Chapter Text
When Leah is sixteen years old, she breaks her ankle in training. It's a damp day and the grass is unpleasant to run on, and one wrong tackle sends her sliding across the turf, ankle folding underneath her with a crack that echoes across the now-silent pitch. She's sent to hospital for scans, one of the older girls - Jordan? - riding in the ambulance with her and holding her hand when the pain makes her cry.
Someone calls her mum, and she's already waiting in the room when Leah is wheeled in, exhausted and tear-stained, Jordan still walking quietly by her side.
"Leah!" Her mum rushes towards them like they haven't seen each other for years and she's just had a near-death experience, when really they last spoke five hours ago over oatmeal and she's just broken her ankle. But Leah appreciates the support. She falls still-crying into her mum's arms.
"Ssh, darling, it's going to be okay," her mum says quietly, stroking her hair. "It won't be long before it heals again, I promise. You'll be back in no time."
"It's true," Jordan says quietly, taking a seat on the end of the bed. "I saw the scans. It's a clean break you've got there, Williamson. You'll only miss a few months."
"A few months!" Leah sobs. "That's practically a whole season - and we've got the UWCL coming up, too!"
"That's not until next March," Jordan corrects. "You're still young, Leah. You haven't even signed properly, yet, have you?"
"It'll only be a matter of time," her mum interjects proudly. "Shelley's very pleased with her."
"I'm sure. You've not actually played for us, yet, have you, either? You're only in training. You're sixteen years old. It's not as if this will ruin your career. It'll work out in the end."
"But I'm going to be gone for so long, and what if they don't want me after this, because I've been injured? I'm going to miss so much training and so many opportunities - it's the U-20 World Cup next summer, what if because I'm out they think I don't have enough game time? I want to go to the World Cup, I really do!"
"You will," Jordan tells her. "It's just a broken ankle."
"That's easy for you to say," Leah shoots back tearfully. "You're on the senior team and you were captaining the U-17s by the time you were fourteen! And you've been at Arsenal for ages and you play all the time!"
"Leah," her mum reprimands gently, but Jordan just laughs.
"I'm five years older than you and I got a good start with Sunderland. You'll get your break, Williamson, trust me. It'll work out."
And so Leah trusts her, even though the long weeks of recovery make her want to tear her hair out. She misses nearly four months of training and six months of games, and through all of it she decides to trust Jordan. The older player is admittedly much more experienced and much more talented than Leah is, and probably quite wise thanks to all the games she's played.
It doesn't work out.
It's horrible to go back to training, to have her time on the pitch limited because of swelling, to be gently pulled to the side when the trainer's timer goes off and take a break to rest her leg. Her dream of an Arsenal senior debut looks further and further away with each evening spent icing her ankle, each pressed-lip denial of pain that the trainer sees right through, each tackle that gets her wary looks, each time playing in the rain and being told to take it easy, each trip she makes to the massage room for physiotherapy that doesn't seem to be doing anything.
Leah gets through it. She hates it.
She plays for the senior team for the first time in the Champions' League the day after she turns seventeen, and they lose the semifinal. They lose the World Cup, too, conceding goals in every match and leaving after the group stages with a sweet zero points.
When Leah was sixteen, it didn't work out.
When Leah is twenty-one, she meets a girl in a bar in America and she really thinks it's going to happen - fireworks, cheesy music, kisses beneath the sunset.
They win the SheBelieves Cup for the very first time and Leah actually plays, plays for the senior national team, in their last match, and they win, and she wins. She's tasted victory before but it's never been quite this sweet.
Of course, the team goes out to celebrate, and Leah goes with them willingly enough, sticking happily to Keira's side and to soda even though she's allowed to drink here. She doesn't actually like drinking very much. She's never cared for it.
But then Keira goes off to dance with Lucy, the brown-haired defender who plays in France and who Keira hasn't shut up about for two years, enough to make Leah think something's going on, and Leah's left alone at the bar, searching out familiar faces and finding none. She goes to dance too, abandoning her drink on the table and making a mental note to not get it back later.
Somewhere, somehow, she ends up dancing face-to-face with a red-haired girl a little taller and older than her, bright blue eyes staring into her own as the girl pouts and shakes her hips, and Leah does her best not to stare. Given the fact that she is a bit tipsy from the shot Fran convinced her to take and also very, very gay, she isn't quite sure it's worked.
When Red-Haired Girl grabs her by the waist and kisses her, she finds out that it did not, in fact, work.
They alternate between kissing and dancing and wandering hands, until Red-Haired Girl takes her by the hand and leads her outside and backs her into a wall to kiss her again.
"Come to mine," she says in between kisses, her eyes very bright in the dark. It's February and Leah thinks it might be snowing. "My roommate's out visiting his parents."
"I have friends - in the bar - I can't just leave them," Leah splutters, highly distracted by Red-Haired Girl's mouth moving along her jaw. "I have to tell them I'm going."
"Just text them."
So she texts Keira and Georgia, and then she texts Alex and Fran for good measure because she vaguely knows them from the U-23s and on the off-chance that Red-Haired Girl is a murderer she ought to have several testifiers.
The flat is small and cramped and there's only one lamp in the bedroom that they scramble through the door of, but honestly Leah doesn't care. She just won a tournament - over the world champions - and Red-Haired Girl is kissing her and she's tipsy and warm and she's enjoying herself.
When Leah wakes up in the morning, there's a hickey on her collarbone and an empty space in the bed beside her. As if on cue, Red-Haired Girl appears in the doorway and gives her a cute little wave.
"Shower's free if you want to hit it up before you head out. You can borrow a towel, I don't mind."
"Oh." Leah sits up and then realises most of her clothes are on the floor and lies back down again. "No. It's okay."
"Are you alright?"
"Yeah, yeah, sorry. Just tired."
Red-Haired Girl smirks. "You were up pretty late."
It's then that Leah knows this isn't going to be a thing. Her heart sinks. She reaches for her shirt and pulls it over her head. "I'll be going, then."
Despite it, she can't resist leaning into the kiss she's pulled into on the doorway, her back digging into the doorframe, butterflies swirling in her stomach, soft hands cupping her face.
"You're so pretty," Red-Haired Girl tells her. "I wish this could work out."
"Can't it?" Leah's almost desperate. "Can't I have your number?"
She smiles gently. "You're English, I can tell by your accent. You aren't hanging around here for long."
"What if I was?" Leah's mind jumps two weeks ahead to American clubs and knowing this girl's name and finally having a girlfriend and-
Her phone buzzes and she knows it's Keira. Sighing, she pulls away and checks it, sure enough coming face-to-face with a stream of confused, celebratory and then mildly irritated messages.
keira: wow you finally got laid!!!!!!!
keira: i guess you're staying with her??? lucy's probably going to stay over in our room btw
keira: i hope you at least get her number
keira: leah, it's nearly eight, are you gonna be back soon?
keira: the bus leaves in two hours leah!
keira: LEAH, WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?
"I have to go." Leah gives her another kiss and senses the restraint that wasn't there last time. "Um, I guess I probably won't even see you again, but this was nice."
"Nice. Yeah." She smiles and steps away. "I hope you find someone someday."
When she gets back, she finds Keira and Lucy curled up watching It's A Wonderful Life on Keira's laptop, Lucy half-asleep on the midfielder, who blushes and jumps up as Leah opens the door.
"Le! You're back!" She checks her watch. "You cut it fine."
"Yeah, I know." Leah nods to the screen. "Why're you watching that? It's February."
Keira frowns. "Is that all you're going to say? Tell me about her!"
"Nothing to tell. I hooked up with a girl, I slept at her place, and I left this morning without her number 'cause I'm never going to come back here again except for these stupid February tournaments."
She throws her boots into her bag far more savagely than she needs to and turns away, conversation over.
When Leah was twenty-one, it didn't work out.
"Leah, you're supposed to be resting!"
Jordan's expression, which has been carefully patient all week, is turning into irritation, and Leah feels guilty when she looks at her friend's tired eyes. It's the fifth time in the past seven days that she's been caught sneaking into training.
"I'm not here to play, I just want to watch the match," she argues. "I'm back in training tomorrow - you can't stop me."
"Not physically, maybe," Jordan agrees, "but I can find people who can. Why d'you want to watch this match so much anyway? It's just United. We're probably gonna beat them."
Leah shrugs. "A match is a match."
Jordan rolls her eyes and Leah hopes it's not because she's figured out that a certain striker is starting today. Leah would watch the match anyway, to take notes and support her friends and think about what to do better next week and next season, but she's definitely more interested because of the United lineup. Not that anyone knows that.
Jordan just pats her on the back. "Yeah, yeah. I'm sure."
It's a good goal. There's no denying that. It's a good corner and a perfect header and really nobody should be letting Alessia Russo have that much space, and the quality of the goal is what sends a little smile up to the corner of Leah's mouth, and it's definitely not the cuteness of the pure joy afterwards.
It's the unjustness of Katie's first yellow card (probably a justified booking) that makes her start up and scowl, and it's definitely not the sight of the striker kneeling on the pitch clutching her head. She's glad when she's brought off, because she's suffering from concussion protocol herself. It's not because she'd rather play with said concussion than have said striker hurt in any way.
She doesn't agree with Katie's second yellow, but it's given, and she's off the pitch, and Leah is genuinely starting to think they're actually going to lose this despite Jordan's words, but it's alright in the end because they're Arsenal and Stina gets her first goal, and they at least get a point. A point is a point.
Afterwards, Alessia somehow finds her amongst the swarm of red and blue shirts and asks if she's okay.
"I noticed you weren't playing and, uh, I thought you got injured last game?"
Leah nods. "That's sweet of you. Concussion protocol." She nods to the slight bump on her forehead from earlier's tackle. "Looks like you might be on it too."
Alessia blushes. "Yeah, maybe. Are you back playing next week?"
"I should be, unless I get worse again in training."
"That's good, then." She shuffles from foot to foot a little. "I hope you are. Now that we don't have to play you, you're free to run rampant."
"Careful there, you're sounding a bit like a Gunner." Leah grins. "In fact, I might have to suggest a little recruitment to Jonas if you keep smashing in headers like that."
The match didn't work out how she hoped, and it's definitely never going to work out with Alessia, but she pretends that it could.
"Leah?"
Alessia's voice is quiet and somewhere between gentle and hesitant. Leah opens one weary eye to find her standing by the bed with two mugs in her hands, hair loose about her shoulders and a faint blush across her face.
"Morning," Leah drawls, her voice rough with sleep. "Whatcha got there?"
"I made you tea." She sets it down on the bedside table, cradling her own mug. "And I've got a coffee. I, um, made breakfast, but it's keeping warm 'cause you're - you were - still asleep."
"Are you going to drink it standing up or come back to bed with me?"
The blush deepens, but the striker puts down her tea and climbs into bed willingly enough. Leah curls into her immediately. She's never been ashamed of how much of a cuddler she is, especially the morning after. Alessia wraps an arm around her shoulders and Leah feels her relax.
"You okay?" She asks softly. "I know last night was maybe a lot for you."
"I'm okay. I ... enjoyed it."
Leah smirks. "Oh, yeah?"
"Stop."
"I can't help it, you're cute when you're flustered," she teases. Alessia tucks her face into her shoulder with a resounding huff and Leah can't help but smile. Since Red-Haired Girl and her train of flings and hook-ups, she's become a bit of a pessimist.
It's safer to keep it casual or a one-time thing, because who knows what could happen when you give your all to someone? Who knows what could happen when you open yourself up to so much hurt?
With Alessia, Leah wants to know.
Alessia walks into their room with a mood worse than Viv when someone talks over Taylor Swift: hands shoved in pockets, head down, shoulders slumped. She doesn't look outwardly upset, but Leah knows her signs. She struggles up from her half-sleep.
"Less?"
"Hey." Alessia slides down the wall to sit on the carpet. "Sorry. I didn't realise you were awake. I can go if you like."
Leah shakes her head, sitting up further, or as much as she can anyway. "No, I wanted to see you. What's up?"
"Nothin'."
She rolls her eyes and screams internally just a little. She loves Alessia, she really does, with all of her heart, but she wishes she wasn't quite so resistant to help. Not that Leah can talk. She can't count the times she's slipped today because she's unwilling to let her girlfriend help her with her crutches.
"Did you have any meetings today?" She asks, choosing to go down a route that she hopes will cheer Alessia up: her upcoming transfer to Arsenal, which is all but signed and sealed now. They're being a bit hazy about drawing up a contract, but it's clear that they want her, and the striker hasn't stopped talking about it for weeks, particularly since Leah is basically the only person from both her teams who knows.
"Yeah."
Okay then. Plan failed.
"Less." Leah sits up a little more, wincing as her neck cracks. "Talk to me. Did they pull out of the contract or something? What's going on?"
"The opposite." Alessia slumps further forwards, forehead on her knees. "They've finalised it. I'm going in tomorrow to sign it, and then they'll announce it next week so I have time to tell people first."
"Isn't that good?" She probes gently. "I mean, this is what you want, right? To play for Arsenal?"
Alessia sighs again. "Of course it is. It's good news. I'm happy, honestly. It's the right thing to do. I didn't want to stay at United, and Arsenal's the best club I could go to. It's just ... hard. I'm scared," she admits.
Leah's heart breaks a little. She pats the duvet in front of her. "Come here."
The striker unfolds herself and climbs onto the bed, sitting cross-legged across from Leah who, up close, can now see faint red rims around her eyes. She reaches out and pulls Alessia into her lap, ignoring the protests about her knee, and rests her chin on her shoulder, one hand coming to card through messy blonde hair. Breathing slowly, she tries her hardest to ground Alessia, waiting until the younger woman's frame feels calmer before she speaks again.
"What are you scared of, sweetheart?"
"Everything." Her voice has dropped to a whisper. "I'm just scared that the new fans won't like me 'cause I'm from another club, and the old fans will hate me too, and the girls might not like me. What if I'm not good enough? I don't understand how I got this offer. Somebody else deserves it more than me."
Leah tilts her head. "Listen to me. You deserve this. You are a good player and a good person and you deserve this offer as much as anybody else and I know you're going to try your hardest and absolutely ace it and we're never going to let you go."
Alessia snorts tearfully, but the smile that creeps onto her face is stronger than the tears in her eyes, so Leah takes it as a win that she's prouder of more than the Euros medal hanging off her wardrobe.
The next day, Alessia comes home and finds a bunch of Arsenal-red roses on the kitchen table next to tickets to Ibiza for this Christmas, and a note next to it:
I know things aren't easy right now and my stuff isn't helping. I wanted to remind you that I love you and I appreciate everything you're doing for me. You're going to smash Chelsea to bits. Lee xx
Arms wrap around her waist and she turns in them to see Leah grinning at her. Alessia kisses her forehead.
"I love you too."
The move isn't going to be easy. Leah knows that. She's also not especially excited for when Alessia leaves for the World Cup for two months, although she's buzzing for her girl; she's just going to be a bit lonely. She thinks about all the bad things in the world, like the melting ice caps and the dying elephants and the girls that can't play football that keep her up at night, and then she looks across the kitchen to where Alessia stands, cutting the stems off of roses, an adorable little furrow between her eyebrows as she focuses, and knows it's going to work out eventually.
When Leah is sixteen, she breaks her ankle and everything goes to shit.
When Leah is twenty-one, she hooks up with an American red-headed girl who's name she still doesn't know and swallows the bitter taste of heartbreak.
When Leah is twenty-two, she shares a hotel room with a first-cap striker with a cute smile and insane skills in front of goal, and she remembers what hope feels like.
When Leah is twenty-four, she finds Alessia after a game that flopped and her heart does somersaults just at the forward's grin.
When Leah is twenty-six, her girlfriend transfers to her club and comes second in her first World Cup, and ten years after her first bad break Leah suffers the worst injury she can and learns to walk and run and play football all over again.
Ten years ago she was crying in a hospital room whilst her mum and her sort-of-friend comforted her because she thought she was going to lose everything.
Today, she's lying on Alessia's chest with tears rolling down her cheeks because she's going to get to play again.
Ten years from now, she'll probably be crying because it's her last match at the Emirates, because damn everything if she isn't going into retirement kicking and fighting for one more year. She likes that future.
(As long as the first arms that catch her when she finally stumbles into the tunnel are wearing a #23 red shirt.)
It's going to work out, and Leah knows it, and she couldn't be happier.