Who Needs a Dream? Who Needs Ambition?

When he had woken in Moscow, Anatoly had been very much afraid of what would happen. Even after learning that he had been pulled back to a time before Merano, he had still worried. He might have been the pride and joy of the USSR but all it would take is one word at the wrong time and things could get very bad indeed.

When he saw his children, however, all his fears and anxiety just flew out of his head. Some part of him knew that it was a foolish idea to believe that nothing further could happen but he couldn't bring himself to listen. Perhaps he was here for good and he could do what he had failed to do before - be around for his children. He could do this, he could and with Lex at his side, they all could have a happy ending.

The light hit Anatoly's eyes and he groaned, not quite awake enough yet but he knew he had to get up. He wanted to take the children to the park today before Ilona's ballet lesson and there was so much to be done before then. He sat up and opened his eyes, expecting to discover how appalling the motel room was yet again.

What he found instead was the familiar walls of their hut on the island. It had been a dream - a dream or hallucination like it had been the last time when he and Lex had awoken in Smallville. He had been glad to return here before but now? Now, all he could think of was that he had lost his children again.

He carefully slid off the bed, not wanting to disturb Lex and sat in one of the chairs next to the chessboard. His back to the bed, he leaned forward, covering his face in his hands and silently wept.

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.

There was no better way to drift off into dreamland than in the arms of his beloved Lex after a full day of chess, cajoling Aeneas to drop the pieces he'd stolen and all of the other things that made up his daily routine, or so Anatoly thought. His life before Tabula Rasa seemed a distant memory; he truly could not remember a time he'd been happier. He was where he wanted to be at long last.

All too soon, the sun hit his eyes and he groaned in protest, muttering under his breath. He rolled over, pressing his face into his companion's shoulder and slinging an arm around his waist. It took a few moments for his sleep-addled brain to realize the body next to him was much smaller and softer than it should have been.

At first, he was inclined to pass it off as the island working its cruel trickery again, but something felt off. Lex, whether he was a man or woman, had a scent that was uniquely his. This scent... this scent was not his and yet it was haunting familiar.

He opened his eyes and gasped in horror. He'd gone to sleep on Tabula Rasa and woken up in his hotel in Bangkok. Every detail was just as he remembered, from the appallingly patterned wallpaper to the ostentatious plush carpeting. And there, by his side, was not the man he'd come to know and grown to love, but the woman he'd loved and lost and left - Florence Vassy.