Chapter Text
The ride back to the Village is about a century long and a million kinds of awkward. Everyone else is talking about qualifiers and the upcoming team final, but Aly’s eyes keep straying to the back of Jordyn’s head two rows up. She doesn’t need to see Jordyn’s face to know exactly how hard her best friend is struggling to keep it together. If Jo were within reach, Aly would work the tension from that bowed neck with strong fingers and a joke. But Jo isn’t within reach, not tonight.
The shuttle pulls up to their apartment complex. Gymnasts and staff pile out into the aisle. McKayla’s close enough to hear her and, coincidentally, the least burdened down with bags, so Aly grabs her sleeve.
“Mac, take my stuff for me?” she says in an undertone.
“You’re not coming up?”
Aly shakes her head.
McKayla’s green eyes flick over to Jordyn, who’s disappearing out the shuttle door at a speed only marginally slower than a vault run. She nods in comprehension and lifts Aly’s duffel from the seat. “Sure.”
Aly retrieves a few things from her backpack on the way out of the shuttle. Phone, keycard, and two loose tissues in case of waterworks later. “There you go. Thanks so much, Mac, I owe you—whoa, got that?”
“No worries, got it,” McKayla grunts as she hoists several giant bags over her shoulder. She’s the last of the shuttle passengers. One of the trainers holds the lobby door for her and looks at Aly, but McKayla says something to him. He shrugs and closes the door (sometimes it’s good to be 18). Aly lets out a breath, heads away from the apartments. She wants a shower, dinner, and her bed in that order, but all that can wait. Jordyn needs some space. Hell, Aly needs some space to process what just happened.
Damn it, Jo, I didn’t think it would be like this. Nobody did, not even me, I don’t watch scoreboards, I didn’t even believe this was possible. I just wanted to go out and do my best. I seized the day and look where it got us.
They are both world-class gymnasts. Teammates and best friends, but never rivals. Everyone knows how things stand with the core of Team USA: Jordyn the humble star, Gabby the bubbly upstart, and—Aly. She knows she’s on the team not for flashiness but for consistency, leadership, and nerves of steel. Now that the unthinkable’s happened and everything’s unbalanced, she needs time to figure out what to say to Jordyn. Aly thinks of her best friend up there alone in their room, struggling to comprehend what happened this evening. Crying, most likely, and who can blame her? Everyone knew the only thing surer than a vault medal for McKayla had been all-around placement for Jo. Jo’s peaked, ready for the Games, ready to back up her status as world champion with an Olympic AA gold. She’s got more gymnastics left in her, but another quad’s worth? Another Olympics’ worth? This was her best chance. The London Games have been Jordyn’s dream for years.
And yet, they’ve been Aly’s dream as well.
And yet.
Jo’s determined face, seen a million times in practice. Jo’s words, that first evening in London: I’m so happy we’re here together. I’m glad it’s you and me. Jo’s tears tonight. Aly’s own tears, for more complicated reasons.
She stuffs her hands into her jacket pockets and blinks rapidly. Fuck.
If Aly wasn’t so tired and if team finals weren’t in two days, she’d go hit the gym. Nothing concentrates her mind like beam. It’s not her best event, but she’s become a good beam worker out of sheer force of will. There’s no room for error or emotion. Staying in the zone is something Aly Raisman is very good at. In fact, she’s working the thousand-yard stare so well that it takes her a few moments to realize she’s not alone out here. A girl is perched on a bench in a grassy area just ahead of her, winding up a phone call. Aly stops in her tracks.
Aliya Mustafina is something of a legend. Aly’s never let that intimidate her in competition, though. Tonight she posted a higher qualifying score than Aliya, second only to Aliya’s teammate Viktoria Komova. But she’s never had much of a chance to talk with the Russian athlete before, as there’s little time at meets to socialize. Not that Aly speaks much Russian. Sometimes she wonders why she took Spanish in high school when her main rivals are from eastern Europe.
“Privet,” she ventures.
“Privet,” Aliya replies. She slides her phone into her pocket and gazes serenely at Aly. In that moment, Aly realizes how tired her legs and feet feel. She’s definitely been walking for a while if she’s wound up in Russian territory. Not good … she needs to rest up for Tuesday.
“Mind if I sit down?” she asks. She knows Aliya speaks a little English. If she’s anything like Aly, she’ll read and hear a second language better than she can speak it.
“Please.”
She sits and steals a glance at Aliya, wishing she could feel as tranquil inside as Aliya looks. She’s always admired the Mustafina calm. She’s admired other things as well, before another girl became increasingly prominent in her thoughts.
“You were incredible today,” Aly says to break the silence. “You and your whole team, just absolutely amazing, and I’m really looking forward to competing against you on Tuesday and in the all-around.”
“Thank you. You also were good.”
She smiles in answer and slouches against the bench. The silence builds again as thoughts of Jordyn creep back to the forefront of her mind. If her friend had qualified to the AA as expected, Aly would have been beyond happy for her, never verbalizing whatever disappointment she might have felt on her own behalf. If in some alternate universe they’d brought another all-arounder instead of a specialist and that person had knocked Jo out of the running, Aly would have been able to comfort her. As things stand, it’s weird for the team dynamic, but that’s not what Aly’s really worried about. Team USA will pull their shit together and get that gold or die trying. She’s worried about her and Jo and what they might be some day. What Aly wants them to be.
She’s not sure how Jordyn feels. She doesn’t think Jordyn even knows that Aly’s realized she likes girls (and one in particular). There never seems to be a good moment to talk about it, and tonight complicates things immensely. Jo isn’t petty … she won’t hold being knocked out of the AA against Aly. But tonight is something she’ll remember for the rest of her life every time she sees Aly. That is not what Aly wants and it’s no way to begin a relationship. Hey, remember that time I totally accidentally stole your dream? Wanna make out?
Dear God, what am I going to say to her? It’s half a prayer. She wishes her rabbi was here. She doesn’t really want to talk to her parents about this.
“Are you OK?”
Aly’s forgotten she’s sitting next to Mustafina. Those cool hazel eyes draw her gaze like a magnet. “You are … not here,” the Russian girl says, twirling a finger. “Not OK?”
“No,” Aly says. “I’m sorry. I kind of have a lot on my mind.”
Aliya arches an eyebrow. Aly takes a deep breath. She knows she shouldn’t reveal how much turmoil she’s in to one of her biggest competitors right before the Olympics team final, but she feels the words bubbling up from inside, and Aliya’s just sitting there all quiet and inviting.
“It’s my teammate Jordyn. I did better than she did in qualifying, so I’m in the all-around and she isn’t, and she wanted it so badly and I barely hoped for it for myself. She’s my roommate and my best friend and I love her more than I love myself, and I don’t know how to get us through this.” Despite herself, her voice wavers. Aly feels an uncontrollable prickle at the backs of her eyes. She swipes at her cheeks almost angrily and pulls a tissue out of her pocket. Damn it, if her coaches find out she not only spilled her guts to a Russian but also cried in front of her … Mustafina’s probably so quiet because she’s figuring out how to turn this to Federation advantage.
Then an arm settles around her shoulders. Startled, Aly looks over at the other girl, but sees only compassion.
“Is difficult, with love,” Aliya says slowly. “When I have knee injury, I am in gym always, but I cannot work. All teammates go to competitions, but I go home and watch the TV. Is hard, very hard, especially with Vika. Vika Komova—my teammate—is …” She tilts her face up to the moonlight as if to search for words. She’s gorgeous, even without her competition makeup. “Vika and me, like sisters. Family. We live together, train always, every day I see her face. So months when she trains and I cannot … hard, very hard. Then when knee is good, we battle many times. I want her to win, but I want to win too. She have gold, I have silver. I have gold, she have silver. Still, I have love. We have love.”
“How do you do it?”
Aliya shrugs. “Each battle, we do not think, ‘Maybe I win, maybe she win.’ We compete. We train. We … are not all competing, all training. Separate things. Vika and me, we make the time together, and we always are happy about each other. Is not same with you?”
“No … I mean, yes. I mean … I haven’t … ” Aly bites her lip.
“Will you ever tell her?”
The question’s too perceptive. Aliya’s too close, too pretty, too oddly gentle. Anyone who says Mustafina is a stone-faced ice queen hasn’t seen the way her eyes go liquid warm when she feels something strongly—hasn’t seen how she’s there for her teammates, or how she’s gone out of her way to comfort a crazy, emotional American. Aly feels an irrational urge to close the remaining distance between them, kiss that beautiful mouth, and forget everything for a time.Carpe diem. There’s a charged moment when it might be possible. Aliya lifts her chin in either challenge or warning, and Aly can feel her control slipping.
But no. Aliya has her teammate (which makes perfect sense, Aly’s seen them with each other). And Jordyn has her, even if she doesn’t have Jordyn and never will. ”Yes,” Aly says, meeting Aliya’s eyes again. “I will. Tonight. And I hope you’re right, that we can be separate from training and competing and be us, like you and Vika.”
The Russian girl nods and rises. Aly stands too. She fingers the keycard in her pocket and looks down the street toward the US section, feeling nervous. ”Good luck,” Aliya says.
Aly smiles warmly at her new friend. “You too, and thank you so much. You’re amazing.”
There’s a hint of a smile on the placid countenance. Aliya swiftly kisses her cheek. “Spokoinai nochi,” she says, and walks away before Aly can move.
The walk back is long, but Aly is strangely at peace. Maybe Mustafina’s calm did rub off on her. She rides the elevator back up and hesitates for only a moment before she swipes her card. Across the room, Jordyn rises. The look on her face makes Aly well up with tears all over again. “Jo,” she starts, and gets no further. Jordyn’s there in a second to hug her tightly. They’re both crying. “I’m sorry, I love you,” Aly sobs.
“Don’t say that,” Jordyn says.
What? Which one?
Jordyn sets Aly at arm’s length before she can ask. “I’m so proud of you,” she says. And though Aly can tell how much it’s cost her to be able to say this, there’s not a resentful bone in Jordyn Wieber’s body. “You’re going to go out there and kill it and I’m going to be cheering you on. You are amazing and I love you so much.”
She knows with unerring certainty that this is her moment. Aly lifts her head and looks at her friend the same way she looks at the beam: stomach in knots, eyes steady. “Do you? Because I love you, and I’m in love with you, and I don’t want gymnastics to come between us. Not a meet or a medal or anything on this whole planet.”
Jordyn doesn’t even hesitate. She pulls Aly close and kisses her. “Nothing could ever come between us,” she says soberly. “Now let’s get you out of that leo.”
Much later, Aly breathes, “I really do love you, you know.”
Jo whispers back, “I know, you dork. I’ve just been waiting for you to figure it out, for, like,ever.”
Aly smiles and leans her forehead against Jordyn’s. Somewhere out there is a Russian who deserves some credit for tonight. For now, though, there’s only one girl in Aly’s world.