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 – Edging Forward
The Arena – Montpellier, France
7 May 2012
Sasha wrapped his wrists with tape, ignoring the whispers of his two British teammates behind him. The European Men's Artistic Gymnastics Championship had always been a weird one for him – it was genuinely a team competition in a way that few of the others were. It was one of the few events he knew of that didn't actually feature an all-around competition.
"Oh just ask him already," Louis Smith, the team's pommel horse specialist, said exasperatedly, shoving his redheaded teammate forward.
"You want something, Purvis," Sasha asked without looking in their direction.
Daniel Purvis, the redheaded, Liverpudlian gymnast whose place Sasha had usurped as top seed in the UK Men's team, glanced around sheepishly, avoiding eye contact with anyone – including the back of Sasha's head. "I was just wondering," he said cautiously, "if yer girl was gunna be here."
Sasha shook his head, chuckling clandestinely to himself. Purvis, it turned out, was a Payson Keeler fan with a bit of a crush on the American Women's team in general.
"They've got a competition next week," Sasha responded, turning around to face them. "Austin Tucker's here, but that's not exactly a consolation."
"No," Purvis agreed, shaking his head solemnly in disappointment. "Who are they up against?" he asked, referring to the girls' competition.
"Italy and France, so nothing that'll be too hard for them," Sasha replied.
"I still don't see what that girl sees in you," Smith mused, throwing an arm around his friend's shoulders. "You're so old, Belov."
"I'm still young enough to beat the likes of you boys," Sasha reminded him coolly. "How many Olympic gold medals you got again?" he added with a smirk.
"Ouch," Smith muttered jokingly. "You know what they say," he said, pausing a moment, "everybody loves a winner, so nobody loves me."
"Did you just quote a Liza Minnelli song?" Purvis asked, shifting away from his friend.
"Yeah," Smith shrugged.
"Just checking," he said, completely unfazed.
Sasha shook his head, slightly amused by his teammates' antics.
"You ready?" Nikolai asked, approaching him with a concerned look. To Sasha's relief, Nikolai's doctors had cleared him for travel, thus allowing him to join them in France as a floor coach. He wasn't sure what he would have done if that hadn't been the case and he'd never had to compete internationally without Nikolai in his support system.
"I am," Sasha replied and Nikolai nodded, leaving him to his mental preparation. Sasha reached into his gym bag for his cellphone, which had been buzzing incessantly beside him for the last half hour. He was inundated with well-wishing texts and emails, including a rather ridiculous one from Austin Tucker who couldn't just wish a person 'good luck' like a normal person.
Noroc, drăguţ. Mă gândesc la tine.
He smiled as he read the message from Payson, the words touching him in a profound way. Romania and the language of his home country, was something he was incredibly sentimental about, and he loved that Payson knew that about him and that it was something he could share with her.
He couldn't think of a time in his life when he'd ever felt as happy as he did right now. It felt like everything was falling into place both in his professional life and his personal life. He was at the top of his game in gymnastics, he'd managed to mend some bridges with old friends, Nikolai's health was stable (which was probably the best he could hope for), and he had Payson.
Payson who was beautiful and unassuming, and who gave him all the time in world he needed to work out his feelings. She'd made it okay that he couldn't say the words back, letting him know that she wouldn't hold it against him and that she didn't need to hear him say those words just because she could.
They'd moved forward in their physical relationship that night, although they hadn't had intercourse. But they'd gone further than they had before, touching one another intimately to their mutual satisfaction. And afterwards she'd slept cradle against him as his thoughts fell entirely upon her confession and what those words meant.
.
He smiled gently as he shifted a lock of hair falling over her face, pulling it straight before he let the corkscrew curl return to its unnatural form. Her breathing was deep and even as she curled against him, her head against his chest and arms wrapped around his torso. She shuddered a little as the cool evening chill replaced the heat they had generated earlier, and he pulled her closer, wrapping the blanket over her naked shoulders.
'She loves me,' he thought to himself as he examined her delicate features, placid and content in the realms of sleep. He'd almost been lulled into dreamland himself by the sound of her regular breathing, but he hadn't allowed himself such a luxury, instead taking advantage of the quiet and solitude that night provided in order to test his reaction to the words she had spoken earlier.
He wasn't sure what he was expecting of himself. Perhaps he expected to be mad at her, jealous that she could say what he couldn't? Afraid because of what it meant and how much they had come to mean to each other? Sadness because of what had come of those words in the past?
He'd only said 'I love you' to one person in his life – his mother. It was the last thing he'd been able to say to her before she died and the memory would probably haunt him for the rest of his life. How could he possibly accept such words when they had been the prelude to his mother's death?
And yet he did. He wasn't even sure if he believed in love – it had been too long since he had been that idealistic and too much had happened in his life that had very little to do with Marty and MJ – but he believed that she loved him, and that thought made him happier than he would have expected just six months ago before Payson had come into his life and unconsciously begun to change him. He needed her more than he even realized. He didn't want to lose her – he couldn't lose her.
Before Payson he'd been content in his loneliness and yet now he couldn't imagine his life without her. He could see himself spending the rest of his life with her, and maybe even falling in love with her.Maybe he was already there.
But he didn't know. He couldn't be sure. He wanted to love her, if for no other reason than the fact that it was what Payson deserved. Payson deserved someone who could say the words in return without feeling uncertain or afraid or wondering what might happen if he did. As if those three little words could be their ultimate downfall.
And yet somehow, in spite of every reason that he could think of and every rational alternative, she loved him and she understood that there were a lot of not-very-good reasons why he couldn't say those words back, at least not just yet.
He smiled, running his knuckles against the soft skin of her cheek as he wondered to himself what he had ever done to deserve her. "Cred că poate fi încadrează în dragoste cu tine," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her sleeping lips.
I think I may be falling in love with you.
.
The sound of Nikolai's low chuckle seemed to break him from his trance, bringing him back to the present.
"What?" Sasha asked incredulously, turning his gaze up towards his coach and eying him suspiciously.
Nikolai lifted his hands in surrender as his bushy white eyebrows rose towards his hairline. "I am just thinking of the past," Nikolai explained cheerily, a broad grin pulling onto his features. "It is what you do when you get as old as I am getting."
Sasha shook his head, silently disagreeing with the old man's appraisal of himself. "Anything in particular?" he asked thoughtfully.
"I am thinking of time of when you asked how I knew I was to coach you," Nikolai replied, nodding his head as his expression turned wistful and nostalgic. "Do you remember what it was I said?"
It wasn't one of his proudest moments, but he remembered the conversation that Nikolai was referring to. He remembered being difficult and petulant and angry, and lashing out at Nikolai when he couldn't lash out at his parents. He had depended on Nikolai so much in that time of his life, not just to coach him, but to be his rock and stability and to hold him together when everything else was falling apart around him. No matter what he said or how he tried to rebel against him, Nikolai always replied with kindness and patience and a look of understanding and acceptance.
"You told me you knew in the same way a man knows he's met the woman he's going to marry," Sasha said. "The way you know when you've hit a perfect routine."
Nikolai nodded and placed a fatherly hand on Sasha's shoulder. "I am thinking you understand this better now, no?" the old man grinned.
"I don't understand," Sasha frowned, unsure of what Nikolai's words meant. And yet his heart sped at the inkling of thought that actually comprehended what Nikolai was hinting at, readying itself for the explanation.
"Payson is one, no?" Nikolai questioned. "The woman you will marry."
"I . . ." Sasha tried to respond, too stunned to string a sentence together. "It's still early days," he protested when he eventually found his voice.
"But you know," Nikolai replied with absolute certainty. "You know like I knew I was meant to coach you, Sasha. Kak bylo suzhdeno.
"She is your match," he added surely. "She is like you only . . . oh what is American saying – 'easier on the eye'."
They laughed together at the phrase, easing a little of the solemnity that such a serious topic had shrouded over them. "In some ways she is, but in some ways not," Sasha told his coach vaguely. "But you're right. She is my match."
"And marriage?" Nikolai wheedled, wiggling his bushy eyebrows meaningfully.
"I'm thinking about it," Sasha admitted reluctantly.
Nikolai nodded, seemingly satisfied by this response. "Do not be thinking too long, moĭ voin," he warned, the stern tone of his voice a contrast with warm address – my warrior – that Nikolai only used when he was feeling particularly sentimental. "I want to be able to dance at your wedding," he grinned broadly.
"Nikolai . . ." Sasha began to protest, but he was cut off by an announcement over the loud speaker in French and English, letting the competitors know that it was time to enter the arena. The competition was about to begin.
The Rock – Boulder
May 9 2012
Payson yawned as she approached the balance beam, her body still yearning for her bed eight hours after she had woken up. It probably wasn't one of her better ideas to wake up at two o'clock in the morning so she could watch the team finals, and she was now facing the consequences of that.
"Payson," Marty said, giving her a stern look.
She shook herself, trying to look more awake or at least less asleep. "Yes, Marty?"
He snorted quietly and shook his head, easily guessing the reason for her sleepiness. "Did he win?" he asked with a knowing look.
"They came second to Germany, but they bet out Romania and Russia for silver," she said proudly. She brightened momentarily, only to let out another loud yawn moments later.
"Go have something to eat before you get started on beam," Marty suggested with a concerned frown. "Hopefully that will perk you up a little bit."
She nodded, accepting her coaches sound advice, and headed out to the locker room. She was pretty sure she had a couple of apples in her gym bag – she vaguely remembered putting them in there before she left the house, but she'd been a bit of a zombie all morning, her body clearly not appreciating being woken up four hours early.
Not that she regretted the decision. There was something, well, sexy about seeing Sasha perform; about seeing those firm muscles tighten and strain with exertion, and his arms tense as they carried the full weight of his body. In her mind those same tensed muscles were wrapping themselves around her waist and pulling her into a well-formed muscular torso, her ear pressed into his chest as she listened to his steady, reassuring heartbeat.
She sighed dazedly, drifting out of the all-too-brief fantasy and getting back to the task at hand. There were no apples to be found, but she did come across two mandarins and a pear that would do instead. She settled on a nearby bench, carefully pealing the skin off the mandarin and separating the segments.
About halfway through her second mandarin, the quiet serenity of the locker room was broken as someone else came in, trainers padding lightly on the linoleum floor. They seemed to see each other at the same moment as Payson grimaced and Kaylie faltered in her sure steps. After managing to avoid one another so effectively for more than two weeks, it was inevitable that they ran into each other now, with nobody else around to play interference.
Kaylie pointedly ignored her, aggressively unlocking and opening her locker and throwing gym bag and her warm up jacket inside. Payson just watched, wondering how much longer either of them would be able to withstand this tension.
"You're here late," Payson attempted half-heartedly, trying draw Kaylie into a casual conversation and maybe get the ball rolling on mending things between. Quite frankly, it was getting rather tiring simply avoiding one another and it was about time one of them put in the effort to get things back to normal.
"I had an interview with USA Gymnastics for the meet," Kaylie replied disinterestedly, not even bothering to look in her direction. "Just the usual team captain stuff."
"Fun," Payson replied sarcastically.
"It's good practice," Kaylie continued, ignoring Payson's glib reply. "It looks like I'm going to be the one leading us all to London," she said, finally turning her head towards Payson. "Assuming we all make the team."
"You think I won't?" Payson asked, unable to hold her tongue at Kaylie's deliberate taunt.
"You never know what might happen, Payson. Any one of us could be overlooked for another gymnast," Kaylie replied, her tone still sweet. "It's still a long way from the Olympics and you've had a lot of distractions lately."
Payson bristled at the insinuation, all veiled in feigned concern. "Sasha isn't a distraction," she stated firmly. She narrowed her eyes, a cool chill slipping into her voice. "Like you're one to talk, Kaylie," she said evenly. "What about you and Austin? Or you and Carter? Or you and Nicky?
"You've had more distractions than anyone else in this gym," she finished, watching closely as Kaylie stiffened in response.
"Unlike you, I know how to deal with those distractions," Kaylie said snootily. "I'm not the kind of person that lets their personal life interfere with their gymnastics."
Payson scoffed, knowing too well to believe Kaylie on that point. Kaylie was exactly the kind of person who let her personal life interfere with her gymnastics. Her gymnastics was in all cases a reflection of her personal drama, and it was only Kaylie's sloppy bar routine that kept her from saying something cruel in reply.
"Hiding them isn't the same as dealing with them, Kaylie," she said meaningfully. "I don't care how you or the bloody National Committee see Sasha. I'm not going to pretend he's not a part of my life just so they can sleep better at night.
"Here lies the difference between me and you," she said, standing to her feet for the dramatic finish. "I don't need their approval."
She left before Kaylie could get another word in, slamming her things into the locker with a hard flourish. She didn't feel better for the confrontation, even if had been a long time coming. She just felt guilty and like she'd done more damage than good. She felt like she'd just done irreparable harm and taken this thing between to the next level.
And she wondered, even if she could fix it, whether their friendship was something she wanted to repair.
~ to be continued ~
A long overdue confrontation between Payson and Kaylie on one side of the Atlantic, and some rare team bonding with Sasha's teammates on the other side. Obviously there is still more to come out of the former, but I think I'll save that for when it would be the most inconvenient. Sasha's teammates will probably feature a bit more as we get closer to the Games, especially Purvis who I have already designated as Sasha's roommate.
Notes:
All credit must be given to JCI who is the genius behind Nikolai's words to Sasha about coaching. They appear in Chapter 2 of Lost and Found, which I would tell you all to go read because it's brilliant, but I'm pretty you all have already.
Moi Voin: In case anyone missed the significance, Alexander/Alexandru means 'warrior'.
Translations:
Russian (phonetic):
Kak bylo suzhdeno:As was fated.
Romanian:
Noroc, drăguţ. Mă gândesc la tine: Good luck. I am thinking of you.