Work Text:
Spring 1997
...
"Andromache!" Lykon calls, interrupting the flow of her workout.
Andy racks her weights with a sigh and sits up, straddling the weight bench.
"What, Lykon?”
There's a woman standing next to him, around Andy's age if she had to guess. She's beautiful, long legs and taut torso wrapped in spandex. Her long dark hair is in a tight ponytail, and Andy wants to tug it.
"Andromache, this is Quynh Tran. She's new to the city, and she'll be joining us moving forward."
Andy stretches idly, bending forward from her spot straddling the weight bench until she hears her lower back pop. She keeps her eyes on Quynh, watches her gaze dip.
"Welcome," Andy says. "You must be something special for Lykon to add you to the roster this fast."
"You could say that," Quynh says in softly-accented English. The look in her eyes promises that her bite is worse than her bark.
(Andy wants to sit on her face.)
"I want to see you two fight," Lykon says. "It's been too long since you had a new partner, Andromache. You need to practice with new people before the season starts."
"Sure. Now?"
"I'm ready if you are, Andromache." Quynh smirks, and Andy grins back.
She’s going to buy Lykon a fruit basket if this all works out.
"Edgar, Charlie, out of the ring. I want to see how the new girl does against our defeater of men," Lykon calls out, and the two in the ring take a seat where they can see. Andy and Quynh take their positions.
Edgar gets out his camera so he can add photos of Andy's latest fresh meat to their collection.
Andy may only be twenty-three, but she's been training since she was sixteen, and every person in this gym has gone through her before Lykon trusted them on the circuit. Andromache is his prodigy, his first big success, and as such, his test.
Fighting with Quynh is like a breath of fresh air. It's been over a year since Andy had a new partner, and longer since that partner rose to her challenge.
So, when Quynh meets and exceeds every expectation and Andy finds herself on her back, she falls head-over-heels in love with her.
"Fight back, Andromache," Lykon calls with a knowing chuckle. She could get out of the hold if she wanted to.
"I'm actually good here," Andy calls back, winking at Quynh.
Quynh rolls her eyes, but she's smiling.
(Andy hopes Edgar gets a picture of this. She wants prints. Doubles. She wants that smile framed on her wall.)
"This is the dreaded Andromache, killer of men?” Quynh taunts, pressing Andy into the mat. “You fold so easily for me."
The taunting does its job. Andy takes a moment to breathe and strikes back while Quynh's guard is down.
"You want to do dinner?" Andy asks, holding her in a shoulder lock.
"Loser pays?" Quynh asks, eyes twinkling.
"Deal."
...
Fall 2001
...
The moment Andy gets out of the ring with her championship belt, cameras flashing, Quynh comes running over to hug her so tight it hurts.
"I'm so proud of you, baby." Quynh kisses her, and Andy laughs breathlessly against her lips. "My Andromache."
Andy has blood welling out of a cut on her cheek, and her lip is split, but she couldn't be happier.
At least, that's what she thought, until Quynh kneels and pulls out a ring.
"I know it isn't legal yet, but I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Andromache, will you marry me?"
Andy finds the strength to pull Quynh up into a passionate kiss, and it's Quynh's turn to laugh.
"Is that a yes?"
"Yes, that's a yes." Andy kisses her again. "Name the day. Name the hour."
Andy has to do press. She has to do her job. But Andy would be content to just hold her fiancée forever.
Later, curled up in their big bed, Quynh says, "I was so jealous of you making it when I didn't, but then I remembered just how talented my future wife is. You did so well out there, and I couldn't be prouder."
"Quynh, baby, you're really fucking good. You know that."
"Not as good as you," Quynh points out. "You're special. Now shh, you need sleep. You've been up for hours."
"I know." Andy arranges where she can rest her uninjured cheek on Quynh's chest and hear her heart beating. "Christ, future wife. Fiancée. You proposed."
"Hell yeah, I did. We're going to get married, and it's going to be amazing."
"It's already amazing, because I have you."
...
Summer 2004
...
Andy's phone rings at 2 am, and she grumbles as she answers.
"H'lo?"
"Andrew, please," someone slurs, drunk and tearful. "Can't get home."
Andy looks at the ID finally.
"Booker? It's Andy, not your boyfriend. You interviewed me last week. Remember?"
"Who is it?" Quynh grumbles.
"Booker, that journalism student," Andy explains. "Remember, that little photo shoot we did?"
"Right. Why is he calling at - 2 am?!" Quynh asks, squinting at the clock.
"Sorry, sorry, didn't mean..." Booker starts to cry for real. "Andrew won't pick up, sorry."
"Booker, do you need someone to come get you?" Andy says, protective instincts blaring. She covers the receiver. “Quynh, baby, I think he’s in trouble.”
"Don't, m'fine. M'fine." Booker sniffles. “Andrew will get me.”
"How many times have you called Andrew?" Andy asks as she rolls out of bed and looks for her shoes.
"Like... five? Six?"
"I'm coming to get you. Tell me where you are and then stay there, okay?"
Booker tells her the bar, and Andy thanks whoever is listening that it's fairly close.
"Thank you. And you're going to stay there, right?"
"Yep. Can't walk good anyway."
By the time Andy gets a cab and gets down to the bar, Booker has migrated to leaning on a lamppost outside. Andy gently convinces him to get into the taxi.
"I would take you home, but Andrew isn't there, is he?"
Booker leans against her shoulder and shakes his head. Andy wraps her arms around him and gives the driver the address of her and Quynh's apartment.
"Taking me to yours?" Booker starts to sob again. "Too nice, Andy. Don’ deserve this, why?"
"You don't need to be alone like this," Andy says quietly. "I'm glad you called me, or you would still be alone."
"S'the anniversary," Booker explains through his tears. "Maman died."
"Booker, baby, I'm so sorry." Andy has never met Booker's boyfriend, but she hates him already. "We're almost home, and you'll be able to rest, okay?"
"Okay." Booker wraps an arm around her, and Andy holds him while he cries.
In the morning, Booker is flustered and embarrassed as well as hungover, but Andy doesn't let him apologize.
"You needed someone to come get you. You needed to not be alone. I'm more than willing to be that someone. Everything happens for a reason, Booker."
Booker looks conflicted. Andy holds out her arms.
"May I hug you?"
Booker nods, and she hugs him tightly. He's startled for a moment until he finally starts to relax. Andy holds him until he's ready to let go.
It takes almost twenty minutes for his breathing to return to normal as she holds him.
"That's it, Book. Don't be afraid to call me, okay? I have a feeling that we'll be seeing a lot of each other moving forward." Andy squeezes the back of his neck. “You’re a good kid.”
...
Fall 2004
...
Andy has been training and fighting for over a decade now, but she ends up fucking her ankle up on the goddamn subway stairs. She has to take three weeks off to heal, and she's never been angrier.
"I just want to train,” Andy bitches from her spot on the PT table. “I’m going to lose my edge, Lykon.”
"Andromache, you know better," Lykon says, wrapping her ankle just a little tighter to prove a point. "Exercising an injury too soon-"
"Has worse consequences later," Andy finishes for him for the hundredth time. "I know."
The one benefit of this whole debacle is that it gives her a chance to enjoy watching her wonderful fiancée fight.
Andy sits with Lykon in Quynh's corner, close enough to see every movement. She knows Quynh’s style like she knows her own, predicting every step as she takes it.
It also means she is paying more attention to the crowd. There is one in particular that Andy doesn't like the look of.
"Does that photographer have a pass?" She asks Lykon. He doesn't look like any of their usual press group.
"I'll ask security to check," Lykon says.
Any photographer who spends too much time on one fighter is not doing their job. When that one fighter is Quynh, Andy can't help but be cautious.
"He has a pass, but I've never heard of his site," Lykon says when he returns. "Why?"
"He's only watching Quynh. I don't like it."
"I trust your instincts. We'll keep an eye on him." Lykon makes a note on his clipboard. “I’ll try and get a name.”
...
Spring 2005
...
Quynh comes home dripping from the rain.
"Andromache, the kitten is still out there in the alley, and he's cold and wet but he won't come out.
"I'm impressed he's still alive, with that eye injury," Andy says from her armchair.
"The poor baby has been in fights. His ears are even worse now."
"He's a fighter," Andy says. "Quynh, baby, he'll be fine."
Quynh doesn't seem convinced, but she finally gives in and changes into dry clothes.
"Is Booker still coming for dinner?"
"Yes, he's bringing the salad, because I don't trust him with the mains yet."
"He's twenty-three, surely he can cook something." Quynh pauses. "Is Andrew coming?"
"Of course not." Andy rolls her eyes. “He knows I don’t like him, and I’m fine with that.”
There's a knock on the door.
"It's Booker," He calls out from the other side of the door. "I found something you might want to see."
Andy stands to open the door and finds a similarly drenched Booker holding the collar of his coat tight around his neck.
"What on earth?"
Booker's coat lets out a raspy little meow, and Andy's jaw dropped. Booker steps inside, and the moment he opens his collar a small orange kitten rubs his tiny face against Booker's neck.
"Oh my god, how?"
Booker shrugs, cradling the kitten to his chest.
"I was walking by the alley and heard him crying. I stopped to talk to him, and he came right out." Booker chuckles. "Practically climbed my coat to get to me, huh, little man?"
The kitten meows in seeming agreement.
Quynh comes running over when she realizes Booker got the cat. The cat promptly scoots back into Booker's coat away from her.
"Booker, I think you have a cat now," Quynh says, delighted.
"I can't have a cat during my internship," Booker points out. He doesn't put the cat down, though.
"He can stay here, if he'll tolerate us," Quynh offers. "We've been trying to get him inside for two weeks."
"He's very particular," Andy says. "The emperor of his little universe."
Booker scratches the kitten's neck, and he purrs.
"Emperor, huh? Let's call you Augustus."
"Much too big a name for such a tiny kitten. I think he's gonna end up being Gus," Andy says with a fond smile.
...
Winter 2005
...
The photographer starts showing up everywhere. Every bout, every photo call. Andy sees him at the goddamn grocery store.
Things go bad-wrong when the envelope arrives.
Quynh opens it without thinking, and her scream shakes Andy to the core. When Andy gets to the kitchen, Quynh is shaking with her hands full of photographs.
"What is it? Quynh, baby, what happened?"
Dozens of photos of Quynh, all taken from surreptitious angles at moments of vulnerability.
"He knows where we live," Quynh says, breathless. "He knows where we live."
"Quynh, baby, sit down. I've got you. We're okay." Andy talks her into sitting while Andy calls the police.
Andy has never wanted to cause harm to someone more in her life - and she is a mixed martial artist for a living. This is the first time that using her knowledge to actually kill someone seems like the best option.
Later, much later, days later in their new, unlisted apartment, Andy holds Quynh tight like she can protect her from the world.
"No more cameras," Quynh says quietly. "No more."
They've been talking about Quynh's retirement for a while now. Andy is angry that a blaze of glory is one more thing this fucker stole from her wife.
"Of course, baby. Whatever you want. You'll never be on camera again without your permission, I promise."
...
Three years later, when Andy starts her channel, she keeps her promise.