Chapter Text
July 2, 2044.
It’s loud. Tobin doesn’t remember it being this loud. Or this big.
There’s also a lot more people, she thinks. Loud, big people, all dressed in red and white and blue, voices raised in a singular cry.
“USA.” Their voices glorify the three letters as they shout them, each time around building on the power and excitement of the previous one. “USA!”
Tobin has seen a lot of packed stadiums in her time.
She’s never seen any like this.
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“USA, USA!”
She can't breathe. Her body’s trying, but she's so tired that everything in her just wants to lay down and stop. She can’t see right, and her eyes sting from sweat dripping into them and blurring her sight. The world looks hazy to her, undefined. She can barely see the two players in front of her, both in opposing kits, as they come flying towards her, not breathing half as hard and looking twice as strong and energized than she is.
The US had run out of subs an hour ago, and had been playing a man down since the red card.
Tobin’s been running since the first whistle, the entire 110 minutes, or however long it's been now.
Her body’s starting to stop responding to her. Outside stimulus is no longer of interest in her fatigued state, and it's a miracle she's even able to keep the ball at her feet as the two defenders descend upon her. She moves and her body screams its denial at her, demands she halt everything she's doing so she can lay down and rest, but she doesn't listen, keeps pushing, and it hurts but she just has to make it a little farther, just has to push on a few more minutes.
That’s how she’s made it to this level, how she climbed her way to the top. When her body says no, her mind still says yes. So she’ll keep pushing for as long as the referee lets her.
She can't see the crowd, or her other midfielder, or even the goal. Everything looks blended--indistinguishable.
Everything but her.
“Tobin!” she calls out to her, and her head snaps up obediently to find her and track her as she makes her run, long legs striking the pitch hard and propelling her forward at a dangerous speed. She’s got that look to her, that fiery determination that lets Tobin know that this is it. She’s hung on just long enough, and that if she gives her the ball now, she’ll receive the rest she so desperately needs. “Tobin now!”
She’s not the only one calling her name, not the only one screaming for the ball, but she’s the only one that Tobin hears, that Tobin sees.
She doesn't feel herself strike the ball, doesn't see it leave her foot. Her eyes are glued to her , unwilling to part from her image as she moves into position to receive.
She watches as she collects it, beats her defender, cuts far inside and carries the ball into the box, steady and thorough and firm in her movements.
The defenders swarm her, try to beat down her fire, but they catch only the trail of smoke that she leaves behind as she navigates through them with ease.
She's in striking range before anyone knows better, and then she's winding up, gathering all her power into her legs, and then--
The entire world descends into chaotic noise as the ball hits the back of the net, and even though her body is screaming, Tobin’s screaming too, shouting her name, praising her along with everyone else because by God, she’s done it again--she’s saved them once more.
Sweat and tears run down Tobin’s face as she slows down and takes her first deep breath, intent to slow the pounding of her heart, the quivering of her body.
And then she’s there, running to her before she fades from her, blue eyes alive and storming, lips split in a wide, triumphant grin.
She throws herself onto Tobin, wraps her arms around her and clings, and it's all Tobin can do to not topple over into the ground.
Tobin holds her tight to her, presses her into the places where it hurts the most, and lets her presence soothe the most violent spots of pain. She breathes her in--all of her--and revels in the scent of sweat and blood and grass, revels in the smell of victory, of her .
The stadium is so alive and filled with sounds of celebration that Tobin can't for the life of her make out what she’s saying, but when she snuggles into her and places a hidden kiss to her beating pulse point, she thinks she can work it out.
“I love you too,” she repeats back, her hands strong at her waist.
Her soft blue eyes glitter down at her, distinctly unattainable.
It all seems about right.
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The crowd groans as yet another shot goes wide. They’ve got only minutes left to make something happen, and the people around her are starting to lose faith.
Tobin’s learned by now that faith isn't something that should ever be lost, but as the clock continues to tick down, she understands their anxiety.
She feels it too, pooling aggressively in the pit of her stomach, but for different reasons.
The crowd screams for the team to succeed, but her hopes lie singularly in one person.
She feels like she’s been playing sixty minutes the way her heart beats when down on the side of the pitch, on the bench, a girl with striking blue eyes and the number thirteen on her back is called to her feet.
A groan goes up from beside her and her head snaps to the source of the sound, her brow furrowing.
“Come on,” the man sighs. “We need a real playmaker. Why are they using our last sub on her .”
Tobin bristles, because clearly he understands nothing about the team, or about that girl, and her mouth is opening to tell him just how wrong he is--and how stupid--when a gentle hand settles over her wrist, calling her attention away.
Lauren smiles softly at her, shakes her head and redirects her attention to the pitch before turning to address the man.
“She’s going to win them the game,” she tells him, and there's such an excitement in her voice that Tobin knows she means it, and her hand tightens on Lauren's in thanks for everything--for helping her, for being there for her, for caring about them both.
The girl moves towards the fourth official on shaky, nervous legs, and Tobin watches her with every step she takes.
Lauren’s got a megawatt smile going, and Tobin can’t help but direct it back at her.
“Here she is,” Lauren tells her, points as they display her name on the scoreboard.
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“Here she is,” The nurse says, shoving a soft blue blanket into her arms and leaving her to stare down, stunned.
'She?'
The little “she” is bright red from screaming. It’s kind of nice to hear such an angry, hateful sound, because such emotions boil sickeningly within Tobin, and she’d like nothing more than to let them out the same way this tiny girl does, beating her small pink fists against her own tan skin and just shrieking, wailing because all she wants is her mom, and instead she’s had to suffer through the foreign hands of the nurse, and now she’s in Tobin’s arms and she sure as hell doesn’t want her either.
It calms Tobin down a little bit, knowing that someone else wants her as much as she does.
Then the little thing squirms, flails, and almost rolls her way out of Tobin’s arms and onto the floor, and Tobin’s everything but calm as she chokes back a gasp and settles a stronger grip on the infant and sits down quickly, because Jesus that’s the last thing that needs to happen right now.
The crying starts to give her a headache, and she wonders how such tiny lungs can produce such a huge, unrelenting sound. She figures that she’ll eventually tire herself out, but apparently there’s no parameters to be met when it comes to a newborn child screaming out for it’s mother, because if anything she gets louder, and it’s not like Tobin can tell her to shut up, because a) she wouldn’t understand, and b) Pamela and Michael are just across the room, as white faced and tear stricken as she is. But where her own is simple devastation, theirs is anger, raw and full of blame, and worst of all--directed at her.
She knows that the second she proves herself unworthy to hold onto this little being, they’ll swoop in and take her.
As her crying continues however, she starts to wonder if that would be such a bad thing, to be rid of this squirming, wriggling mass.
Then she opens her eyes as if Tobin spoke her thoughts out loud and stares her down, and her eyes are big and beautiful and blue and--
Tobin can’t breathe, can’t swallow.
The gaping hole in her chest starts to burn, and her heart starts to pound.
She didn’t think those blue eyes would ever look up at her again.
They make her strong, even when she’s incurably, desperately weak.
She holds the little blue-eyed bundle tighter and starts returning some of the angry glares that the couple across the room sends her way.
She can do this, as long as those blue eyes keep staring up at her. Those eyes which, until that very moment, had only ever belonged to one person, the person Tobin loves--had loved, will always love-- the most.
She grabs a little fist gently in her own hand, squeezes it softly and tries to comfort her, tries to ease her fear, because she may not be the one she wants, but she’s her mother too. And Tobin’s not about to lose anyone else today, especially not her, not when she’s all that’s left.
'I can be brave,' she thinks to herself.
'As long as she’s here, I can be brave.'
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The number thirteen is all that Tobin sees as the girl stands at the fifty, waiting to go in. She smooths her hair down nervously, fixes the pink pre-wrap she had so carefully placed in it this morning.
“So you can see me on the field,” she had told her with a silly smile and a playful glint in her blue eyes.
As if Tobin wouldn’t be able to find her. As if she’d dare look anywhere else but at her.
The girl suddenly turns and spins, searches the stands, and Lauren stands up and waves wildly, and before she really knows what she’s doing, Tobin’s on her feet doing the same until the girl’s face lights up in a smile and she waves back, shouting words that don’t quite make it to Tobin’s ears.
She knows her face well enough though, knows the way her mouth forms that word with enough proficiency to understand that she’s calling out to her, letting her know that she’s seen her.
“Mom!” her lips read, spread wide and happy in a smile.
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“Mom! I want my mom!" She’s screaming so loudly it makes Tobin’s ears ring, makes her feel sick and dizzy, because she doesn’t know what to do, can’t do anything except stand uselessly by her side and let her hand go numb from how tight she’s gripping it.
“It hurts!” she wails, throws her head back against the pillows as her body contracts in agony, and Tobin tries to brush the hair, stuck to her forehead from sweat, away from her face but she thrashes again, screams, and Tobin thinks she might start crying.
She flashes a panicked look at the doctors that crowd around them, some primal, guttural noise rising up in her throat, one that begs them to make her better, to make the pain stop.
“You’re fine,” one of the nurses say, running a cloth across her pained face before looking up at Tobin. “She’s doing great, it’s going to be fine,” She continues, and then turns back to assist the doctors.
The words aren’t soothing though, because Tobin knows that it’s not fine, that she’s not doing great, that something is very wrong because less than two minutes ago one of the doctors said, “This isn’t good.” Said, “Something’s not right.” Said, “There’s too much blood.” And then said the worst of them all: “We’re starting to lose the baby.”
And yet, Tobin’s still supposed to stand next to her, locked in the vices of her grip and pain and crying eyes, and is expected to repeat over and over again, “It’s fine. You’re doing great, it’s fine. You’re doing great,” until maybe she starts to believe her, until maybe that’s what actually starts happening.
About fifteen minutes previous, when her cries started to sharpen and turn to screams, Tobin started praying to God.
'Just keep her eyes open. I’ll do anything, I’ll do everything, just keep her eyes open.'
Her eyes are starting to close.
The nurse keeps screaming at her to push--so loudly that Tobin wants to hit her, to scream back at her-- but she’s done, all tuckered out, far past fatigue in the way she sits, sobbing and screaming, covered in her own sweat and blood, repeating in an endless mantra. “Tobin, it hurts, Tobin. It hurts, make it stop, make it stop, make it stop!”
Tobin thought she knew what chaos was like, but she was wrong.
This is chaos, this is agony, watching the life ebb out of the only person she needs to keep living.
“Just stay with me a little while,” Tobin breathes out, pushing her lips against her forehead, tasting the salt there, “Just a little while longer. I promise, I promise.”
Her eyes close all the way, and her screams grow louder.
Relief comes for a short moment when her screams suddenly cut off, when she gives a big whooshing breath of relief and high pitched, smaller, watery cries fill the room, and the nurses all coo and smile.
Alex’s hand releases hers then, pushes at her arm insistently.
“Go get him,” she demands, breathless and panting and shaking. “Tobin he’s scared. Go get him please. Make sure he’s okay.”
Tobin kisses her quickly, then does as she’s told and heads over to where he should be.
She never gets there.
The doctors start yelling, she starts screaming again, and the baby’s wails echo off the walls.
“Get her out of here!” is all Tobin hears, and she panics, tries to get back to her side, where she can keep her safe. But strong hands grab her and push her from the room before she can summon the will to fight.
The last thing she sees are blue eyes, wide with panic, glossy with fear.
“Tobin!”
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“Tobin?” Lauren’s looking at her with concern.
Tobin takes a deep, shuddering breath and tries to steady herself.
Down on the pitch, the blue eyed girl steps onto the field, and the stadium erupts again with sound.
It’s loud.
Tobin doesn’t remember it being this loud.