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THE THINGS WE LEFT BEHIND

A/N: So this started off as my take on Hungary Heart, whichwas a little unsatisfying in terms of Payson/Sasha-ness. Initially a one-shot with a nice happily ever after type ending, but a review from Ida-cullen made me think a bit more about the ending, and now it's a sort of beginning and we'll see where it goes from there.

Disclaimer: I do not own Make It or Break It.

Summary: When Sasha ran away, he didn't do it by halves – this was a man who didn't want to be found, but somehow she always brought him back. And although she may have his heart, gymnastics would always have his soul. Payson/Sasha

The Things We Left Behind - Prologue: The Man Who Won't Be Moved

She narrowed her eyes at him, following his every movement as she stabbed her fork at her . . . well, she wasn't really sure what she was eating, but she was pretty sure it was filled with fat and cholesterol and all kinds of crap she shouldn't be eating, especially this close to a competition. She started with the safer items, working her way up to what she suspected to be a type of sausage in the hopes that Sasha's coaching instincts would kick in some time before then.

"You need to leave now," he said sternly, standing in front of her and finally acknowledging her presence.

"Not without you," she answered, her voice matching his.

He shook his head, looking almost sorrowful for a moment. "I can't, Payson," he replied. "I won't."

"You have to," she begged him. "I – we can't do this without you. We need you to get to Worlds.

"You saw us at the Pinewood meet, Sasha," she pressed. "The Rock is falling apart and you're the only one that can put it back together.

"I need you, Sasha," she whispered quietly, her words seeming like a final plea.

Their eyes met and her desolate look transported him back nearly a year. It was the same three words she told him outside The Rock before Nationals, only this time he felt like she was asking him to be more than just her coach. And it frightened him in a way that a man closer to thirty than twenty-five shouldn't be frightened – not by her, a tiny five foot three, seventeen year old with too much determination for her own good.

"Payson . . ." he began, hoping to make her see reason. He wasn't good for her or The Rock and the way things were right now, it wasn't because he left, it was because he was there to begin with.

Before he could get any further, a new figure entered the bar and he backed away rather than let her draw him into conversation. The last thing he wanted right now was to have Summer's views forced upon him in her slightly endearing way. He could read the judgment clear as day in her rigid features (didn't her forehead used to move?) so he turned his back on her, pretending to absorb himself in the mindless cleaning of dirty glasses.

"Payson, you need to leave," Summer stated firmly, just as Sasha had. "You need to be in Budapest – "

Payson shook her head, cutting her off. "I'm not leaving without him," she said stubbornly, stabbing at her food again and glaring so fiercely at the back of Sasha's head that she was sure he could feel it.

Summer shook her head, sitting gingerly on the barstool beside her. "I don't know who's more stubborn," she muttered to herself. "You or him.

"You deserve each other," she bit out sarcastically, regretting the words instantly. She saw Sasha tense, freezing mid-action where he was pretending not to eavesdrop on their conversation. She saw Payson's expression turn stricken – she looked like she'd just been caught red-handed – but there was something hopeful in her expression that made Summer's stomach twinge with jealousy.

"He's not coming back with you, Payson," she said gently, laying her hand sympathetically on Payson's shoulder.

"Look at this place, Payson," she instructed. "Does this look like somewhere you'd go if you wanted to be found?"

Payson did as Summer asked, finally taking a good look at where they'd ended up. It was desolate, stuck in the middle of nowhere, and the last place she would have expected him to be. He'd talked about Romania as though he could never go back there – as though too much had happened to really call it a home anymore – and yet there he was all because of her. When Sasha ran away, he didn't do it by halves – he went all out and crossed oceans and hid himself in some tiny hovel where no one would look.

She sighed in defeat as Summer's words sunk in. It was the same thing her mother said in Denver – Sasha didn't want her to find him. He wanted to move on from that part of his life and she was only hurting him, trying to force him back because of her own delusional belief that she could make him change his mind.

"Just let me say good bye," she asked as her thought process drew to its unhappy conclusion. Summer just nodded, staying in her seat as Payson followed Sasha down the bar.

He tried to resist looking at her, but he was weak and too tired for these games. She sent him a sad smile that couldn't have been more beautiful if she tried and slid a gold medal on a red ribbon – his gold medal – across the bar.

"You should take this back," she said, her voice choking with emotion. "I don't want it anymore."

He shook his head. He couldn't accept it from her, not when it had meant so much for him to give it to her. "Payson," he tried to protest, his own voice heavy with the things he longed to say.

"I don't want it," she repeated. "It used to mean something to me – strength and courage and determination and all the things I used to see when I look at you.

"Now all I see is a coward and a quitter," she accused, "and I don't want anything to remind me of that."

With those words she walked away not giving him the chance to respond, although he doubted he could have said anything if she'd given him the chance. She was right – he was a coward and the medal in his hands would only serve as a constant reminder of what he'd walked away from – of what he'd been too scared to hold onto.

His hands traced the ridges of the medal, it feeling different somehow than what he remembered. It didn't feel like his medal. It wasn't. It had belonged to Payson the moment he gave it to her and he felt like a thief for taking it from her.

When he finally looked up, he wasn't surprised to find Summer standing in front of him with her usual expression of judgment and remorse. He didn't want to rehash whatever they had left for dead in Boulder so he simply said what he wanted to say without the forced pleasantries. "Please give this back to her," he asked sadly. "She's the only one who should have it."

Summer sighed and took it from him, perhaps understanding the deeper meaning in his words and what he was really giving away. "I understand why you left, Sasha," she said solemnly, folding the medal into her purse for safekeeping – holding onto it temporarily in Payson's stead. "You thought you were harming the girls by being there and you were doing what you thought was for the best.

"I understand," she continued, "but that doesn't make it right."

And with that both women were gone from his life, leaving him alone in some forgotten bar in the commune of Snagov with an empty glass and a broken heart.

Payson was tossing and turning in her sleep, unable to find genuine rest. She had thought that finally saying goodbye might give her the closure she needed to move on from Sasha and what he had meant to her – that she might get something out of this pathetic excuse for a road trip – but the ending simply hadn't gone the way she wanted it to. There was so much more she wanted to say to him – things she might have said to him if Summer wasn't there, although she doubted her pride or nerves would have allowed her to – and things she needed him to say in return.

She woke up instantly to the knock on the door, out of bed before Emily had even registered the noise. When she opened it, something in her wasn't all that surprised to see him standing there looking stern and formidable and telling them exactly what sort of punishment they'd be in for if they tried anything like that on him.

"I'll see you in the morning at six," he said, nodding stanchly before turning on his heel.

"Sasha," she called after him, making him stop mid-step. She jogged the short distance between them as he turned to face her and she impulsively wrapped her arms around his torso, pressing her cheek to his chest.

"I missed you," she murmured childishly, breathing in his scent. 'Cedar,' she noted thoughtfully. 'I should have known.'

"I missed you too, Payson," he whispered back, pressing a brief kiss to the crown of her head, the gesture almost fatherly. "I missed all of you," he added, for safety's sake, neutralizing his words.

"I'll see you in the morning," he said again as he pulled away and she nodded affirmatively.

She moved back Emily, closing the door calmly behind them. Once they were sure he was gone, they squealed excitedly, unable to contain their joy. They had their coach back and their futures – whether that meant the Olympics or something else – were suddenly looking brighter.

"You lied," Payson pointed out just two days out from the biggest competition of her life – the Olympic Games in London. Sasha looked confused, frowning at her across the small hallway.

"You said you'd leave us after Worlds," she explained to him with a cheeky smile. "You're still here."

He smiled back, but it didn't seem to reach his eyes, holding something back in his expression. "Is that okay?" he asked cautiously, looking suddenly unsure of himself.

Now it was her turn to frown. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "Forget I said anything."

She nodded, choosing to let it go rather than force the subject. She had something of her own she wanted to say anyway. "I just wanted to apologize, Sasha," she told him quietly, "for what I said to you in Romania. I know it's probably long over due, but – "

"It's nothing," Sasha said, cutting her off. He took her hand in his and squeezed gently. "It needed to be said. I was being a coward.

"I never thanked you for talking some sense into me, did I?" he asked her with a crooked smile.

She shook her head at him. "There's no thanks needed," she disagreed. "What I did was stupid and rude and presumptuous," she said, hindsight allowing her to see what her stubbornness hadn't allowed her to see at the time.

"I would have done exactly the same," he assured her. "You needed your coach back. What else could you have done?"

Again she shook her head, surprised that after all this time he still couldn't see it. So she did something bold and maybe a little bit stupid. She stepped forward so that their bodies were almost touching, placed a hand on his shoulder and lifted herself on point, just the way that he taught her. "It's you, Sasha," she whispered in his ear, her breath hot against his cheek. "It was always you."

She took a small step back, holding his gaze and hoping that they conveyed her meaning as much as her words. He returned the look, his eyes smouldering, and then his lips were hard upon her and his hand behind her neck holding her in place. Her hands gripped his shoulders as he practically consumed her with his kiss, taking her breath away and stealing her heart in the same instant.

But he pulled away just as suddenly as he pulled her in, his features harrowed with guilt. "We can't do this, Payson," he sighed breathlessly, leaning his forehead against her own.

"We can," she promised him. "I love you, Sasha, I do," she continued. "Not as a coach or a parental figure or anything else that you want to reduce it to.

"I love you, Sasha," she repeated, the emphasis on her words more insistent. "I love you."

"Payson, I –"

"Do you love me, Sasha?" she asked boldly, cutting him off before he tried to argue with her or talk her out of her own feelings like he had last time – the very same speech that made her fall so completely in love with him.

"Yes," he said lowly, almost reluctantly. "I do love you, Payson. Beyond reason or understanding."

"Then love me," she responded simply. "That's all I ask.

"Don't tell me you're not good enough or that people will disapprove," she continued, guessing his thoughts. "I don't care about them."

"And if they do disapprove?" he had to ask despite the parts of him that simply wanted to accept everything she was saying. "What will we do then?"

She shrugged, smiling at him coyly. "We'll go to Snagov," she suggested. "That seemed a pretty good place to go if you didn't want to be found. Although if you know somewhere more scenic that could work too."

He did. A little cabin out in the woods in Cambria, California. And when the Olympics ended just two weeks later, that's where they went, disappearing without a word into the quiet wilderness. And they stayed there, for the most part, keeping to themselves and building a life together away from gymnastics.

A quiet life, but it pleased them both. And later when there were children and a dog and a small rodent like creature that tended to get under everyone's feet, there were no regrets.

They wanted nothing, and yet . . . well, life has a way of making sure we all get just what we need.