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Ona feels miserable.
She woke up feeling fine, looking forward to a hopefully seamless travel day from Barcà to London for their first Champions League match against Arsenal. She was doubly excited because London meant Lucy, who had promised to be her WAG for the day. And, because the game was on a Saturday, she had arranged to get a flight home a day later so she could spend her’s and Lucy’s day off together on Sunday. Chances like this didn’t come that often, now that they were doing long distance, and Ona was incredibly excited.
It hasn’t hit her yet when the team arrived at the airport on Thursday morning and Ona sends Lucy a fit check from the bathroom before the flight (received with fifteen heart-eye emojis). She still feels fine when the flight lands in Heathrow two and a half hours later, and turns her phone off airplane mode to five texts from Lucy about how much she missed her and what she was going to make her for dinner Saturday night.
She even felt fine before the team leaves for a brief training at the Arsenal facilities, although she gets her period right after changing into her kit and has to make a quick change. It isn’t until about half way through warmups that she begins to suspect that something might be wrong. For one thing, her cramps are terrible, way worse than normal. She remembers the last time she had cramps this bad before coincided with contracting a nasty cold. Anxiety forms in her stomach; this would be a rather unfortunate time to get sick. But she tries to push away the concern, swallowing an ibuprofen and going along with training.
By the time they’ve finished, she does not feel good. Her cramps are intense, and her body feels achy all over.
“¿Estás bien?” Aitana asks as Ona bends over with a groan to pick up her shin guards.
“No sé,” replies Ona truthfully. She has always been bad at admitting when she’s not feeling well, but how she’s feeling now doesn’t feel promising at all. “I think it’s just my period though,” she adds, when Aitana looks concerned. She wants to be absolutely sure that she’s sick before she makes any big decisions.
“Lo siento,” Aitana says with a frown, giving her a pat on the back.
She doesn’t text Lucy right away, even though she’s been asking her how training went. She waits until after the team meeting and team dinner, although she feels herself getting more and more lethargic the whole time. Now her head is throbbing painfully in addition to her uterus, and her whole body feels weakened. It’s a blessing when she can finally get back to her hotel room and fall into bed.
“Can I call you?” is Lucy’s last message to her, and Ona has no excuse left not to, so she clicks the contact titled “Lucia” with a single blue heart and calls her. She picks up after the first ring.
“Hiya, darling,” she says, her grinning face looking out of Ona’s phone. Even in her feeble state, the idea that Lucy is a fraction of the miles apart from Ona than she normally is sends a jolt of excitement through her stomach.
“Holá,” says Ona, smiling for the first time since she started feeling sick. She knows she should tell Lucy how she’s feeling, knows it would be comforting if she understood what was going on. But she’s scared because admitting how she feels will make it more real, and she rather fancies her plans for this weekend.
Unfortunately, Ona’s moment of hesitation has got Lucy concerned. “¿Como estás?” She asks with a frown.
“Bien,” Ona tries, but it’s a lackluster attempt and she knows Lucy can see through it.
“Ona, is something wrong?”
“My cramps,” she confesses. “No me siento bien.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Lucy says and Ona immediately is relieved she told her. “I wish I was there to give you a hug.”
“Yo tambien,” Ona sighs and flips over onto her side. She really does not feel well, and it’s rapidly consuming more and more of her body. “Me duele la cabaza.”
Lucy frowns harder. “Puedes beber un poco agua para me?” Ona almost smiles because she’s so grateful that Lucy switched to Spanish. Normally it’s not an issue, but her brain can only take so much right now.
“Sí,” Ona says even though she’d already thought of that. She gets slowly out of the bed to grab her water bottle while Lucy tells her to take some ibuprofen before going to bed.
“Lo siento, no puedo hablar mucho más,” Ona says after getting her water and changing into her pyjamas. “Estoy muy cansada.”
“No te disculpes,” replies Lucy easily. “Necisitas dormir.”
Ona nods and lays down heavily, plugging her phone in besides the bed. She lies like that for a moment, thinks about Lucy’s arms wrapping around her protectively as she slept.
“¿te quedas?” Ona asks softly.
Lucy smiles and nods. “Por supuesto.” So for the next half hour, while Ona tries to sleep, Lucy talks to her, low and slow, about nothing and everything, and Ona lets the words pour over her until exhaustion takes over.
—
The next morning, Ona wakes from a fitful sleep with a groan. She feels hot all over, but when she pulls the covers off her body, she’s immediately cold. Her phone lies black beside her, having come unplugged at some point in the night. And the sticky feeling between her legs suggests that she’s bled through, all over the white bedsheets.
“Fuck,” she says, giving up and collapsing back onto the pillow. This doesn’t feel like just a nasty period.
When she’s finally able to lift her head up enough, she plugs her phone back into the wall and gets up slowly from the bed, ignoring the unpleasant head rush.
After she’s gone to the bathroom and washed her face, she comes back out to find a missed call from Lucy. She’s supposed to be at breakfast in ten minutes. She answers the call.
“Holá lovely, are you feeling any better this morning?” Lucy’s in her training kit in the car, her hair in a messy bun.
Ona hesitates. She doesn’t want Lucy to worry, but at the same time she doesn’t feel any better this morning. If anything, she feels worse. So, she tells Lucy the truth.
“I think I’m sick,” she says, rubbing her eyes with the palms of her hands.
“Oh, Ona,” is all Lucy says. Ona wants to cry. Here she is, finally in the same city as Lucy after nearly a month of being apart—not to mention the important champions league game in two days—and she’s gotten herself sick.
“Goddamnit!” she says, frustrated. “What do I do?”
“Hey, it’s alright cariño, we’ll figure it out.” Lucy has stopped driving now, it looks like she’s parked at the Chelsea training facilities.
“Ok, here’s what you’re going to do. Go down to breakfast and talk to Pere. Just tell him exactly how you’re feeling. It’s best to get it all out. Then you can talk to the team doctor and they’ll test you for everything. They’ll know what to do, you know they will. Can you do that?” Ona sighs and nods. It’s not like she wouldn’t figure that out herself, at least eventually, but Lucy’s soft instructions are calming.
“Sí, yo puedo,” she says, grabbing her water and heading for the door. “Gracias, Luce.”
“Of course, love,” says Lucy, her green eyes a lovely blend of fond and concerned. “And Ona?” she adds, right before she opens the door.
“Yes?”
“It’s going to be ok, hun. No matter what.”
“Ok,” says Ona, trying to believe her.
—
“Ok, it’s not Covid or the flu,” Ona tells Lucy over the phone after visiting leaving the team doctor. It had been a hard morning, having to tell her coach that she was sick, and therefore her teammates, but at least she won’t be out for too long.
“That’s good! I’m glad to hear that.”
“Yeah,” Ona says, leaning against the wall and grimacing at the pain in her lower abdomen. The cramps had lessened, but they weren’t yet completely gone. “I won’t be able to play tomorrow though.”
“I’m so sorry cariño,” says Lucy.
“I just wish I could see you.”
Lucy looks at Ona for a moment, thinking. Then, “I could pick you up?”
Ona can’t tell if she’s joking or not, but she looks serious. A flutter of hope settles in her stomach, followed by doubt.
“But I’m sick,” she finally gets out.
“Exactly, you need someone to take care of you,” says Lucy earnestly, and Ona tries to ignore the idea of being looked after by Lucy, because “I’ll get you sick!”
“Well you won’t get me Covid or the flu, right? And besides, my immune system’s tough, I never get sick.”
Ona thinks for a moment, and now she can’t get the idea out of her head. Besides, what else would she do, lay around in the hotel room while the team played Arsenal without her?
“Are you sure?”
“I mean, you should check with the trainers first, but yeah, I’m so sure. As long as you’re ok with it?”
“Yes, yeah, that sounds really nice,” excitement surging in her chest already.
“Perfect,” smiles Lucy.
—
By the time Lucy finally goes to pick up Ona, it’s nearly dinner time. She had to finish training, shower, and change, and Ona had to pack and tie up some loose ends back with the team. Lucy is bursting with excitement at the idea of seeing her girl a day early, even though her being sick is less than ideal.
When Lucy pulls up to the hotel in North London that Barcelona is staying at, she doesn’t need to look hard to find Ona, standing on the sidewalk in a big blue jumper that Lucy recognizes as one of her own, suitcase in hand. Lucy’s heart flutters at the sight, her lovely girl waiting for her in her jumper.
“Hello, my beautiful girl,” Lucy practically jumps out of the car and pulls Ona in for a hug.
“Lucia!” Ona squeals, throwing her arms around Lucy and squeezing her tightly. Lucy holds her close; it’s been way too long and she’s missed the specific smell of Ona’s lavender shampoo, the way her shorter body fits into Lucy’s arms perfectly.
Except now Ona’s shoulders are shaking softly and Lucy can feel her tears wetting her shirt.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Lucy says, pulling away to look Ona in the face. Her brown eyes are wide and glistening with unshed tears. “Let’s get you in the car, hm?” It’s not warm out in mid-November London.
Lucy transfers Ona’s luggage into the boot and joined her in the front before turning her attention fully to the younger woman.
“Ona, mi amor, it’s alright, I promise.” She says, cupping her hands around Ona’s soft face and using her thumbs to brush away the tears falling down her cheeks. “Don’t cry.”
“Lo siento,” Ona chokes out. Lucy has never seen her this upset before and it’s making her chest contract with worry. Ona has her head in her hands and is taking big gulps of air, as if she can’t get enough in her lungs.
“Hey, no need to apologize cariño,” says Lucy, trying to think clearly even though Ona is really scaring her. She talks low and slow, the way she did last night, the way she knows Ona likes when she’s anxious.
“I’m so sorry you’ve gotten yourself sick, honey, but these things happen, right? Nothing you can do about it now. And now I get to see you a day earlier than I would have, which is lovely.” Ona is upright now, and Lucy is holding her hand and rubbing her thumb, back and forth, back and forth. “And you know, I’ve got that boxed brownie mix you like back at home, so we can make that tonight if you like, and we can watch Love Island?” That elicits a watery smile from Ona, and Lucy breathes a sigh of relief. She leans over and pulls Ona in close so that her head is resting on Lucy’s shoulder, one hand in her hair.
“Are you ready to go home?”
Ona nodded.
“Ok, let’s do it.”
—
Lucy and Ona had spent the ride home in mostly companionable silence, the playlist Ona made Lucy filling the car and Lucy’s hand resting on Ona’s knee. They had stayed mostly quiet when they got home too, because Ona’s head hurt, and Lucy had helped her into her pyjamas and onto the coach with a steaming cup of tea.
She can tell Ona is really out of it, because she barely speaks, content to let Lucy check her temperature (which was blessedly normal), make her take another ibuprofen, and heat a hot pad for her cramps. It is weird without Ona’s constant chatter, but Lucy does her best to fill her in on life at Chelsea, even if most of it is things she’s already heard a dozen times before over the phone.
“Are you feeling hungry for anything in particular baby?” Ona furrows her brow, thinking.
“Tomato soup?” she suggests hopefully. Lucy nods.
“And brownies for dessert?” Ona smiles and Lucy winks, giving her a peck on the cheek before going to the kitchen to get started.
By the time dinner was over and Lucy leaves to load the dishwasher, Ona is dozing off on the couch. When Lucy returns, she’s fully asleep, her golden hair a halo around her flushed face. Even sick, she looks angelic, and Lucy is so obsessed with her.
Laying beside her, Lucy wraps her arms around the smaller girl, exhaling softly at the feel of their skin touching. Ona moves slowly, twisting around and looking at Lucy sleepily.
“Gracias para picking me up,” she says, and Lucy’s stomach is all butterflies because this is her beautiful girl, laying in her arms and talking to her in adorable Spanglish.
“Of course, always,” she says, rubbing her her lower back gently. Ona sighs at the touch. “I missed you so much,” she adds, because it’s true.
“I love you,” says Ona, because it’s true. “And I’m sorry for crying on you, I just,” she pauses, looking for the words, switches to Spanish. “No me gusta estar enferma. Y, no me gusta estar lejos de ti.” Ona giggles, because it’s not the clearest explanation, but Lucy understands.
“It’s ok, entiendo. But, I’m here now,” says Lucy with a grin.
Ona nods happily and nuzzles into Lucy’s chest. It’s a euphoric feeling, this is, even if it’s just spending the night together, in each other’s arms. Lucy feels more whole than she has in weeks