Work Text:
Sometimes you lose.
That's how football works. Sometimes you win, sometimes you draw, and sometimes you lose, and it's the other team who gets to lift the trophy and take it home.
They all know that perfectly well, but it doesn't make it hurt any less.
She sits at the sidelines, hugging her knees, waiting patiently for the cup to be engraved and the Spanish team to stop celebrating, so they can get their medals and get on the bus and go back to the hotel. There will probably be alcohol in the changing rooms, maybe even some half-hearted celebrations, but all she wants to do is sleep.
Ella is beside her, head resting on her shoulder, similarly quiet. It's different for them. Lucy, Mary, Millie, Beth, Rach ... this could be their last World Cup, the last chance they had at securing the greatest victory for the team, and they fell just short. Ella, her, G, LJ, Hempo, Keira - they have more chances. The next Euros, the next World Cup, maybe even the Euros after that if they're lucky. They'll get to play again, try again, win more medals and score more goals.
It still hurts, though.
She hasn't checked her phone yet. She doesn't want to see any of the sympathetic messages she's been sent, telling her that people are proud and it's okay and it wasn't her fault.
They're wrong. It's her fault.
How does she know this?
She's Alessia Russo. She has the little plaque for the bronze boot at the Euros last year, appearing twice in the top ten goals of the tournament, and she's known for her goals, known as the rising striker of women's football. She holds the record for the fastest hat-trick ever scored in the sport. And yet, when it really mattered, she couldn't put it in the net.
It didn't have to be a backheel, a bicycle kick, a crazy act of skill or an accidental viral goal that had her invited to the FIFA Best Awards at twenty-three years old. It just had to be a goal. That was all they needed.
She didn't even get the chance. The only proper try came from Hempo, and that hit the crossbar. She did so badly that Sarina took her off at half-time. Why would she do that if not because she was playing poorly? Sure, it was the gameplan and she wanted LJ and Chloe.
Yeah, right.
"Less?" Ella taps her on the shoulder. "We're going to get our medals soon. Sarina wants to talk to us."
She joins the circle numbly, hardly feeling the arms around her. Some of the team is openly crying, some are stoic, and some just stare at the ground like she does, barely hearing their coach's words. The hands-in is feeble and half-hearted. It feels like lifting hundreds of pounds just to move her hand.
Ella pulls her into a hug as they break away and she leans into her best friend gratefully. It must be hard on Ella too; they're all comparing this to last year's win, when Ella scored the first goal and pushed the game forwards to them lifting the trophy. It's hard on all of them.
"It'll be okay," Ella says softly in her shoulder. "You don't have to be proud right now."
They go up to the stage and get their medals, they line up and have a photo taken even though they all look like crap. They sit at the side and watch the Spanish team scream and jump around as they celebrate again, and Alessia can't help feeling a bit sorry for Germany last year. She applauds Mary as hard as she can as she climbs up on the stage alone and thrusts her golden glove into the air. She deserves that award more than anyone else - well, that's why she won it.
Finally they're allowed to leave the pitch and go back to the changing rooms, where a crate of beer is waiting for them in the middle of the room. Alessia slumps down by her kitbag, staring emptily into space. Ella sits down beside her and says something but she doesn't respond.
After a few moments she reaches into her coat pocket and fishes out her phone. As predicted, there's texts from everybody she knows - her parents, her brothers, teammates, friends, and hundreds more Instagram and TikTok notifications from random people she's never met, never messaged, never commented about, all telling her the same damn thing and all being wrong.
Millie cracks open a beer and starts to talk about how they just weren't on top of their game tonight; Alessia tunes her out. The one person she might stomach a text from hasn't reached out, even though she's sure she'd promised she'd be watching the match and they'd call later, no matter the outcome, no matter the time difference.
"It's horrible, but we'll get over it in time. I'm still so proud of all of you," Millie finishes, raising her bottle. "To us!"
She gets a lacklustre cheer and the sound of several more bottles opening in response. There's a pause in the atmosphere as people gather into their own groups and pairs, huddle up and comfort each other. Ella stays by her side, seeming to know that she's helping even if Alessia is unresponsive.
There's a soft knock on the door and all heads turn to the sound, probably expecting Sarina or one of the other managers, or maybe even a physio or something like that.
"Yeah?" Millie calls at last. The door opens and Leah steps through, grinning.
The room erupts into cheers, the arrival of their captain briefly overpowering their grief, and she's absolutely mobbed, all of them wanting to hug her. Alessia stays put, even though her heart is doing the funny jumping thing it always does when she sees Leah and she really wants a hug from her too, but she doesn't deserve that comfort. At least the women cheering for Leah deserved it. At least they played well and didn't fail at their one job.
"Less?" Ella nudges her. "Leah's here."
"I know." She grabs her bag. "I'm going to shower."
That was a lie. She's too tired to shower, too empty. She should, but the idea of doing anything except leaning against the wall and closing her eyes is too much to handle. A couple of tears drop down her cheeks. More tears, more sadness. Why is she crying? This is her fault.
Eventually the noise from the adjoining room subsides and when she peers round the doorway she finds that her teammates are gone, their bags too - probably to find the bus waiting to take them back to the hotel. She should go too, and not keep them waiting, but she wants just one moment alone.
She's shivering, so she pulls out a hoodie and slips it on, and then sits back down on the bench and puts her head in her hands, elbows resting on her knees, and lets the rest of the tears come. Proper, shoulder-shaking sobs that rip through her chest. They lost. She lost. She let down her team, Sarina, her country.
She let down Leah.
That's what hurts most. There was a part of her that always thought, if I'm going to win this, it's for Leah. Her girlfriend, the person she loves the most in the world, who wanted so badly to be here and couldn't be because of a stupid injury that has ruined so much for her. At least she could watch as they won, as they proved how much she meant to them.
But they didn't win. They lost.
And it's her fault.
Alessia swallows back another sob that just comes again, her hands swimming with tears. She should move, wants to move, needs to move. But she can't. So she just sits there and cries until her head hurts, and she keeps crying. She cries for a long, long time.
And then there's a hand on her shoulder, light and gentle and warm through the fabric of her clothes.
"Hey," says a voice, and another sob racks her because she shouldn't be hearing that voice. It should be somewhere else, outside, on the bus, comforting people who actually deserve it, not her. "Lessi?"
Leah crouches down beside her, even though it must hurt her knee, and gently takes her hands.
"Can you look at me, Less?"
There's pain in her voice that makes Alessia look up, and the love in Leah's eyes almost makes her back away again, because she doesn't deserve it, but she holds the gaze as best as she can.
"Hey there." Leah smiles softly. "Bet you weren't expecting this, huh?"
"You're supposed to be in London," Alessia gets out between tears. "Not Australia."
"I was always planning to come for your last match," comes the reply. "Even if it was just group stage - although I knew that wasn't going to happen. I've had flights booked for a day before every match."
"But I thought we said you weren't coming? You were going to rest and do more physio and maybe try running if you could. You were going to stay back so you weren't doing anything to stress your knee."
"You really think I wasn't going to support my girl?" Leah laces her fingers with Alessia's and presses kisses to her hands. "No way."
Alessia lets out a weird, weak laugh and Leah grins in gentle triumph, standing up and moving to sit beside her on the bench, one arm pulling her into an embrace. She still feels like shit, but this helps. This helps a bit. Leah holds her for a few more seconds and then kisses the top of her head.
"Come on. We've got to go and get on the bus. I imagine most people want to sleep off the worst of it and we don't want to keep them waiting."
"We?"
"I'm assuming you don't want to chuck me back into my rental car and send me home?" Leah says lightly.
"No, no - of course I want you to stay, but are you allowed?"
"I cleared it with Sarina already," Leah assures her, tugging lightly on her hand. "Let's go."
"Wait ... I - I don't want to have to deal with the press." Alessia bites her lip. "I can't take that right now."
"We'll go out the back." Leah picks up her bag, ignoring her protests, and pulls her up. They walk hand-in-hand for as long as they can before the lights and people start to appear and they have to pull apart, becoming friends and teammates instead of partners.
Luckily the bus is easy enough to get to and they can slip into a double seat together, hands finding each other by their knees, Alessia's head dropping onto Leah's shoulder. She catches sight of Ella sitting next to Georgia and musters a smile which is returned warmly.
The hotel is about twenty miles away: less than half an hour's drive, but long enough to shut out the world and snatch a few minutes of sleep so that she can ignore the weight in her chest. She has Leah, and a silver medal stuffed in her kitbag, but it hasn't stopped hurting.
Alessia stays quiet as they walk into the lift, move upwards, and walk out again. She doesn't speak as she opens the door and Leah follows her in. She doesn't speak as she hugs Ella and then shuts the door. She doesn't speak as she picks up her bag and heads for the bathroom. The only sound she makes is a startled one as Leah grabs her wrist, stopping her in her tracks.
Her girlfriend's voice is gentle. "You want to tell me what's going on in that head of yours?"
She doesn't reply, just stares at Leah's hand holding hers.
"Less-"
"What do you think is going on in my head?" Alessia demands, her voice rising suddenly. "I just lost the World Cup and you want me to sit down and explain my thought processes?"
"Less, I'm worried about you!"
She scoffs. "I'm not having a breakdown, Leah, I'm just upset. Why, you ask? Well, I just lost the biggest tournament of my life and got taken off at forty-five minutes because I was playing so shit!"
"You weren't playing shit, it was Sarina's plan-"
"It didn't work, though, did it?" She points out angrily. "It didn't. Work. We lost. What do you want me to do, go and sleep with you like it's any normal match and there's another chance? Because there isn't. That was it. It's over."
"I know. I know, Less." Leah reaches out to her, as if for a hug, and she steps back. Her girlfriend swallows, a physical reaction to the snub, but Alessia doesn't have room for guilt amongst the ache in her chest. "I want to understand, love. I want to help you feel better."
"I don't think you can." She's crying again, harsh tears that tear at the back of her throat. "You can't just fix this with a hug and a kiss. This is real."
"You don't think I know that? I've lost the World Cup too, Alessia. It's not just you."
"You didn't come second, though. It's not the same as losing the semi-final. I know you didn't get bronze, I know I have a medal, but it's not the same. We failed."
"I wish I'd played with you," admits Leah quietly. "I wish I'd been able to be there, and play with you, and celebrate and cry with you. But I can't."
"I know you can't." Alessia swallows. "It doesn't make it any easier, though. Just because I know you're injured and it's not your fault doesn't mean it doesn't fucking hurt to have to play without you. I spent the Euros wishing I was dating you and I spent the Worlds wishing I wasn't just because I'd miss you a little less."
"You wish you weren't dating me?"
"Sometimes." It's a shallow, painful confession. "Not because it's you. I love you, Leah, I love everything about you. But it would be nice to play alongside my girlfriend and be able to celebrate with her. It would be nice to see you at games from the pitch instead of the bench or the stands."
"I'm trying my best to get better as soon as I can, but it's a process-"
"I know! Fuck, Leah, don't you think I read every bit of information I could get as much as you did? It doesn't help to know!"
"So what is this, then?" Leah throws her hands up. "You want to break up with me? Until I'm better? Is that want you want?"
"No, I-"
"This is hard for me too, y'know? All because of this goddamn injury, I'm stuck on the sidelines watching someone else captain the team I thought was mine, and God, yes, Millie deserves it, maybe more than me, maybe it should've been her in the first place, but it still hurts to watch another person put on the armband and for me to have to watch as it falls to pieces because I can't help. I have to stay on a seat in a packed crowd and pretend that it isn't my fault that we're losing."
"How the fuck could it be your fault, Lee?"
"If I hadn't gotten injured-"
"For fuck's sake!" Alessia balls her fists and lets her voice rise more. "You know perfectly well you couldn't avoid it. It was the pitch and your studs and nothing to do with you. Us losing the tournament can't be your fault, you weren't even playing."
"And that hurts for me. If it hurts for you to lose, it hurts me that I'm not losing with you. Nine months without one of the things I love most in the world, maybe more, constant pain, a constant reminder that I was a pro and it's going to be at least a year before I'm even near my old level."
"You'll get more chances." Alessia can't help softening her tone. "You know you will."
"And so will you." Leah takes a step towards her; reaches out a hesitant hand. "I'm sorry that you lost. I'm sorry that you're upset. I'm sorry I wasn't playing."
"You shouldn't have to apologise. It was my fault."
"What makes you think that?"
She shrugs. "Sarina took me off and I wasn't scoring any goals. Not hard to figure out."
"Sarina took you off for a reason," Leah says again. "I promise you it was done for a good reason."
"Oh yeah? And what was that, know-it-all?"
Leah's face twists. "I told her to."
Alessia's immediate reaction is to deny it. Why would Leah - Leah - tell their coach to bring her off? She's not even a player! Sure she's their captain, but she hasn't been present during their other matches, their constant training, their team meetings. She doesn't know how to control the pitch in this tournament.
But Leah's expression is pained and honest, and something deep inside her snaps. The denial is replaced by anger, sadness - betrayal. She stumbles backwards from her girlfriend's outstretched hands, grabbing for the wall.
"What?"
"Lessi, please, let me explain. I - it was for the best, I promise!"
"You - you had me taken off?"
"Please."
She shakes her head, shoving her phone into her pocket and making for the door, neatly sidestepping Leah on her way. "I'm going to Ella's room."
"Don't go, I just have to explain, you have to listen to me!"
Leah's still protesting when she shuts the door on her.
Ella's rooming with Hempo but she hopes that the other striker won't mind her crashing in for a few hours, at least until Leah's asleep and she can sneak back. She's unable to process what's happened as she walks. God - Leah had her taken off? Her girlfriend of over a year now was the one that crushed her World Cup dream?
Her thoughts are scrambling. Would Leah really do that?
She shakes her head as she knocks on the door, trying to dispel her thoughts. There's a shuffling and then the door swings open and Ella stares at her.
"Less?"
"Can I come in?" She cringes at how weak her voice sounds.
"Where's Leah? Are you okay? I mean, stupid question, but what's happened?"
"I-" Alessia breaks off at the sting of tears behind her eyes. She isn't crying for the fourth time tonight. "Can I just come in? Is Hempo in there?"
Ella shakes her head. "She's on the balcony, she's FaceTiming Ellie. Come on."
Her best friend kindly doesn't remark on the fact that she's still in her kit, her hair still in its messy ponytail, her face a mess of red-rimmed eyes and tearstains. Her phone buzzes in her pocket, probably a text from Leah. She ignores it. Ella makes her a cup of tea and then sits down beside her on one of the beds.
"What's happened, Less?"
She stays quiet for a moment, and then mutters out a response. "I had an argument with Leah."
"A bad one?" Ella probes gently. "Really bad?" When there's no response, she tries again. "Shit, Less. Did you break up?"
"I don't think so." Alessia buries her head in her hands. "I was kind of a dick, but so was she. She - I - she said she told Sarina to take me off. At half time."
Ella sucks in a sharp breath and wraps her arms around her friend. It feels good to be hugged; it occurs to her that she hasn't really properly hugged Leah yet. She sinks into the embrace.
"Listen, I'm going to let you vent or whatever you need," Ella begins, "but lets be sensible here as well, okay? I don't want you fucking up a whole relationship because of one argument. That being said-"
"It wasn't just an argument, though, she had me sent off the pitch!"
"That's the gameplan," Ella says gently. "It's always to do that, it gave us more attacking strength. Plus, LJ is kind of incredible. I can see more why she was put on than you taken off."
"I know."
"You're incredible too, though. You got taken off because you were tired and it's our emergency plan and we needed a change. Rach's incredible as well; it wasn't just you."
"But why did she take advice from Leah? She wasn't even playing!"
"Because Leah knows the game - and she knows you." Ella smiles sadly. "She knows you the best out of anyone - except for me, 'course," she adds, drawing a small grin out of Alessia. "And she didn't do it to hurt you, either. She's in love with you."
"If she's in love with me, why did she try and crush my dream? She knows I've always wanted to play at a World Cup - that's every footballer's dream, and it's mine too."
Ella sighs. "I can't speak for another person, Less."
"Was she jealous? Leah wouldn't go that far, would she?" She's pleading now, desperate to know that Leah didn't do it out of spite, out of jealousy, although there's a sick feeling in her stomach.
"God, no." The midfielder shakes her head firmly. "She'd never do that."
"I don't think I can go back there. Not tonight."
"You can stay here. The beds are big enough; I'll share with you. Hempo won't mind."
So she stays. Ella lends her pyjamas and falls asleep almost immediately, Hempo following suit across the room. Alessia lies on her back and stares at the ceiling. Every time she closes her eyes she sees Leah, hands outstretched and tears in her eyes, begging to be listened to.
At last she rolls over with a sigh and finds her phone. She replies to most of her messages from home as brightly as she can, and then finally looks at the message she knows has been there ever since she left her room.
leah [11:06]: I know you're angry at me, and you have a right to be but can you please just come back and listen to me? I'll explain and if you still want to leave, then I'll deal with that but please, Less, don't go to sleep angry with me without hearing my side of the story.
leah [11:15]: I don't think you're coming back, so I want you to know that I love you and I'm proud of you, so proud of you, and I always will be.
leah [11:18]: Night x
Alessia stares at the messages for a long time and then shuts off her phone and closes her eyes.
The next morning Leah isn't at breakfast. At least three people ask Alessia where she is and she just shrugs and tells them the jetlag is keeping her in bed. Maybe that's true. It's not as if she can't leave - there's a spare keycard on the bedside table and Leah's not blind.
Ella stays by her side as they get coffee and cereal from the breakfast buffet and sit down at a table in the corner. Alessia puts her headphones on and drowns out the mildly-hungover chatter of her teammates with a podcast, drowning her headache in caffeine because sometimes it works and she's going to be extremely jetlagged pretty soon. Their flight is at four this afternoon; she has no idea when they arrive back in England but it's probably going to be during the day so it's convenient for their families.
The girls gather in the break room, where there's table football and pool and a massive TV and even a single bowling lane. They're going to spend most of their day here, with the exception of a team talk over lunch. Nobody wants to do anything except chill out and try to forget yesterday.
Alessia briefly remembers the celebration after the semis. They crowded in here with snacks and just over the amount of alcohol justifiable during a tournament and spent too much time having fun and mucking around together. It's so different now. With a soft stab in her stomach she remembers why. It's her fault.
"Is Leah still in your room?" Lucy asks her, as she sits down in front of the TV, headphones still on. "She's not answering her phone."
"She's probably still asleep. Jet lag and everything." She fishes the keycard from her pocket and offers it to the defender. "You can go and check on her if you want."
Lucy gives her an odd look, but she takes the card and heads off towards the lift.
leah [08:14]: Morning x
leah [08:16]: Are you going to keep leaving me on read?
Yes, yes I am, Alessia replies mentally, but externally she just closes WhatsApp and pulls up an Ebook. Someone's gotten FIFA open on the Xbox and she doesn't want to see herself on screen.
The lift doors slide open and Lucy appears, heading back to where she was sat before. Behind her comes Leah, looking tired and dishevelled, with poorly concealed red eyes. She gives Alessia one swift, closed glance, and then sits down next to Georgia. That's excusable; she's catching up with her best friend. Alessia doesn't want everyone on the team to know they've argued. Ella and Hempo are enough.
At lunch, Sarina goes briefly through their schedule, training for the Nations' League which is coming up soon, and congratulates them again on their achievement. It falls a bit flat, but Alessia supposes she means well.
Leah doesn't try to speak to her all day. She leaves at two for a public flight earlier than theirs, travelling home with her brother who's also come to support them. The team sends her off with hugs and promises to meet up when they get back, good-lucks for her knee and well-wishes for the journey. Alessia hides in her room so nobody notices she isn't saying goodbye.
leah [03:07]: I'm boarding now and I know you're mad at me but I'm not getting on a 24 hour flight without even saying goodbye to you.
leah [03:08]: So, goodbye. I love you x
Alessia doesn't respond, although part of her knows she should. Part of her knows it's horrible to keep Leah on read like this, not even saying I love you back when she does still love her. But the rest of her is still angry, so angry, angry and hurt and betrayed, and it's that part that has control of her hands as she puts her phone back in her pocket without replying.
Their flight is two parts; perhaps by the time they get to their stopover she'll have cooled down enough to text Leah. Sometimes she has plane WiFi so she can WhatsApp her, otherwise she'll just have to hope Leah's stopover is long enough for her to see the messages.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Hempo asks her as they board their plane. She knows something is up - Alessia and Ella were still watching The Office and eating ice-cream from the minibar when she came back in from her call. Alessia told her she'd argued with Leah, nothing more. "You both seemed off this morning."
Alessia shrugs. "Still down about the final, that's all."
"Leah didn't lose-"
"That's most of the issue." Alessia cuts her off with a tight smile. "Look, I'm sorry for that. I didn't mean to snap. I don't want to talk about it right now."
Hempo smiles back, slightly confused but ultimately understanding, and they take their seats. They're in for a long, long journey.
She sleeps for some of the flight, passing away about two hours with her eyes closed, and then finishes her podcast when the caffeine finally kicks in and stops her from dreaming again. She feels bad that she's so unresponsive to Ella's chatter when she's usually as engaged as her but, God, she's just not up for it right now.
"Attention to all passengers, please, attention to all passengers." The voice comes from the ceiling and they all look up, quietening. "We have had a message from radio traffic control alerting us to extreme bad weather over the Pacific and as such we are landing in Perth until further notice. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts; descent will begin in around ten minutes."
The voice shuts off and Alessia leans back into her seat. She can't help being worried. She knows Leah's taking a different route to her; is she heading for the bad weather? What kind of weather is it? Has it disrupted her plane's ability to receive messages? It's not a private plane like the team's, it's an ordinary public flight made for hundreds of people.
What if something happens?
As soon as the plane is on the ground she takes out her phone and rings Leah. She's still hurt but she wants nothing more than to hear the familiar low voice of the England captain in her ear.
It goes straight to voicemail. Fuck.
"Less?" Ella frowns at her. "What's up?"
"Leah's not answering her phone." She holds it out as if Ella might be able to make the call connect. She feels like a child, holding out a broken toy for her parent to fix. God, she wishes it was that easy.
"And? She's flying too, her phone's probably on plane mode, right?"
"Yeah, but what if she's caught in the weather? What if something bad happens and they make an emergency landing or crash and she loses her phone and I can't get in touch? What if she gets hurt?"
"Woah, woah, just breathe for a moment." Ella takes her phone and puts her hands on her shoulders. "Calm down. Panicking ain't going to solve anything."
"But-"
"I'm sure we'd know if another plane had crashed," her friend continues as if she hasn't spoken. "The pilot would know. It would be on the news."
"Let's check the news, then!" She snatches her phone back and turns on her data, fingers trembling as she types 'plane crash' into the search bar. Articles pop up immediately. She probably needs to be more specific. If only she had the flight number or something.
Well. Factually, she can probably work it out. Leah always flies with Emirates, something of a running joke with her Arsenal teammates - Alessia's teammates too, now, she remembers - and it was boarding at three, and left from Sydney airport. It doesn't take her long to find it on a tracking website and secure the flight number, which she swiftly enters into Google.
"Alessia, stop." The use of her full name from Ella makes her pause. "You're just going to make it worse. Put your phone away."
She doesn't listen to her. She alternates between frantically calling and messaging, biting the nails of her free hand, until someone physically takes the phone out of her hands and puts it on the seat beside her.
"Breathe." She doesn't register the voice. "In and out. That's it."
She's vaguely aware of the noise around her quietening and various eyes on her, but she's gone too far to notice properly. Leah might've crashed, might be hurt, might be dead, and the last thing Alessia said to her was goodbye. She didn't even tell her she loved her. She just kept leaving her on read, and now, if Leah is hurt, then her memory of them will be an argument. Yet another sob rises in her throat.
Last night, all she could see was Leah, and it's the same now, but her brain feeds her different images: Leah in an ambulance, bleeding, Leah in a hospital bed in a different country, an oxygen mask over her face, Leah slumped over in an aeroplane seat, Alessia's lack of messages open on her phone-
"Less." Someone tips her chin up and she comes face to face with Mary, her eyes serious but kind, vice-captain face on. "I spoke to the pilot, and he hasn't had any news of a crash anywhere - and he says he'd be notified if there was one on the route he's planning to follow."
"But what if the weather is stopping the message?" Alessia whispers. "And there has been one and he just hasn't had it?"
"But air control is at Sydney, or at Perth, here, so that weather won't be stopping them-"
"What about the air control sending them to those ones?" She continues, her leg bouncing. "It must be affecting someone. She isn't reading my messages, Mary, and I know she has plane WiFi."
"Maybe she's just not looking," the goalkeeper suggests. "Or not on her phone. You know Leah. She likes to sleep on long flights, and she's with her brother."
Alessia swallows and admits the truth. "We argued last night. What if she's ignoring me because I was ignoring her? I left her on read for over twelve hours."
Mary picks up her phone and tilts it towards her, wordlessly asking to be let in. She leans forwards so it can see her face and the lock screen - a photo of Leah - pops open onto her messages, where Mary taps the last one.
"Look. Two ticks. Delivered."
She takes in a breath and focuses on the two colourless ticks. "That was ten minutes ago."
"Okay, then." Mary thumbs out a message before Alessia even registers it.
Less [19:17]: we've landed because of bad weather, can we call?
"Mary, what are you doing-"
Her heart drops as the second tick doesn't immediately form. Seconds tick past and only one remains, blinking up at her from her phone screen.
"No, no, that can't be right." She grabs at it, already typing out another sentence and fumbling for the send button. "She's just turned her WiFi off, right? She's not in the bad weather - she can't be - fuck-"
Her vision is drowned in a blur and she registers hands on her shoulders before she closes her eyes.
Amongst the panic and the fear and everything else swirling inside her there's one ache in her chest. She didn't even say goodbye.
It was her fault they lost the World Cup final. It was her fault that she argued with Leah. It was her fault she and Leah didn't sleep in the same room and didn't wake up together and didn't spend all the time they could together before Leah had to leave. It's her fault Leah didn't want to switch flights. It's her fault the offer never came up.
All of that, and she didn't even bother to say goodbye, to tell her girlfriend that she loves her. If Leah survives this, how will she ever want to be with Alessia again?
Alessia must fall asleep at some point, because she wakes up, and they're flying when she does, and both Ella and Mary are still at her side, both of them reading, but she doesn't miss the anxious glance Ella sends her as her eyes flutter open.
"Tooney?"
"Less!" Ella's book falls to the floor as she reaches over to fling her arms around Alessia, their usual lack of hugs forgone in the emotion. "You've been asleep for so long."
"It's only been six hours," Mary corrects mildly, but there's relief in her voice. "We're landing for our stopover in a couple of hours."
She doesn't ask the question that she wants to, and Mary answers it anyway.
"There's been no news of a crash." She pauses. "We couldn't get hold of Leah directly, but we've done our best to make her wait at the airport."
"What?"
"She's not catching a flight to England, if she sees our messages. She's waiting for us." Ella gives her a small smile.
"And you two are going to fucking sort yourselves out," Rach adds, leaning over the seat in front to grin at Alessia. "The plane's not taking off until you do."
"That doesn't seem fair on you guys," Alessia manages. Rach shrugs.
"I'd rather sit on a plane than see this again." She waves a hand at the situation, and even if the words are a bit rough, the meaning is there.
Her messages haven't delivered, but that doesn't mean anything, Alessia reminds herself. Maybe the weather meant they turned off the plane internet. That seems pretty likely, right?
Crying is exhausting, and she drifts in and out of a doze for the rest of the flight, waking at one point to eat the sandwiches brought round by the staff. It'll be two a.m Malaysian time when they get in and she's not looking forward to the jet lag. She's also not looking forward to the idea of Leah not having waited. The second flight is over twelve hours - twelve hours without any kind of message or call, by the looks of things.
There's two hours between their flights, enough time to get some food and charge phones and buy snacks for the half-day ahead of them on the plane. Alessia stumbles around behind Ella, toying disinterestedly with the food she's provided, failing to notice any of the souvenirs her teammates smile over. She's looking for one face and one face only.
She doesn't find it.
They all report unread messages.
Leah's phone goes straight to voicemail.
She refuses to cry again, although it's difficult. She thinks her teammates must be getting bored of her emotions as she fights off another spiral, but they don't act it. They give her space as they board their next private plane, talk quietly as she sits by the window hugging her knees, and Mary and Ella remain by her side.
Neither of them try to hold a conversation with her, but they stay there, ignoring everything that would be more fun than sitting with her, and Alessia's grateful. So grateful. She remembers that both of them are still sad, that Mary must be beating herself up about conceding a goal and Ella must be hurting with the fact that she couldn't replicate last year's goal. She counts herself lucky for such good friends.
She rings Leah once, twice, three times.
Her phone dies and she can't be bothered to plug it in. It's not like Leah's going to message her.
The minutes tick by. The sun rises outside the plane as she falls asleep again, Ella dozing off on her shoulder. She dreams of the World Cup semi-final, one of the best nights of her life.
They were World Cup finalists.
And it had been her, Alessia, who had secured it.
First Ella, giving the team hope with her outrageous first goal. Then Hempo, putting them one up. Then her, netting it at eight-six minutes and casting away all hope of the Australians getting through. Two goals in four minutes - plus the stoppage time - was near impossible, even with Sam Kerr.
The celebrations were wild. Sweet Caroline blasted from every speaker available in the changing room, something like eleven phones playing it, all slightly out of sync, but drunk on joy and cheap beer as they were, it was just funny. Hempo was the centre of attention as Player of the Match, and Alessia agreed that she deserved it - a goal for herself, and a stunning assist for Alessia's own.
She joined in the wild dancing and cheering with her friends for a bit, but as soon as she could she snuck away to a corridor deeper in the stadium and pulled up FaceTime.
Leah answered the call on the first ring, her eyes bright with happiness, grinning at her through the camera. She looked a lot more awake than Alessia felt, but the joy pushed past her exhaustion, turned her longing to have Leah here into elation at the fact she was at least on her screen.
"You did it!" Were Leah's first words. "You're finalists!"
"We're finalists," Alessia corrected. "You're still part of the team. We all know you were watching, and it helped. It helped me, definitely."
"I love you," Leah replied. "I'm so fucking proud of you."
"I actually scored." She gave into the grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. "I - I scored in the World Cup semi-final."
"Yeah, you did. I said you would, didn't I? You deserve this, babe."
"I love you too."
But then the camera spins, and suddenly Leah is no longer at the kitchen table sipping at a coffee, and Alessia is no longer sitting on a corridor floor leaning against a wall - she's in her own kitchen, and Leah is standing at the counter, facing away from her, a muttered this is all your fault hitting Alessia's ear like a knife to her heart.
"What do you mean?" She begs, the weight of her medal heavy around her neck, cold silver against her shirt.
"I mean it's your fault. Everything is." Leah turns, and her face is angry and sad and filled with hatred. "And this is too. I'm not coming back." She snatches up a suddenly-appeared suitcase and stalks out of the room. The door slams closed behind her and Alessia is left alone with her guilt.
It's her own fast breathing that wakes her up. Her eyes flick around the plane, taking in the people who might've heard it - but as far as she can see everyone's asleep, leaning on each other and using hoodies as rudimentary blankets. Ella and Mary are certainly dead to the world. Alessia shifts her shoulder a little under Ella's head and goes to check her phone before she remembers it's dead, and it's not like Leah would've replied anyway.
Her watch has shifted back to UK time and she checks it. Five-thirty. The flight is due to land about nine.
She doesn't really want to go back to sleep again because of what she just dreamed, but on the other hand three and a half hours in a silent plane alone with her own thoughts sounds like torture. She can't even use music to block it out.
Back to sleep it is, and damn the dreams.
The private exit is quiet and there are taxis waiting outside. Alessia gives the address to the driver and then says goodbye to her friends, promises to meet up with them soon, see about Nations' League training.
"You going to be alright?" Ella says, as they hug. She nods.
"Yeah. Yeah, I am."
All the messages are unread and undelivered, but she's trying to hope, now.
Sitting alone in the taxi is harder. What will she do if the house is empty? If she plugs in her phone and finds missed calls from a hospital? If she gets home and Leah is still angry?
"Thanks." She pays the driver and then approaches the front door of her house. It was Leah's house originally, but she moved in six months ago, just after the Arnold Clark Cup. All their milestones seem to be to do with football. What does that say about them?
Alessia's hand is shaking as she slots in her key and turns it. There are two locks on the front door and she has to undo both of them, but when it finally swings open there's no warning beep from the burglar alarm that Leah would've set before she left. It's also the alarm they set during the night.
She would have gotten home this morning, right?
She leaves her bags in the porch and goes into the house with shoes on, something she normally hates, but she can't bear waiting long enough to take them off. Alessia stands in the living room, still, listening for noise. Firstly she can only hear her own heavy breaths, but soon she starts to pick out more sounds. The hum of the boiler, the creak of the floorboards beneath her feet.
The gentle rushing of the coffee machine.
The squeak of the kitchen door.
The faint hiss of Leah's breath as she sees Alessia, standing there in the doorway, a mug hanging from her hands.
For a second, they just look at each other.
Leah looks a thousand different things: exhausted, confused, worried, in love. There are dark circles under her eyes, stressed flyaway hairs escaping her ponytail, a small tremble in her fingers that cling to the mug so hard the handle might snap.
And then Alessia is running, slipping a little on the rug, running a few feet that feel like a few miles until she can throw her arms around Leah's neck and pull her close.
Leah gently sets down the mug down on the coffee table and wraps her arms around Alessia so tight it almost hurts.
"I'm sorry." Alessia speaks first, mumbling into the defender's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"Don't be, it's not your fault."
"It is. I should've stayed and listened, I should've gone back. I shouldn't've said the things I did. I was just het up and I snapped and-" she breaks off and kisses the gap between Leah's shoulder and neck. "I was so scared that something had happened, Lee."
"Something bad?" Leah pulls back to look at her, frowning, so solid and alive that Alessia has to pull back and take her in, then lean in and hold her, make sure she really is there. "Why?"
"Because of the bad weather, and you weren't answering, and my messages weren't delivering, and I was panicking and it seems stupid now, God, but I was so scared."
"It's not stupid," the defender says gently. "If it upset you it's not stupid." She pulls a face guiltily. "My phone died and my idiot of a brother spilt water on my charger when we were playing cards. I fell asleep as soon as I got home; I only saw all the messages twenty minutes ago and you weren't picking up."
"My phone died too." Alessia chuckles, something she hasn't done since what feels like days ago. "This is so dumb."
Leah brushes her fingers across her jaw and then leans forwards and kisses her. One of her hands cups the back of her neck, toying with the baby hairs there, and the other laces with Alessia's at their waists. Alessia practically melts into her. She's missed this too.
And there are definitely still things to be said, serious things, a conversation to be had and breakfast to be eaten and a nap to be taken, but she also hasn't kissed Leah properly in a month.
So, just for now, Alessia lets herself forget everything that needs to be said and done. She just stands in the moment and drinks Leah in, the press of her lips against hers, the light pressure of her hand resting on her waist, the sound Alessia draws from the back of her throat.
She just kisses her girlfriend, and thinks of how much she's missed it, and then she carries on kissing her because she can. And Leah kisses back, because she knows, of course she knows, how much this means.
"Did I tell you how proud I was of you last night?" Leah asks, pulling away at last. "Because I am. So, so much. A World Cup medal! Do you think kid Alessia ever thought that would happen?"
It's an exhausting question. Alessia leans against her, soaking up her warmth, relishing in the safety she provides. "I love you."
"I love you too. You want some coffee?"
"Yes, please. I need a nap, but coffee comes first."
Leah laughs, tugging her into the kitchen by their joined hands, and starts the machine. Her own drink, tea, is almost-made, just needing milk. Alessia fishes out her phone and plugs it in beside Leah's, smiling as her girlfriend's face appears on the lockscreen along with roughly fifty notifications.
"I kind of panicked when you weren't picking up and stress-texted everyone with your number," Leah admits sheepishly. "That's probably from them. I'm sorry I didn't see the messages about waiting."
"You could've bought another charger at the airport," Alessia points out gently, keeping the hurt from her voice.
"It was on the second flight. We had, like, half an hour at the stopover, we hardly got through passport control. And when we got back I just wanted to get home and eat and I was so fixed on getting back and making everything perfect for you it didn't even cross my mind."
Alessia doesn't have it in her to be mad. It's stupid. They were tired and emotional and it was a day ago now, and now she has Leah here all she wants is to have her with her forever. An argument is pointless.
"I could make us breakfast?" She suggests, instead. Leah smiles.
"You must be exhausted, Less, I can't ask you to do that."
"Well, it's either that or we order something in. I'm not eating your cooking, not after that time you tried to make casserole."
"Rude." Leah makes a mock-offended face and Alessia just smirks, leaning down to press a kiss to her lips that quickly turns her girlfriend's pout into a smile.
"I'll make pancakes?"
"Can I at least help?"
"I'm gonna have to pass you up on that offer, Leah, babe. I don't want the house to burn down. Dealing with the insurance company is not what I need after a month away from home."
"You're so mean." Leah wraps her arms around Alessia's waist and presses her lips against the back of her neck.
"It's going to be pretty hard to cook like this," the striker comments, though she leans back into the touch despite her words.
"I'll go hungry then."
Laughing, Alessia unpeels herself and sets about finding ingredients, plugging Leah's phone into the speaker and pulling up an old country playlist. Leah leans against the worktop and watches her cook, singing along softly.
"And after breakfast we could take a nap?" She wonders. "I'm pretty tired, and I slept last night. You must be absolutely knackered, and we need all the rest we can get before preseason."
At the mention of preseason, Alessia remembers the reason Leah was supposed to be home. "Sounds good. How's your knee after all those flights, though?"
"Fine." Leah's face closes up a little. "I'll probably have to ice it tonight. Keep it rested for the next few days."
"A nap sounds like the perfect idea, then." Alessia takes a deep sip of coffee and turns her attention to the TV, which Leah has switched on for company whilst they eat. "My next match is in, like, two weeks. I hate being a footballer."
"Mm." Leah presses their shoulders together. "I'll be watching. And you'll get to play with Beth again. And it's the Champions' League! Your first time!"
"I am excited for that," she admits, taking a bite of pancake. "I wonder when my first goal will be. Hopefully there'll be lots."
"Such a striker," Leah mutters. "This is really good." She waves her fork in Alessia's direction. "That's what I've missed most, you know. Your food."
"What am I, chopped liver?"
They settle into a comfortable silence as they eat, and Alessia has to keep looking over to check that Leah is really there, when twelve hours ago she wasn't responding and she was convinced she was never going to speak to her again.
"I... Mary said you got kind of upset on the plane, also." Leah puts down her plate and turns to face Alessia, her eyes stoic. "You can talk to me about it if you want, you know."
Alessia sighs. "I got really panicked. I mean, one minute I'm on a plane, and the next we've landed, and you might be in bad weather so bad we can't fly, and you're not answering your phone, and the last thing I said to you was an argument. I didn't even tell you I loved you."
"It's true it was hard getting on the plane without saying goodbye," Leah confesses. "Really hard. I felt a bit shit."
"I'm sorry about that."
"And I'm sorry for being insensitive about the loss. I can't really understand it; I've never been in a World Cup final. I tried, but I messed it up. I'm sorry, I really am."
"Leah, it's okay."
"Are you still feeling bad about it? I mean - I'm sure you are, but ..."
"I'm - yeah. I can't get it out of my head. If I'd just scored, we'd at least have equalised, and then everybody would've been energised again. Maybe we'd have had an extra-time moment, or won on penalties, because we've got Mary and we've got Chloe and G and penalties have gone well for us this tournament and at the Finalissima-"
Leah holds out her arms. "C'mere."
Alessia falls against her, burying her head in her neck as the feeling of being next to her girlfriend again washes over her. This is what she needed before. She wishes she'd had this. No argument, no leaving, no worry, just Leah and the safety her comfort provides.
"It's not on you," Leah whispers into the top of her head, pulling her onto her lap. "It's not on the team. It's not on anybody. You're not the only forward on that team; you're not the only one who can score goals. No matter what happens, I love you, and it's not your fault, okay? It's not. Your. Fault. It was just a bad game. Okay?"
She mumbles an affirmative into Leah's hoodie which, she realises, is actually one of hers. "I know that, rationally. But."
"Yeah, I know," Leah agrees. "But." She looks down at their half-finished plates and then reaches out to turn off the TV. "Why don't we just go and take that nap now? We can finish breakfast later."
"Sounds like a good idea," Alessia admits gratefully.
Sometimes you win, and sometimes you lose. Sometimes it's just a friendly and sometimes it's the biggest match you could ever play on. Sometimes you play two straight hours or just forty-five minutes, and either way you'll still blame yourself.
But, Alessia thinks, curling up by Leah's side as the defender's hand finds its way to card through her hair, as long as she has this to come home to, she can cope with losing.