Who Needs a Dream? Who Needs Ambition?

Freddie was just on the verge of standing up and walking away. It wasn't just that he was impatient - he was, but for chess he would wait - it was that it was getting to the point where he felt as if he'd been stood up. It was an uncomfortable feeling and not one he liked at all, especially since it came from the one person who felt the same way. The only way Anatoly should have been missing was death or dismemberment and that last wasn't a real excuse.

Finally, he growled under his breath and stood up, staring at the chessboard in disgust for a moment before heading into the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee. Maybe Anatoly had just forgotten. Right. Maybe he was off having sex with Lex. Possibly closer to the truth. Another half hour and he'd head over and knock down their door. It was his turn with Anatoly and, damn it, he was determined to keep it.

Timidly, Anatoly poked his head into the rec room. No one darted out to challenge him or tell him that he should not be here so he walked in. Though the very beautiful lady had explained things, he wasn't sure he believed her - or even that he had understood half of what she was saying. He could not truly have been here for five years and have been so... old, could he? He was only seventeen and never had been out of Moscow, perhaps she was just mistaken. Or drunk.

His eyes were drawn to the chess board and he immediately made a beeline for it. He didn't touch anything, it surely belonged to someone but he studied the pieces carefully and started to set up a game in his head.

Finally, he had found something that made sense.

Freddie poked his head back in when his coffee had brewed and he sighed in relief when he noticed the brunette head sitting in his spot. "About damn time," he said as he walked over and stopped cold when he saw the face. He ignored the evidence of his eyes and snapped, "Who in the hell are you?"

Anatoly started at the voice and whirled around, panic in his eyes. He stood up and took a few steps back, his hands raised to show he meant no harm. He could not quite understand what he was saying but judging from his tone, he could very well imagine what he was saying. "I am sorry, I did not mean to - I was just looking. "

Freddie almost flinched at the words. Russian. Still. Still he couldn't believe. Maybe it was Anatoly's son come from the future or some crap like that. "Looking for what?" Maybe if he spoke in English, the kid would reply in English. Hopefully.

Anatoly frowned. He had understood looking but that was it. He racked his brain for the few words of English he knew then spoke, his words very slow and heavily accented. "I look for chess."

Freddie pressed his lips together. "What is your name?" he finally asked in Russian.

Anatoly's face lightened as he answered. It didn't matter how or why the man knew his native language, it was enough that he did. He wouldn't have to stumble along in a language he barely knew. "I am Anatoly Sergievsky."

Freddie's face got darker. "Of fucking course," he muttered, unaware that it'd been in Russian, too. Of course the first things he would have learned in the language were curses. Anatoly Sergievsky. It didn't matter how, only that it'd been done. And judging by the very bad English, he didn't remember a damn thing. And now he was here, at their board.

Anatoly frowned, very much confused. He had never met the man before, he didn't understand his reaction. Why did it matter who he was? Was this some other strange island trick?

"I... I don't understand," he said, taking another step back, his voice timid and his shoulders hunched inwards as if to ward off a blow. "I don't know what happened but I woke up here and nothing has made sense since."

"That's the nature of the island, kid. Nothing here ever makes sense. Yesterday, you and I were here, playing chess, only you were about..." He looked the kid up and down. "Maybe fifteen years older." Fuck, he was getting old. Both of them were.

"That is what she said but I don't... how is this possible? How can any of this be possible?" Despite his best efforts, Anatoly felt tears start to well up. He didn't want to cry, not in front of this frightening man but he was completely and utterly overwhelmed. "I was studying Fischer and then I fell asleep on the board and now I am here and... and... I want to go home!"

She? Freddie wasn't sure what Anatoly was talking about. A horrible thought struck him and he wondered if he'd been talking to Florence. After a moment, reality sunk back in and he knew it wasn't likely that it was her at all. What were the chances? "Trust me. Here is better than home."

He picked up a pawn and waggled it in Anatoly's - in the kid's direction. "Here you can play chess without being one of the pawns."

Anatoly wasn't sure what to believe. While it was true that things were... unsettled in Moscow, he had found that if he kept his head down and thought of nothing but chess, he would be all right. He had no political opinions, no unsavory connections - his whole entire world was chess.

In his heart of hearts, he knew that wasn't enough, not truly. All it could take was just one bad day - one unthinking remark uttered at the wrong time in the wrong company... if this place was different, then perhaps it wasn't so bad.

"Is this so? There is no... politics here? No police?"

Freddie snorted. "There are politics. And police." A wry smile crossed his face as he remembered getting arrested with Anatoly. "But they wouldn't be like you remember them. Hell, they're not like I remember them. They're kind of...small?" He frowned because that wasn't the word he meant, but he'd never thought he'd need a word like insignificant in Russian. And unfortunately, this Anatoly wouldn't know what in the hell he was saying if he said the word in English.

Anatoly frowned as he listened. It seemed incredible to believe that neither politics nor police were invasive here but if he understood what the man was saying, they weren't. That or they were so tiny that one could safely ignore them - considering everything, he wouldn't have been surprised to learn that was the truth.

"I feel as this is a dream," he said. "None of this feels real."

"Welcome to the island. None of this ever feels real." He moved a hand and wobbled the black king back and forth with a finger. "Except this. This always feels real." It had always felt like the realest thing he knew.

Anatoly nodded solemnly, feeling as if he found a kindred spirit. Chess was safe, the most solid thing there was in his existence. The rules never changed on him, the patterns might vary but they could be learned. He knew where he was with sixty-four squares and an army of pawns.

"Chess is always real."

Freddie pursed his lips. "Sit down," he said finally. If he could play against the adult, he could play against the kid just as well.

Anatoly happily complied, sitting down on the black side of the board. Most people wanted to play white, start with the advantage of moving first but he thought there were advantages to starting second as well. He had been studying Fischer and was anxious to demonstrate what he was learning.

If there was chess, then perhaps he could get used to this place.

Freddie almost collapsed into the other chair. Some things never seemed to change and, luckily, chess was one of them.

For a moment, Anatoly considered being the better man and letting Freddie walk away. He could pick up the pieces and continue the game as if it had never been interrupted - he had certainly played against Freddie long enough to be able to have a sense of his move patterns. This was the best thing to do, the right thing to do.

He considered all of these things then got up and angrily followed Freddie out of the room. He would come back later for the board but this was more important. It wasn't as if it could get up and walk away, after all.

"Trumper!" he shouted once they were outside. "You are walking away and you call me the coward?"

If Anatoly had been thinking more clearly, he would have been suspicious of the little reel in the bookcase bearing the label of "Chess 2009". The bookcase had been on a cycle of giving him things he didn't like or need, so the fact that it was cooperating now should have registered as a bad sign.

None of this crossed his mind, however, as he painstakingly threaded the reel to the projector. Whatever it might be - a documentary on the history of chess or showing of a match between two grandmasters, he was certain he was going to enjoy it. This was clearly about his beloved game and there was just no way that it could show him something he would not like.

His first inkling that he was terribly wrong about all of this was the very first shot showing an enormous concert hall. His mouth dropped open as he heard the announcer call "Josh Groban" and he saw himself walk across the stage. The case fell from his fingers as he saw Freddie follow after someone who bore a rather strong resemblance to Maureen. What was this?

The concert started but things still failed to make any kind of sense. Who would write a concert about chess? Why would someone write a concert about chess? He wasn't sure which was more disconcerting - that or that people who looked exactly like him and Freddie appeared to be in it.

When the song about what appeared to the history of chess ended and the main singer with the gloves started speaking, he was horrified. This wasn't a story about chess, this was about him. Him and Freddie and what happened between them and if he could have found the strength to get up to shut the damned thing off, he would have.

He was too shocked to move, to do anything but watch his nightmares play out in song and bizarre chorus. The only comfort he could find was that at least they had gotten Freddie behaving like a bastard right.

Was it deja-vu if he really had done all of this before? Anatoly couldn't help but ponder this question as he entered the hall and prepared to take his seat in front of the chessboard. His opponent was already at the board, scowling at the board. The Arbiter was skulking behind him, arms crossed, impatient for the game to begin. Molokov and de Courcey were studiously ignoring each other; the reporters were waiting with baited breath for something, anything to happen. Indeed, Lex's calm presence on the sidelines was the only reminder to him that this was not a dream.

He took a deep breath and waited for the Arbiter to finish his speech. This was going to be different then the last time. This time, his mind was clear and unfettered from distractions. If he lost today, it was because Trumper had outplayed him, not out of a sense of duty to Florence or his family. He was done playing games with the CIA and KGB, done being used as a pawn. If he lost, he was the only one to blame.

But then, he did not plan on losing. He'd lost something vital the moment he'd bowed to pressure and deliberately made the wrong move. This game was a chance, perhaps his only chance at redemption, at reclaiming what had made him the most formidable player on the circuit. He needed to prove to himself that he was the best, the very best - and he wanted to show Lex just what he was capable of.

The Arbiter concluded his speech and nodded at them to begin, having long ago given up on making him and Trumper shake hands first. He was playing black, so the first move was Trumper's. The whole world was watching, this was true, but the whole world had no idea what it was about to get.