CHAPTER FIFTY THREE

Payson wakes with no idea why. The room is dark; there's no bleeping alarm; there are no shaken limbs or shouted names. She's was asleep and now she's not.

5 and 18. The digital clock numbers take a moment to register meaning. Eighteen minutes after five in the morning. It's three hours before she needs to be conscious.

She blinks and then rubs her eyes. She was wrong. The room is not dark, not entirely. There is a thin streak of light haloing the curtains.

Kelly is an unmoving shadow. Jake gave her a sedative last night so she will be out for hours.

Mouth dusty, Payson drains the glass of water she always sets by her bed. Space on the nightstand is becoming sparse. Bear is half buried beneath medal ribbons. Hand too unsteady to guarantee she won't knock something off, Payson carries the glass with her to the bathroom, and sets it down beside the sink.

She pulls on the shaving light cord, squints at the harsh glare, has to keep her eyes narrow slits while she relieves herself and flushes the toilet.

A pale face peers back at her from the mirror. It looks exhausted. Payson grips the edge of the sink. The porcelain is cool against palms she didn't realise were hot. Her whole body is hot. Was that why she woke up? She turns on the tap, holds her hands beneath the streaming cold water, then her wrists.

The clock said 5:18. That means Sasha is still in his room, but it would do no good to go to him, their goodbyes were said last night. Payson grips the sink again, tries to still a sudden surge of fear. What if something happens? What if last night was the last time she ever sees him?

She's being ridiculous. The pale girl in the mirror glares at her.

Are you going to go running to your boyfriend because you had a nightmare? A voice in her mind demands.

A nightmare. That's why she woke up. Payson presses a fist against her mouth, frissons of terror threatening to drag a choking sob from her tight throat.

The content of the dream is blank. No images or sounds. But the fear, the white hot adrenaline of fear, remains.

She sits before her knees buckle, back sliding down the sink unit, legs folding up beneath her. She's shivering, her entire body humming with panic. In the absence of memories of the nightmare, her mind is conjuring associations.

Hurtling toward a mat neck first, reverberations shuttling down her spine on impact.

Squealing tyres, razor shards of flying glass reflecting blinding headlights.

Sasha's face, closed eyes and ripped skin, all coated in warm blood.

There's a strangled whimper Payson tries to force back inside. But when she has to breathe, it comes again, bringing tears with it. Her mind is relentless, picture after picture. She tips to the ground, curls on her side, silent sobs wracking her body.

"Keeler, you look like hell." Kelly, sitting upright in bed, leg resting on a mountain of pillows, frowns at Payson's reflection.

"Yup," Payson agrees with a sigh.

"Which is my way of asking...you know." Kelly flaps a hand in Payson's direction.

"If I'm ok?" Payson fills in the blank. "I'm fine, Parker. Just tired."

Kelly brightens up. "I've got lots of pills over here." She gestures at the nightstand. "I'm sure we kind find you something to wake you up." She frowns. "Then again, considering the reason your boy is on a plane right now, maybe we shouldn't push the pharmaceutical option".

Payson sweeps another sheen of lacquer over her bun. No braids or ribbons today. There's something comforting in the familiar taught scalp and neatly pinned hair.

Kelly, wrinkling her nose, says "would you like a hug? It's not something that would make me feel better but being the sentimental sap that you are I thought I'd offer."

With a slow smile, Payson looks over her shoulder. "You're all heart, Parker."

"Get your ass over here, Keeler, I haven't got all day." Kelly holds out both arms.

Payson feels like weights are strapped to her ankles as she moves from her stool to Kelly's bed.

They're at an awkward angle because of Kelly's bulky leg. Payson rests her head on her friend's shoulder. Kelly pats at Payson's back.

"Are you trying to swat a fly or something?"

"I'm comforting you," Kelly snaps, but switches to rubbing circles.

Payson's eyes start to drift shut. She hadn't managed any further sleep after crying herself into a headache on the bathroom floor.

"Keeler?"

"Mmmm?"

"Would it ruin the moment if I said I needed to pee?"

Payson smiles. "No, Parker."

"Keeler, I need to pee." Kelly shrugs Payson off her shoulder and swings her legs round. Payson has to move quickly to prevent getting kicked by the support boot.

Kelly uses her new underarm crutches to hop over to the bathroom. Payson returns to applying eye makeup. Or at least that's the plan. She's staring vacantly at the supplies on the dresser when Kelly stabs the bathroom door open.

"You have to pick it up," Kelly says, hopping over, as Payson flicks an eyeliner pencil and watches it roll across the wood grain.

"Is my base even?" Payson asks, looking up so Kelly can check for foundation lines.

Kelly studies her a moment, then, without warning, pinches Payson's face.

"Ow! What the hell was that for?"

"You needed some colour in your cheeks."

"Then tell me I need more blush," Payson says, flinching away when Kelly's pincer fingers reach out again.

"Trust me, blush isn't gonna cut it," Kelly says, arching an eyebrow at Payson's reflection.

"Thanks for the tip," Payson says, but her sarcastic rebuke is lost in the joint sounds of knocking at the door and a series of beeps from Kelly's phone.

"Morni...sweetie, are you ok? You look terrible," is Kim's greeting as Payson opens the door.

"I'm fine, Mom. Just tired," Payson says, as Kim bustles in, pulling her daughter into a concerned hug.

"Well, we need to get some protein in you, then," Kim says, palm to Payson's forehead.

"I don't have a fever." Payson sighs but allows her mother to fuss.

"Very glad to hear that, considering." MJ is concentrating on her cell screen as she enters the room.

"Considering what?" Payson asks, shutting the door and wearily walking back to the dresser. She swears this room got bigger over night.

"Considering the statement just released by the Russian team," MJ says. "It seems…"

"That total coward!" Kelly exclaims. She's perched on the edge of her bed, frantically reading her cell.

"It seems," MJ continues, as Kim fusses a furious Kelly into elevating her ankle, "that Miss Kirilenko has been struck down by a stomach virus and won't be competing today."

Payson blinks. "Is this a joke?"

"No joke, honey," Kim assures, slotting another pillow behind Kelly's back.

"Thanks, Mrs Keeler," Kelly mutters, still distracted by what Payson assumes is the official Russian statement cued up on her phone.

"Sorry, have to take this," MJ says when her cell starts to ring. "Yes, I've seen it…" Her voice fades as she heads out to the balcony.

"That calculating little bitch." Kelly finally looks up, scowling.

Payson frowns. "Ivanka's sick. She can't help that." There's as little sympathy in her mother's expression as there is in Kelly's. Payson's certainty falters. "Right?"

Kelly takes a deep breath. "Cho's favourite on beam. As much as I hate to give her credit, Lauren's not far behind. You own Ivanka's ass on floor. She quits now, she's three for three in gold medals. She competes today? No way she makes it five for five."

"But, that's not… I mean, how…" Payson struggles to comprehend the premise of Kelly's argument. "I don't understand."

"Every podium Ivanka's been on with you so far, she's been a step above. She's not going to sully that visual going into an Olympic year."

"That's insane."

"No, that's professional sport," Kim puts in. "I know, I know, it's not something you'd ever do," she continues, seeing the incredulity on Payson's face. "But it does seem very convenient considering the situation."

Alone, Payson would never have questioned Ivanka's motives. Does that make her naive? If she's one of the top gymnasts in the world, shouldn't she know how the game is played?

MJ comes in from the balcony and joins in the conversation Kelly and Kim are sharing. Payson should be part of that discussion, arguably should be leading it. Instead, she lets the voices fade into the haze of her mind and checks the tracking app on her phone. Sasha's delayed flight has just taken off.

Welcome back to the last day of competition here are the 2011 World Artistic Gymnastics Championships. And let us start by bringing you right up to date with some breaking news.

Tim, this competition has been dogged with unexpected events and it seems there is one final twist in the tail.

It certainly does, Elfie. In a statement released this morning, the Russian Federation has confirmed that Ivanka Kirilenko will not be participating in today's competition due to the effects of a nasty stomach bug. Ivanka was, of course, due to compete in both the beam and floor finals.

There's a real sense of shock here in the arena, Tim. Ivanka showed no signs of sickness yesterday, where she won gold on the uneven bars, adding that title to those she already earned with the Russian team and individually in the all-around.

True, but if you cast your mind back to the men's all-around event, Vasily Petrov's performance did not reach his usual high standards and the reason given there was illness, so could be that a virus is making its rounds through the Russian team.

Unfortunately, it seems like that's what's happened.

Elfie, does this blow the finals wide open?

It certainly will have an impact as Ivanka was expected to medal in both. Genghi Cho was the top qualifier on the beam and remains the favourite for gold on that apparatus, but the absence of the Russian champion certainly favours Payson Keeler and Lauren Tanner.

In the team and all-around competitions, gymnasts are allowed a few minutes warm up at the start of each rotation to get a feel for the apparatus. In the event finals, they are expected to begin their routines immediately and all warm ups have to be done in the practice gym.

"Kirilenko's so faking," Lauren says, while she and Payson wait for a chance to use one of the beams. "Not that I'm complaining."

Payson hasn't spoken to Lauren since the all-around final, but finishing twenty-third doesn't seem to have affected her teammate's confidence. Whether that is the case when they're back under the crushing pressure of competition remains to be seen.

"Seriously, Payson," Lauren snaps when Payson doesn't reply. "I know you're all about good sportsmanship crap, but one of our major rivals is spending today chucking up in a toilet somewhere. Can't you, like, crack a smile?

Payson's eyeballs hurt, like they're suddenly too big for their sockets. A waving hand cuts into her vision.

"Are you okay?" Lauren repeats Kim's earlier action and checks Payson's forehead for fever. When Payson doesn't bother to shrug the hand away, Lauren's expression shifts from annoyed to alarmed. "Marty said Parker's back at the hotel, that she didn't have to stay in hospital."

"Yup," Payson confirms, watching Larissa Ungureanu fumble through a double spin.

"So what's wrong?" Lauren pushes. She never was a fan of being left out of the loop.

"Nothing. I'm fine, Lo. Just tired."

"Tired," Lauren repeats with obvious scepticism.

"Yup."

Lauren continues to study her. "Must be exhausting hauling around all those medals. Should get Austin to carry you like he did Parker."

Payson goes to rub her eyes - they feel so dry - but Lauren slaps her fingers away. Make-up. Right.

"And here's where you yell at me for being petty and insensitive and whatever else you feel like accusing me of being."

Payson knows Lauren is trying to provoke a reaction from her, can anaylse like she's watching from across the room. Why isn't it working?

The Romanian completes a final run through of her dismount then vacates the apparatus.

"Beam's free, Lo," Payson says, wondering why she feels no urgency to take a turn herself.

"Representing the United States of America, Payson Keeler!"

Muscle memory carries Payson through the wave and smile. She's struggling to keep up with time, the sense of dislocation she's felt since she woke at 5:18 is getting worse rather than better.

This is a World Championship final. It's an epic occasion, a culmination of years of work. So where is the adrenaline, the pride, the determination? You shouldn't have to remind yourself that you're participating in a major final.

Genghi Cho is the first gymnast up, Lauren second, herself third. This is the time Payson usually fills with visualising her routine. So why is her brain throwing out unrelated images? What has standing on Chloe Kmetko's doorstep being told Emily is going to keep the baby got to do with an aerial? How is overhearing her mother and father discussing bankruptcy, or watching Kelly collapse on Austin, related to her spin sequence? How does imagining Sasha getting drunk at the airport help her with the job she has to do in a few minutes time?

"You okay?" Marty stands beside her, arms folded.

"I'm fine, just tired," Payson hears herself repeat what has become a mantra.

Cho throws a perfect side somersault. Payson notes the foot placement then remembers she shouldn't be watching.

"Sit down, Payson. Few deep breaths and visualise your routine."

Payson follows Marty's instructions without comment, without bristling at his presumptuousness that she doesn't have every second of preparation time planned.

Marty takes the seat beside her, and stays beside her, letting Darby escort Lauren to the podium. Payson only notices because his shoelaces are untied.

Her mind starts to drift again. Where has this disconnection come from? Last night was perfect. Only it wasn't, was it? There were moments of perfection, yes, but they were right next to moments of heartbreak. Can you feel so much that you suddenly can't feel anything?

Or, as she seems insistent on telling everyone, is she actually just tired? After so many weeks of pressure and fight, have her energy reserves finally run dry? So much has happened off the mat, a miscalculation in terms of energy distribution would be understandable, right? On this last day, does she simply have nothing left to give?

"Jacket off," Marty instructs and, again, Payson follows orders.

Applause erupts from the crowd. Lauren is waving, then jogging down from the podium, face alight.

"Awesome!" Marty calls, as he steers Payson by the shoulders up the steps. He drops his voice, and puts his back between her and the circling camera. "You got this?"

Payson peers up at her old coach. She's not used to his look of uncertainty being directed at her, can't remember when a "you got this?" question wasn't rhetorical.

"I got this." Payson isn't sure if it's a lie or not.

Trusting the springboard position to Marty's judgement, Payson chalks her palms and soles. Waiting for her allocated time to begin, she looks at the main scoreboard, distantly noting that by doing so she's breaking one of her strictest rules.

1. GENGHI, C. (CHN) 15.450

2. TANNER, L. (USA) 15.400

The digital screen next to the beam shifts to display her name and d-score. Payson waits for a shot of adrenaline, a rush of focus. Nothing happens. She's curious rather than panicked.

"Let's go, Payson!" Darby's voice stands out against the semi-quiet of the waiting crowd.

Technically, Payson could touch the beam and walk off the mat, scratch her routine.

Wait. Did she just consider giving up? She did. She is.

Something stirs inside. Not adrenaline, not a sudden surge of energy, but something, something deep, almost like an allergic reaction to the idea of quitting.

Payson Keeler does not give up. No matter what happens, that central tenet of her very core will never waver. It's who she is.

Palms meet springboard, feet meet beam. Payson glides from the mount into her first split jump, driven more by shock than by any conscious thought of starting her routine.

The thousands of repetitions she has completed in training are her saviour. She can't seem to connect her mind to what's happening but her body has taken over and is carrying her through.

Back walkover to back handspring lands solid. Aeriel into wolf jump her position is perfect. Single spin, step out, double spin, step out, she floats through the sequence. It's the final spin where the fatigue in her legs proves too heavy. She doesn't fight gravity, just drops to the floor.

A sympathetic groan rolls through the crowd.

All that's left of Payson's routine is the dismount. She's just lost a full point. Nobody would blame her for not getting back up. At least, nobody but herself.

Again, it's repulsion at the idea of quitting that drives Payson to hoist herself up, to complete the interrupted single spin, to dance her way to the far end, and to override every survival instinct in her body and throw herself back blindly, trusting skill and luck to help her hands find the four inch piece of wood and launch into the 2.5 twist.

The mat hits both feet evenly. Payson unfurls for a salute to the judges, then steadily trots down the steps. Darby hugs her first, then Marty. Both say something she doesn't hear.

She drops down in the seat next to Lauren, who hands her a jacket with a tight smile. The pair don't exchange words, just watch the scoreboard. A camera operator is crouching down in front of them, lens tilted up to capture reaction.

Payson can't judge how long the score takes to come in. Lauren sucks in a breath as the numbers start to move.

1. GENGHI, C. (CHN) 15.450

2. TANNER, L. (USA) 15.400

3. KEELER, P. (USA) 14.000

"Well done!" Lauren pulls Payson into a side hug. Payson is too tired to care that there's a touch of condescension in Lauren's congratulation.

A fourteen flat has no chance of placing in the medals. It means Payson has become a spectator in this competition, an outsider. It's not a position she's used to.

Payson feels no animosity as she watches Ioana Gheorghe go clean, no frustration that so far she herself is the only one who has fallen. She's actually astounded she was able to muster a well executed routine that would have scored well if not for that fall.

Marty scoots Lauren over so he can take the seat between her and Payson.

"Concentrate on your breathing and use this time to rest," he murmurs. "I'll handle Lauren." The last is said a little tightly.

Payson hides a half smile. Lauren is focused entirely on the scoreboard yet has managed to grab Marty's hand. Her grip is apparently a little strong.

"Oh thank god," Lauren sighs quietly when Gheorghe's score is posted.

1. GENGHI, C. (CHN) 15.450

2. TANNER, L. (USA) 15.400

3. GHEORGHE, I. (ROU) 15.100

4. KEELER, P. (USA) 14.000

Payson joins in the applause for Gheorghe, and plays the part of the good sport with the subsequent gymnasts, but her attention is not on the world-class gymnastics going on in front of her. She's aware of Lauren bristling with increasing tension, of Darby with an arm locked round Lauren's shoulders while they nervously watch the scoreboard, of Marty's growing concern for the bone structure of his hand, but she's doing as he suggested and resting. She can't close her eyes of course, but she can dampen her senses, can observe the thoughts flying through her mind with indifference rather than dwelling on them, can relax her muscles deliberately instead of letting fatigue do the job.

"Yes! Oh my god!"

Payson blinks. Lauren and Darby are on their feet, embracing. Genghi Cho has a Chinese flag wrapped round her and is posing for cameras. The crowd are cheering.

"Don't worry, i've been standing in front of you," Marty reassures when Payson jumps up, clapping, looking around to see if anyone noticed she had no idea the competition finished.

Payson shoots him a grateful smile then looks at the scoreboard.

1. GENGHI, C. (CHN) 15.450

2. TANNER, L. (USA) 15.400

3. GHEORGHE, I. (ROU) 15.100

4. WANG, X. (CHN) 14.800

5. UNGUREANU, L. (ROU) 14.575

6. KEELER, P. (USA) 14.000

7. KUZNETSOVA, M. (RUS) 13.600

"What happened to Marta?" Payson asks, surprised to see the Russian with such a low score.

"Pressure. She..." Marty is interrupted by Lauren's exuberant hug.

It doesn't matter. Payson doesn't need any further explanation to figure out what happened. Ivanka pulling out means all the Russian expectation fell on Kuznetsova's shoulders. It was a burden she apparently wasn't able to carry.

After half-strangling Marty, Lauren turns to Payson. She has a Stars and Stripes round her shoulders and wears a smile that is suddenly a little nervous.

Payson has known Lauren for three years, has spent more time with her than she has her own family. Maybe that's why now, when Lauren is glowing with success but obviously wary of how Payson will react, Payson can muster no bitterness for Lauren's callous attitude during a lot of this championship.

"You did it, Lo. I'm so proud of you."

They are words Payson couldn't have imagined ever saying to Lauren after their fights this week, and yet they fall from her mouth without hesitation.

Lauren's lip trembles, and Payson is just able to catch her as she tips forward and throws her arms round Payson's neck. Maybe it's literally having to hold up Lauren's body, but Payson feels some of her usual strength return to her muscles.

When the moment's over, Lauren, batting at her eyes and trying to save her makeup, pulls away. "Next year it'll be gold." She's trying for haughty but is reminding Payson so much of the 14 year old Lauren that Payson can't be exasperated by it. "Remember I said that, Pay. So I can put it in my book."

"I'm making a mental note as we speak," Payson deadpans.

Both of them last five seconds before breaking into the first honest smile they've perhaps ever shared.

The four stall bathroom is off the locker room. Payson wonders if it's mental association, or if it really does have the same colour scheme as the bathroom at the Rock.

She's starting to come back to herself. The face in the mirror isn't as distant as it has been all day, her mind isn't as hazy. Even her vision feels sharper. Is it possible to have a hangover without having drunk a drop of alcohol?

"Just when I need your area of expertise, Belov," she murmurs to herself, imaging Sasha's reflection grinning over her shoulder.

The men's parallel bars final is in progress, so Payson has about an hour before the floor final is scheduled to start.

"God, you'd think people would see the silver medal and get out the damn way." Lauren barges her way through the main door and immediately gravitates to the mirror without showing any sign she's noticed Payson.

Payson's witnessed Lauren's 'I'm pretending to be too important to talk to you but please pay me attention' routine too many times to buy it for a second.

"Cho try and upstage you in the photos?" Payson says, leaning back against one of the sinks and trying to look serious. Genghi Cho's sweet temperament makes the accusation laughable.

"She totally did!" Lauren exclaims. "I mean, excuse me, but you won by point oh-five. Not exactly a mandate."

Payson lets her neck hang back, enjoying the stretch. The ceiling is low enough she could touch it without needing tiptoes.

"What happened to you anyway? I mean, 14 flat? Ew." Lauren is still fiddling with her ribbon braids, not looking at Payson.

"I told you earlier. I'm tired." Payson sighs toward the ceiling, eyes closing.

"Bullshit." Lauren is suddenly right beside her.

Payson jumps. "Jesus, Lauren."

"Payson Keeler doesn't get tired, not on a competition day." When Lauren focuses all her attention, her stare can be unnerving.

"Don't know if you heard but it's been a long week." Annoyance starts to bubble in Payson.

"Bullshit."

"You said that already."

"It needed saying again."

Payson turns back to the mirror and twists on the tap. Her hands are suddenly hot.

"Look, I know we did the whole dramatic, 'I'm done with you, you're done with me' thing, and whatever weird moment we had earlier doesn't change that," Lauren continues.

The flowing water runs cold. Payson holds her wrists in the stream.

"And, just FYI, if you're doing what I think you're doing and trying to get Austin to quit the Rock and join Team Sasha, we are so gonna throw down again in the future."

"There's a but coming, right?" Payson flicks off the faucet and watches the excess drops run down her skin.

"But," Lauren enunciates each letter, "maybe the silver medal round my neck is making me feel generous, or maybe it's because we're part of some weird gymnastics sorority that you can't actually ever quit."

"Gymnastics sorority?"

"It's, like, an analogy?" Lauren rolls her eyes. "Can I finish? Thank you." More eye rolling. "Whatever the reason, I don't want to see you humiliate yourself on floor."

Payson releases a silent laugh, twisting round again to lean against the sink, arms folded. "Good to know."

"So," Lauren says, mirroring Payson's position, "why has RoboPayson suddenly turned into Doesn't Look Like She Even Wants To Be Here Payson?"

Trust Lauren to phrase the issue in a way that annoyingly makes sense.

"It's just, it's been a strange day." Payson has no intention of confiding anything about Sasha. She has no idea how much he has to do with it anyway. "I was feeling...off."

Lauren is fiddling with her new silver medal. "Was feeling off? Meaning you're now feeling on? Is this you admitting you literally are RoboPayson?"

Payson snorts a laugh. She can feel her shoulders sliding down her back, gravity suddenly not so heavy.

"You should get one of those portable charger things. Plug yourself in when you need a boost."

"I think that's called electric shock treatment, Lo."

Lauren shrugs, buffing her medal with her sleeve. "Whatever works for you."

The bathroom door opens. For a second, Payson thinks it's Kelly.

"OMG, you let Parker do your hair, didn't you?" Lauren wrinkles her nose as Beth bounces into the room.

"Isn't it rad?" Beth fluffs at her twin buns.

"Rad?" Lauren says, with such disdain that Payson laughs out loud.

"They look very rad." Payson pokes a couple of stray hairs back under pins. Beth's hair isn't really long enough for this style, so the buns resemble a pair of curled up baby hedgehogs.

"Okay, I'm leaving," Lauren announces, arranging her medal so it sits perfectly central on her white team sweater. "Payson, try not to fall on your face again and embarrass the team. Beth." Lauren spins round and looks Beth up and down. Beth gives her a full tooth grin. "Try not to embarrass the team more than is obviously unavoidable."

"Will do. I mean, will don't." Beth frowns. "Or do I mean will do?"

"I need to go talk to normal people." Lauren is in the act of theatrically flouncing out as Payson calls her name.

"Lo?"

"What?"

Payson steps across the room. "Tell Marty you want to strip back your routine, polish the basics then build up on difficulty. You do what you did today with decent execution, you'll blow everyone out the water in London."

Lauren drops her exaggerated character and eyes Payson with scepticism. "You mean in the team competition, right?"

"I mean in every competition."

Individual beam gold is not in Payson's sights in London, but if Lauren focuses, it could be in hers.

"Anything else?" Lauren asks, still wary.

Payson's mind has cleared sufficiently that she can finally think. "Where Austin trains is up to him. Keep the focus on yourself."

Lauren seems about to launch into a trademark rant but maybe the medal round her neck is giving a weight of new perspective. "How about we just trade abusive texts?"

"Sounds good. Just not during…"

"Not during training, I know!" Lauren flashes Payson a real smile as she pushes through the door.

"Bye!" Beth calls, waving even through the door has swung shut again.

Payson sucks in a deep breath. She could do with getting some fresh air but she estimates there's only about forty five minutes before the final starts. She glances at the sink. Water will have to do.

Twisting the faucet to full, Payson waits for it to run cold then dips toward the sink and splashes water all over her face. It feels so good, she does it twice more. When she stands up straight, drops flicker down her chin, her neck, drip from her still perfectly slicked back hair.

"You didn't wear waterproof, did you?" Beth hands her a stack of paper towels. "I like it."

Payson looks in the mirror. Mascara and eyeliner are smudged at least an inch below each eye. Again, she imagines Sasha standing over her shoulder, but this time her grin matches his.

"We'll always be together, however far it seems. We'll always be together, together in electric dreams." Payson only realises she's singing under her breath when Beth, waiting in the corridor beside her, makes a joyful exclamation.

"I love that song!"

"You know that song?"

Beth nods vigorously, bunches bobbing. "My dad's a big fan of the synthesizer. Says it's a much maligned instrument."

Payson does her best to look serious. "Okay."

"Are you a synthesizer fan?"

"Huh? Oh, you mean 'cause I know that song."

More nodding.

"I had a crash course in electro pop last night." Payson feels a goofy grin creeping up her cheeks, but it's so nice to actually feel something today that she doesn't try and fight it.

Before Beth can ask where she can sign up for such a course, the floor finalists are called to attention and escorted out into the arena. As she did this morning, Payson allows her experience of the past week to carry her through the formalities of being announced.

After patching up her makeup, Payson had been able to complete a full warm up and run through her tumbling passes. Her skin is still warm, her muscles supple and primed. She has not bothered to put on a jacket for the line up because she is scheduled to perform first.

"You got this?" Marty greets her as she and Beth jog over from the podium.

The only difference from when he asked the same question a few hours ago is the resolute confidence in his eyes. That he has not once today asked her what was wrong, not once bought attention to an emotional state that was confusing enough without being forced to answer questions about it, suddenly registers.

Pushing to her toes, Payson kisses his cheek.

"That is definitely not your shade." She grins at Marty's flummoxed expression and thumbs the lipstick mark off his skin.

"And I'm glad you picked now to tell me." Marty jerks his head toward a nearby TV camera. "Now, go get 'em Keeler." There's excitement in his determination.

"Let's go, Pay!" Beth shouts. She's sitting beside Chris, wearing her full tracksuit since she will perform last.

Payson gives her a double thumbs up, nods at Marty, then pushes them both from her mind. The crowd noise, exuberant for the blue ribbon event of the women's competition, starts to diminish. The clatter from the media section, the shuffling at the judges table, the reverberations from the sound system, it all fades away.

As she slaps chalk on her hands and feet, waiting at the side of the twelve by twelve foot floor, Payson hears nothing but her own heartbeat and the words Sasha spoke last night when they said goodbye.

"Remember, sweetheart, you've got nothing to prove, and everything to be proud of."

There's no disassociation this time, no fight between focus and presence. Striding to the middle of the mat and taking up her start position, Payson is fully in the moment.

With the opening chords of Swan Lake, Payson rises, allowing her body the freedom to sing with the music. Her leaps become accents for Tchaikovsky's notes, her turns teeter on the very edge of each phrase, stretching every graceful second. There is no anxiety in going into her tumble passes, just anticipation at feeling the release of flight.

She imagines that with every twist, with every jump, she is snapping the braces and splints that once constrained her. As she spins in the air, she recalls being strapped to a bed by drips and tubes, and her gratitude that she has been given the gift of a second chance drives her higher.

Her feet do not once misstep, her arms do not waver. From fingernail to toe tip she is alive and rejoicing. When the orchestra surges for the final chord, she stretches out over a lead leg, laying her body to the mat, wondering how ninety seconds can feel like a lifetime.

In the tiny break between the end of the music and the burst of cheering, reality rushes in. Gravity is suddenly heavy, almost overwhelmingly so. It's a struggle to rise to her feet, impossible to offer more than a cursory wave to the deafening spectators.

She hadn't realised how much energy she'd expended. Caught in the moment, she budgeted nothing, and, after making it back to the edge of the mat, all she can do is collapse against Marty, let him hold her weight while she tries to breathe.

"That was amazing," Marty is saying.

Payson can't thank him. Her heart is pumping so hard it's vibrating her vision. Talking is beyond her right now.

Acid suddenly streaks down both calves. Payson's grip on Marty's jacket tightens.

"Okay, stretching time," Marty mutters.

Allowing Payson the appearance of looking as if she's leaving the podium by her own steam, the arm Marty has round her waist takes most of her weight as they walk together down the steps.

"Drink." Marty shoves a water bottle in her hand as Payson sinks to the carpet beside the chairs. She takes a few sips, counting off her breaths.

Bending over the legs she has stretched straight out in front of her, Marty provides further resistance by pushing hard to the soles of her feet. After a few cycles of tension and release, Payson feels the pain locking her muscles solid start to ease.

"So that's what they mean when they say 'leave it all out on the mat'," Payson manages to say, though she's still catching her breath.

There's a sudden surge of fresh cheering.

"Holy sh…" Marty just manages to catch the swear word before the second syllable, which is fortunate as two cameras are directed at them. "15.4, Pay! You got 15.4!" He points a shaking finger over her shoulder.

Payson's neck clicks as she twists to read the scoreboard.

1. KEELER, P. (USA) 15.400

Payson's jaw falls open. That's point four more than she scored in either the team or all around final. Her d-score hasn't changed so her execution must have been near perfect to reach 15.4.

"Bloody hell!" She turns an incredulous face to Marty, who, still on the floor, tips forward onto his knees so he can pull her into a hug.

"You're spending way too much time with Sasha!" He laughs.

"Yes yes yes!" Beth lands on Payson's back, nearly headbutting Marty over her shoulder.

Extricating himself from his gymnast's grip, Marty stands, offering both his hands for Payson to lever herself up with. Beth keeps her arms locked round Payson's neck, shifting from kneeling to standing on the chair as Payson rises.

"Okay, everybody breathe. There's still a long way to go. Toto, back to your index cards." Marty makes a shooing motion at Beth.

"You were a-ma-zing!" Beth makes each syllable of her congratulation the same length, then does as she's told, though she walks across the three empty chairs back to her index cards rather than step down to the carpet.

Payson starts to say thank you, but she stood up too quick. Blood rushes to her head and she sways, vision blurring.

"Sitting down, sitting down is good," she mumbles, as Marty catches her elbow and helps lower onto a chair. Luckily, Genghi Cho has already started her routine, so the spectators and media outlets are too distracted to notice.

Closing her eyes, Payson turns all her focus inward. She concentrates on letting air reach right to the bottom of each lung, on lowering her heart rate with steady breathing, on giving her body the time to return to its equilibrium.

When she knows her blood pressure is no longer sky high, and her pulse is back to normal, she opens her eyes again and looks at the scoreboard.

1. KEELER, P. (USA) 15.400

2. CHO, G. (CHN) 15.000

"Don't worry," Marty says, when Payson jumps to her feet, alarmed at seemingly ignoring her rival. "The score's only just come in."

The Chinese are stationed at the other end of the row of chairs, and Payson is supremely glad when Cho meets her halfway to exchange the expected congratulatory hug. Her aerobic system may have returned to normal, but her muscles feel like lead.

Returning to her seat, Payson uses up some of the wait time by retrieving her jacket and pants from her backpack and suiting up. She then wastes some more time by tying perhaps the neatest double bow she's ever done with each shoelace.

Nerves are now prickling in her stomach. They grow as she claps Willow Taylor's 14.425. Four gymnasts to go. When it's three, Elena Coman putting in a 14.375, Payson crooks her legs into long frog so she can turn her face toward the carpet and avoid the constantly circling camera.

15.400 is the best she's ever scored with her Swan Lake routine. She will be proud whatever place she finishes in. At least that's what the rational voice in her head is trying to tell her.

"Wow," she hears Marty exclaim as Chloe Moore finishes. As usual, Payson didn't watch the routine but she can tell by the level of applause it was good. When the Brit jogs passed, Payson gives her a high five.

"How wow?" she murmurs up at Marty, hiding her words behind her hand.

"Not wow enough," Marty assures, and Payson's throat unclenches a little.

With Ivanka not competing, Cho is Payson's biggest competition. The Chinese gymnast has already posted her contribution of 15 flat. On paper, no one can touch Payson.

"Chloe Moore...14.850!" The announcer blares.

Payson claps, not knowing what expression is on her face.

There are two gymnasts left. As Romy Beck takes to the mat, Payson directs her attention to Beth.

"You good to go?" Payson pretends to squeeze Beth's bunches.

"Yup," Beth says, bouncing up and down on her toes. "Reece printed this out for me yesterday." She holds up her index cards. A picture of Drea wearing Beth's Yankee hat has been added to the carabiner.

"Never doubt the lucky cap." Payson gives Beth a quick hug then backs away to allow the younger girl the space to prepare.

When the German salutes the judges to mark the end of her routine, Marty leads Beth over to the podium.

"Let's go, Beth! You got this!" Payson hollers.

Romy Beck's score comes in quickly. Payson fights down the pulse of nerves and excitement as she looks at the leaderboard.

1. KEELER, P. (USA) 15.400

2. GENGHI, C. (CHN) 15.000

3. MOORE, C. (GBR) 14.850

4. BECK, R. (GER) 14.600

5. TAYLOR, W. (AUS) 14.425

6. COMAN, E. (ROU) 14.375

One gymnast to go and Payson leads. She will have at least a silver. She refuses to consider Beth's d-score.

Beth's floor routine is frenetic from start to finish, the four foot ten gymnast pinging all over the mat. She puts so much energy into all her tumbles that her landings are a little out of control and covered by switching quickly into leaps. She has got so much potential and Payson is too busy imagining the high quality of a routine Beth can produce once Sasha is training her, to consider that Beth's e-score will not be high enough to challenge Payson's lead.

A little hop on her double pike dismount and Beth ends her routine with a beaming smile. She double hand waves for the delighted crowd then practically sprints off the mat and jumps down from the podium, skipping the steps entirely.

"That was awesome!" Payson ignores her fatigue stinging muscles and lifts Beth up in a tight hug.

"That was fun!" Beth beams.

When Beth has jumped down and embraced Chris, Payson allows the situation to finally hit her. She clenches her fists to try and stop the shaking in her arms.

Marty is holding back from celebrating, partly because it's a fellow American who has yet to be scored, partly because he knows Payson never acknowledges she has won until she sees the final scoreboard.

Payson suddenly misses Sasha so much she can't breathe. She wants him beside her, wants him here to share this moment. She glances at the crowd but realises she has no idea where her mom is sitting.

The leaderboard flickers, glitches, then - after several frustrated yells from the baying crowd - finally updates.

1. KEELER, P. (USA) 15.400

2. GENGHI, C. (CHN) 15.000

3. MOORE, C. (GBR) 14.850

4. DEAN, B. (USA) 14.700

5. BECK, R. (GER) 14.600

6. TAYLOR, W. (AUS) 14.425

7. COMAN, E. (ROU) 14.375

Payson stares, not quite believing, keeps staring when Marty throws his arms in the air and bellows with triumph, when Beth jumps up onto a chair and hugs Payson from behind.

Looking around, Payson opens her mouth, but she has no words, no sounds. Her mouth is still open as she accepts handshakes from the other gymnasts. She knows she should be congratulating Cho and Chloe Moore, but, if they've won silver and bronze, that means she's won gold and…

"I won gold," she murmurs.

Beth is still standing on the chair. "You won gold," she repeats, smile so wide her eyes are crinkled.

Temporarily of equal height, Payson and Beth look at each other.

"I won gold," Payson says again.

"You won gold!"

"At Worlds. I won gold at Worlds. I'm World Champion."

"Yup!"

Pure adrenaline suddenly surges through every nerve. Payson, realising she is jumping up and down on the spot, grabs Beth hands, "Not to sound like Lauren, but, OH MY GOD!"

"I know!" Beth sings, jumping up and down on the chair.

Laughter and relief and pride bubble out of Payson. She doesn't care that chaos descends with the influx of photographers demanding pictures and officials demanding Beth stop breaking the furniture, or that she's swept along in a convoy of flags and tears and ends up in the backstage corridor without really registering she's left the arena.

Bemused, exhausted, exhilarated, Payson leans against the wall as the pre-medal ceremony ruckus gets underway again. Austin appears from nowhere with a high five and an energy drink that he makes her down.

"I let you pass out on the rostrum and MJ will kill me." He gives her his usual rakish wink and vanishes.

"How do you know MJ?" Payson either yells or intends to yell but doesn't have the opportunity because the medal procession starts moving.

When watching the ceremony back on TV, Payson will concede the smile on her face as she strides toward the podium and waits in line to be awarded the medal holds more than just a hint of a caffeine buzz. But it's certainly better than the alternative of falling asleep on the rostrum and crushing Genghi Cho.

Her audio memory will fail her entirely because Payson will have no recollection of her name being announced, or what the dignitary said to her as he slipped the medal ribbon over her neck, or the crowd being asked to rise for the national anthem, or of the Star Spangled Banner itself.

What Payson will have - and will treasure - are a series of images. The reflection of a camera flash the first time she looks down at the gold medal nestling against her jacket. The steady rise of the Stars and Stripes into the rafters. The sight of the etched gold in her peripheral vision as she holds it up for the photographers.

The much needed post-event massage and less needed but contractually required media interviews fade into a blur. Payson falls back on her athletic training and just does as she's told. She trusts Mandy to sort her muscles and MJ to keep her from saying anything inappropriate to the press.

In the mini bus on the way back to the hotel, while Beth teaches Lauren about the importance of the synthesizer in 80s music, and Lauren - distracted by her silver medal - refrains from pitching Beth out the back window, Payson finally has the opportunity to check her phone.

Becca has sent a video. It's ten seconds of incoherent cheering from her, their dad, and Phoebe.

Her mother has sent a long line of xoxos and a note that she intends to invest in shares in a waterproof cosmetics company.

There are 'oh my god, congratulations!' texts from Kaylie and Hayley, a similar one from Natalie with the addition of 'hope this is still your number', and a shy 'you were amazing' from Drea.

Payson is startled when she sees Emily's name as next in her inbox. She swallows as she clicks open.

Always knew you could do it. Give me a call when you get home. BTW (as Lauren would say) it's a girl :) xo

Tears fill Payson's eyes. She looks out the window until she can get her emotions back under control.

There is no message from Sasha yet. His flight won't land for another few hours.

"Ssssh! You'll wake her up."

"Toto, life lesson for you. A popping champagne cork is the best way to be woken up. Well, nearly the best, but i'll tell you about that when you're older."

Voices swim into Payson's consciousness.

"Kelly, you're underage and you're on medication."

"I'm legal in Europe and they're not antibiotics."

"No."

"Please, Mrs Keeler."

"Fine. One sip. Sip not gulp, Kelly!"

Payson sighs deep, letting the dregs of sleep ebb away.

"Is she awake?"

"Open your eyes, Keeler. There's champagne."

"So I heard," Payson says, easing her eyes open and indulging a full body stretch.

Kelly, sitting upright in the other bed, wine flute between her fingers, arches an eyebrow. "Not very rock and roll, falling asleep the moment you get back from winning a gold medal."

Payson groans happily round another stretch. She swings her legs off the bed and sits up. Someone, probably her mom, has draped a comforter over her.

"Took off your shoes but thought i'd leave that on." Kim, perched on the edge of the desk, smiles, as Payson unconsciously reaches for the medal still round her neck. "Think I can get that hug now?"

"I thought I hugged you before," Payson says, standing slowly.

"You kind of fell through the door and landed on me. It doesn't really count," Kim says, opening her arms. Payson, still dopey, snuggles into her shoulder. "I'm so proud of you I can't even find the words," she whispers into Payson's ear.

Payson smiles, kisses her mom's cheek, then twists away, hauling herself up on the desk to sit next to her mother.

"Were we supposed to get strippers?" Beth, cross-legged on the floor beside the balcony, queries.

"And we have a new winner in the category of 'most random things Bethany Dean has ever said'," Kelly drawls, taking another gulp of champagne before MJ, attention not straying from her illuminated cell screen, swipes the glass away.

"Hey!"

"Kim said one sip. You want to argue with her?"

Kelly doesn't reply.

"I thought not. Beth? Why strippers?"

Beth looks between MJ and Kelly. "Kelly said falling asleep after winning a gold medal wasn't very rock and roll. Strippers are rock and roll right?"

MJ glances up from her phone. She smirks at Kim. "You want to take this one?"

Kim busies herself with her half empty wine flute. "Sorry, MJ. Temporary hearing loss. What did you say?"

MJ continues to smirk. "Nice save."

The nap hasn't eradicated Payson's fatigue, but it's made it less intense. She watches the gloaming sky while the others chatter.

"You can add to the pile if you want." Beth, kneeling up next to Kelly's bed, points at a pile of metal and ribbon on the end of the mattress.

"Bloody hell," Payson says, a little stunned at the sight of so many medals.

"That was my reaction," MJ says, refilling her and Kim's glasses from the bottle of Moet.

"Three team bronzes and two bars bronzes." Beth hangs five ribbons on one wrist. "One all-around silver and one vault silver." Two ribbons are slung over the other wrist. "One vault gold." Beth picks up the final ribbon with her teeth. "And one floor gold," she mumbles, nodding toward Payson.

"Not a bad tally," MJ says, beatific smile belying the blase tone of her words.

"You're already planning photoshoots, aren't you?" Kim says, taking some of the medals from Beth so she can look at the details.

"Once we get Kelly's ankle healed and Sasha's head fixed, I recommend that you all stock up on teeth whitening toothpaste." MJ's phone rings. She raises her usual 'got to take this' finger and goes out on the balcony.

Payson starts. How had she forgotten? "Sasha." She jumps up. "Where's my phone? What time is it? Has he landed?"

"Calm down, Pay." Kim squeezes Payson's arm and encourages her to sit again. "His connecting flight to Denver has been delayed. He spoke to MJ while you were asleep. He called her when you didn't answer and he said to let you sleep," Kim says, over Payson's objections to not being woken. "He'll text you when he gets to Denver. But we're three hours ahead of them so it may be late."

"Okay," Payson agrees, not voicing her intention to call Sasha back the second he texts, no matter how late it gets.

"Hey, Toto," Kelly calls, reclining back on her pillows. "Tell Keeler what you worked out earlier."

Beth, lining up the medals along the end of Kelly's mattress, thinks for a moment. "You mean that we should have ordered strippers?"

Kelly's right eye twitches. "No. I mean the other thing you worked out. About her scores," Kelly snaps, patience evaporating as Beth continues to look at her blankly.

"Oh that," Beth grins. She shuffles round on her knees to look at Payson. "The scores you posted in the four event finals combined to give a tally of 61.750. Ivanka's winning score in the all-around was 61.200. On the same apparatus, you beat her by 0.550"

"Now will you admit that she totally played chicken today?" Kelly asks.

Payson ignores her roommate's smug expression. Her event tally may have beaten Ivanka's gold winning score, but that was over two days rather than one. Still, Payson's d-scores will be upgraded by London and, with more preparation time and hopefully less distraction during competition, her execution scores should also improve.

If she can technically best the World Champion while doing easier routines, only a few months on from back surgery, and with so much drama off the mat it feels like they've been in Rio a year, there's no question that she can do it at the Olympics.

"There a glass of that for me?" Payson nudges her mom.

"I don't think one could hurt." Kim winks and fetches a fresh glass.

"Cheers!" The Keelers clink their glasses together as Kelly gapes in indignation.

"Rock and roll, Parker," Payson grins.

The bathroom light, linked to the extractor fan system, hums loudly, but Kelly's sleep is once again medicinally aided so Payson has no concerns of waking her.

It's so late it's early. Payson had dozed again after a celebratory meal provided by room service and MJ, then woken around midnight. There was still no message from Sasha. Not wanting to miss his text, she'd decided now would be a good opportunity to take some of the photos she'd promised Becca.

Beth had reminded Payson of it when she showed off her collection of pictures taken throughout the championship over dinner. When Payson had explained about Becca's plan to do a series of instagrams about the championships, Beth had been eager to get involved, asking for Becca's email address so she could forward her pictures, and then helping Payson come up with ideas of shots to take.

Payson is pleased with the selection she's gathered. Leotards, various combinations of medals laying on jackets, ID lanyards, tickets and programmes, hotel brochures, cosmetics, hair ribbons. She tried taking a photo of Rio's nightscape but it hadn't translated well, looking instead like she'd left her thumb over the lens. She also tried an arty selfie in the mirror and nearly blinded herself with the flash. One shot that had actually turned out as intended was a close up of Kelly's support booted ankle with her bars bronze medal draped over the toes.

Now, Payson's using the plain white backdrop of the built in bathtub to photograph Bear with various medals and her heart necklace. She still can't believe that the nine medals lying on the tiles are real. How many times has she worn Sasha's Olympic gold and dreamed of the day she would have a major championship medal of her own?

She's arranging her bars bronze, vault silver, and floor gold, in a row - a photo requested by MJ because apparently the press love a full house - when the text arrives. The beep is so loud in the small room that she almost drops her phone.

You should be asleep, which means you're probably not

Grinning, Payson cues up Sasha's number and clicks the call emblem.

He answers immediately. "Definitely not asleep, then."

Payson grins wider, settling back against the sink unit. "Don't tell gold medalists what they should and shouldn't do, Belov."

Though she knows it's not possible, Payson thinks she can hear the smile in Sasha's voice when he says, "I'll remember that."

Payson pulls her knees to her chest, thinking of last night when she was sitting with him on the beach. "Where are you?"

"Generally? I'm in Denver."

Payson rolls her eyes. "And specifically?"

"Sitting in a car park."

"In a car?"

"No, on a bench."

Payson frowns. "Sasha it's" - she glances at her phone and does some quick calculations - "1am there. You must be freezing."

"Great thing about Denver airport, you can buy a fleece that I swear is warmer than my first flat."

Wishing she could reach down the phone and hug him, Payson coughs to clear the sudden lump in her throat.

"So any particular parking lot or did you just choose one at random?"

There's a noticeable pause. When Sasha speaks, something of the fatigue he must be feeling after a thirteen hour flight and countless delays creeps into his voice. "Treatment centre."

Payson briefly closes her eyes. "When they said you had to be there Monday morning, I don't think they meant this early."

"I'm a stickler for punctuality." He's trying to be jovial. She tries too.

"Not your own punctuality, you're not."

"Fair point."

The bulb light glinting off a gold medal starts to blur. Payson wipes her eyes but refuses to sniff.

"So why are you sitting in a freezing parking lot at one in the morning?"

Sasha's voice fades a little. Payson imagines he is hanging his head back and looking at the clear Colorado sky. "No temptation in a parking lot. Unless I develop a sudden desire to nick a car."

"Sasha…"

"I'm okay." Sasha's reassurance is too immediate and too sharp for it to be the truth.

Payson waits, wondering how she knows, even from nearly six thousand miles, that he needs a moment to gather himself. When he speaks again, he's calmer.

"It just seems a shame to come all this way to be undone by an airport bar, or a pub opposite a motel. Besides, fresh air is good for the constitution."

Payson has a sudden flash of Sasha - exhausted, injured, and emotionally broken - staring at the coloured glass frontage of some rundown bar. Where she sees the strength it must have taken for him to fight off the addictive voice in his head telling him to go inside, he will see weakness in the necessity of having to fight that hard, so she pushes the image away without comment.

"Promise me there won't be an item on Good Morning Denver tomorrow with police finding a man shaped popsicle frozen to a bench." Payson picks up Bear and props the teddy on her knees.

"Facility's got a twenty four hour reception - I'm sure I can charm my way in and have a kip in the waiting room."

"You're not that charming, Belov.

Silence should not be enough to send her stomach twirling.

"Shut up," Payson fights a smile.

Again, though she has know idea how, Payson can tell Sasha is grinning in that infuriating yet irresistible way she usually meets with a kiss.

"You'll be happy to know I've had Electric Dreams stuck in my head all day." Payson decides to redirect the conversation before it continues to drift into dangerous territory. "Also, Beth is a fan."

"Why doesn't that surprise me." Sasha's voice is a little tight and Payson knows he's having to pull himself back under control too.

"I'm a little scared to find out what song she wants to do her floor routine to next season."

Payson will be so glad when she and Sasha can finally be in the same room, both in perfect health, with no time pressure of competition or chance of being interrupted. A room with a bed in it would be preferable but right now she'd be fine with any hard surface.

"I suspect we won't have a problem with another gymnast having the same song."

"We just have to make sure Kelly doesn't introduce her to Kpop."

"What the hell is Kpop?"

"Nevermind."

"How is Kelly?" Sasha becomes solemn.

"She's medicated and ordering people about so she's pretty good." Payson tries for flippancy. She knows how worried and guilty she would be if she had to leave Kelly right now; Sasha will be feeling the same.

"How about the others? Lauren must be thrilled."

"She's in love with the her new 'accessory' but kinda pissed it isn't gold. I fear for the judges if she gets within yelling distance."

"Point oh-five, think i'd be pissed too. You sound like you guys worked some stuff out?"

"I think we did. For now anyway. You know me and Lo." She shakes her head, smiling. "So you got a chance to watch the events? I wasn't sure what internet access you'd have."

"Access which was too fond of that damn buffering circle," Sasha says, voice darkening with its usual technology annoyance. "Took me fifteen minutes to watch your beam."

"That one you could've skipped." Payson fiddles with the four leaf clover Bear is holding. Though she knows there were extenuating circumstances, she can't help but feel a little embarrassed at her performance this morning.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" It's Sasha's coaching voice. It allows Payson the distance she needs to consider the situation professionally.

"We will need to talk about it, but not tonight."

"You're okay?" This time, Sasha is attempting and failing to use is coaching voice.

"I'm okay. I promise."

There's a few moment's silence.

"Are you okay?" Payson ventures, and immediately regrets the question. "I mean, of course you're not okay. You're sitting in a freezing parking lot in the middle of the night about to check into rehab and, this is so not helping, is it?" She winces, heel of her hand against her forehead.

"No, keep going," Sasha is chuckling. "I want to see where you end up."

"What I meant to ask," Payson says, talking over him, "is how are you feeling about everything?"

"Well," Sasha takes a deep sigh. "I know the next few weeks are going to be painful, and emasculating, and I'll probably cry my way through a couple of boxes of kleenex but, hey, I get my meals cooked for me."

Payson huffs a laugh. "Always seeing the bright side, Belov. But the serious answer is?"

"I hate what's happening, but I know this is where I need to be. My mum would tell me that, and so would Nikolai. They're pretty good barometers."

"They are," Payson agrees.

Though she could happily talk all night, Payson feels the conversation is coming to a natural conclusion. She has to dab at her eyes again.

"When do you think you'll be able to call me again?"

Sasha's sigh is almost inaudible, but Payson catches it. He knows they have to say goodbye soon, too.

"I'm not a flight risk, and I'm not highly dependent so I expect prohibitions on outside contact won't be as strict. I'll say I need to email to let my family know what's going on. Not that…" He draws up sharply.

"No," Payson interjects. "Tell them you need to let your family know."

There's a long pause.

"I don't want you to feel any obligation here, Payson."

"I don't feel obligated." Payson tries to infuse her voice with the same certainty she feels in her heart. "I love you, Sasha. And I will wait for you as long as it takes. Unconditionally. That's what family is, right?"

There's some noise down the line. It could be static, but Payson suspects Sasha is trying to stop his tears from being audible. It's what she's doing.

"Right." The words trembles. Sasha coughs once, twice. When he comes on the line again, his voice is as clear as if he were sitting next to her. "I love you, Payson. Unconditionally."

Hot tears slide down Payson's cheeks. "Would it be totally rude if I hang up on you? 'Cause I honestly don't think I can say the 'g' word."

There's a wet chuckle and a sniff at the other end of the phone. "You could borrow Lauren's phrase and just say 'bee-tee-dub lates'?"

Payson's laughter echoes off the tiles but more tears follow and it turns into a sob. "I love you."

"I love you." Three syllables of Sasha's shaking voice, a gulped pause, and the line goes dead.

Throat closing around an anguished cry, Payson doesn't bother to fight. Contorted with wracking sobs she falls onto her side, phone pitching from her grasp and sliding across the floor. She lets the pain win, lets the guilt and the anger and the frustration and the loneliness crash through her body. She tries to slam a clenched fist against the tile, but her strength is gone.

She realises that, for the second day in a row, she's curled up on the bathroom floor crying over a boy. That recognition doesn't stop her sobs, but humour creeps in somewhere, a touch of self-deprecation, which at least makes the pain less crippling.

When she's again able to lift her hands to scrub her hot, stinging eyes, she spots Bear, lying on the floor and looking at her. She must be sleep deprived, because Payson thinks the glare is reminiscent of Kelly.

"Don't judge," she mumbles, pushing herself back to sitting, sweat wet palms against cool ceramic. "And I'm talking to a teddy bear." She sighs a laugh, leaning back against the sink unit, picking up the stuffed animal and fussing with its fur.

The loud text beep makes her bang her head and drop the teddy.

"Sorry," Payson apologises automatically as she reaches across the floor to retrieve her phone.

A nurse coming outside for a smoke took pity on me. She's gonna check me in. Got to turn my phone off. Love you xx

Payson takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. If Sasha's now under the care of medical practitioners it means he's safe.

Tears pierce her eyes again, but this time they are of relief rather than pain.

"He's safe," she repeats aloud, finally acknowledging how scared she's been the past twenty four hours.

She knows her reply won't get through immediately, but Payson sends it anyway, so Sasha will have it waiting for him when he's allowed to turn his phone on again.

Better be behaving yourself Belov. #togetherinelectricdreams

She hopes it makes him laugh.

Mauve tints the faintly visibly horizon line. Payson watches the burgeoning dawn, hands clasped round a coffee mug. She's curled up on a balcony chair, snuggled into Sasha's grey hoodie.

The championships is over, the team flies home this afternoon. Payson has spent the past half hour on a to-do list that already spans two pages of the notebook Kelly keeps threatening to burn. Some might feel overwhelmed seeing how much needs to be done in the next few days and weeks, but, as always, Payson is reassured by the organised simplicity.

Tell dad about me and Sasha, seems a lot less scary with a number and a checkbox starting and ending it.

Payson sips her coffee, enjoys the steam peppering her cheeks.

This is a bubble in time, a pause before her life moves off again, at an even faster clip.

She tells herself it's logical for her to be sitting here, ruminating over the past few months, that it's a way of clearing space in her mind, that it is not her self-indulgently wasting time thinking about Sasha. She takes another sip of coffee, slightly guilty smile pressing on the rim of the mug. She's a world champion, surely that buys her a few minutes of remembering how it felt to dance through a storm or how it felt to kiss Sasha for the first time in the midst of a shadowed crowd.

The swooping seagulls break into a chorus of squawked chatter. Payson imagines how Phoebe would be barking as loud as she could in response if the little dog were here.

A wind gust swirls her loose hair. Payson relishes it's warmth. Colorado air will be laced with cold by now.

Yellow is infusing the mauve horizon. The sun can't be far away. Payson makes a deal with herself that once the orange arc appears, she will start on the first item of her to-do list - finish packing before Kelly wakes up.

Until then, she will sit peacefully on this Rio balcony, and watch the sky.

Fin

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who has followed this story. At this time, I have no plans to write a full sequel, but I might do some one shots to catch up with what happens when they get back to Colorado. Thank you for reading x