fake empire, 1/1;
Title: fake empire
Rating: G
Pairing(s): Hope Solo/Abby Wambach
Summary: Smiling is harder when you're trying not to cry in front of fifty thousand people. (2011 WWC Final)
Notes: Post-heartbreak fic, because I am an emotional masochist for this team and I felt like a drabble. More notes at the end of the page.
[AO3 FLAVORED]
Abby's cheeks ache.
Smiling is harder when you're trying not to cry in front of fifty thousand people. It hurts more, too, and she's not surprised when Hope lets her disappointment show - only wants to put an arm around her, but she's sure she'd give out under the weight of the medal around her neck and the wrong trophy in her hands.
It's just been exhausting. Brazil was too close, and they were outplayed by France and outclassed by Japan, and every little bit of it makes her doubt if she can do this again; she's not sure she can take four squandered world cups. She can see it in Hope, too, and ends up trailing her to her usual spot at the back of the bus.
Hope's left her medal on.
Abby already tucked hers into her track bag.
Alex follows them, and Abby doesn't have the heart to ask for her to give them room to breathe; first loss or not, Abby knows it hurts her too. The back seat is three wide, and Hope leans against the window, away from Abby, who finds Alex's head against her shoulder in the middle.
Abby remembers 2007, and how she had kicked her locker door in after the semifinal, and she wonders when she became someone else's anchor instead of the one needing to be tacked down. She hadn't cried after her first world cup, but Lil had let her sulk even when Mia snapped at her.
It doesn't hurt as much as your third, but your first loss feels like nothing will ever be worse, and Abby puts an arm around Alex's shoulders. Her hand falls to Hope's thigh and she grips it tightly, solidly. Hope cries again, and Abby wants to, but Hope and Alex offset her and she's grounded in another way.
There's family waiting at the hotel, but Pia holds them back, and she and Dawn try to pep them up as much as they can. Abby's legs feel like lead when she stands, and it's not just physical. Alex's cheeks are rough and red from clumsily wiping her eyes with her sleeves, and Abby presses a hand to the small of her back and tries to smile for her.
Hope scoots over to the aisle but doesn't stand, and Abby hesitates; she wants a hug from her mom, like she's 18 again and lost her last chance at state with Mercy, but leaving Hope doesn't sit right in her stomach. She crouches, and Hope's palm is clammy against her own, sweat and tears and that ever present mourning against her skin.
“I didn't think it could hurt worse.”
“Second is always worse.”
“No.” Hope digs the fingers of her free hand into her knee. “It's worse when you fuck up, instead of just sitting on the bench.”
Abby shrugs, because she knows it's true. “We all choked.”
“You didn't.”
There's a hint of truth to it, but it's sabotaging and Abby pushes it away. “Teams don't hinge on one person, win or lose.”
“It never feels that way, when you lose.”
It hangs in the air but it doesn't sting as much as it did last time, and Hope picks grass off her kit for a moment before standing, hauling Abby to her feet, and Abby doesn't have a chance to steady herself before Hope is pressed against her. Lips, and arms around her neck, and there's salt that stings Abby's mouth in it.
Sarah is outside, and Adrian, but it's not about that and the tint of the windows hide it from misinterpretation. Abby keeps her close when Hope takes a breath, and it doesn't feel too soon. Hope smells like grass and sweat, but it fits them, and Abby thinks if Hope can give four more years, then she can, too.
“Three down, one to go?”
“I'm there if you are.”
Hope's shoulder is starting to sting, painkillers and adrenaline and disappointment wearing off, and Abby's heel is on fire. Everything aches, and when they finally shuffle off the bus, Sarah's tenderness feels like nothing next to Hope, and Abby is glad she's already going numb. Sarah tries to take care of her, but Abby sinks into a funk, and she hates being annoyed with Sarah's voice when they share a pillow.
“Do you think you'll go to Canada? In 2015, I mean.”
She thinks of Hope, and how Adrian couldn't hug her, and the way she lingered at the elevator so Abby could walk with her, her chin up and jaw set already. This time it was a testament, four years in the making. Next, it's an obligation, and for the first time Abby knows they're on the same page with it.
“Yeah.”
-
[1] Title yoinked from The National's Fake Empire.
[2] This picture of these sad pandas will never not kill me.
Rating: G
Pairing(s): Hope Solo/Abby Wambach
Summary: Smiling is harder when you're trying not to cry in front of fifty thousand people. (2011 WWC Final)
Notes: Post-heartbreak fic, because I am an emotional masochist for this team and I felt like a drabble. More notes at the end of the page.
[AO3 FLAVORED]
Abby's cheeks ache.
Smiling is harder when you're trying not to cry in front of fifty thousand people. It hurts more, too, and she's not surprised when Hope lets her disappointment show - only wants to put an arm around her, but she's sure she'd give out under the weight of the medal around her neck and the wrong trophy in her hands.
It's just been exhausting. Brazil was too close, and they were outplayed by France and outclassed by Japan, and every little bit of it makes her doubt if she can do this again; she's not sure she can take four squandered world cups. She can see it in Hope, too, and ends up trailing her to her usual spot at the back of the bus.
Hope's left her medal on.
Abby already tucked hers into her track bag.
Alex follows them, and Abby doesn't have the heart to ask for her to give them room to breathe; first loss or not, Abby knows it hurts her too. The back seat is three wide, and Hope leans against the window, away from Abby, who finds Alex's head against her shoulder in the middle.
Abby remembers 2007, and how she had kicked her locker door in after the semifinal, and she wonders when she became someone else's anchor instead of the one needing to be tacked down. She hadn't cried after her first world cup, but Lil had let her sulk even when Mia snapped at her.
It doesn't hurt as much as your third, but your first loss feels like nothing will ever be worse, and Abby puts an arm around Alex's shoulders. Her hand falls to Hope's thigh and she grips it tightly, solidly. Hope cries again, and Abby wants to, but Hope and Alex offset her and she's grounded in another way.
There's family waiting at the hotel, but Pia holds them back, and she and Dawn try to pep them up as much as they can. Abby's legs feel like lead when she stands, and it's not just physical. Alex's cheeks are rough and red from clumsily wiping her eyes with her sleeves, and Abby presses a hand to the small of her back and tries to smile for her.
Hope scoots over to the aisle but doesn't stand, and Abby hesitates; she wants a hug from her mom, like she's 18 again and lost her last chance at state with Mercy, but leaving Hope doesn't sit right in her stomach. She crouches, and Hope's palm is clammy against her own, sweat and tears and that ever present mourning against her skin.
“I didn't think it could hurt worse.”
“Second is always worse.”
“No.” Hope digs the fingers of her free hand into her knee. “It's worse when you fuck up, instead of just sitting on the bench.”
Abby shrugs, because she knows it's true. “We all choked.”
“You didn't.”
There's a hint of truth to it, but it's sabotaging and Abby pushes it away. “Teams don't hinge on one person, win or lose.”
“It never feels that way, when you lose.”
It hangs in the air but it doesn't sting as much as it did last time, and Hope picks grass off her kit for a moment before standing, hauling Abby to her feet, and Abby doesn't have a chance to steady herself before Hope is pressed against her. Lips, and arms around her neck, and there's salt that stings Abby's mouth in it.
Sarah is outside, and Adrian, but it's not about that and the tint of the windows hide it from misinterpretation. Abby keeps her close when Hope takes a breath, and it doesn't feel too soon. Hope smells like grass and sweat, but it fits them, and Abby thinks if Hope can give four more years, then she can, too.
“Three down, one to go?”
“I'm there if you are.”
Hope's shoulder is starting to sting, painkillers and adrenaline and disappointment wearing off, and Abby's heel is on fire. Everything aches, and when they finally shuffle off the bus, Sarah's tenderness feels like nothing next to Hope, and Abby is glad she's already going numb. Sarah tries to take care of her, but Abby sinks into a funk, and she hates being annoyed with Sarah's voice when they share a pillow.
“Do you think you'll go to Canada? In 2015, I mean.”
She thinks of Hope, and how Adrian couldn't hug her, and the way she lingered at the elevator so Abby could walk with her, her chin up and jaw set already. This time it was a testament, four years in the making. Next, it's an obligation, and for the first time Abby knows they're on the same page with it.
“Yeah.”
-
[1] Title yoinked from The National's Fake Empire.
[2] This picture of these sad pandas will never not kill me.
