather than something that might inadvertently put their father off side.

The rest of the dinner was relatively uneventful. It wasn't until Kim suggested they move into the lounge for tea and dessert that things turned tense again. The girls were asked to stay and help while Sasha and Mark were directed to the lounge room, left to their own devices to deal with each other as they saw fit.

"Um . . . you have a very nice home," Sasha offered a bit helplessly, glancing around the room. It was a nice, homely environment with lots of personal touches to reflect its inhabitants.

"Is this Payson?" he asked as he spotted a picture nearby of a small blonde girl in a dark indigo leotard. Unsurprisingly there was a gold medal hanging around her neck. Sasha took a step closer to see the picture better and confirm his guess.

"How about we just cut to chase?" Mark suggested before he had the chance. "I don't like you," he said firmly, "and no amount of false pleasantries or small talk is going to change that."

"Don't you think we should at least try for Payson's sake?" Sasha asked, not letting himself get baited into an argument.

Mark scoffed. "Why?"

"Because I'm not going anywhere," Sasha answered him seriously.

"I understand how special Payson is," he continued. "She's like no one I've ever met. I'd never do anything to hurt her," he promised genuinely, laying his soul to bear. He knew what Mark secretly expected of him, but he couldn't bring himself to say those three little words. He wouldn't pretend to feel something he didn't just to appease the man.

The stony expression in Mark's eyes flickered for an instance, but he remained unconvinced. "Maybe you won't intend to," he conceded reluctantly. "I know your kind, Mr Belov. My daughter deserves better than that, and I think ultimately, you're going to hurt her."

It was as much as Sasha could hope for. "Maybe," he sighed, deciding to change tactics. "But let me ask you this, Mr Keeler," he responded. "If you were in my position, could you give her up?"

Mark paused to consider the question for a moment before answering. "Knowing I was going to hurt her," he qualified, "I could."

"Then you're a better man than me," Sasha answered solemnly.

"What have you guys been talking about?" Payson asked hopefully as she entered the room with dessert.

"We were talking about fishing," Sasha lied, not wanting to hurt her with the truth. "I was asking about the lake by Austin's house but it turns out it's not a functional lake."

She shook her head, tsking affectionately as his arm snaked around her waist. "You do know there are functions for lakes beyond fishing," she pointed out with a teasing smile.

"And what functions might those be, dragă?" he asked, enticed into the rapport.

"It freezes over in the winter," she told with a somewhat flirtatious look. "That should rank at least as highly as fishing," she suggested, alluding to their last hour together in London.

"I stand corrected then," he accepted, kissing her quickly on the temple.

"Thank you," she whispered quietly as Mark slipped away, "for trying so hard with my dad."

"It's nothing," he said. He felt slightly guilty for lying to her and letting her believe things had gone better than they had, but he hadn't been lying when he told Mark he never wanted to hurt her. If anyone was going to tell her how strongly her father disapproved of him, it wasn't going to be Sasha.

She shook her head, sliding her hands up around his neck and kissing him chastely on the lips. "It's not nothing to me, Sasha," she disagreed softly. She smiled and unwrapped her arms from around him, gently tugging him to one of the seats arranged around the coffee table.

He nodded gratefully as Kim handed him a slice of pumpkin pie. Payson seated herself on the armrest of his chair, leaning against his shoulder for balance. Aside from the obvious, overall it had been a rather pleasant evening and he wouldn't mind spending more evenings the same way in years to come.

~ to be continued ~

This was a surprisingly difficult chapter to write. I knew Mark had to say something awful to Sasha, I was just undecided about how offensive it should be. Although it was fun creating a list of all the possible things that Sasha and Mark could disagree on, which is a lot seeing as Mark Keeler comes off as somewhat conservative and Sasha comes off as not conservative at all.

Notes:

And now you all need to head on over to the LJ version, because there's a nice bonus entry there, which is sort of the mirror image of the start of the chapter: virgowriter. livejournal. com /8953. html

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