CHAPTER FIFTY TWO

Rio de Janeiro may be washed by the warm waters of the pacific and watched over by a hundred foot statue of Christ, but Payson has discovered that in terms of traffic, the city of God is just the same as any other metropolis. Luckily, the minibus' current gridlocked position isn't causing her the stress such delays usually do as Marty, on the driver's advice, had called forward their leaving time.

"Drea sent me this photo last night." Beth holds up her phone so Payson and Kelly, sitting either side of her on the back seat, can see the picture of Drea wearing Beth's lucky Yankee cap and giving two thumbs up.

"And we're sure the hot brother is gay?" Kelly muses as Beth flicks through a couple more photos Drea has sent of her and Ryan.

"The hot married brother with a husband? Yeah, we're pretty sure," Payson says.

"Shame," Kelly gives a put upon sigh, returns to staring out the window at the roadworks that are causing the traffic problems, and quickly cheers up. "How about him?"

Payson follows Kelly's pointed finger to the builder leaning against a temporary barricade, overalls folded at the waist to reveal a bronzed, ripped torso.

"Don't make me get the hose, Parker," Payson warns, as Kelly gives her latest crush a little wave when he sees he's being watched and nods a 'how you doing?' at his admirer.

"Don't be a player hater, Keeler."

Beth is still chattering away about the phone conversations she had last night. "Mom and Bo are totally okay about me moving to Colorado to train."

"Who the hell is Bo?" Kelly pauses in her ogling of Rio's road workers.

"My step-dad."

"Your stepdad's name is Bo."

"Yup."

"What's it short for?"

"Bo. Why?"

Kelly blinks and Payson prepares to give her a well placed kick if her answer requires censure.

"No reason," Kelly says, tightly, as if it's taking great effort not to ask if one of Beth's half-sisters is called Peep.

"They're okay with you being so far away?" Payson interjects before Kelly's willpower gives out.

Beth nods enthusiastically. "It's always really hard for them to get me to practices and competitions, what with my little brothers and sisters, and all. It'll be better for everyone if i'm not there."

Payson watches the younger girl. If it were her, she'd certainly be struggling with what it meant about their relationship if her parents were happier that she didn't live at home.

"They'll miss you," Payson says, even though Beth doesn't seem to need the reassurance.

"I know. But me living in Colorado makes sense." Beth smiles at Payson. Clearly, in Beth's mind, her parent's love for her has nothing to do with the practicalities of raising her four younger siblings, so she has no need to question it.

Payson returns the smile, thoughtful.

The traffic lights finally flick to green long enough to allow the minibus to get through and continue it's crawl along the road.

"So are you gonna talk to me at all?" Marty, twisted round on the single seat beside the sliding bus door, tries for the third time since they met in the hotel atrium to engage Kelly in conversation.

Kelly doesn't answer. Marty sighs, and glances at Beth then Payson. "I heard about you three training with Sasha. That's great." He's really trying for enthusiasm and Payson is torn between staying out of the situation and encouraging Kelly to make peace with her former coach before the bars final.

An uncomfortable pause is interrupted by Chris, seated behind the driver, asking Beth if she wants to go through her vault final card, and Beth, first looking between Kelly and Marty, easing down the tiny aisle to relocate to the seat next to the junior coach.

The youngest gymnast sufficiently distracted, Payson readies to say something, just as Kelly finally draws her attention from the unmoving cars outside the window.

"Anyone ever tell you you come off as a little needy?" There's a haughtiness and petulance to the observation that both Payson and Marty can immediately identify as false bravado, but Payson pretends to be busy on her phone and Marty pretends to play along, not wanting to spook his former protegee now she's finally acknowledged his presence.

"Can't say that they have." He's perched on the edge of his seat, elbows braced on his knees.

Kelly studies him. "It's not an attractive quality."

"I'll keep that in mind." Marty nods as he answers. He pauses to allow Kelly further comment but, when all she does is continue to look at him, he takes it as the permission he's been waiting for. "Look, I know I screwed up. It was completely wrong and unfair of me to take the Rock job without consulting you."

"Yeah. It was." Kelly's words are sledgehammer blunt but her eyes aren't equally as brutal.

Marty bows his head, then looks at her again. "I'm so sorry that I hurt you."

Payson risks a glance toward her friend. Kelly is chewing at her upper lip, focusing on the hideous fabric of the seat in front while emotions skitter across her expression. A few moments and she retracts her teeth and redirects her eyeline.

"See?" It comes out a little hoarse so she coughs and starts over. "Totally needy."

"Doesn't make it any less true." Marty, struggling to keep his own voice steady, nods along with each word.

"I don't need your apologies," Kelly snaps, causing both Marty and Payson to start a little at her sudden change in demeanour, but then she arches an eyebrow and adds, "I need you to carry me to and from the bars podium. I want my Kerri Strugg moment. You do that? I guess I'll call off the hit I put out on you." She punctuates the instruction with a satisfied smirk that shakes a little with real emotion.

"See, I know that you're joking, but I'm still a little scared," Marty says around a tight chuckle.

"That's cause you're a smart guy," Kelly allows, wagging a finger at him as she qualifies her compliment. "You're needy and have a PHD in making bad decisions, but…" she trails off, turning her finger wag into a 'meh' tipping of her palm.

Marty's eyes are bright and his quick sniff doesn't go unnoticed. "Thank you, Kelly. And I just want you to know what an honor it's been working with you."

"Keeler," Kelly whines, tone deliberately dramatic, "tell him what that emotional look he's pointing in my direction makes me want to do."

Payson answers, profoundly relieved, and suddenly ready for competition. "I'd back away, Coach, 'cause her answer usually involves a warning she's about to vomit."


In the draw for positions in the vault final, Beth, the top qualifier, got third spot; Payson, sixth.

"You got your card with you?" Marty asks as Beth and Payson hand off bags to him and Chris to carry into the arena. He makes sure to look at Beth while he's speaking, giving her his full attention.

Payson, though firmly in RoboPayson mode, can't help but note the genuine warmth in Beth's "yes, Coach Walsh!"

He's left it typically late, but Marty seems to have realised how best to coach Beth. It's both endearing and infuriating. Had he done this before the team final, they could have won gold.

"One, two, three…" Payson murmurs the countoff of head and wrist rolls as she starts her warm-up with walking round the mat. By the time she reaches the power skips and arm swings of the cardio section, she's recaptured her focus.

Since this is her third competition day in the arena, the process is familiar enough that Payson can let the preparatory stages of lining up in the outer hallway, marching into the arena to pumping music and epilepsy inducing light displays, and being announced to the crowd, blur around her.

They are the only competitors currently in the arena. The men's floor, rings, and pommel finals are today, as well as the women's vault and bars, but all the events are staggered to give competitors who have qualified for multiple events time enough to prepare for the different disciplines.

The stands are full as usual but, for the first time, Payson can actually see where her mom is sitting. Team USA have grabbed seats at the front of the second tier, right beside the start end of the vault podium. She doesn't make eye contact, simply notes her mother's presence, then files the knowledge away until after she's vaulted.

"You set?" Marty asks, arms folded, watching the Australian Rachel Robinson, who drew spot one, jogging from foot to foot as she waits at the head of the runway for her allotted vault time to start.

Payson only nods, but that's enough of an answer for Marty, he knows not to pepper her with questions. Glancing at his profile, Payson suffers a moment's nostalgia - they could almost be back at Junior Nationals - and she wonders what would have happened had Marty not had an affair with Kaylie's mom.

Shaking the reminiscence away, Payson drops to the floor, reaching forward into a pike sit stretch, enjoying the pull along her hamstrings. She's vaguely aware of Chris sitting cross-legged beside Beth, talking the younger gymnast through final preparations, but Payson lets that fade into the background, just continues to visualise her roundoff, half on, layout 1.5 and double twisting Yurchenko.

As Jana Schneider finishes, Beth readies to mount the podium. Payson offers her fist for Beth to explode, then applauds and shouts, "let's go, Beth!" as the tiny girl trots up the steps to prepare for her first vault.

"You got this, Beth!" Chris hollers and Marty claps encouragement as Beth's name is announced over the speaker system and the buzzer signals permission for her to begin.

Payson looks at the carpet during Beth's Amanar, awaiting the thud signalling landing before lifting her head again. She smiles brightly so Beth can see, clapping as the younger girl walks back along the runway to prepare for the second vault. Chris walks with her, offering words Payson can't hear over the applause of the crowd.

Payson looks at the floor again during Beth's Produnova, but the explosion of cheers from the spectators when Beth's feet slam into the landing mat almost render not watching pointless; Beth obviously just hit two very impressive vaults.

Greeting her teammate with a high five, Payson is grateful when Chris picks Beth up and spins her round in a hug, moving them away to allow Payson space to switch back to preparing for her own vaults.

It's the first time Payson has been in the arena without any other event taking place, and the focused atmosphere and lack of noise from the other apparatus is odd. It also makes it impossible to ignore the scores of her opponents when they are read out over the sound system, so she tries to listen to the numbers without assigning them meaning.

"Game on," Marty says, slapping Payson's shoulder as they wait at the steps for the Russian, Klavidyia Fedorova, to leave the podium at the other end.

Payson nods, allowing adrenaline to shoot into her system.

The chalk bin is relatively clean, having serviced only five gymnasts so far, and there are no sweaty clumps as Payson rubs the white dust into her palms and bashes it against her bare soles.

Beside the digital scoreboard, Payson presses her toes into the mat, waiting for her name and start vault of 6.5 to appear.

At the buzzer, she steps onto her start mark, takes a steadying breath, and swings her momentum forward to launch into a sprint. She and Sasha decided to start with the layout 1.5 since it requires more elevation than the double twisting Yurchenko and they wanted her to compete it at maximum energy.

Unlike the all around final, Payson connects clean with the horse and lands dead centre without a wobble.

Marty slings an arm round her shoulders as, steadying her breathing, she walks alongside the mat she just flew down, resetting her mind.

Keeping her body moving, she waits for the scoreboard to show the 5.8 difficulty of her second vault, and for the judges to award the score for her first, even though she won't look at it when it blinks onto the main screen.

Permission granted to begin, Payson hops her weight into her starting foot to begin her approach run. When she reaches her mark, she throws her hands into the mat, pushes her feet into the springboard with perfectly practised pressure, allows the energy release to push her up and back with an arced spine so her palms can connect with the horse at the exact point where she can launch into the double twist with enough time to complete both rotations and land her feet squarely on the white central line of the landing mat. There is no need for her to even pause, she just uses the last dregs of momentum to curl up straight into the double armed salute that signals a completed vault.

"Yes!" Marty pumps his fists in jubilation, before snatching Payson into a hug from the second step of the podium.

As Marty sets her down, Payson looks at the main scoreboard for the first time. There's a punch of pride as she sees Beth's name right at the top of the list with an average score of 16.100.

"You got 15.9 for the 1.5," Marty informs.

"Double hit!" Beth exclaims, scrabbling over to her teammate, and hugging her around the middle.

"Way to go!" Chris raises his palm to meet Payson's high five.

Breathing hard, Payson tries to distract herself from the judge's deliberation by doing a couple of calculations. She can't overtake Beth - her difficulty values aren't high enough - but she feels she hit the second vault well enough to bring her average above Fedorova's current second position score.

"Payson Keeler..." the announcer starts but her thunder is stolen when the scoreboard updates a second before she can state the judge's decision.

1. DEAN, B. (USA) 16.100

2. KEELER, P. (USA) 15.650

3. FEDOROVA, K. (RUS) 15.400

Payson closes her eyes briefly and gives a small fist pump of satisfaction. Vault has been the apparatus where her performance has varied most during this championship and to have hit her two vaults cleanly is a relief.

She offers the TV camera the obligatory wave and smile, then, methodically, pulls on her track pants and team jacket, and goes through the motions of re-packing her backpack. By the time she's smoothed down any flyaways from her tight bun and secured her shoelaces, Ana Clara Cardoso has completed her performance and been awarded fifth place.

"One to go," Beth says, as Payson drops into the seat beside her. The girl is staring at the carpet rather than indulging in her usual surveys of the crowd and, instead of swinging her legs back and forth under the chair, she's entirely still.

"One to go," Payson repeats and takes Beth's hand for a quick squeeze. It's clammy. This is the most nervous Payson has ever seen her teammate.

Logically, Payson knows it's next to impossible for Anika Stein to displace either her or Beth from the top two spots - even perfect execution wouldn't cover the German's lower d-score total - but she will not consider the competition over until the final leaderboard is posted.

"Come on." Payson hears Marty muttering when it takes a few minutes for the judges to decide on the first vault mark.

Beth's hold on Payson's hand tightens as thundering footfalls signal the start of the second vault. Payson waits for the sound of the springboard. Instead, there is a gasp from the crowd followed by sympathetic applause, and Payson doesn't even have to open her eyes to know that Stein has pulled up without vaulting.

"Yes!" Marty bellows, dragging Payson up out of her seat and into a tight hug. Over his shoulder, Payson looks at the big screens where the final result has been posted.

1. DEAN, B. (USA) 16.100

2. KEELER, P. (USA) 15.650

3. FEDOROVA, K. (RUS) 15.400

When Marty puts her down, Payson finally lets the joy flow through her. It's official, she is the world's second best vaulter.

Applause and cheers echo from all corners of the arena but there's only one person Payson looks for. Her mom is out of her seat and leaning over the second tier barrier, cheering as tears stream down her face.

"Waterproof!" Payson hollers, laughing, gesturing at Kim's smudged mascara.

Kim gets her own back by tracing a heart in the air and bringing tears to her daughter's eyes too.

Hayley, Lauren, Kaylie, and Darby are just behind Kim, whooping and clapping.

Someone tugs at Payson's arm. She spins to find Beth looking up at her through eyes that appear almost scared. Immediately, Payson leans down to embrace her teammate, angling Beth away from the circling cameraman so she can whisper, "are you okay?"

Beth nods vigorously but seems unable to follow up with words.

"Just follow my lead," Payson instructs, before releasing Beth from the hug but keeping a tight hold on her hand. She waves at the camera - knowing NBC like footage of the medalists acknowledging the TV audience - and Beth does the same.

"Payson!"

Turning at the sound of her name hollered in unison by familiar voices, Payson's reflexes come into play as she just manages to catch the folded flag before it hits her in the face.

"Sorry!" her mom yells, having thrown it from the stands with more enthusiasm than aim.

Laughing, Payson unfolds the Stars and Stripes, drapes it round her shoulders, and then gestures for Beth to stand beside her so she can wrap the flag round her too.

"Just keep smiling," she whispers to Beth, as accredited photojournalists flock in front of the pair to get shots.

As is usual after a final, the area around the apparatus is alive with activity. As well as the celebrating medalists and accompanying media, there are crying gymnasts being consoled by coaches; others packing up their belongings, eager to get out of the arena as quickly as possible; and those for whom it was an achievement just to reach the final, wanting to prolong the experience, so are posing for pictures and savouring the atmosphere. Then there are the officials, fiercely protective of their timetable, who are trying to keep the process moving smoothly and swiftly so there will be no delay of the start of the next event, which is the men's floor final.

"Congratulations, ladies! If you can come with me, please!" A harassed looking man in a world's uniform is working to get the medalists away from the photographers, who are working equally as hard to get them to stay.

Payson allows a few more pictures then, since the official appears close to weeping, she thanks the photographers, and hands the flag off to Marty.

"Don't let them keep you after the ceremony," he reminds automatically, even though Payson is already moving onto the bars final in her mind, "or i'll send Kelly out to get you."

"That'd be a great podium shot; Kelly attacking photographers with her crutches," Payson laughs, joyful grin resetting each time she realises she's just won another silver medal.

"If you could please follow me, ladies?" The official is holding his headset a little away from his ear - there must be some yelling going on through the earpiece - and Payson takes pity on him.

"You got our stuff?" she checks with Marty and Chris, who hold up backpacks. "Thanks. Beth you set?"

Payson hadn't realised she'd moved but, when she looks round, rather than being beside her, Beth is standing rooted to the spot where they'd posed with the flag. She's not looking at anyone, clearly hoping it will mean no one will look at her.

"You ready to get a medal?" Payson jokes a little loudly as she jogs back over to Beth, hoping to distract from Beth's apparent shutdown.

"I don't know what i'm supposed to do," Beth murmurs, latching onto Payson's wrist like she's a life preserver, and Payson suddenly realises the nerves she witnessed were not Beth being scared she was going to lose, but scared she was going to win.

Payson mentally kicks herself. Hadn't Sasha once mentioned this was the part of Beth's participation in a major championship he was most concerned about? It goes against every tenet of a coach to prepare a gymnast for winning, not just because of the superstitious fear of tempting fate, but because procedures varied depending on the meet or event.

"Let's go! This way!"

The ineffectual official has been demoted and replaced with a woman Payson suspects has 'sergeant major' somewhere on her CV. The medalists are herded toward the gap in the stands that leads through to the entrance corridor, Beth clinging tight to Payson. Payson feels a little overwhelmed by the mass of people so she can only imagine how Beth, ten inches shorter than her at four foot six, must be feeling.

As they proceed into the familiar white cinderblock hallway, they are passed by the podium assembly team who will certainly earn their paychecks today having to hastily construct and then remove the medal rostrum five times.

"If you can wait here, we should be ready for you in eight minutes!"

As she draws Beth back against the corridor wall, Payson is about to quip "Is that to the second?" when she realises that Beth is actually shaking.

"Hey, it's okay." She puts her hands on Beth's shoulders, following Beth's rapidly darting eyeline to try and catch her attention.

"I need you to line up in silver, gold, bronze order. Full team uniforms, please. Follow the guy in grey, line up behind your step, wait for your name to be called - is she getting any of this?" Another irritable official with a tablet and a headset frowns at Payson when Beth continues to look dazed.

"I think we're good," Payson snaps, with a glare scathing enough to send the official scuttling off.

"Sorry...I'm a little early...totally my fault...I'm not interrupting anything am I?"

Easing his way through the mass of bodies with the slaying smile he's known for, Austin quickly switches the fake expression for his real smile as he reaches Beth and Payson.

"You know I coulda sworn I was supposed to be lining up for the pommel final right about now." Before he even finishes the joke, Beth throws her arms round Austin's waist and tucks her face against his ribs.

Concerned, Austin looks at a Payson for an explanation.

"She's scared about the medal ceremony," Payson mouths, and Austin identifies enough words to understand.

Easing Beth away from him so he can drop to a knee and look the tiny gymnast in the eye, Austin says, "You know what's so good about having Payson for a teammate?"

Beth, eyes painfully wide, meets Austin's gaze. It makes Payson's heart clench to see how hard she is struggling to concentrate.

"She lets me play with Phoebe during breaks at training?" Beth flicks her attention between Payson and Austin, waiting to see if she got the question right. Luckily Austin answers, because Payson is close to tears.

"That," Austin gives her a thumbs up, "but also, she is the absolute best at dealing with all this craziness." He gestures at the babbling circus up and down the corridor. "Which, I gotta say," he gestures to Payson to lean down so she can listen too, "really doesn't matter at all. You know what does matter?"

Beth shakes her head hard.

"That you and Payson are the best vaulters in the world, and you're gonna have a gold medal that you can take home and show your family."

Payson shoots Austin a look of total gratitude because Beth's face, previously so pale, is starting to flush through with pride.

"This ceremony thing takes five minutes, tops, and Payson knows exactly what to do, right?"

"Totally," Payson says, copying Austin's blase tone as the male gymnast stands back up. "Piece of cake."

"You'll tell me when I'm supposed to look at the flag?" Beth clutches Payson's hand.

"Of course. If you're unsure about anything, just look at me and i'll tell you what to do. For now, all you need to do is stand between me and Klavidiya," Payson shares a nod with the Russian who, as bronze medalist, will walk out first.

Some of the terror seeps out of Beth's body. "Okay."

When Beth drops to check her shoelaces are fastened, Payson nudges Austin. "Did you really think you were supposed to be lining up for pommel right now?"

Austin shrugs. "Timetables aren't my strong point." A cheeky smile pulls at his lips.

Payson shakes her head, grinning. "Aren't you sponsored by Rolex?"

"Your point?"

"They make watches. Good things for helping you keep to a timetable."

Austin pretend to look as if such logic is beyond his comprehension.

"Wait. Are you even in the pommel final?"

"Very good point. I'm in the floor final, aren't I? Knew I was in one of them today."

Payson elbows him and he drops character to smile.

"So," he says, lowering his voice a little, "scuttlebutt is you, Kelly, and the gold medalist here," he pats Beth on the shoulder, "are going to be training with Sasha."

Payson answers with a small nod.

"No chance any of that'll be happening at the Rock, i'm guessing?"

Again, Payson doesn't need words to answer a question.

"Right, of course not."

"Why do you ask?" Payson queries. There's sincerity in Austin's face she doesn't often see.

A shrug. "Would have been good to train with Sasha again. Didn't really get the chance to before and… Well, nevermind," Austin shrugs, eyes refocusing. "Congratulations again, ladies. I better get back to the ready room before that official whacks me with her clipboard."

With a high five for Beth, Austin bustles away, leaving Payson to wonder just how disaffected Austin is with the new coaching structure at the Rock.

"Okay, let's go!" The official hollers and signals for the medal procession to start walking.

Payson taps Beth on the shoulder to indicate she should follow Klavidiya.

Posture taught with pride, Payson beams as they pass under the entrance arch, and the arena once again erupts with applause.

Three finals, three medals. Not a bad tally so far.


"She's looking at me."

"She's not looking at you."

"Your eyes are shut."

"I'm focusing."

"You're ignoring me."

"Amazingly I can do both; it's called multitasking."

"She's still looking at me."

"Oh for god's…" Payson abandons her attempt to complete her usual pre-event meditation and opens her eyes.

The eight finalists for the uneven bars are grouped in the ready room, which means that Kelly Parker and Ivanka Kirilenko are being forced to share the same air, and that is never a recipe for harmonious preparation.

"Kelly, she's on the other side of the room with her back to you," Payson says, with much less exasperation than she would usually muster because she may not be able to meditate with Kelly sitting next to her, but she can at least keep her breathing slow and steady.

"She's looking at me." Kelly narrows her eyes into slits as she taps a finger on her folded arms.

"She's literally looking at the door."

"She's trying to catch me off guard."

Through an exhalation as she stretches both arms toward the ceiling, Payson informs her friend and soon to be competitor that she's being paranoid and if she starts in on the same post-cold war conspiracy theory that she waxed lyrical about during their warm up on the practice bars, Payson will be forced to gag her with a stretch band.

"You haven't got a stretch band," Kelly asserts, not taking her gaze from Ivanka's back.

"Because that's the important part," Payson mutters to herself as the room door opens and the male official who she first encountered after the vault final - was that really only an hour ago? - informs them that the men's floor medal ceremony is complete and it's time for them to line up.

"Where'd you stash your silver anyway?" Kelly asks, as she elbows past Sun Changying and Genghi Cho to get through the door first.

"Beth's looking after it," Payson answers, smiling apologies at the two Chinese gymnasts as she follows in Kelly's wake. "You do realise they drew first and fourth, right?"

"And?"

"And we got seventh and eighth."

"I repeat: and?"

"They're in front of us in line. You didn't need to barge them out the way."

"Oh Keeler," Kelly sighs her most patronising pronunciation of Payson's surname. "You always need to barge people out the way." She completes the life lesson with a pat to the taller girl's head.

Rather than rebuke her teammate, Payson falls into line behind her. They're back in the corridor, various coaches clutching backpacks grouped a few paces behind, officials with headsets and clipboards or tablets milling around, filler music blaring from the arena.

Waiting is always a big part of any gymnastics meet and Payson slowly jigs her weight from one foot to another, rotating her wrists to keep them supple, not bothering to keep track of how long they're being kept here.

She suddenly remembers the first night in Rio, how worried she was about being seemingly dragged in so many different directions that focus of any kind seemed beyond her capabilities. Perhaps it's due to the steepness of the learning curve she's experienced during this championship that she no longer has concerns there is any distraction that can knock her mind out of sync for the vital minutes of her performance.

Self-congratulation is not an indulgence Payson permits, but as the announcement of the bars finalists starts to ring from the arena's speakers and the line begins to march, the smile on her lips does not have to be forced.

The line proceeds out from the corridor, snakes under the temporary arch emblazoned with the Worlds 2011 logo and sponsors, turns left down the carpeted gulley, and winds between the various podiums until it reaches the one showcasing the uneven bars.

As ever, a rows of chairs is set up against the sponsorship board barricades and Payson claims one, waiting for Marty to catch up and hand off her and Kelly's backpacks.

"She must cut those bangs with a spirit level," Kelly says, loud enough that Ivanka, three chairs down, arches one perfectly sculpted eyebrow in her opponent's direction.

"Maybe you lend me Mickey Mouse ears you use as template for hair?"

Kelly replies with her most cutesy grin, as if friendly teasing was the hallmark of her relationship with the Russian. The expression immediately morphs into a scowl as she turns back to Payson.

"Are you done?" Payson asks, unzipping her jacket and starting the series of exercises she'll use throughout the competition to keep her arms warm. She's not a fan of performing last; at least she wouldn't be if she allowed herself to have an opinion on start positions.

"For now," Kelly concedes, haughtily, before stripping off her jacket and holding it out for Marty to take.

"And here I was thinking I was surplus to requirements," Marty quips, keeping hold of the jacket, knowing Kelly will want to put it back on in a few minutes.

"Lucky for you, you're pretty, else we wouldn't allow you to sit with us," Kelly informs him, gifting him with a head pat this time.

"I'll be sure to tip my hairdresser," Marty retorts, keeping an eye on the podium as Sun Changying prepares to begin her routine.

Payson smiles at the floor as she reaches her hands to the carpet. The banter is not as natural as it once was but at least a truce has been reached between the pair, and Marty is able to make use of his knowledge that any talk of Kelly's ankle will be detrimental rather than helpful.

Bars is a long competition and Payson lets her body go through the motions of keeping warm while she keeps her mind as still and steady as possible. Images of the day so far float through her mind, but she simply watches them pass by rather than try to catch hold. Occasionally, an eruption from the crowd or a cameraman shuttling past or a scathing comment from Kelly - "i've seen drag queens with subtler eyeshadow" - pull her back into the present, but otherwise, she registers no information about the routines going on in front of her. It's only when Marty is giving Kelly a final pep talk that Payson finally snaps out of the self imposed haze.

It's a little jarring - as it always is - to suddenly get hit by the noise ricocheting about the vast compound, but Payson's senses quickly adjust and she holds a fist out for Kelly to bump, as she notes the judges conversing at their table over what score they intend to award Ivanka's routine.

"You're not serious," Kelly says, glancing witheringly at the proffered knuckles.

"Do it as a goodbye present for Hayley." Payson waggles her fist.

"You are turning me into a total sap, Keeler," Kelly sighs, but taps her knuckles against Payson, fully commits to the 'explosion', and takes Payson completely by surprise by dragging her into tight hug.

Payson is so surprised that she barely gets the opportunity to return the embrace before Kelly is releasing her and jogging up the steps to the podium, to all appearances like her ankle is one hundred percent healthy.

"You got this, Parker!" she hollers, clapping along with Marty as Kelly takes her place between the uprights, facing the lower bar.

Payson doesn't actually watch the majority of Kelly's routine, bowing her head instead as she checks her hand guards and wrist supports, and swings some final arm rotations. But at the moment she feels Marty tense beside her, she flicks her eyes up, knowing that Kelly has just released for her double layout dismount.

Sasha once memorably used an analogy of a foosball table player to explain the flat body position the spinning dismount requires. Kelly's legs and torso are poker straight as she pivots once, twice mid air. She's on course for a perfect landing, but this will require her feet almost sliding to a sudden stop as they connect with the mat. It's brutal pressure on the ankles. Payson winces as Kelly's body weight slams into the ground, all the impact absorbed through her heels. There is not a flicker of movement as Kelly rises immediately, arms aloft to salute the perfectly stuck landing.

"Yes!" Marty pumps his fist, as Payson feels a proud thrill thrum through her, prickling goosebumps.

There is no time for any celebration though, instead she must cool every emotion, banish every distraction - even the sight of Kelly being forced to hop off the landing mat, face contorted with pain, eyes swimming with tears that must hurt the proud gymnast as much as her ankle, as Marty picks her off the edge of the podium to carry her to the nearest chair.

A flinty resolve hardens each nerve ending as Payson narrows her focus to include only the podium steps, then the chalk bin, then the eight foot lengths of wood coated fibreglass as she sprays on and then rubs in the sugar water chalk solution she's tailored over the years. She senses Marty's presence rather than sees him; by the time he's there, Payson is already positioned between the uprights, awaiting the start buzzer. Her last conscious thought is to punch away the fear of falling that tries to catch at her heels as she jumps into the first move.

When she watches the routine back, Payson will have no direct memory of being that girl on the screen, not even of taking the large side step to secure the dismount. As she and Sasha will spend a lot of time discussing, what she experienced wasn't so much focusing on the moment as mentally disconnecting from it, and finding a balance between the two will be their goal in the run up to London.

But such introspection is not possible until much later.

"How bad is she?" Payson asks over Marty's shoulder as he embraces her.

"It's a good thing you made her get those crutches," Marty says, briefly gripping the back of Payson's neck as they jog over to where Kelly is sitting twisted sideways in a chair so her leg can rest on the adjacent two seats.

"Well?" Payson, breathless, drops into the chair next to her friend. Kelly doesn't answer, just nods at the main screen. For the first time in the competition, Payson allows herself to look at the leaderboard.

1. KIRILENKO, I. (RUS) 15.300

2. HUGHES, P. (GBR) 15.250

3. PARKER, K. (USA) 15.125

4. GENGHI, C. (CHI) 15.075

"Poppy Hughes?" Payson whispers, impressed but surprised to see a Brit in the medal positions.

"Better get MJ to check what they're putting in her tea," Kelly murmurs back.

There's a flurry of movement over at the judge's table. Payson rests a hand on Kelly's shoulder and Kelly reaches back to grab it. Both of them stare determinedly at the scoreboard, waiting. There's a flicker as the digital numbers and letters start to rearrange. Payson feels her breath still as, after rapid flashes of yellow, the final result becomes legible.

1. KIRILENKO, I. (RUS) 15.300

2. HUGHES, P. (GBR) 15.250

3. PARKER, K. (USA) 15.125

3. KEELER, P. (USA) 15.125

4. GENGHI, C. (CHI) 15.075

"Oh my god!" Payson squeals, as Kelly screeches, "no freaking way!"

Payson throws her arms round Kelly, pulling her back against her chest. Kelly, pliant and busy laughing "you're such a copycat, Keeler!" smacks a loud kiss to Payson's cheek.

In a mishmash of gleeful laughs, Payson helps Kelly to stand, where upon each girl is promptly swept up in a one armed hug by Marty.

"Well done you guys!" A delighted British voice singsongs beside them and Payson disentangles from her teammate and coach to turn and offer her own congratulations to a half sobbing Poppy Hughes.

"You were awesome!" Payson enthuses, sincere because though she may not have seen the routine, the score tells its own story.

"I can't believe any of this is actually happening!" Poppy clutches her hands together at her chest by way of securing the Union Jack flag draped round her shoulders.

"I know what you mean!" Payson agrees, just as a scrum of photographers converge on the silver and bronze medallists, demanding some group photos. A Stars and Stripes appears from somewhere and Payson finds herself sandwiched between Poppy and Kelly who, beaming from ear to ear, has been scooped up in Marty arms.

"Kerri who?!" Kelly leans down so only Payson can hear, and their shared laughter as they unfurl the flag and hang it between them resonates through every camera flash.

A few feet to the left, Ivanka, the gold medalist, has deliberately remained apart, sharing her photos with the Russian flag and no one else; even after she has won, the Russian will not let her carefully cultivated reputation of aloof independence falter. Payson catches her eye and winks. She is met by a rare nod of respect from Ivanka.

Either there are more people milling around than after the vault final, or the crowd is louder, or maybe it's fatigue catching up with her, but Payson starts to feel a little hazy, and she's relieved that she can simply follow Kelly's lead, suiting up in the national team uniform before leaving the arena to make the medal ceremony re-entry.

Marty's arms are full carrying Kelly - and trying not to jolt her because pain is creeping back into her expression - so Payson shoulders both backpacks and trots after them, pausing only for a quick sweep of the stand she knows her mom is in. As they were this morning, her mom, Darby, Hayley, Lauren, and Kaylie are cheering wildly. Added to their number is Beth, jumping up and down enough to have the gold medal she's wearing swinging back and forth.

"How do you want to play this?" Marty asks when they've reached the seclusion of the outer corridor, standing as far to the side as he can to avoid anyone jostling Kelly's ankle.

"Payson's volunteered to give me a piggyback." Kelly tries to sound blithe but a quickly stifled groan ruins the effect as Marty follows her non-verbal instruction to put her down.

"And the serious answer?" Payson slips an arm around Kelly's waist, taking the bulk of Kelly's weight as her friend balances on one foot.

"Crutches." Kelly looks at Marty who nods in understanding and jogs away to fetch the supports.

"They better have two bronze medals prepared because i'm not sharing," Kelly mumbles, leaning her head against Payson's shoulder.

"How about I go get the medals, you two wait back here?" Austin, newly won floor gold medal round his neck, eases Payson aside and slips his arm around Kelly's waist to take her weight.

"Keeler, what is he doing here?" Kelly groans. Despite her tone, she accepts Austin's assistance and leans into him.

"I thought we decided you weren't in the pommel final," Payson quips, referencing the final that will take place after the bars medal ceremony, and whose participants are filtering into the ready room further down the corridor.

"I'm not, but I was watching you guys in the physio room and, hey, I can't resist a damsel in distress. Ow!"

"Parker, hitting people is not a good way to show gratitude," Payson advises her friend.

There's more jostling in the corridor. One of the equipment officials runs past, hand pressed to his ear piece. Payson only catches the words "...malfunction in the…"

"Do you think he was talking about the rostrum?" Payson, after glancing up and down the corridor for more clues, addresses Austin.

"No idea," Austin says.

"Maybe you should sit down. We may have to wait a while." Payson turns back to talk to Kelly and suddenly her worries have nothing to do with how long they'll have to wait to get their bronzes.

Kelly is sagging against Austin, pallor ashen, and eyes tight shut with obvious pain.

"Seriously, Parker. Sit down." Payson steps to the other side of her friend, exchanging concerned looks with Austin.

"If I sit down," Kelly says, voice shaking, "I'm not getting up again."

"Kelly," Payson warns. "What aren't you telling me?"

Kelly swallows, and opens one eye to look at Payson. "On the dismount, I may have felt something in my ankle crack."

"For god's sake, Parker!" Payson exclaims, as Austin immediately scoops Kelly up into his arms and starts toward the medical room. "Why the hell didn't you say anything?!"

"It wasn't hurting anymore than usual and I figured I could do the ceremony and get it looked at after," Kelly argues, using all her remaining strength to hold her leg as still as possible as Austin carries her. "Only it kind of hurts a bit more now."

"Yeah, that's called adrenaline wearing off. Excuse me, we need to get through!" Payson turns her anger on the people blocking their path down the corridor.

"What's going on?" Marty, crutches in one hand, a couple of protein pouches in the other, shoves his way through to them just as they reach the doctor's room.

"Ask Ms Too Proud To Say She Thinks She Broke Her Ankle," Austin retorts, kicking the door open and placing Kelly very carefully on one of the empty examination beds.

"You are such a drama queen, Tucker." Kelly muffles a groan as she tries to sit up and fails.

"And you're too stubborn for your own good," Austin fires back, tone much more angry than the fingers he rests on Kelly's forehead to keep her from trying to move again.

Marty props the crutches against the wall and runs out the room, calling, "I'll get Jake" over his shoulder.

Payson, standing on the other side of the bed to Austin, grips Kelly's hand. Kelly looks up at her.

"I wanted to get my medal," Kelly whispers, suddenly sounding very young.

"You're still going to get your medal," Payson promises, fighting hard to keep her lip from trembling.

Kelly's eyes stay on Payson. They're full of tears.

"Okay, what have we got here?" The on site doctor bustles over. "I'm Doctor Silva," she says, automatically slipping off her stethoscope to check Kelly's heart rate, "and by the amount of tape you've got on it, i'm guessing the problem is with your ankle."

"She's got existing stress fractures," Payson says, working to keep herself composed. "Our coach has just gone to get the team doctor - he's got all her records."

Doctor Silva deftly eases away the bandages and does a cursory examination. Kelly flinches at every careful touch. Payson clasps her friend's hand tight in both of her own.

"We'll need some x-rays," Doctor Silva says, "which means hospital…"

"Not yet," Kelly hisses, and Austin lays a gentle palm on her shoulder to keep her laying down.

Doctor Silva smiles wearily. "Don't worry. I have dealt with enough gymnasts to know not to waste my breath trying to convince you to go straight to hospital when there is a medal to collect."

A touch of relief filters across Kelly's face.

"So painkillers and a splint it is. And you," she turns to Austin, "are you a safe pair of hands?"

"No," Kelly frowns. "No, no, no. It's already decided; Payson's going to give me a piggy back."

"I am not giving you a piggy back," Payson says, her laughter a little hysterical.

"Doctor Silva, you have my word I won't drop her." Austin ignores Kelly and turns his highest level of charm on the medical practitioner.

As Doctor Silva prepares an injection of pain relief, Kelly continues to mutter about "useless best friends who muscle in on the medal rostrum" and "ego maniacs who want to steal my thunder", but, belying her words, she holds tight to Payson's hand and lets her eyes fall shut when Austin strokes her arm.


"And don't try and be funny by pretending to drop me." Kelly adds another order to the ten or so she has issued in past fifteen minutes.

"You don't want to make the ESPN blooper reel?

"Shut up, Keeler. You're supposed to be on my side."

"I am literally on your side, Parker." Payson gestures to their current position.

The women's vault medal procession has gathered behind the entrance archway, in the shadowed area under the stand. They're twenty minutes later than timetabled, but since there has been a malfunction with the pommel horse, the pressure of moving on to the next part of scheduled events is eased.

The painkillers have taken effect, Kelly's ankle has been strapped, and she is held tight in Austin's arms, her splinted leg sticking out at a strange angle. Payson is standing next to Kelly.

"Put this away," Kelly orders, not waiting for Austin's permission before she unzips the top of his jacket, and tucks his gold medal out of sight.

Austin smirks. "I know, I know, don't be a thunder stealer."

The three of them are at the back of the line, behind Ivanka. Her disdainful Russian accent audibly scoffs, "Americans."

"Excuse me?" Kelly darts a hand forward to tap Ivanka on the shoulder.

"Da?" Ivanka deigns to turn her head a fraction so she can see the bronze medalists out the corner of her eye.

"If you've got something to say, you can say it to our faces."

"I say, Ameri-cans." Ivanka's lips curl in contempt. "Always making trouble. Thinking they better than rest."

"We are better!"

"Who win gold?" Ivanka queries innocently.

"She's just winding you up," Payson interrupts as Kelly bristles with fury. "Don't rise to it."

Ivanka gives Payson a cool nod. "She smart one."

Luckily, the procession starts to move before Kelly can voice her outrage.

As they file out under the entrance arch, the filler music in the arena shifts to the orchestral piece used to accompany all the medal ceremonies.

Payson can't be sure, but it looks like there are more camera flashes than during the previous ceremonies. It would make sense, she and Kelly winning a joint bronze and Kelly being carried out by the men's all around champion would certainly count as a good photo op.

As Payson walks just ahead of Kelly and Austin, following the route set by Ivanka and the silver medalist Poppy Hughes, her excitement - which was displaced by anxiety for Kelly - returns. A silver and a bronze in one day. Twice the American flag has been flying because of her achievements. She may not have won either event but, as she and Sasha agreed, this championship is about hitting, not winning, and she has hit today.

They approach the medal rostrum in the order of silver, gold, and bronze, so there is no confusion over which step they need to stand behind.

"You have reached your destination," Austin impersonates a satnav voice and Payson laughs, as much at Kelly's feigned eyeroll as the joke.

The music lowers in volume as the medal presenters are introduced to the crowd.

"Just so you know, Keeler, they announce your name first and i'll shave your eyebrows off in your sleep," Kelly says through her trademark media darling smile.

"Can you believe she was never voted Miss Congeniality at gymnastics camp?" Payson deadpans to Austin.

"Bronze Medalist, representing the United States of America…"

"Here we go," Austin murmurs, as Payson stands up straight.

"...Payson Keeler!"

Payson gifts Kelly a triumphant grin just before she steps up onto the rostrum and waves to the cheering crowd. Mini American flags are fluttering amidst the sea of colour. Payson tries to take a hundred mental pictures before bowing a little so the official can slip the medal ribbon over her head.

"Bronze medalist, representing the United States of America…Kelly Parker!"

One advantage of coming third is that the bronze medal podium step is a lot lower than silver or gold, so Austin is able to place Kelly on her good foot easily and hold her until Payson has slung an arm round her waist to take over support.

"Don't worry, I'm not a thunder stealer." Austin winks, then kisses first Payson's cheek and then Kelly's. "This is your moment." He jogs off after a salute of acknowledgement to the charmed crowd.

"Enjoy your remaining time with you eyebrows, Keeler," Kelly whispers, giving Payson's bronze medal a quick poke.

The dignitary returns with the second medal and, with Payson's assistance, Kelly shakes his hand and ducks her head. Together, matching bronze medals a contrast to their white jackets, they wave to the crowd with the hand not anchored round the other's waist.

The flower bouquets come next, and then the attention moves to Poppy Hughes, who upon hearing her name announced, starts to cry again. The Union Jack is still draped round her shoulders.

Payson suddenly realises she has no hands free to applaud, so hopes the quick "whoop" she gives as Poppy receives the medal, suffices. It doesn't seem an appropriate display of respect for Ivanka though so, when it's the gold medalists turn, Payson gives her flowers to Kelly to hold so she can slap her palm against her leg as a clapping alternative. Since Kelly has no intention of clapping the Russian, she doesn't object to holding the extra bouquet.

It takes a bit of maneuvering, since Kelly is able to put no weight at all on her bad leg, but the pair manage to pivot to face the flags for the anthems. There is no way she can make it up to the gold medal step for the usual photo of the medalists grouped together, though.

When the event's media rep indicates they should take the photo standing on the floor instead, Ivanka, having to jump down from the top step far sooner than she would have liked, again mutters, "Americans."

Luckily, Kelly is too preoccupied in getting down from the bronze section of the rostrum to hear, and Payson finds the sotte voce more amusing than infuriating.

"Did you ladies order a cab?" Austin asks, jogging back onto the floor once it's clear all the photos are done.

"You know, Tucker, after all these years, I think I may have found a use for you," Kelly says, slipping her arms round Austin's neck as he picks her up.

"Whatever painkillers she's on, order more," Austin tells Payson with exaggerated enthusiasm. Kelly gives him a sharp tap on the head with her flower bouquet.

"Come on cab driver, let's go," Payson instructs, giving Austin a little nudge.

Though she'd love for them to join in the lap of honour Ivanka and Poppy are just starting, it's more important to get Kelly to a hospital.


As the elevator doors swish closed, Payson sags against the handrail, ears throbbing. She can sense Beth hovering beside her and is glad when the younger girl doesn't say anything, just pushes the button for the thirteenth floor.

Media took longer than usual, the questions yelled at her by the paparazzi outside the hotel were louder and more pressing, and Payson needs a moment to compose herself before facing what she's certain will be a manic Sasha.

The elevator halts its trajectory and issues its welcoming 'ding'. Payson takes a deep breath as the door open.

The corridor is empty, the only sign of inhabitants Sasha's propped open hotel room door.

"Where'd everybody go?" Beth queries, nervously fidgeting with her gold medal as she follows after Payson.

Payson doesn't answer. Worried adrenaline is coursing through her again. She'd expected Sasha to be waiting for her, desperate for information and frustrated that he hadn't been at the arena to help.

No noise emanates from any of the rooms. Payson finds she is on tiptoes as she reaches Sasha's open door and peers round the frame.

"Hello?" she ventures.

Sasha is sitting down, attention on the cell phone in his hand until he registers her greeting. He puts the phone on the desk and levers out of the chair. "Come here," he says as he crosses the room.

Surprised and profoundly relieved by his calm demeanour, Payson folds into Sasha's outstretched arms. She's shivering and is comforted when he holds her tighter.

"Hey there, Champ," Sasha says over the top of her head, twisting them round so he can face the doorway directly. "Come on in."

Beth shuffles into the room. She's swaying from side to side in a way that reminds Payson of the morning Drea's drug test result came through. She reaches out a hand and Beth latches on.

"Shall I tell you what I already know and you can fill in any blanks?" Sasha asks, and Payson silently nods, breathing in the scent of his cologne.

"Kelly went to the hospital with Marty and Jake. MJ and your mum are on their way there. The on site Doctor suspects the stress fractures have worsened but they can't say anything for sure until they've done x-rays. MJ will call me as soon as she hears anything."

Payson studies each piece of information. "Think that covers it. Beth?"

Beth, gently swinging Payson's hand, closes one eye as she thinks. "Other than Austin secretly wanting to move to Denver and train with us? Nope."

Payson's eyebrows shoot up. "How did you know that?"

Beth shrugs. "When we were lining up for the medal thingy he was asking whether Sasha and us would be training at the Rock, and you told him no, and he was really disappointed."

"Wait, Austin doesn't want to stay at the Rock?" Sasha frowns.

"That's the impression I got, but the bit about training with us is all Beth," Payson says, uncurling from Sasha's embrace so she can shut the door. The others could be back any minute.

"He was upset yesterday because he thinks he didn't do as well as he should in the all around and only won gold because his main competition were ill or injured," Beth continues. "And Sasha was a really similar gymnast to him so it would be make sense that training with Sasha would teach him more than he could learn from Marty."

Payson exchanges an incredulous look with Sasha. Beth smiles proudly.

"Anyone else you lot have recruited?" Sasha asks, moving across the room to fetch his beeping phone.

"Not yet," Beth says, holding her gold medal like it's an ocarina.

"That from Mom or MJ?" Payson asks as Sasha looks at his cell.

"No, it's from Hayley," Sasha says. "Beth?"

"Yup?"

"Hayley wants to know if you'd like to watch some movies with her tonight?"

Payson covers her smile as Beth answers with an enthusiastic "yes, please!" She suspects Sasha contacted Hayley while they were still at the arena to make sure there was someone to keep an eye on Beth tonight.

Sasha's phone beeps again. "Brilliant. She says she'll be back in about an hour."

"I better go shower!" Beth sprints from the room, gold medal and rucksack bouncing.

When the door falls shut again, Payson, temporarily bolstered by Beth's enthusiasm, feels her exhaustion return. She drops down onto Sasha's bed.

"Do you need physio tonight?" Sasha sits beside her, taking her hands in his.

Payson shakes her head, eyes closed. "I had a good session before we did media."

"So you need to shower and you need to eat."

"But those things involve moving," Payson grumbles, slumping against Sasha's shoulder.

"Room service?" Sasha suggests, keeping hold of Payson's hand as he stands up, giving it a little tug to encourage her to join him.

Reluctantly, Payson pushes to her feet. She feels dopey and close to tears, and is annoyed at herself for feeling either. Kelly's in the hospital. She needs to be strong.

"Why don't you give me your key and i'll go get you some clothes while you have a shower, and then we'll order room service?"

Sasha brings her hands up to his lips as he peers down at her, and how is she supposed to resist those green eyes?

"Good plan," she murmurs, pushing up to kiss him.


Sasha pushes the door shut behind him, feeling like an intruder. Payson and Kelly's absence makes the room seem cold, despite the early evening sunlight creeping past the half-closed curtains. It's wrong that this room is empty at the very time it should be ringing with excitement at their joint achievement.

Sasha's hands try again to coil into fists. It took a hell of a fight with his own demons to stay calm when Payson and Beth returned to the hotel. He'd paced the corridor for twenty minutes, glaring at the elevator display, wanting to get to Payson as soon as he possibly could. Then he realised how selfish that was, to make her deal with his manic guilt. So he'd forced himself back to his room and spent a very long hour and a half making do with texted updates from MJ.

Watching today's competition was one of the hardest things he's ever had to do. Through a TV screen he witnessed every situation he should have seen with his own eyes. He was supposed to be there; it was his job to be there. And yet he had sat in a hotel room miles away and watched as Beth experienced a near breakdown when faced with a medal ceremony he should have been there to talk her through; as Kelly had deliberately masked her pain, a pain he would have specifically looked for, knowing the condition of her ankle; as Payson had shouldered the burden of looking after her teammates, a burden that should have been his.

His breath is coming in short spurts again. Sasha gives himself five seconds to unclench his throat and refocus on why he's here. Clothes. Clothes for Payson.

Clothes for Kelly wouldn't be an issue, seeing as they're scattered all over the room, but finding Payson's involves opening and checking drawers. He's not surprised to find Payson's possessions grouped in logical collections, t shirts and vest tops, trousers and shorts, bras and… Oh.

Fetching her clothes means fetching her underwear, you idiot, Sasha scolds himself for not realising that before, and for reacting like a teenager to the sight of his girlfriend's knickers.

"Immature dickhead," Sasha mutters at himself, grabbing a pair of black panties and a matching bra and slamming the drawer shut.

He selects a pair of shorts and a long sleeved t-shirt that looks comfy, then stares at the dresser top, which seems to be displaying every cosmetic product ever made. He picks up a roll-on he assumes is deoderant and squints at the label.

"'It Stays! Roll on body adhesive'," he reads aloud. Right, the infamous butt glue.

He tries again, this time finding the deoderant. He also manages to identify what he thinks is the stuff Payson sprayed on her hair last night and locate the weird plastic brush. He thinks about taking her some flip flops but instead selects what look like the oldest - and so comfiest - sneakers from the bottom of the wardrobe and tops his pile of items with a fresh pair of socks.

Giving the room a last once over, Sasha sees Kelly's grey bear sitting on the nightstand. There are two bronze medals and a silver next to it, ribbons looped carefully over the teddy.


"Hang on, MJ, I'm gonna put you on speaker. Payson!"

Payson jogs out the bathroom, fresh clothes on and hair partly blow dried. Sasha is holding his cell so she can hear MJ's slightly echoey voice too.

"You both there?"

"Yup, go ahead," Sasha confirms.

"It's a bad news good news situation," MJ's voice explains. "Bad news is she needs surgery, good news is that she doesn't need it immediately."

"Meaning we can get her back to the States to see a specialist?" Sasha asks.

"Exactly. They're going to set the leg in a temporary cast and she can fly home as scheduled on Monday. Jake's already spoken to her consultant in Denver and he can assess her Tuesday."

"Does she have to stay at the hospital tonight?" Payson asks.

"No. She's getting the cast done now and then we can bring her back to the hotel."

"That's great," Payson sighs, relieved.

"Yes it is. Hang on a second. What's that, Kim?" MJ's voice is fainter for a moment and then comes back to full volume. "Payson, your mum wants to know if you've eaten."

Payson rolls her eyes and spears a forkful of rice from the plate of room service delivered twenty minutes ago. "I'm eating right now. Tell Mom it's yummy."

"I'll do my best to relay the brevity of that message." Poor cell reception does nothing to tarnish MJ's sarcasm. "Sasha? You still there?"

"Hanging on you every word."

"As it should always be. What time's your flight tomorrow?"

Sasha's face hardens. Payson, eating the last few bites of her meal, tries to swallow quickly so she can ask what's wrong.

"Payson, please tell him that leaving as scheduled tomorrow does not mean he is shirking his responsibilities."

There's an awkward silence. Sasha turns to face the window, arms crossed so tight his shoulders are straining the back of his t shirt.

"Will do," Payson says, voice a little shaky. She had entirely forgotten that Sasha is leaving in the morning.

"I'll speak to you both later." MJ rings off without waiting for a reply.

Payson watches the cell shift back to its home screen, is still watching as the backlight fades and finally disappears to black. She realises she's still got the empty fork in her hand. She misjudges the distance to the plate and the silver clangs as it lands on the china. Sasha doesn't flinch at the sudden sound.

"You need to go." Payson speaks without thinking the words through. "Sorry, I meant…"

"I know what you meant." Sasha remains at the window. Carefully, Payson steps round the bed to stand beside him.

As usual, Rio is fighting the night. Ribbons of luminescence edge the darkened bay, a constant flow of vehicles. Even sequences of yellow box lights shine from the charcoal structures of the business district. Up in the hills, the favelas are glowing dimly, no specific light sources are visible, just an underlying hum of green and gold.

"I feel like i'm abandoning you. All of you." Sasha's unblinking eyes are trained on the view but Payson knows he's not seeing it.

"You're not," she murmurs, and even to her own ears the reassurance sounds hollow.

Sasha's arms are still folded taut. Payson doesn't know if she should touch him.

"We need you...I need you, to get better." She watches Sasha's profile. His eye is reflecting light.

"I shouldn't have let it get to this point." The confession is soft.

The cuffs of Payson's long sleeves hang over her fingers. Her nails pick at the already frayed material.

"You told me the other night that we don't deal in 'could haves'. I don't think it helps us to deal in 'should haves', either."

To the extreme left of their view, a firework sails into the black. Shards of red explode and fade.

"You're right, I know you're right." With obvious effort, Sasha huffs out a shallow breath, and manages to drop his shoulders. He looks at Payson's reflection, then turns his head to look down at her directly.

Balancing on tiptoes, the kiss Payson presses to Sasha's forehead is delicate but powerful. Seconds pass. They watch each other, lips millimeters apart. Sasha's hands cup the back of Payson's thighs, fingers creeping beneath the hem of her shorts. She's strong enough that he barely has to lift. Her legs go round his waist, arms round his neck, holding her own weight so it doesn't rest on his ribs.

Still, they wait, tension making them both shiver.

"Sasha," Payson murmurs, eyes closing as her nose brushes his, as she pulls her legs tighter, her arms tighter, until she's cinched around his body.

Sasha's heart is hammering, Payson can feel it pressing against her chest. Her own pulse is throbbing in her throat. She almost moans when his hands clench, when his fingers press deep into her skin.

"We…" Her breathing is shallow, gets shallower when Sasha opens his lips against her throat.

"...Can't. I know." His voice scratches along her skin.

Payson feels his deep sigh all the way through her, feels some of their joint urgency ease. She dips her head, guides him up to look at her. There's no embarrassment, no disappointment, as they once again stare at each other, foreheads rested together.

Nose wrinkling as she smiles, Payson pecks a tiny kiss to Sasha's top lip. "Just so you know, Belov. I was going to say 'we can't right now'. When you're back to full fitness and I don't have a competition however…" she deliberately trails off, shucks her eyebrows, and pecks another kiss.

The tenderness with which Sasha nips and tugs at Payson's bottom lip is incongruous to his almost feral growl. As Payson turns it into a deep kiss, she unlocks her ankles from his lower back and slowly lets her legs slide down his body until she is once again standing.

By silent agreement, they let the kiss dwindle. Not willing to cede all contact, Payson threads their fingers together, chuckling when her long sleeve bunches up against his cast.

"Do you know what we need to do right now?" Payson says, her deliberately provocative phrasing darkening Sasha's eyes. She answers her own question just as his lips touch her neck. "Make a to-do list."

There is nothing desirous about Sasha's groan this time. He leans his face into her shoulder. "We do?" The question is muffled by fabric.

"We do," Payson affirms, pushing gently at Sasha's shoulders to lift him away. "Because there's a ton of stuff that needs sorting." She doesn't add that if they don't keep busy over the next few hours she's going to experience some kind of overload, but her face must give her away because Sasha's brow furrows.

He tightens his grip on her hands. He's about to hug her, try and comfort her, but suddenly Payson can't handle his touch. Again, Sasha must read her face because, with a quick squeeze, he releases her fingers and purposefully steps away.

"How about we start with the stuff i've already sorted?" His voice is neutral, businesslike, and, if not for the slight shudder in his jaw, Payson would think this was just a normal day.

"Sounds good," Payson replies, forcing herself to play the same role he is. They can do this.

"Since Tanner made it plain yesterday that my home could soon end up in a police compound, I called a mate this morning. He's going to pick up the truck and the airstream and drive them to the trailer park. My old pitch is still vacant. Which, not exactly shocking considering Tyler's unneighbourly habits."

"Does he have keys? Your friend, not Tyler, I mean." Payson sits on the edge of the bed she suddenly realises she's going to miss.

"There's a spare set in the office, told Rick to go in and ask for them. And I emailed the office; they're expecting him."

Sasha crouches in front of his nightstand, roots around the top drawer and drags out a set of keys. "These are for you," he says, concentrating on working two keys off the metal ring.

"Me?" Payson frowns as Sasha places the keys in her palm and closes her fingers over them.

"The truck is yours to use whenever you like, insurance is covered. Don't worry about the Airstream but have the key just in case." Sasha gives her hand a squeeze and then he's back to rifling through the drawer.

"Oh. Ok." Payson feels the metal ridges pressing into her skin. She can drive and has her license, but she's never had a car she could use without having to ask her mom first.

"And Reece went to the bureau de change for me this morning." Pushing the drawer shut, Sasha sits back, withdrawing some bills from his open wallet.

"Sasha…" Payson swallows. She may have earned a two hundred and fifty thousand dollar bonus from a sponsor this week, but, again, the only cash she's ever held has been given to her by her parents.

"This should get you a few tanks of petrol and cover everything Phoebe needs while I'm away." Sasha looks as uncomfortable as Payson feels.

Reluctantly, Payson takes the cash, embarrassed and not entirely sure why. She estimates how much it is in her hand. "Sasha, if I fed Phoebe caviar every night I wouldn't need this much."

Sasha coughs and refolds the wallet. "I didn't leave much gas in the tank. Use if for that."

"But…"

"Please, Payson." Sasha's voice is suddenly loud and both of them flinch. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, hunching forward, elbow on knees.

"It's okay," Payson says. She's got keys in one hand and cash in the other. "It makes sense, I know, it just feels weird taking this from you."

Sasha scrubs his head with both hands and releases a deep sigh. "While we're on the subject of necessary but weird, I have to hand in my mobile when I...when I check myself in, but there are pay phones I can use at certain times and…" he stops when Payson stands up.

"Carry on," Payson urges, "I'm just putting these somewhere safe. Can you email?"

"I think so. I'll let know everything when I get there."

Tucking the keys and cash in an inside pocket of her backpack, Payson issues what she hopes is a supportive smile.

"I've told MJ that any deals have to be okayed by you and Kelly." Sasha stands, slips his hands in his pockets and begins pacing. "Obviously you can't sign anything until you're 18 but since that's in a few weeks there shouldn't be a problem."

"What is it?" Payson looks up from zipping her bag shut when Sasha goes quiet.

He's standing over her, guilt again marring his face. "I'll miss your birthday."

Payson pushes to her feet and lays a palm against his stubble covered cheek. "We can celebrate when you get home."

"Might actually be a good thing," Sasha sighs. "Don't think you dad's going to be setting me a place at the table."

"Maybe next year?" Payson tries to joke.

Sasha, hands still in his pocket, rocks on his heels. "When are you going to tell him?"

"No idea," Payson admits, turning attention back to her bag to give herself something to distract from the sudden nausea. "I guess me and Mom will talk about it." She starts stuffing her competition clothes in without bothering to fold them as she usually would.

"Don't forget this."

Payson looks up and sees her new bronze medal dangling from Sasha's fingers.

"Do you think they always have spares?" Payson blinks away sudden tears and digs in her bag for the small presentation box.

"They should just ask you if you've got one in stock," Sasha smiles, when the first box she opens is already occupied by her vault silver. "Four world championship medals. Has it sunk in yet?"

"Hadn't even thought of it like that," Payson admits. She repacks her silver and pulls out the other box, unlooping the ribbon from Sasha and pressing the disc into the molded velvet. "So what time is your flight tomorrow?"

"I have to leave here about six am."

Payson nods, ignoring the sudden lump in her throat. Such an early start means they'll have to say goodbye tonight.

"Do you want to talk about the finals?" Sasha asks.

Payson sits back on her heels, thinking. Outside, another firework explodes. A half smile pulls at her cheek. "I've got a better idea."


"I thought going for a moonlight walk on the beach would involve more walking," Payson muses. "And more moonlight." She squints at the gloomy sky.

"There's a shooting star. That not romantic enough for you?"

"That's a plane, Belov."

"Is it?" Sasha laughs as Payson gives him a look of fond exasperation. "At least there's beach," he offers, with a conciliatory kiss to her ear.

"And sea." Payson deliberately pauses. "Just a toe," she pleads, giving Sasha her best pout.

"No," Sasha ignores the lip, or at least he tries to. "You are not going anywhere that water."

"It's a private beach, it's clean," Payson argues, gesturing to the litter free sand around them.

"I'm not worried about what's on the beach, i'm worried about what's in that water."

"I wasn't planning on drinking it."

"Fine, go wade in sewage," Sasha invites, gesturing toward the oil black surf gently oozing over the sand a distance away.

"Sewage, Belov? Really romantic." Payson deadpans.

"Are you not happy where we are?" Sasha asks, nuzzling Payson's neck.

She tries to remain aloof but her giddy smile betrays her. "I'm totally happy with where we are," she admits, twisting her head so she can meet Sassa's kiss. "Though

you do realise if someone gets a photo of us like this, MJ may kill us both."

"She's all talk," Sasha scoffs. Payson draws back to stare at him. "Okay," he concedes, "she'll kill us both. But I think we picked a safe spot."

The cove sits at the far end of the hotel's private section of beach, a natural recess in the sheer twenty foot rock face. They'd found a set of steep steps at the back of the hotel, which allowed them to bypass the set leading down from the swimming pools, where a large band of revellers has gathered to take advantage of a Saturday night happy hour.

Not that either are dressed in a way to make them particularly recognisable. Payson's grey shorts and raglan shirt have no team USA emblems on them, and Sasha, long baggy shorts and grey hoodie, would probably not have been spotted even if he had worn his team uniform; his shaved head and damaged face are too much of a contrast to the appearance most people would associate him with.

They're at the base of the cliff, where shadow hides them from the light residue spilling from the buildings above. Sasha has one leg stretched out, one crooked at the knee. Payson is sitting in the space between, knees to her chest with Sasha's arm looped around her middle.

The tide is out and, though it's cloudy, the air is warm. Still, Payson snuggles back against Sasha's body, and he props his head on her shoulder so they're as close as possible.

"I was just thinking, Belov. There's still a lot I don't know about you," Payson says, Sasha's stubble tickling her cheek.

"You know how I take my coffee, you know the passcode on my phone, and you know how I feel about American bacon." Sasha shrugs his mouth. "What else is there to know?"

"I still don't understand how someone can feel so strongly about bacon."

"Says someone who's never tasted real bacon."

Payson twists so she can press her forehead against Sasha's. "Enough about bacon." She gives him an exaggerated scowl. "I meant stuff like, what's your favourite movie, what was your first car, your favourite song."

"Okay," Sasha gives her a quick kiss and Payson settles back into his embrace. "Favourite film? Unforgiven. I nearly wore out the video when I was a kid. You?"

"Lilo and Stitch," Payson says, hitting Sasha with a preemptive 'do not make fun' look.

"That's a cartoon, right?"

"Animation," Payson corrects. "First car?"

Sasha thinks for a moment. "My dad kept an old Dacia in the car park at the gym. Any gymnast could use it, as long as they returned it with a full tank of petrol. I used it sometimes to drive home when dad was working late."

Payson frowns, doing some quick calculations. "I didn't think you trained in Romania after '98?"

"I didn't."

"So how old were you when you were driving?"

"13." He laughs at Payson's incredulous look. "I was tall; I never got stopped. Even if I had, dad knew the local police. The country was four years out of communism but bribaby was still the best currency back then."

Tiny granite islands rise up out of the ink-black ocean. A gloomy green halo etches some of the thinner clouds. Payson shrinks back, a little unnerved by the eerie colours, and Sasha's description of a country and a political climate of which she has no experience, that passed into history before she was born. Sasha holds her closer.

"Favourite song?" she asks, wanting to ask more about Romania but realising this is not the night for such reminiscence.

"You first."

"Welcome to the Black Parade by My Chemical Romance," Payson answers immediately.

"Really?"

"Don't sound so stunned."

"Not stunned, just a little surprised." Sasha pauses, fighting a smile. "Never would have taken you for a goth."

"Alright, Belov," Payson glares. "What's yours, then?"

"Can you inherit a favourite song?" Sasha's tone is suddenly pensive and Payson decides against teasing him.

"Depends on who you inherited it from."

"Mum."

There's a slight break in Sasha's voice. Payson twists so she's sitting sideways, shoulder against his chest, and stretches her legs out under his crooked knee. She threads her fingers through his.

"Then yes, you can definitely inherit a favourite song. Now spill."

"I warn you now, it's the most eighties song you've ever heard. I'm talking full on electro pop." Sasha withdraws the arm he still has around Payson's waist so he can retrieve his phone. They both squint at the backlight.

"No matter what mood my mum was in, what the situation, this song always made her smile. And sing very loudly. Especially if it came on the radio when she was driving me and a couple of my teammates to training." He's trying to downplay how much the memory means to him, but his hand is shaking as he cues up the song.

From the phone's tiny speaker comes what sound like autotuned panpipes.

"Wow," Payson says, fighting a smile as an electric guitar and a synthesizer add to the tune. "This is…" She can't think of an adjective that won't be an insult to his mother's taste in music.

"An assault on the ears, I know. Just wait until the drum beat kicks in."

Sasha pushes the volume up to maximum. Sure enough, a drum beat arrives in a surge of tempo.

"You know what the worst part is about this song?" Sasha says, when the song has gone through a verse and a chorus.

"What?"

"It gets inside your brain and you don't even know it."

"Huh?" Payson glances at Sasha's knowing smile. It's only then that Payson realises she's swaying to the beat and humming the tune. "Oh my god," she exclaims, laughing incredulously. "And how do I know the words already?!" She slaps at Sasha's arm but he's too busy laughing at her expression.

"You've infected me with your favourite song, Belov!" Payson accuses, shifting round so she's kneeling between his legs, hands on his shoulders, glaring down at him.

Sasha catches her hips and there's tears in his eyes as he watches her smile. "You have no idea how much my mum would be laughing at us right now."

It's Payson's first experience of how close grief can be to joy. She's crying and she's laughing and she's singing along to a song that usually she would have switched off after the first five seconds, that now she clicks to repeat as the synthesized chords start to die away.

Sasha moves to stand as the intro blares for a second time. Payson helps him, phone now gripped in her hand.

Echoed strains of latin music roll down from the hotel, a Saturday night party just getting started, while the waves continue their eternal rush of water eroding stone.

Illuminated from below by the phone's backlight, Sasha's face is mostly shadow, but pinpricks of white reflect from his shining eyes. Behind him, the overcast sky blurs with the oil black ocean, creating an infinite horizon.

"I realise there's no moonlight, and no shooting stars," Sasha says, reaching a hand toward her, "and the sea could very well be full of sewage, and I can only sway from side to side, but, Payson Keeler, will you dance with me?"

Payson takes a second to memorise this moment, then laces her fingers through Sasha's and slips an arm round his waist.

"When you put it like that, Sasha Belov, how can I resist?"


A/N: The song is Together in Electric Dreams by Philip Oakey

So this is the penultimate chapter of At the Edge. It was always my intention for this story to go from World trials through to the end of the championship. It's taken a longer journey than I anticipated but we are nearly there!