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 – Going to See the Great Bard

Nikolai's Gym – Docklands, London
27 April 2012

After a gruelling six hours of interviews and photo shoots Payson was finally granted her shore leave – a whole twenty-four hours she was allowed to spend with Sasha and no one else. Finally some genuine quality time. Just a solid day of her and Sasha doing whatever they wanted.

She made her way to Nikolai's gym after stopping by Sasha's place to grab her bags and say goodbye to Rassilon. Sasha, Nikolai, and Howard were all engaged in a very serious looking conversation by the still rings – probably a disagreement over some risky element Sasha wanted to add to one of his routines – when she arrived and didn't even look up to see who had invaded their space. She stayed silent, smiling in amusement as she waited for them to finish, wondering who would notice her first.

Nikolai shook his head and muttered something in Russian, throwing up his hands in frustration as both Howard and Sasha tried to convince him of their own view on the subject. "Vy reshaete," he muttered with a flick of his wrist, turning away from his two gymnasts, who suddenly looked like chastised prepubescent boys under his fierce gaze.

"Payson!" he greeted fondly in a broad, Eastern block accent as he hobbled over towards her, leaning heavily on his cane. He greeted her in typical European fashion, kissing her noisily on each cheek and wrapping her in a bone-crushing hug.

"Sasha did not say you were coming by," he said, frowning a little at her surprise visit.

"Probably so he could sneak out without you noticing," Payson laughed, guessing her boyfriend's motives. "I don't suppose he told you he was leaving early today either."

"No he did not," Nikolai agreed, raising his voice so Sasha would hear him. He raised a bushy white eyebrow at his charge and Sasha gulped conspicuously, looking even more the prepubescent boy from her analogy. Nikolai wrapped his free arm around her shoulders and began to guide her slowly across the gym. "You have plans, yes?"

Payson nodded, putting her arm around Nikolai in return. She liked Sasha's coach – he always reminded her of Santa Claus with his bushy white eyebrows, bulbous nose, and snowy beard, although he was still very fit for a man in his sixties. Nikolai was always warm and friendly, and immediately welcomed her into the charmed circle consisting of himself and his two boys.

"We're going to Stratford-upon-Avon," she told the old man excitedly, smiling brightly.

"You will see Shakespeare then?" he asked her.

"Yeah, although Sasha won't say what we're seeing."

Nikolai stopped suddenly and gave her a serious look. "Sasha will be sad to see you go."

Payson nodded her agreement. "Me too," she said with a sad smile. "I'll miss you too, Nikolai."

Nikolai chuckled loudly, a loud boisterous laugh full of life and youth. "You are too kind to old man," he said warmly, struggling a little after his laughter. He paused to catch his breath and continued. "I am thinking you will be too busy missing of Sasha to be thinking anyone else," he told her with a knowing glint in his eyes. He smiled and kissed her forehead in a fatherly way.

"Are we doing the goodbyes here?" Howard asked as he and Sasha approached them.

"Unless you want to meet us at Heathrow tomorrow at five," Payson shrugged.

Howard stroked his chin thoughtfully as he considered his options. "I think I could just about swing it, but I shouldn't take my chances," he smiled as he opened his arms in an exaggerated gesture. "Come here, girlee."

With a laugh, Payson let herself be caught in Howard's overly exuberant bear hug. She yelped as he easily lifted her off her feet, letting her feet hang limply in the air for a few moments before settling her back down.

Sasha couldn't resist the warm smile that overcame his features. It made him happy to see her getting along with the important people in his life; to see her effortlessly charm her way into the hearts of his coach, his best friend, his surrogate aunt, and even his dog. He doubted anyone would be able to resist her friendly smiles and straightforward charm – even he had fallen prey to it in the worst possible way.

"All yours, Sasha," Howard laughed as he released Payson from the playful embrace.

Obligingly, Sasha pulled Payson towards him and gently looped his arms around her waist. "You got everything, dragă?" he drawled.

"Yes," she agreed, "Although knowing what we're going to see would help me pack more appropriately," she added playfully, looking terribly seriously.

He grinned, shaking his head at incorrigible wheedling. This made her pout in response, which in turn made him laugh at her sulkiness and kiss her placatingly on the lips.

"Not a chance, pisicuţă," he told her firmly. "How exactly does knowing the play help you pack?"

She shrugged innocently. "Black for a tragedy. Green for a comedy," she suggested brightly. "I have no idea what dress to wear."

"You can wear the black one," he said, nodding goodbye to Nikolai and Howard as he began to lead her out to the reception to grab her bags, and then out back to the parking lot.

Payson laughed as he herded her towards a sleek silver Aston Martin. "You're taking this 'James Bond of Gymnastics' thing way too seriously," she teased him.

"So who does that make you?" he grinned back wickedly. He moved ahead of her and opened the passenger door, earning himself a coy smile for the gallant behaviour.

"I want to say Pussy Galore, but that'll just give you ideas," she said as she settled in her seat, giving him a knowing look and almost daring him to make the obvious joke.

"I wouldn't dare presume to have ideas, scumpa mea," he grinned back at her. He leaned into the car and kissed her longingly on the lips, holding his hand against her cheek. "Not unless you wanted me to," he added with a teasing wink.

She rolled her eyes in an affected way, but smiled as he made his way around the car to drivers seat. "So how long before we get to Stratford-upon-Avon?" she asked, making a small catlike stretch in her seat that Sasha fully appreciated.

"A little over two hours."

Payson grimaced a little. The car revved into life with a dramatic growl and Sasha manoeuvred the car into the street. There was a comfortable silence in the car aside from the low hum of whatever music was playing in the background and the occasional rev of the engine as Sasha changed gears.

"Nikolai's looking really good," she said at one point, drawing him into conversation.

"He is," Sasha agreed, briefly glancing from the road so he could send her a small smile.

"I'm trying to imagine what he must have been like when you were younger," she said lightly. "I don't think much has changed," she added. "You and Howard still act like little boys around him."

He chuckled softly. "You're probably right," he said. "He's still tough as nails and right on my case."

"What were you three talking about when I came in?" she asked him, looking out the window as the passing scenery slowly began to change from busy metropolis to quiet suburbia.

"Just some changes to my rings routine," Sasha said vaguely. "I've been trying something since Saint Petersburg, but Nikolai thinks it's too risky. Howard reckoned I was doing it wrong," he said, smiling a little at Howard's need to weigh in on the routine when he hadn't done gymnastics in close to ten years.

"Do you need to change it that much?" She turned her attention to him, tilting her head curiously as she asked the question. "You had a pretty good margin at Worlds."

"Yeah, but they've all had time to up their DOD. Fyodor Semyonov's DOD is as high as mine now," he told her.

"You're better than Fyodor Semyonov," she said without missing a beat. Her hand fell on top of his, fingers gently squeezing his knuckles. "I know you'll win."

He lifted her hands to his lips and murmured a grateful, "Mulţumesc, iubită," and simply let her faith wash over him.

Kings Lane A46 – Warwickshire

"Um . . . Sasha?" Payson asked cautiously. "I think we passed the turnoff."

Sasha just smirked. "I do know where I'm going, dragă," he told her and smiled silently to himself as they turned towards the large stately manor in the heart of Warwickshire.

There was a sharp intake of breath beside him as Payson gazed at the building that looked as though it had been imagined right out of a Jane Austen novel. It was a rustic tan, brick building with peeked steeples and stain glass windows and tall chimneys. Of course, it was the gardens that made him choose it – the expansive green lawns with topiary and mazes and all sorts of tiny details that he knew that Payson would adore.

"Oh wow," she gaped as they drove up the tree-lined drive towards the house. "Is this where we're staying?"

"It is," he grinned, internally congratulating himself for the awed look in her eyes. "You like it?"

"Sasha, it's perfect," she sighed. She leaned over the gearstick and kissed him lovingly on the cheek. "I couldn't have dreamed it more perfect."

"Mr Belov," the hotel manager greeted as they exited his car. "Everything you asked for is ready," he said. "If you'll just follow me, I'll have one of my staff bring your luggage to the room."

Sasha nodded his thanks as the man gestured for them to follow. "Iubită?" he asked as he offered his arm to Payson. Laughingly she wrapped her arms around his forearm and fitted herself snuggly into his side.

They slowly followed the manager around the side of the manor, taking in the authentic period details, as they made their way to Billesley Manor's famous topiary gardens.

"This is beautiful," she gasped excitedly. Her eyes were shimmering as she took in the details and the cast iron table set up in the loveliest part of the garden. "Oh, Sasha," she sighed and pulled him closer, kissing him passionately.

"You're welcome," he grinned smugly at her as they pulled apart slightly. Within moments, he drew her in for another kiss, dominating this time as he possessed her lips and engaged her in a fierce battle he was bound to win. It was only an awkward cough from the hotel manager that caused him to pull his mouth form hers, and otherwise he would have been perfectly happy to engage himself in this way for the rest of the day.

"Will that be all, Mr Belov?" the hotel manager asked with a knowing look.

Sasha nodded, looking slightly sheepish. "Could I get you to send someone out around half-past six?" he asked. "I don't want to lose track of time and miss the show."

"Of course, Mr Belov," the manager nodded and went on his way.

"I can't believe you did all this," Payson sighed happily as Sasha led her to the small table. He gallantly pulled out the chair for her and she smiled up at him as she took her seat. "You really didn't have to, Sasha," she said as he took the seat opposite her and began uncovering the dishes laid on the table.

"I did," he disagreed. "You had a crappy weekend so I'm making up for it. I've got the next twenty-four hours all planned out."

Her expression softened and she reached across the table to catch his hand in her own. She could see he still felt guilty over what she'd been through with Beals, despite her assurance that it was in no way his fault. Beals was the only person to blame, and if that blasted woman wanted to use her relationship with Sasha against her, then Sasha certainly couldn't be held to fault for that when she was as a much a part of the relationship as he was.

"That's sweet, Sasha, but completely unnecessary," she told him gently, squeezing his hand and smiling understandingly. "Just being here with you is all I need," she assured him sincerely as she entwined their fingers.

He smiled back, lifting her hand solemnly to his lips before releasing it so they could attack their meals with gusto. He'd wheedled a list of Payson's favourite foods out of Becca while they were in Saint Petersburg and now put them to good use. The time passed quicker than either of them expected, and soon enough they were interrupted by a staff-member before they even had the chance to explore the garden.

They were led to their hotel room – a historical suite done in rich colours with a four-post bed draped with red fabric. Payson stole away to the bedroom to change into her dress, leaving Sasha the lounge area.

"Sasha, does tonight involve much walking?" she asked nearly half an hour later as Sasha thoughtfully considered his choice of tie for the evening.

He chuckled lowly in amusement, shaking his head. "Let's see them then," he sighed dramatically, draping the two ties over the back of the chair before standing and approaching the door. He crossed his arms over his chest, being sure to look formidable and imposing when she ducked her head through the doorway.

"See what?" she asked innocently, using the door to shield the rest of her.

"The death traps that you call shoes, pisicuţă," he said drolly. She pouted at his description, which only made him want to laugh all the more.

"They're not 'death traps'," she insisted as she stepped out of the bedroom in a dress that took his breath away. She held a pair of paten leather heels delicately in her hands. "They're just my favourites so I don't . . . what?" she asked as she met his stunned gaze.

"Nothing," he said gently, shaking himself out of his daze. "I just . . . I think you just made a liar out of me."

She tilted her head in confusion, the golden curls falling over her shoulder as she moved her head. Her dress was navy blue – not black as he'd suggested earlier – with organza and chiffon tiered over a knee-length pencil skirt. It was strapless, but for the organza layered over the bodice to create an illusionary V-neck.

"Nu am văzut niciodată altceva, sau altcineva, mai frumos," he said, repeating the words he'd said to her on their first (albeit unofficial) date. "It means you are the most beautiful thing I have or ever will see," he translated, paraphrasing to some extent. "You make me a liar every time I see you, Payson," he finished lowly.

She flushed, dipping her head away in embarrassment and trying to hid the goofy grin pulling on her lips. "So . . . the shoes . . ." she began awkwardly, trying to divert his attention away from her.

"Frumoasa NUBUN mea fată," he said with exaggerated exasperation, kissing her sweetly on the nose. "I'll just have to carry you."

Royal Shakespeare Theatre – Stratford-upon-Avon

"I kiss'd thee ere I kill'd thee," the dark skinned man on stage pronounced dramatically, holding a hand to the wound he had inflicted upon himself moments earlier. "No way but this;/Killing myself, to die upon a kiss." He fell upon the bed, dying beside his already fallen wife.

Payson took a sharp intake of breath, holding one hand to her mouth while the other was clasped in Sasha's. The other actors turned upon the man playing Iago, denouncing his behaviour and giving a final speech to restore order before the curtain fell on the performance. She cheered and clapped enthusiastically with the rest of the audience, even shouting a well-deserved 'bravo' as the actor playing Iago stepped forward and bowed towards the audience.

Sasha laughed a little at her enthusiasm, but he was glad to see that she'd enjoyed herself. Othello wasn't quite your typical 'date movie' (for lack of a better word), and he was sure that A Midsummer Nights Dream, which was playing in the other theatre, would have been a more appropriate choice. He'd gone with Othello because he'd studied the play about ten years ago in order to get his A-levels and had skimmed over his old English notes when Payson wasn't around so he could make insightful comments about the characters and their motivations.

They stayed talking about the play while the rest of the theatregoers made their way out. A good portion of the conversation was taken up with a discussion of Iago who Sasha described as "mindlessly malignant", stealing the phrase from one of his English essays.

"I think at one point he might have had a reason," Payson said thoughtfully, considering Iago's motives, "but in the end he just lost sight of everything else."

"And what do you think that reason is?" he asked, genuinely interested in Payson's views on the character whose purpose had been beguiling great minds for centuries.

"I think love maybe," she said, curling a finger into her hair as she spoke. "Not for Desdemona like he claims. For Othello."

"So you think he was gay?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow at her, a little surprised that she'd gone for the obvious answer.

"Not like that," she said, swatting at his shoulder. "That's too simplistic."

She shifted in her seat, curling one leg underneath herself so she could face Sasha directly. "It's like . . . they're all teammates, right?" she began, waiting for him to nod his understanding before she continued. Her hands fluttered around animatedly as she spoke, the way they did whenever she was really passionate about something. "So they're all working together to the same goal in this intense environment where nobody else understands them but each other," she said, drawing an analogy to her own team and friends. "It's more than just friendship – it's a sort of love, but not romantic love. Just love."

Sasha nodded his head, seeming to follow her explanation. It was the sort of 'love' he had for his coach, and Aurel and Howard, and even for Marty at some point in his life. They weren't just his closest friends, they were his teammates and the bond they had was something he'd never been able to put into words before now.

"So Iago loves Othello," she continued now that she had explained what she meant by that. "But then Othello spurns that love by choosing Cassio as his second and by not confiding in him about marrying Desdemona. I think that's his reason."

"So what would you say to the motives that Iago himself offers?" Sasha challenged. "Racism. Sexual jealousy. Simple bitterness."

"Love," she said again. "He loves Othello too much to admit the real reason, even to himself."

"So he redirects it to a safer outlet?" Sasha suggested. "Like a defence mechanism."

"I think so," she agreed. "And maybe to . . . depersonalize it? He makes it about the job and Emilia instead of making it about him. I think that's easier to face.

"What did you think?" she asked, realizing she'd been monopolizing the conversation to some degree.

"I think he gets caught up in the game," Sasha answered her. "I don't think there was ever a big over arching motive, although I do like your explanation, dragă," he said, acknowledging her thoughts on the matter. "I think he likes the manipulation too much – all that power just goes to his head. It starts with Roderigo, but that loses its shine because Roderigo is so naïve and too easy a pawn, so he moves on to Cassio, and then Othello who becomes his greatest triumph."

"But why did he start with Roderigo in the first place?" she challenged thoughtfully.

"A whim," he shrugged. "Maybe a reaction to not getting the position he wanted, which would have allowed him to express the manipulative, controlling tendencies in a safe and acceptable way.

"Maybe he doesn't need a reason.

"Maybe we just need him to have a reason to make ourselves feel better," he suggested, the conversation becoming increasingly existential. "Because we can't accept the fact that evil can exist without motive."

"Says the man who doesn't believe in god," she teased affectionately.

He shrugged his reply. "I believe in something. I just don't think that it's as interested in us as people think."

Payson laughed at his brazen response, not in the least shocked by the flippant manner in which he spoke about topics like religion and good and evil. "I suppose we should go before the ushers . . . uh usher us out," she suggested, cringing at the awkward pun.

"You're probably right," Sasha agreed. He stood first and then helped her out of her seat. They smiled apologetically at the usher waiting at the door for them to leave.

"Sasha?" Payson asked cautiously, stopping them in the middle of the empty hall before they reached the lobby.

"Hmm?" he replied, turning to face her.

She lowered her head and glanced up at him through her lashes, her expression coy. "Thank you for tonight," she said softly. She laid a hand on his shoulder and closed the space between them, pressing her lips firmly to his in a kiss that expressed her gratitude and enjoyment. In response, his arms snaked around her waist, holding her close to him as their mouths fused together and let themselves enjoy one of the few moments they had completely to themselves.

Eventually they separated and Payson giggled as she wiped at the pink smudge of lipgloss staining his lower lip.

"C'mon, dragă," he said, offering his arm, "The night has only just begun."

~ to be continued ~

This one was a mixture of fluff and setting up a few things for later on. And some foreshadowing. Gotta love foreshadowing.

Notes:

The dress and location are in the LJ version.

Payson's view of Iago's motives is one of my favourite explanations for Iago's motives, although it's been so long since I studied Othello that I can't actually remember who to reference for it. Of course, Sasha's reasoning is good too. On an additional note, Matt Minto is an amazing Iago and completely under appreciated.

Translations:

Phonetic Russian:
Vy rashaete: You decide.

Romanian:
Iubită:My love/beloved
pisicuţă: Kitten/little cat
Frumoasa NUBUN mea fată: My beautiful CRAZY girl