Archive of Our Own ^beta

tobin

Sometimes Tobin wonders how many people in the world know what it’s like. The pressure weighing on your shoulders as you make the decision. The deafening silence of a crowd who’ve roared wildly for the 120 minutes leading up to this single, critical moment. The familiar clap of the cleat hitting the ball. The eruption of noise that follows. And then the sinking feeling of failure, bile rising in your throat, when the goal stays empty. The goalkeeper stands proudly as your teammates have their dream crushed by one bad strike. (Or perhaps even one great save that’ll still sting just the same.)

Of the seven billion people in the world, there are but a small few who know how it feels to miss a penalty kick in a shootout on the biggest stage. Tobin Heath is one.

It’s a memory that sticks; it informs every choice, teaching her the value of willingly carrying the team on her back, compounding her competitiveness tenfold. But it won’t define her. Having been staring down her first World Cup at the time, she had chosen to view it as the start of a journey and not the end of a dream. The 2011 final had pulled her back to the same spot time and time again, on any field she could find, any time of day. Practice and practice and practice. Four years later, the final goal of the tournament had set her free.

A year on, when Christen Press misses from the spot in the quarter-finals of the Olympic Games, one more person joins the club. 

In lieu of t-shirts, they wear their shame as proof of membership.

That’s how Tobin learns that watching it happen to someone else, someone she loves, stings even more. She knows the stab of embarrassment and, when it sinks a little deeper, the profound pain of turning to face the team you’ve disappointed. She knows it too well, even though she’d always tried to carry it with characteristic calm. Seeing it now etched on Christen’s face, it’s a humbling reminder of the heartbreak that the beautiful game can bestow. It’s a realization of the journey ahead, of all the ways Christen will be changed by it, because how could she not be? It’s the start of a mission of Tobin’s own: to avenge the loss, to be everything Christen needs, to never let it come down to penalties again. 

There’s also their bubble at stake. The one that had felt impenetrable since day one. The perfectly crafted world of two that they’d built around them, room enough for only a little breathing space. For the first time in her life, she hadn’t needed any. She hadn’t craved escape and freedom; there was comfort and joy now in security. The security was Christen and the walls they’d built around them, walls that now shake nervously against the intense scrutiny that Tobin knows to anticipate. It’ll be worse for her, Tobin knows. It’s bigger now. The pressure, the scale, the exposure. All of it.

*

christen

There are eighteen broken hearts on the bus back to the Olympic village, each one manifesting in its own shattered way. Christen sits simmering in the pain of it, thinking all too much on the specifics of this particular blow. She considers the pressure Pinoe has been under to prove herself again and the furore over Hope’s outburst and bright, shining Tobin in the form of her life. And then there are the kids, crushed by the experience of their first major tournament, all color drained from their faces and their super-speed talking now silenced. The sadness and shock of the loss permeates the atmosphere until it is suffocating.

She carries all of it with her, her friends’ disappointment clouding all of the memories of the tournament so far: of Sonnett starting singalongs on the bus, of Tobin falling asleep on her shoulder like clockwork, of Crystal bouncing over to hug her at the start of each training session, of her dad’s encouraging pre-match texts, of sneaking into Tobin’s room just to make out for a while.

Everything had been so right. It had felt like their time. 

Christen feels Tobin move to slide her hand into hers where it rests between them, but she can’t help but recoil at the touch. It brings her out of her thoughts a little too abruptly, her head rolling to the other side to hide the emotion that seems to come up in a sudden wave; it comes without warning, blindsiding her with the force of it. The passing scenery goes by in a blur, details obscured by the tears that fill her eyes quicker than she can blink them away. It feels wrong to allow herself Tobin’s comfort while everyone else around her is still hurting so keenly. There’s a pain there, a layer beyond the raw, surface-level hurting, that she can’t quite place or name or reason.

“Chris,” she hears, a quiet, strained plea. Tobin’s never sounded quite like it before, and Christen can’t help the reflex she has to turn and face her. 

When she does, she finds Tobin pale and serious. The release of tears feels inevitable when she looks at her girlfriend; the kindness in her eyes stings like pity, the hurt in her expression barely masked. Immediately, as though Tobin has anticipated it precisely, Christen feels a hand at her cheek, wiping tears away gently. When they’re gone, the hand stills and Tobin brings the other up to hold Christen’s face against her own. Her touch is careful, fingertips lightly sliding into the hair at the back of Christen’s neck as Tobin brings their foreheads together. 

It doesn’t feel like enough. Christen allows herself to be led easily into Tobin’s solid embrace, shifting forward with arms enveloping her. She tucks her face into the curve of Tobin’s neck, fresh tears wet against bare skin there, but the warmth of it like medicine to her soul. It transports her to a world of two; the rest of the bus is gone, and it’s just Tobin’s pain she has to contend with for a moment. 

Just. 

It’s still too much. 

Adversity, perhaps, had been kept at bay too long. It had been eight glorious months of smooth sailing. Of course we don’t get an Olympic medal to boot, she thinks bitterly. 

“I love you,” Tobin whispers, but it’s barely that, every syllable cracking on the edge of silence. There’s a strength to it nevertheless, the words spoken as only Tobin can speak. It’s said with such certainty, almost stubbornness, as if daring Christen to argue her point. She says it like she can hear the voice inside Christen’s head. The one telling her she doesn’t deserve it, that Tobin will see that soon enough too. Tobin says I love you like it’s an absolute.

Christen only nods. The words demand acceptance, and she hasn’t the strength to argue. 

Tobin pulls back to look at her. Warm, chestnut brown eyes study Christen’s face carefully before Tobin reaches out to brush a few more tears away. When they’re gone, her hand finds Christen’s, squeezing it tight as she says, “It won’t always hurt like it does now.” 

“Yeah,” is Christen’s tight reply.

“We’ll take it back.” It’s a promise. 

“Yeah.” Christen looks down, eyes fixed on their joined hands. There is Tobin’s, tensed, with fingers folded between Christen’s, and there is her own, still and slack beneath it.   

“Chris.”

“Yeah.” She still doesn’t look up.

“This isn’t the end.”

It’s the end of something, Christen thinks to herself. The honeymoon period, if nothing else. 

They had won that elusive third star, and then each other. The two things Christen wanted most in the world and suddenly she’d won both. And it had been so easy to fall in love in the middle of it all. It had been easy to linger in the ice baths a little longer just for time with Tobin, and easy to play unending chess games together on the off-days, and easy to stay up too late in each other’s hotel rooms sharing everything about their lives. All of it happened so naturally, and then Tobin felt the same way, and everything became possible. Like the world belonged to them. That’s how it felt to be in love.

“I felt like this whole year was gonna be... perfect,” Christen admits quietly, shy with it, still refusing to make eye contact. “But we lost. I missed.”

It’s then that the feeling she couldn’t quite name, the one that had been lingering just beneath the surface, becomes obvious. When she lifts her gaze to meet Tobin’s, the words tumble out with more tears: “I’m so sorry, Tobes.”

*

tobin

Tobin knows she’s right. She knows deep down, despite everything that’s come before, this is the beginning and not the end. A new chapter. Perhaps, a whole new story.

The cycle is over, the quadrennial reset. And however terribly Christen feels heading into it, the sting of the loss so fresh and new, Tobin knows that the whole team will need Christen Press. The whole team and Tobin especially. So, for just a little while, she carries all of it for Christen. 

If Christen decides she wants to practice PKs until the sun goes down and long after, Tobin drives her to the field. She calls Alyssa or AD or Ash or Nadine, or whoever’s around, and practices alongside Christen for as long as she can, taking her turns just to afford Christen the momentary breaks she won’t take for herself. They practice just the two of them too, or they assemble a gang for scrimmages even when everyone’s on a break because when Christen needs it, if they’re close by, Pinoe and Lindsey and Kelley and Mal don’t think twice about saying yes. 

“You don’t mind?” Christen asks, her face tight, when she mentions going down to the field and getting some practice in. It’s the third day in a row, and the third day of their break. It’s early, because Christen likes to start the day with it, and Tobin’s still stretching herself awake, leaning up against their headboard as Christen scurries about the room. “I know I said… we’d have today to, umm, you know, go to the beach. We can head over later, but I–”

“Hey,” Tobin cuts in to steady her. Her voice is lower than normal, and a little gravelly from sleep. “It’s fine. I’m gonna need some coffee, then we’ll head out.”

“Sure?” Christen stops still to smile at her, with eyebrows arched as if asking for forgiveness. She moves closer to the edge of the bed on Tobin’s side, perching on the edge of the mattress so that she’s close enough for Tobin to lean over and kiss her. 

Their lips still pressed together, Tobin moans agreeably, running her hand down Christen’s back just to see if she can coax her into staying right where she is.

“Thank you, baby,” Christen says as she pulls back. “You want me to get you some clothes out?”

A little agonized by, firstly, the lack of lie-in and, secondly, the lack of affection she’s getting for her generosity, Tobin gives a sleepy nod before flopping back onto the bed a little longer. She watches with a smile as Christen carefully curates a full kit for her to wear, pulling from her own drawers, Tobin’s and the pile of clean washing that neither one of them has ironed or put away yet. There’s a pair of 23 shorts set aside next to a generic red US Soccer t-shirt, and Tobin can’t help but be warmed by the choice. Christen does this sometimes. When Tobin’s struggling to get out of bed, she’ll lay out some clothes to help; without fail, every time, something of Christen’s works its way in there, like she’s choosing to blur the lines between them, erasing any demarcation. She steals things too, so Tobin understands the feeling. She knows intimately the gratification she feels when Christen wears her clothes like a signpost – one that says taken, at least if you’re looking closely enough. 

When she’s put it off long enough, Tobin puts on everything Christen’s chosen for her, ready for what she knows will be a longer day than Christen intends. But Tobin won’t complain – not a word, not while the crinkle above Christen’s nose lingers. She’ll put the cones in the trunk of the car while Christen fills up some water bottles and packs something for lunch. She’ll drive them over to the same practice pitch as yesterday, still with cleat marks scuffed across the grass from the previous day. She’ll practice crosses back and forth, and recreate Dawn’s favorite drills, and nutmeg Christen only when she thinks it’ll make her look up and smile. 

They exhaust the day there. Just the two of them. Drills, 1v1, snacks, a little kickaround, shooting practice. Before Tobin knows it, the light is fading as she juggles a ball casually on the top of her foot. 

“Tobes,” Christen almost gasps as she looks at her phone, “It’s past four.”

“Yeah,” Tobin says, letting the ball go before swinging her arms loosely at her sides as she jogs over, her ponytail swaying in time with the motion. She plants a kiss on Christen’s cheek as she passes from behind, then leans down to pick up her slides. 

“We were meant to go to the beach,” Tobin hears Christen state, her voice sounding a little tight in her throat. It’s said quietly, perhaps only to herself.   

“You wanted to practice,” Tobin replies easily, finding a comfortable spot on the dry grass to pull off her cleats and socks. Once they’re off, she lets her hair down, throws it over her head, and then scrapes it up into another ponytail, stopping short of pulling it all the way through.  

“But you–you don’t need…”

“I’m chill, Chris.” Tobin looks up to offer the reassurance of her gaze, sensing a flurry of anxiety bubbling inside Christen. Standing over Tobin, she’s got both her hands balled at her sides. There’s a marked line between her eyebrows, and maybe it’s just from the sun in her eyes but the hint of a grimace says otherwise.  “I love the beautiful game,” Tobin continues, laughing easily with it, hoping to alleviate Christen’s concerns. “I’m good with us being here, doing this. If it’s what you wanna do.”

Christen moves to fix her arms akimbo, looking down skeptically. “W-why?”

“Why?” Tobin repeats with another laugh, her head shaking a little at the question.

“I must be driving you crazy,” Christen says, and Tobin can tell she’s trying to be nonchalant about it but the way she’s worrying at her lip says otherwise. 

“No. You’re–you’re not driving me crazy.” The notion seems unfathomable to Tobin. So much so, it comes out as a scoff.

“I’m not?” Christen winces just a little, continuing to chew her lip like she’s trying to decide whether or not she should believe it. But there’s a little hope there, her eyes widening just a little, half-convinced maybe. 

“Nah.” Tobin gives an enthusiastic shake of the head that has her lazy bun falling loose. That at least earns the beginning of a smile. The vulnerability in Christen’s face returns fast though, and prompts Tobin to pat the ground beside her. 

Christen doesn’t take much convincing and settles in the spot, letting Tobin rest her head against her shoulder in their old, familiar way. 

“I’m with you,” Tobin says quietly, seeking out Christen’s hand and placing her own flat against it before weaving their fingers together. “And I know why you wanna play out here every day.”

“You wanted to go surfing.”

“Yeah,” Tobin concedes. “I wanted to go surfing with you.”

Tobin feels Christen straighten up just a little and hopes that her response might’ve earned a smile, even if it’s tucked away behind tight lips. Just in case it has, Tobin lifts her head to get a look at it, her favorite of the wonders of the world. As she turns her head for a glance, she receives a gentle nudge. Proving Tobin’s instincts right, there’s a warm smile on Christen’s face and in her voice as she says, “Well, I would’ve probably just read a book on the picnic blanket while you did all the surfing.”

“I know, but, like, saying I wanted to go surfing to impress you while you wore a skimpy bikini felt kinda cheap, so I brushed over the specifics,” Tobin replies, her laughter trickling out like loose change.

She feels Christen’s head rest against the top of her own, and closes her eyes to it. Her voice brightening, Christen quietly admits, “I would’ve been impressed.” 

Tobin smiles to herself, then turns to press a kiss to Christen’s shoulder. She settles her chin there, her face close to Christen’s all of a sudden. They’re so close, it’s a little blinding – no matter how used to this she gets. There’s a beauty about her girlfriend that makes this, the intimacy between them, impossible to get used to. She can’t help but stop and notice. Every time. She can’t help the smile, close-mouthed and lopsided and probably a little gormless, as she replies with all the smugness she can muster: “Good.”

“Thank you,” Christen leans into their closeness a little. Not quite touching.  The words barely above a whisper, there’s a sweet privacy to it; they’re in their bubble again. 

“Hey,” Tobin starts softly, perking up a little before she continues, “Can I tell you something?”

The look Christen gives in reply is a silent but certain always .

“I know you’re trying to push it away right now and, like, ride this part out. I, like… I couldn’t sleep,” she says, the intonation going up at the end like it’s a question. Her uncertainty over whether it’s even the right thing to say, the right path to take, informing every word. “Back in 2011, when I missed it. Like, all night I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t even be still. And I started to get really, like, emotional. I can’t even describe it. And Chen was in the bed next to me and she just got out of her bed and climbed into mine, and she gave me this big hug. It was just exactly what I needed, like in that moment. I needed my big sister. And I kept apologizing to her, and I just felt… the worst I’d ever felt. It fucking killed me. And I said to Cheney I was never gonna miss a PK again. Never. And it was dumb as shit because, honestly,” Tobin shakes her head to herself before shrugging, “you can practice forever and still miss one. It’s just about a moment, right?  

“But she knew what I needed. She wrapped me up tight like a little burrito, and she said she would always be there if I wanted to practice them. Day or night. If we were ever in the same place, I knew I could call Chen and she’d come. 

“So, right after, I wanted to practice all the time. Like, I was obsessed with it.” She nods her head in the direction of the goal they’d just been shooting at. Christen turns away almost imperceptibly, her eyes dropping to her lap. “I knew that’s what I needed back then, for a while.”

“So you’re letting me do the same thing?” Christen doesn’t look up, pulling at a patch of grass that inevitably snaps off in her hands.

“Whatever you need. Okay? It’s not a problem for me, it’s not driving me crazy. I love you, Chris. I don’t just love you when we’re getting breakfast at Tasty n Alder or when we’re chilling at the beach. I love you.” Christen looks up at last, her eyes sparkling with hope. “It’s not, like, a ‘for now’ kind of thing, you know? It’s not just for the fun of, like, the past year. I am… fucking…” Tobin laughs at herself. “I don’t know how to explain it. But I’m here for the tough shit too. And, like, I’ll be honest, hanging out on the field and shooting with you doesn’t even fall into that bracket.”

“Yeah?” Christen’s voice comes out small – barely a squeak. She searches Tobin’s expression for a tell as the glimmer in her eye turns into a teardrop, barely perceptible but for the rapt way that Tobin’s looking back at her. Christen brushes it away, forcing up a smile as reassurance.

“Yeah,” Tobin replies with a shrug and all the confidence in the world. It’s an easy answer. 

Christen gazes at her for a long moment, her shoulders relaxing noticeably before she takes in a long, deep breath. Tobin leans closer again, just enough that their arms brush against each other, the touch grounding. As they sit in the moment, no longer shying away from each other and what’s on their minds, Tobin tries to recall the last time she saw Christen looking so resolved and relaxed. Suddenly, whatever slight reluctance she might otherwise have felt to spend every day on this quiet practice pitch disappears. There’s nowhere else she’d rather be. 

“Come on.” Christen makes to get up, brushing grass off her legs before extending her hand. “You wanna go watch the sunset on the beach then go back to the apartment and put on a trashy movie while we fool around on the couch?”

Tobin beams up at her, teasing, “You make it sound so cheap.”

*

christen

It’s over a year before they talk about Tobin’s missed PK again. They’re making lunch in their apartment – the one that’s half of each of them now, though the lines aren’t carefully marked anymore. It’s a home. Messy and often more of a storage unit than anything, but as long as they’re there, it’s home. There’s more warmth inside these walls nowadays, especially with all the time Tobin’s been spending there lately, with all the guests who’ve come by, with the one houseplant they’ve managed to keep alive. 

Tobin sits with her legs hanging limply off the counter, one in a cast as the other bobs against the cabinet, while Christen fetches half the contents of the fridge to lay out on the side. Though there’s space to spread out across the worktops, she chooses to set herself up close enough that her hip brushes against Tobin’s leg. A little contact, as a treat. 

Things have been different between them since Tobin’s injury. The balance has shifted. 

In a way, Christen appreciates the opportunity to be of service. She’d felt like a burden for so long, unable to shake off the emotional weight of the Olympics. And then Tobin had suddenly needed her right back. She needed her even more. She couldn’t stay on the field all day practicing crosses anymore. There was physical therapy, and doctor’s appointments, and moms visiting. 

Now Christen gets to look after Tobin. She has to be the one to talk her up, make her believe, offer comfort. Given how stubborn and frustrated Tobin is, she finds it to be no easy task. Ever since Christen’s been home from camp, it’s like Tobin hasn’t been able to settle between the gratitude of having Christen there again and her general surliness about her own situation. One moment she’s affectionate and clingy, a koala bear wrapped up in designer sweats, and the next she’s lying on the couch not saying a word. She’s quieter than normal, too.

But if there’s one thing that brings Tobin back, Christen knows what it is. She knows because she’s seen it a thousand times over the past 18 months. Nothing, not even her own waning sense of confidence, could ever stop Tobin from cheerleading for Christen. 

So, Christen uses it. Between adding the cheese and the aioli to the stacked bagel she’s assembling for Tobin, Christen absently asks, “How did you get out of your head after 2011?” It’s an honest question. One that’s been on her mind every time she trains alone; alone with the team, alone with herself. No Tobin to reassure her. 

Tobin sighs heavily, considering it a while before replying, “I did what you did. I practiced PKs for hours on end until I started to convince myself I’d never miss one again. It made me want it even more. It made me work even harder.” 

Christen nods. “I mean more like…” She trails off, busying herself with slicing and then very carefully positioning tomatoes over slices of prosciutto, before adding a few mixed leaves to the filling, just how Cindy had shown her. Just how Tobin likes it best. “I meant more… How did you–” She sighs, straightening up to admit, “It’s hard to get past the feeling that I, umm, let everybody down.”

As though the words have been waiting in the wings for months now, Tobin rushes to insist, “You didn’t. We let you down. We should’ve had the game locked down in 90.” She smacks the back of one hand against the palm of the other to emphasize her point. “It should never have come down to the lottery of PKs. It’s not on, like, one or two people’s shoulders, Chris. We’re a team.”

“I don’t want it to define me.” Christen places the knife she’s holding down on the counter to offer Tobin her full attention. Tobin turns a little, shifting to open her legs so that Christen can slot herself between them and lean there. 

With her hands flat on Christen’s shoulders, Tobin replies, “That Japan final was my first World Cup. I was the reason we didn’t win. I know the others missed too, but it was on me to pull it back, right? And I missed. You think that’s all they’ll remember me by?” 

“No, of course not.”

“Then you gotta believe you can write your own ending too, Chris.”

Christen nods, accepting what she wants to believe. And then she adds, “You’re gonna be there too, right? At the end of the story?” She leans in, her lips brushing against the soft skin of Tobin’s cheeks before she’s pulled in closer still and her face nuzzles into the warm curve of Tobin’s neck. 

“Your limping girlfriend?” Tobin retorts, her words a little bitter still but soft around the edges. 

She presses a brief kiss just below Tobin’s jawline. “Not for long.” 

At that, she hears a noncommittal sound. 

“I won’t do it without you.” Christen pulls back to get a look at Tobin, to study every microexpression that’s laid bare to her: the self-doubt, the worry, the exhaustion. Everything she’s felt herself at some point or other. She lets her arms hang over Tobin’s shoulders, crossing them at her wrists so that she has Tobin fully encircled before she leans forward to kiss soft, welcoming lips. Against them, close enough for more, she says, “I couldn’t, and I won’t. It’s together or not at all, so you better start believing in that ankle of yours again, okay? ‘Cause I need you out there.” 

Something close to a smile pulls at Tobin’s mouth as she surrenders to Christen’s close-up gaze. “Why do I feel like this was just your attempt to rally me?”

It’s impossible for Christen not to giggle, a little nervously, a little happily. Because it worked. Because it’s going to keep working, this thing between them. So, Christen laughs until her laugh stills to a smile, and replies, “Because the frown doesn’t suit you. God didn’t give you all those teeth so you’d be frowning all day. This doesn’t define you. You’re not done yet, okay?” 

“Yes ma’am.” Tobin gives an affirmative nod as they come apart, Christen pulling away to attend to her culinary efforts once again. She soon hands over her little masterpiece, The Tobin Heath, presenting it proudly on a plate far too small for the size of the bagel. 

“Okay, now enjoy your food and then we’re gonna make a plan.”

Christen zooms off purposefully, and she hears a stranded Tobin call out, “What plan? Chris! Chris!” 

*

tobin

Life swings like a pendulum, hope and disappointment both taking their turns. Through it all, Christen remains still and resolute. She’s the rock. She has become Tobin’s rock through endless uncertainty as they faced 5,000 thousand miles apart. 

Somehow, even from Sweden, Christen manages to be her strength.

Despite the fact that she’s the one in the foreign country, sidelined from the national team for the time being and locked out of the league, Christen is the strong and steadying one. As though suddenly clear in her purpose, she is so focused and assured that Tobin can’t help but believe in this, their plan. This cobbled-together makeshift plan for a future thrown ever-so-slightly off-course for the time being. 

Christen manages to smile so brightly through the glitchy webcam that the warmth of her still burns for hours after. She develops a sixth sense for when Tobin needs her, when the missing becomes unbearable and Tobin’s craving even the slightest bit of contact. She speaks of all the opportunities to come with such confidence and vibrancy, it’s like a whole new person forming before Tobin’s eyes, a butterfly coming out of a cocoon. A new person to love, so easy to love. In a way, it is this Christen that Tobin misses most. It is the new person that she is becoming with each new day. The one she hasn’t had enough time with, the one she’s still getting to know. 

The Christen she meets at the airport one summer’s day feels brand new. She comes out through arrivals with her travel pillow tied around her neck, her ponytail mussed and lopsided from sleep, and her eyes determinedly seeking. Tobin finds herself wondering if it’s possible to long for someone even as they stand right in front of you. It’s an ache. It’s what keeps her rooted to the spot, wanting to watch Christen a little longer before she steps inside the moment with her. She just wants to observe this fascinating new person living in the skin of the Christen she knows, but different somehow. The difference feels so immediate, though she’s been noticing it in little ways for weeks now, through calls and FaceTimes and unreliable match streams.

When Christen sees her, her eyes light up so noticeably that Tobin feels her nervous heartbeat steady. She’s glowing, Tobin sees now, now that the spotlight has been turned on her. Christen seems lighter and brighter, an easy confidence carrying her through every step to make up the space between them. She pulls off her neck pillow just in time before she throws her arms around Tobin’s neck, the weight of her whole body crashing against Tobin’s, a wave of love that Tobin has to brace for just to stay standing. 

“Missed you,” Tobin hears, thick and muffled against her skin. 

She doesn’t have time to reply before Christen pulls back, holds her face and kisses her. It catches Tobin by surprise, has her laughing into their kiss with a messy, wild joy she wouldn’t dare try to tame. 

“There are people,” Tobin tells her, shyly glancing around them at strangers caught up in their own reunions.

“Oh yeah,” Christen concedes, her smile still blinding. She doesn’t shrink back, instead adding one last peck before tearing her lips away. She lingers close, though. She stays right there in front of Tobin, still looking at her like she’s watching a miracle unfold. 

“Happy to be home?” Tobin offers, feeling a little shy under Christen’s appreciative gaze. 

“So, so happy,” Christen replies before letting out a long, blissful sigh. 

Trying hard to be casual, to not burst into tears in the middle of the arrivals area, to not completely betray just how relieved she is to see Christen again, Tobin teases, “So, you’re gonna be a Royal, huh?” As she’s saying the words, she can hardly believe it’s real. She’s still drinking Christen in, relishing the moment she’s been looking forward to for so long, as it hits her that there won’t be any more agonizing time differences to worry about. She’s finally here and solid and real, with no screens or bad wifi connections coming between them. 

“Yeah,” Christen says, beaming, a laugh beneath her voice like she can see right through Tobin’s barely-cool facade. “You think you can love a Royal?” 

Tobin pretends to consider it, giving a thoughtful frown. “I think I can make it work.” Brightening, she continues, “Don’t think my defence is gonna be too thrilled, but I’ll take you being in Utah over you being in Sweden any day. I’m so fucking happy I don’t have to say goodnight to you over lunch anymore.” 

Christen cradles Tobin’s face gently, not letting her look away, which is just fine with Tobin, because she doesn’t ever want to. She could stand there memorizing every detail of Christen’s features forever: the gray-green eyes that no computer screen could ever do justice to, the way the lines from her smile stretch out from her eyes to wrinkle the skin at her nose, the fluffy baby hair sticking up at the borders of her face.

After a long moment of looking at each other and nothing else, Tobin quietly asks, “You wanna head home? Take a nap?” 

“This is gonna sound crazy–”

Tobin laughs at the funny look in Christen’s eye, a series of soft chuckles that spill out in a row. “What?”

“I kinda wanna… umm, stretch my legs,” Christen admits, a guilty look on her face. “You feel like maybe getting some practice in?” 

Tobin thinks for a moment about all of the things she’d wanted to do the moment Christen got back. She’d thought about the meals she could make their first night together, the notes she would leave around the apartment for Christen to find (that will now stay unread a little longer), the questions she’d ask as they lay together on the cusp of sleep, the glorious sex they’d have after so long without. And yet, oddly, none of it seems as beautiful and perfect as this. This strange little moment in a dirty, busy airport – a prelude to an impromptu practice session. 

Tobin drives to the same place she’s driven to a thousand times before, though not for a while. She’d kept all of the training equipment in the trunk of her car, so they only have to stop at home long enough for Christen to change. It feels like no time at all before they’re out on the practice field, spiking poles into the ground and setting up mannequins in front of the goal. 

As they start to play, Tobin follows Christen’s lead, happy for the excuse to observe her in person more than anything. These past few weeks she’d watched Christen play through screens: slumped over her phone until her eyes were straining and there was a crick in her neck. It was worth it to watch Christen grow in confidence. But the reality – the physical, tangible reality – is so much better in every way. She’s so eager and alive, so sure of what she wants to do. She completes run after run – dribbling, dodging, shooting and then, inevitably, scoring. 

“You’re not gonna need those PKs,” Tobin says with a smirk, a hand on her hip as she watches Christen take another shot full-out after running around all of the obstacles Tobin had set up. 

“What?” Christen calls over after watching the ball ricochet against the net, her hand blocking the sun from her eyes.

“I said you won’t need ‘em.” 

Christen stares back at her, daring her to jinx it.

“You’ll score in regular time. I just know it,” Tobin insists with a smug grin. 

“That’s bad juju, Tobes!” 

“No, it’s just the truth,” she contends with a shrug, turning her attention to the ball she’s rolling under one cleat and flicking it up onto the top of her foot, bouncing it a couple of times, then sending it over to Christen. Christen volleys it straight into the goal, sending it between two mannequins. Instantly, she turns back to Tobin, two arms punched high in the air. And then she’s dancing – a silly, playful little movement of her hips that could dubiously be considered dancing. 

She’s different now, Tobin thinks as she watches, unable to suppress a broad smile. 

Their kickaround at the field doesn’t last too long. It’s not hours upon hours like it used to be, on long days that felt designed to weed out the weak. It isn’t about Christen tiring herself out just to know that she can’t do anything more. It’s fun – the best fun. 

It’s still early when they get back home, but Tobin can tell Christen’s energy is fading fast. She’d mentioned sleeping for most of the flight but the time difference still seems to have caught up with her. Tobin watches Christen dazedly throw on the t-shirt and sleep shorts she likes best, the oversized top that might’ve once been hers but has since been otherwise claimed.

When Christen climbs into bed, limbs heavy from a day’s travel and then training, she is little more than an apparition. Her eyes open a flash and then she disappears. She lifts the sheet for herself, then turns onto her side to sink into sleep, like the tide of it already laps at her feet. It takes her fast, too fast for Tobin’s liking, but Tobin finds her own comfort in it, of knowing this about Christen, of being able to slot into place behind her girlfriend and bask in the scent of coconut on her skin, vanilla in her hair. It burns in her chest, the warmth of it all; it’s the fire of a cozy home, safety from all that exists outside of this, their private perfect. 

Home had always seemed so abstract to Tobin. And then home had walked into her life, its roots planting deep before she even noticed them beginning to form. Their friendship had been the bones of a house that could weather any storm. She knows it now; she knows it deeply and absolutely.

You’re home, Tobin thinks fondly, as she feels the even lift of Christen’s body with every breath.

It is this feeling, a warm crackle just below the skin, that pulls her under the covers well before time. It leaves her lying awake for hours with a mind so brilliantly alive that it fends off any hope of sleep, until the last spark of light goes out and the final flickering embers of ideas fall away. 

Home is going to bed long before she can fall asleep just to lie with the one she loves, soaking it in.

Home is thick, soft curls teasing her cheeks.

Home is coconut and vanilla.

When the game is all over, Tobin reassures herself, we’ll come back to this. We’ll come home.  

It’s on a night just like this that she decides to propose. It’s an abstract idea that firms up quickly, the details coming into focus while Christen sleeps beside her, oblivious. There’s no urgency in the question; instead, it’s a comfort to know it’s coming. Sometime, sooner or later, the moment will feel right and she’ll know – because she’s already decided – that it’s the only choice to make. 

They’ll come back to this. This, but perhaps something even better. 

Tobin decides there and then that she’d like to find out if that’s possible. 

*

christen

When things get suddenly worse – so unimaginably worse, it seems as though they might never get better – Christen’s whole world is turned upside down. There are some heartbreaks that can’t be braced for, can’t be talked through, can’t be healed. It is in her grief that she finds herself torn between wanting to be alone all the time and wanting Tobin more than ever. She discovers it is in fact possible to urgently and desperately want two contradictory things at the same time. 

There is no timeline for this kind of recovery, one of loss and not injury.

Tobin doesn’t try to rally her, but instead simply lies with her in silence. There is so much silence for a while. Every day seems to end with them lying on a bed facing towards each other, a look in Tobin’s eye as if she’s waiting for something to change, as if she’s waiting for the silence to end. It’s not frustration or impatience, but unflinching concern. 

Their routine changes for a while, and then it reverts back to normal. They play again, together, and then with the team. They act like the ground hasn’t just fallen away from beneath their feet. 

But this small part of Christen’s life is where the grief is most vivid. This bookend of each day, where they are parallel on a bed, watching over each other. Stillness in chaos.  

At camp, they’re afforded the rare luxury of a room together. It feels like a small gesture of goodwill, an encouraging sign of how much Christen matters to the team. It allows them a kind of halfway privacy as they fold back into the regular pattern of their lives, as they turn their focus back to this World Cup that now feels like a merciful distraction. It is there, in a room neighboring their closest friends, that Christen whispers, her eyes filling and her voice cracking, “I can’t… think about anything else. I can’t imagine not feeling this, umm… this weight.”

Tobin’s eyes, so big and curious and concerned, watch over her. Christen gets that feeling again that she'd been waiting for the silence to break, carrying the tension until Christen was ready. 

“Chris.” Tobin says nothing else, but it’s comforting enough just to hear her name wrapped in warmth as Tobin’s arms envelop her, closing the gap between them on their still-made bed. They fold together like perfectly crafted origami; they fit around each other, creating something new, and once the first sob escapes Christen, she finds she can’t stop.

“I’m sorry,” Christen says through her tears, though she barely has the air to speak. 

Tobin pulls back to swipe her thumbs across Christen’s damp cheeks. The steadiness of the gesture reminds her of when Tobin had done it before, when they’d sat together on the bus after the Olympics. The loss had once felt like the worst pain in the world, her own disappointment so mixed with guilt over everyone else’s. She knows now, she’s learned the hard way, that it isn’t.

Between uneven breaths, Christen finds herself saying, “You don’t–you don’t have to stay.” 

“It’s my room too,” Tobin points out, her brows drawn together as she studies Christen’s expression. She doesn’t understand. 

“No,” Christen finds herself replying, the words spilling out though her brain is whirring too frantically to think them first. She’s listening, an observer in her own life, watching herself speak. There’s a conflict inside Christen, hopelessly torn between wanting Tobin to stay and go all at once. She wants to be able to preserve the Christen that Tobin had fallen in love with, wishes only to give Tobin that version of herself forever. But that would mean giving Tobin up. “I mean… you don’t have to stay.” 

Pain flashing in her eyes before her brow furrows, Tobin says, “Chris, I don’t… wanna be anywhere else.”

“Are you sure?” She lets out a wavering sigh. 

“Yeah, I uh–” Tobin shifts back on the mattress, creating a physical distance between them that feels almost unbearable now. It makes it seem so utterly impossible that she could ever have let Tobin go, and her hand reaches out for contact, settling on Tobin’s knee gently – as though wanting to go unnoticed. 

“What?” she asks, desperately curious, desperately keen to be reassured. 

“I, uh… I wrote you a letter once, you know.” Tobin confesses it so quietly, it seems to disappear in the air between them, the words faint and impossible. Christen watches Tobin scoop up a handful of hair between her fingers and throw it over to the other side so that it sits messy and soft, all a little askew. “I dropped you off at the airport and I think it was the worst one. I don’t know why, but I was super in my head that day. We’d done it before, a couple times, but it started to feel routine and that’s what hurt most, I guess. You were gone again and my apartment had never felt emptier. So I wrote you.”

Feeling the smallness of her voice, Christen says, “I didn’t get a letter.”

Christen’s grip on Tobin’s knee is suddenly tight. Enough to prompt Tobin’s eyes to glance down at the touch. She shifts forward, as though sensing Christen’s need for something physical, and delicately holds her face before pressing a sweet kiss to her cheek. Then she goes. Tobin shifts off the bed and pads across the room to her half-open suitcase, rooting into one of the zipped pockets. 

“It’s, umm… I still have it. It’s in here. I brought it. I don’t know why. Like, I just thought, someday maybe you’d, like, read it to understand things better than anything I say in, like, the heat of the moment,” Tobin mumbles awkwardly as the sentence gets away from her. She stops to look down, finally seeming to have found what she’s looking for, then hops back up and moves to settle back on the bed, her legs folded underneath her. 

“It’s handwritten,” Christen murmurs to herself as she unfurls the slightly crumpled paper that Tobin places in her hands. The sight of Tobin’s scrawl moves her before she can read a single word.

Christen,

If distance has taught me anything, it’s that we’re just not meant to be apart. Each time you come back, I can feel you changing and I want to be there to see it happen. 

I know now that I’m ready for every new version of you that comes along. I’m going to love each one in new ways that take us both by surprise. I didn’t know this was the best part before, the part when we get to change together and find new ways to love each other. 

A year ago, I couldn’t imagine loving you more. I couldn’t imagine how it could be possible to love you more than I did back then. Everything was so good for so long, all those months of just loving each other like we did. 

It’s become so much more. It’s grown and evolved, and I think the heart just expands infinitely to make room for it – to make room for you. It’s become harder at times. I know you’ve felt it too. It’s not meant to be easy. I know. I wish life would go a little easier on my heart these days. 

Come home to me always, because I’ll stay loving you.

Yours, 

Tobin

Without a voice to speak with, Christen utters a silent, broken, “Thank you,” looking back up from the tear-stained paper to find Tobin. Beautiful, loving Tobin who’d waited with so many of the answers to her worries just wrapped up in a neat little envelope in her suitcase. 

Now, she reaches out to hold Christen’s face, her thumb brushing gently across Christen’s cheekbone, and it might be the first moment of comfort that Christen has truly allowed herself to sink into. “You don’t need to worry about me, Chris. I’m here.” 

“Yeah,” Christen accepts, tears bubbling up once more. She kisses Tobin because she can’t possibly spend another moment not kissing Tobin, and then confesses: “After Rio, I was worried that, umm, maybe… we couldn’t deal with all of it. It seems smaller now, but everything felt too much, and I thought it would be too much for you. It was a lot, and things were still new.”

“Not that new.”

“Kinda new,” Christen pushes back.

Tobin shakes her head but doesn’t say anything, not wanting to speak over Christen. But Christen can see she’s biting her tongue. “What?”

“I knew before then that this was it, Chris.” The look in Tobin’s eye is dead serious.

Christen stares back at her, mystified, shaking her head. “No, you didn’t.” She can’t have known, not before. It had always been Christen who knew, Christen who’d settled for sly glances across crowded rooms and partnering for warm-up drills and watching from the bench, Christen who’d once dared to break a silence with the first I love you. She can barely accept, or even comprehend, the idea that Tobin knows now that this is it. But two, three years ago?

“Of course I did,” Tobin insists so nonchalantly.

“Oh yeah? When?”

“The first time you had to go back to Chicago.” Tobin confesses it quickly, like she’s ripping off a bandaid. She doesn’t seek out eye contact, instead looking down as her hands play with a loose thread on her shorts. “I’ve done long-distance, Chris, and it never felt like that before. Like this .” She gives a long sigh. “Face it, baby. You’re stuck with me.”

When Tobin looks back up and smiles at her, it feels like the first smile she’s ever seen. It’s the sun bursting out from behind a cloud. It hits her and it feels like healing. 

Thank God, she thinks but can’t quite bring herself to say. Thank God for you.

*

tobin  

Making it to another World Cup feels like a miracle. They make it together, and every second in France feels so completely different to the France that had lived in her memories. The backdrop of noise and warmth that the team lends them makes it feel like a brand new place – whether it’s Sonnett dancing up the aisles of trains or JJ and Crystal sneaking baguettes whenever Dawn’s not around or the tactile, playful company of Pinoe, Ali and Ash. 

There are parts of Paris that she makes sure to soak up with Lindsey, reflecting on their shared journey with gratitude. Pockets of the city had felt like an escape: a dive bar with football games shown on low-tech screens, their favorite patisserie, the riverside walk they’d taken whenever they needed to get away from it all. Now, they show them to Christen with nostalgia in their voices, thinking back to harder days that turned out just fine, all in all. It sits different now, with that part of their lives long resolved. There’s fondness in Tobin’s heart for all that this place gave to her, for all of the ways it changed her. 

She wonders more than ever if this cycle might be her last, relishing in the unknown of it and savoring every second just in case. To be in France for this feels poetic. There are ways to transform each moment into a narrative in her mind, just to help make sense of this strange life she’s chosen, but she resists it at every stage. Instead, she focuses on each match as its own test to succeed or fail in. It’s Thailand, then Chile, then Sweden (and there’s no way she’s not scoring), then Spain, then France. Each one a step closer to what they’ve dreamed of. The stakes have never felt higher, with the attention of the world on them like never before. And Pinoe carries most of it, with the same confidence that Tobin’s come to expect from her friend. She carries the team on her back through the round of 16, and then the quarter-finals. She carries them until her hamstring says she can’t anymore – and, suddenly, it’s Christen. It’s Christen in the starting XI in the semi-final against England. It’s Christen on the wing, in perfect symmetry with Tobin, Alex in between them. It’s her chance. 

It takes barely 10 minutes. As has become their signature. 

There’s a World Cup header that feels something like redemption. Tobin might never have felt such a heady rush of joy and relief wash over her. It brings her to her knees. It brings a stadium to its feet. It is the lead, and then it is the difference. 

It’s her favorite goal of the tournament; it will remain her favorite goal of the tournament. But she soon decides that her favorite goals of all are the ones shared on empty practice fields with no one else around. The ones that had brought a modest, proud smile to Christen’s face as she’d built herself back up.  There had been too many to count during those relentless days where Christen had barely allowed herself the chance to breathe. She’d been shooting and shooting: chips, volleys, long-range bangers, left-foot, right-foot – and, yes, even headers. One goal at a time, piece by piece, she’d put herself back together again. All for this moment. 

She watches Christen throw her arms wide, looking up to the sky, before the team comes crashing in to celebrate, before Tobin can reach her and tell her how proud she is in words, sweet, candid words yelled wildly in her ear. 

When, later, they get to be in private, the locker room door closed and only their inner circle around, Tobin wraps Christen up in a hug so tight, she can hear Christen laughing at her enthusiasm. There’s something stuck in her throat that won’t let up, a thickness to her voice, as she whispers, “You fucking did it, Chris.” 

The awe she’d felt as the ball hit the net and her knees hit the grass pales compared to when Christen replies, pulling back to smile warmly for Tobin, “It’s only the start, Tobes. We’ve still got so much unfinished business.”

Delicately, Christen traces the pads of her fingers to where wetness trails on Tobin’s cheeks, brushing it away as Tobin gazes back at her, dazzled. When the tears are gone, and Tobin’s face looks normal but for the redness of her eyes, Christen lets out a deep breath and puts their foreheads together. 

“I’m so proud of you,” Tobin says quietly, loud enough for only Christen to hear. The rest of the locker room is a flurry of chaotic joy while they stand perfectly still. She would’ve been so proud of you goes unspoken. 

“I wanted you to be proud,” Christen whispers, shy with her confession.

“Don’t ever doubt it.” Tobin closes the mere millimeters between them, her mouth finding Christen’s for a moment inside their bubble, messy and glorious and earned. It tastes of mint and sweat and home.

When they come apart, the distance barely a whisker, Christen scrunches her nose a little and says, “That was fun.” Tobin raises her eyebrows a flash, before Christen clarifies: “I had fun out there.” 

“You had fun?” Laughter trickles out of Tobin at the innocent shrug that Christen gives her. “I feel like I shaved a good few years off my life tonight.”

Eyes wide and alive, Christen insists, “Yeah, but it was fun though, huh?”

Still holding her girl in her arms, Tobin can only shake her head, dazed, and concede, “It was fucking incredible. You are fucking incredible.” 

*

christen  

When Christen thinks back on 2019, she imagines that the memories will be fond ones, despite the worst of it. She’ll think about the pride she felt launching the new company, the thrill of seeing that ball hit the net in France, the devoted fans who waited in the stands to chant for equal pay, the weight of the trophy in her hands, the way Pinoe hugged her with a little extra squeeze every time they saw each other, and the look on Tobin’s face when Christen had said yes. 

That’s the cherry on top. One final, beautiful surprise to end a decade – a decade of fighting for everything that’s culminated in this one crazy year.

She’s been keeping the secret for days now. At first, it had been to keep the shine on Ali and Ash for their big day. But then it had been fun, the secret thrill of being the only two people in the world who know something so precious and important. They have yet to find the right moment to say it aloud. They’ve been staying with Tobin’s family for the past few days and, with all the catching up and toddler-wrangling and organized family bonding activities, there have been no moments to stop and take a breath. 

It’s New Year’s Eve before they know it and, still, nobody knows. 

Christen begins to wonder if Tobin’s getting cold feet from the way she begins avoiding the topic every time Christen goes to bring it up. She tries to address it when they’re getting ready, as she picks up one of her brand new dangly earrings – a gift from her soon-to-be mother-in-law. “We should tell them tonight,” she thinks aloud, turning her head to where Tobin’s rifling through a suitcase. Tobin stops to look up at Christen, but doesn’t say anything.

With her eyes on the dressing table mirror as she threads the fine metal finding through her piercing, Christen waits patiently for an answer that doesn’t come. Instead, Tobin comes up behind her, wraps her arms around her waist and distracts her from both the question and the getting ready by turning her for a kiss. Christen can’t help but smile into it, even as her hands come up to Tobin’s chest to resist the diversion. Tobin laughs at the feeble protest, reaching past Christen to pick up the ring that’s lying on the dressing table beside Christen’s other earring. She takes it in her hands, her fingers clutching the ring with the stone facing up, and says, “Or,” and Christen’s already unimpressed, “we could just enjoy this, like, sweet, romantic secret between us.”

Tobin slides it back onto Christen’s finger, the same way she’s done a few times already. Christen’s hand is compliant, letting her slide it decisively to its rightful place, looking down fondly at where it rests.  

“You know, I could keep it there all the time if you’d just tell your family,” Christen points out, her eyebrows raised rather pointedly. She plays with it, twisting it around in a full rotation with the back of her thumb. It’s strange, the feeling of the engagement ring in its place. It’s something to get used to, because now that it’s there, it’ll spend the rest of her life occupying the fourth finger on her left hand. Not tonight, of course, because she’ll let Tobin have her way a little longer, but once she does win this argument – or at least manage not to be distracted out of it. 

Tobin only laughs. It’s the most infuriating habit she has. Whenever she doesn’t want to talk about something, she laughs it off so easily, so charmingly that Christen can’t bring herself to push it anymore. She can only let her off the hook, falling closer into her arms and indulging in the makeout session that Tobin had quite clearly been hoping for. 

Later, they’re in the kitchen helping prepare the food for their little family party – or, in Tobin’s case, eating said food before they’re allowed – when Christen spins Tobin around by the hips to get her full attention, this time determined not to be thrown off-course. She’s greeted with a smug grin that suggests Tobin’s expecting something else, her body leaning in instinctively, halting abruptly when she notices the serious look on her (secret) fiancée’s face. 

“What’s up?” she asks, so brazenly Christen screws up her face in frustration. 

“What’s up?” she repeats, voice laden with sarcasm. “I want to talk about when we’re gonna tell your family. We’re leaving soon and then, what, you wanna tell ’em on the phone?”

Tobin gives a heavy sigh and moves to turn away, stopping herself before she does. 

“We have to tell ’em before we go, Tobes. Unless… you’re having, umm... second thoughts.” Christen trusts Tobin well enough to know she wouldn’t have asked unless she was sure, and the words Tobin had spoken as she’d asked the question had felt as true and certain as any Christen has ever heard. Nevertheless, she can sense the nerves radiating off of Tobin’s body and she can’t help but notice the way Tobin keeps evading the conversation. 

“Fuck, no. Chris.” She picks up both of Christen’s hands in her own, holding them between their chests. “Chris, I’m just… They’ll make it a whole thing. My sisters. They won’t stop talking about, like, every detail of what I’m gonna wear and where we’re gonna get married and what the color scheme is. I just wanted to do it, like… right before we go so that I don’t have to get into all that stuff, you know?”

Christen can’t help but laugh at her, at the genuine look of fear in her eyes at the thought. When Tobin finishes explaining, she settles on apologetic puss-in-boots eyes and Christen can’t resist kissing her temple and letting Tobin lean on her. Stroking a hand gently through Tobin’s hair, Christen reassures her, “I think they know you well enough not to bother you with all that. Perry’s been texting me about wedding dresses for years.” 

“She–what?” Tobin lifts her head from where she’s resting it against Christen’s shoulder.

“Yeah, she…” Christen rolls her eyes, because it really is no big deal. “She’s been planning it longer than either of us, I think.”

“That’s so…” Tobin considers it for a minute. “Perry.” 

Christen gives a big laugh, throwing her head back. Warm ripples of laughter round out every word as she replies, “See, so I really think I’m the one who should be concerned about your sisters.”

“And you still want to tell them?” Tobin checks, before adding: “Like, you still want to join my crazy, intense family?”

“Yes, and yes.” Christen leans forward to place a featherlight peck to Tobin’s lips. “I love them. And I love you. And I, for one, am actually super excited to tell them. It’ll make them happy.” Christen pulls back a little and Tobin automatically goes with her, her hands settling on Christen’s arms to keep her close. 

“Yeah, yeah… I know, I just… liked it being ours,” Tobin admits softly. 

“Me too.” Christen kisses her, then tilts her forehead against Tobin’s. “But, I don’t know, maybe it’ll feel even better when we share it.”

“Share what?” they hear all of a sudden, and Perry’s staring expectantly at them, Katie hot on her heels as they appear suddenly in the corner of the kitchen, both with eyebrows raised. 

“Geeez. I swear your hearing is, like, superhuman,” Tobin says, jumping a little at the abrupt interruption. She ends up beside Christen, though a step further back from her sisters. Christen grins to herself at Tobin’s obvious temptation to hide behind her. 

“What are you sharing?” Perry presses them, as Katie silently stares the two of them down beside her.

“Absolutely nothing with you,” Tobin teases, laughing at their eagerness. 

“Christen?” Perry turns her attention elsewhere, her voice laced with an optimistic pleading.

“Mm?” Christen’s mouth is locked tight. 

“Do you have something to share?” 

“I, uh–” She looks at Tobin for help and gets only a shake of the head in response. “I think… what time is it?” 

She pulls up her wrist to look at her watch, but as she looks down, Perry cuts in: “Nine.” 

She’s left looking at her hand – and there’s the ring. She’d forgotten to take it off. She’d liked the feel of it a little too much, allowed herself to keep it right there a little longer, and then forgotten. The ring’s there and her eyes are studying it, like it’s hitting her all over again what it means just as she realizes she’s not meant to be wearing it right now, and then she looks up to meet Perry’s eyes, then Katie’s. 

“Tobin–” Christen starts, but Tobin obliviously starts to argue.

“No, they don’t get rewarded for eavesdropping, Chris,” Tobin insists, entirely pretending to be serious as Perry and Katie scowl at her impatiently. Christen can only giggle nervously, realizing that their little charade might already be up.

“Tobin, they–they know.”

“What?”

Leaning to whisper in Tobin’s ear, she quietly confesses, “I forgot to take the ring off.”

“You–”

Christen grimaces before hiding her face against Tobin’s shoulder. She clings on there, only daring to look up after a few seconds have passed. 

“Okay.” Tobin nods to herself, then looks back at her sisters, who now look rather pleased with themselves. Christen has to bite her lip to stop the laughter. Tobin can only throw her hands up in the air. “So. We’re engaged.” 

A flurry of words explode out of both Heath sisters’ mouths and Christen doesn’t even try to follow. She stands up straight and lets Tobin take the brunt of it, anticipating a rush of hugs as they hear a cacophony of, “Finally! When? Who proposed? Who knows? Congratulations! Does Mom know? She can’t keep a secret! You haven’t told her? When did it happen? Toby! Christen!”

“Okay, you cannot expect us to respond to all those questions,” Tobin laughs them off as they wrap their arms around her at the same time before moving on to hug Christen. “Mom doesn’t know yet so, like, I guess… we’ll tell her soon–”

“Tell me what, sweetheart?” Cindy appears suddenly, entering the kitchen with the same tray of pigs in blankets that she’d left with only minutes earlier, now half-empty. “You girls better have some of these in here because those boys are just getting through ’em.”  

“This house is, uh, chaos,” Tobin mutters to herself. 

Christen rolls her eyes at Tobin’s quiet frustration, feeling at home as Perry rests an arm around her shoulders. 

“Tobes?” Tobin’s mom looks back at her curiously, putting the food on the counter to see what all the fuss is about. There’s a soft, sweet tone to Cindy’s voice as she asks, “What were you girls getting all excited about?”

“Mom, I, uh…” Tobin flips her hair onto one side, the same as she had when she’d been stumbling over her words trying to propose. Christen smiles fondly to herself, waiting patiently – more patiently than her future sisters-in-law, whose eyes stay wide with anticipation with every drawn out pause that Tobin takes. “I proposed to Christen. We’re, uh, getting married. That’s… that’s our big news.” 

“Tobes, you’re engaged?” It’s almost a gasp, the joy seeming to burst out so fast that her voice goes all the way up. She rushes across the tiled floor, her slippers tapping lightly with each bounce, and wraps Tobin up in a big, warm hug, her eyes squeezing shut just to savor the moment. When they open again, she catches sight of Christen standing all alone and reaches out her arm – quick as a reflex. She takes Christen’s hand before abandoning Tobin entirely to embrace Christen just like her own daughter.

Cindy holds her so tight, she can hardly breathe. It’s such a genuine, overflowing excitement that Christen can’t help the emotions of the moment. It feels exactly as she’d imagined – or perhaps only dreamed – it would. It feels sparkling, like a moment that’s already a snapshot in time. Something she’ll think about someday in vivid detail, from the smell of the freshly baked food to the feeling of wet tears on her cheeks. Over Cindy’s shoulder, she can see Tobin watching, with Katie and Perry beaming at either side of her. It’s clear, Christen notices, that the emotion is catching Tobin by surprise too as she mouths, “It is even better. You were right.” 

When she’s finally ready to let go, Cindy declares, “This calls for champagne!” 

Tobin’s full-body laughing, like the emotion is felt with every inch of her, and Christen’s just looking from one person to the next to mentally record each and every reaction. 

“Happy new year, Chris,” Tobin whispers in her ear just as soon as she can get Christen back to herself, lips brushing against her skin and hot breath hitting her cheek. 

“It’s not midnight yet!” Christen pulls back, accepting a flute of champagne as Katie hands it to her. 

“I don’t think we can pack any more into this year, babe,” Tobin says, chuckling. 

Thinking about the last 12 months is an overwhelming prospect; it’s so much all at once, so much of everything. Christen looks down. Tears rise fast, and she can’t help it, can’t shake it away, and before she knows it, she can hear Tobin softly saying, “Hey, hey, hey.”

“Sorry. I’m just… happy,” Christen says in a sob, a laugh beneath it too as she looks up.

Tobin nods, looking at her carefully. There’s the same sweet concern in her eyes that has become so familiar, but Christen manages to offer a big, broad smile to reassure her. Because they made it. They made it to their very own new beginning, on the cusp of a new year, a new decade. It’s time, she accepts, to take with her only the good. And Tobin – she’s the very best. 

They kiss like it’s the end of the New Year’s countdown already, everyone clinking glasses around them and relishing how much Tobin is hating it. Sure enough, when they come apart, Tobin buries her face in the curve of Christen’s neck, and Christen lets her hide away there. She rests her hand above Tobin’s neckline, letting the cool gold band of her ring press against warm bare skin. They’ll take comfort in each other, through the good times, the bad times and the ritual family humiliation. No need to wait for the vows.

When the clock finally does strike midnight some hours later, they’re barely awake. Stretched out lazily on the couch, Tobin’s dozing against Christen’s shoulder as everyone starts counting around her. The burst of cheers wakes Tobin up, prompting her to jerk against Christen as she rouses, and they look up to see Perry smirking. 

“You’re like an old married couple already,” she teases, dropping a handful of colorful confetti over them, prompting two of Tobin’s nephews to follow suit.

Tobin throws the party debris back at her sister, then promptly falls right to sleep again.

*

tobin

Christen’s running in hyper-speed down the pitch on the break, faking out a defender to move wide. Tobin, Lindsey and Pinoe are all making runs up to the box. Tobin’s watching as Christen tries to buy time with a little misdirection, and then she glances up, her eyes lit up like the play is set. 

Time slows down. 

Four years pass by in a couple of seconds. 

Four years out on empty practice fields, the two of them striking and striking and striking. The two of them falling in love. The scores going up and up, momentum on their side until the blows start coming. Separation and injuries and grief all pushing back against them, forcing them further down the field, making each attempt harder until Christen is striking from midfield. But she’s learned to score in spite of things now, she’s learned how to find the tiny gaps of possibility, slipways of hope. That’s all it is.

The noise of the crowd feels thunderous. The run of play prompts a swell of cacophonous cheers and boos, surrounding them with such intensity, it’s fuel enough to push through tired legs and niggling aches. The packed out crowd filling Tokyo’s national stadium deserves a performance. A performance is what they’ll get from Christen Press on a tear, fresh off the thrilling drama of the opposition’s late equalizer. 

Time catches up, and Tobin watches Christen tap the ball to Lindsey, then sees her sprinting to meet the service again. Where Tobin is, the window between them can’t be seen. She’s still running hard to provide another option, wide on the right flank, keeping her head up as it unfolds, desperate not to let the break go to waste. But there’s a seam between the defenders, she finds out only after the play is over. There’s a gap, narrow and fleeting, but enough. The width of a football, the length of a stride. Enough.

The ball comes back to Christen’s feet like a dog returning to its owner, eager to please, ready to go again. It’s hers now, the shot is hers. Tobin knows it, feels it, trusts it. Christen’s just outside the 18 and completely zoned in. Tobin’s run peters out once she sees Christen take a touch, knowing exactly how this plays out. She’s moving just enough to stay open for a crossbar rebound, even while she knows there’s no danger of that. No keeper in the world is going to block this ball, no crossbar is going to take this from them. It’s her moment, Tobin thinks, watching breathlessly. All she’d needed was to be ready for it. This moment.

Tobin watches Christen strike hard, the inside of the cleat clapping against the wet leather of the ball, and there it is. It curves into the top left corner, helpless fingertips brushing against it, unable to prevent the force of the shot shaking the netting as it punches the back of the goal. It’s in. 

87th minute. It’s in and they’re 2-1 up.

The wall of defenders turns to dust. Everything disappears. It’s Christen and Tobin alone in slow motion, their eyes meeting instantly as they run and run and run.

In seconds, Christen is swept up by her teammates: Lindsey, Rose, Pinoe, Kelley. Tobin watches her disappear among them, a mob of congratulations enveloping her completely until Tobin can barely see Christen at all. And then they step back a little. Pinoe unfolds from the embrace, eyes searching, as if making room for Tobin. There she is, Tobin thinks as Christen appears again, a modest smile at her lips. It’s like a lightning strike. It’s like seeing someone for the first time. It’s like getting to the end of the rainbow and finding the gold there after all. But gold comes later. Now she has Christen, her Christen, whose emotions are etched plain as day across her face. 

When they reach each other, they fall together as everyone else falls away. Tobin can feel Kelley’s hand flat on her back, she can feel the others not far away. They’re surrounding them as the celebrations continue, as if forming a protective huddle as a hive mind. It allows Tobin to fall against Christen easily, tucking into her neck without self-consciousness. It’s privacy on the most public stage of all. One short, sweet moment in the bubble. The walls don’t shake; they’re locked inside something solid and whole, where nothing but love can reach them.

“You did it,” she says, her lips brushing against Christen’s cheek in lieu of the kiss she’d never give on the field. Christen pulls back to find her eyes, and there’s a look there as if it had barely occurred to her that she had. 

All Tobin thinks then is, soon we’ll celebrate. We’ll hold each other as long as we want and dance until sunrise and have all the big conversations we’ve put off. 

As if sensing Tobin’s mind running away with her, thinking a little too far ahead, Christen urgently says, “Baby. Tobes.” With Tobin’s full attention, clutching her shoulders, she speaks animatedly, with her eyes wide, “I need you to hold onto that ball and not let go for the next, umm, five minutes.” 

Tobin laughs. “I got it,” she promises, breathing in deeply before following Christen over to the midfield to restart play. Her eyes linger on the sky as she walks; she points up. Thank you. 

As soon as the whistle blows for the post-goal kick-off, Tobin hogs the ball like never before. She dribbles out to the corner flag, lingering aimlessly until Rose provides her a little assistance as defenders swipe at her feet. She takes her time with a throw-in before Kelley decides to take it, throwing it to Tobin’s feet, where she feigns purpose, again running up to the end line with three defenders on her – eventually earning a corner just as a fourth arrives. 

She plays it short to Pinoe, who comes over from the left wing to assist the play. It’s predictable and they know it, defenders hacking at their ankles in seconds to hand over a free kick almost instantly. The impatience of the opposition is transparent; they have them completely on the back foot with seconds ticking away, and as soon as it tips over 90, Tobin can feel the barely-contained emotion building and building and building. 

As she and Pinoe kick the ball between them, there’s eye contact that feels telepathic. We’re gonna win. For Christen, for the team. Just hold on. 

*

christen

Christen wakes up the winner of an Olympic gold medal. As she stretches out in Tobin’s bed, in Tobin’s room, the sheet is cold against her hand and she shifts to sit upright to look around. She’s alone, surrounded by stillness in the mostly barren space, wearing nothing but the oversized re-inc t-shirt Tobin had thrown at her sometime in the early hours, when she’d complained of being cold. 

She fumbles around for her phone, finding it uncharged between the pillows. Rubbing her eyes to adjust to the stark morning light, she glances over at the bedside table to see two gleaming gold medals side by side. There’s a note beneath them, weighted down by the gravity of them.

“Your superpower may just be remembering that every new day could feel like the start to a new year. New mood. New attitude. New goal. New perspective. New mission. New venture. And a new opportunity to be the most kick-ass version of yourself possible.” - Cleo Wade

It’s written in Tobin’s unmistakable messy scrawl, a heart doodled beside it. 

A few minutes later, Tobin stumbles through the door, her hair unkempt beneath a backwards cap with head-to-toe dusk blue sweats. There’s a smile, too; there’s one from the very second Christen first sees her face, one that’s been stuck there since Christen’s shot had hit the net, but there’s a brighter one comes as well, the expression that blooms when she takes in the sight of Christen lying in bed. It makes Christen blush a little.

“Hey, champ,” Tobin says warmly, placing the two coffee cups in her hands onto the nightstand beside the medals. She then flops happily onto the bed, lying half-across Christen. The motion of it knocks her hat off but she doesn’t reach out for it, instead leaning up to press a soft kiss to Christen’s lips. They both groan a little, reminded suddenly of the strain they’d put their bodies under only hours before. In this warm morning light, though, the soreness and pain are as much proof of what they’d fought for, what they’d earned, what they’d won as their medals. 

“New mission, huh?” Christen raises an eyebrow at her before waving the little piece of notepaper.

“Thought maybe it was time,” Tobin says, a closed-mouth smile slanting her lips. She starts to pull herself further over to her side of the bed, settling over the covers and letting her slides fall where they may. 

“Yeah,” Christen concedes, a sigh easing out of her. “I think you might be right.”

“You did it, Chris.” She makes it sound so simple. So absolute.

Christen turns onto her side to face Tobin, half of her face hidden in the comfort of the pillow. “It wasn’t just me.”

“Same goes for the losses then too, right?”

“Have you been waiting four years to say that?” Christen turns over, rolling her eyes though Tobin can’t see it. But Tobin’s quick to react, shifting closer again so that they’re spooning, Tobin’s arms wrapping around Christen’s waist. 

Tobin’s rough, low morning voice whispers against her ear. “Maybe.” 

She feels a kiss, teasing and all too brief, against the back of her neck. And then Tobin’s reaching over her for something – the nightstand, it turns out. She’s curling her finger around the ribbon of a medal, pulling it to her until it’s clasped in the palm of her hand. Her thumb moves gently across the embossed detail of the five rings.

Christen watches curiously, shifting onto her back so that Tobin can lean over her chest with the medal in her hand. She looks up at Christen as though she’s coming fresh out of a thought, purpose about her as she sits up and moves to straddle Christen’s waist. Tobin leans down to loop the medal around Christen’s neck and Christen can’t help but play along, giggling under the weight of her fiancée, still feeling so wildly electric, her body a livewire. She can only beam. Her fullest, broadest smile spreads out as Tobin looks down, pensive now, like she’s taking a mental picture. 

“You look good in gold,” Tobin says, her voice dreamy and smooth.

Christen can only melt. She thinks maybe if she’d known that this, this right here, would be her reward, perhaps she’d have fought for it even harder. Pressed against the cheap mattress of Olympic accommodation in a room the size of a shoebox, she might be the happiest she’s ever been. It’s a world away from the loneliness of being on the bus after Rio, sitting in guilt and disappointment. But it’s the pain that allows her to see and savor the joy. There is not one without the other, she understands now. She recognizes the importance of drinking this moment in, and letting it wash over her. 

Tobin’s hands find Christen’s, fingers locking together as she leans down to close the distance between them. The heavy, hard gold medal sits between their chests; she can feel the coolness of it through her t-shirt, contrasting the heat she feels lower, where Tobin’s legs have her pinned flat.

“I love you,” Tobin states simply, then leans down and places a light kiss to the side of her neck. “I’m proud of you,” she says then, moving to the other side, just below Christen’s jawline. “I can’t wait to marry you,” she finishes, with the same easy confidence she’d started with, before kissing Christen on the lips, lingering this time, deepening it until she’s drawing out a moan, her tongue moving against Christen’s until Christen’s hips are lifting off the bed of their own accord.

When they come apart just to catch their breaths, wild bubbles of laughter burst out of them.

“I love you too,” Christen says, her voice giddy and proud. 

Tobin blushes at that, tucking her chin to her chest as she breaks their eye contact. It’s bashful and shy, and Christen gives her hands a squeeze just to get her attention again, to win back her gaze for a long, soothing stare that feels like meditation.

It’s only broken when Tobin asks, her voice low and quiet, “Does it feel how you thought?”

“It’s nice to have closure, I guess,” Christen admits. “But it’s much nicer to have you.”

“You’ll always have me,” Tobin replies, the words a reflex. 

“Exactly.” Christen says it so assuredly, as though of course. And it is an of course now – if only she’d known it with the same clarity all along. Because of course, through whatever is to come, on the team or off the field, they’ll have each other. 

The grin Christen feels coming, warming her from the inside out, spreads out across her face as she gazes up at Tobin. Tobin, who’s still looking down with awe gleaming in her eyes. It’s the kind of look that makes all the aching muscles in Christen’s body relax. It makes her feel fearless on the cusp of their new goal, new mission, new venture. Not just fearless – excited, ready, free.