Chapter Text
Chapter One — Cobham, 7AM
Aggie let out a sigh just before she pushed through the doors at Cobham. The week had wrung her out — her body felt heavy, the last international break still clinging to her muscles like fog. All she wanted was another hour of sleep, maybe two. But there was a game on Saturday, and here she was, 7 a.m., boots in hand and eyes barely open.
The corridors were quiet, humming with early-morning fluorescent light. Her trainers squeaked against the floor as she passed the gym — already occupied, of course.
“Morning, Beever-Jones.”
Aggie turned at the sound of Niamh’s voice. She was leaning against the wall, hood half up, grinning in that unbothered way she always did.
“You know your hair looks awful, right?” Niamh said, straight-faced but with a spark in her eyes.
Aggie exhaled a tired laugh. “Good morning to you too.”
Niamh pushed off the wall, falling into step beside her. “Rough night?”
“Rough week.”
They walked down the hallway together, shoulders almost brushing. It wasn’t unusual; they were friends — sort of. Not the deep, tell-each-other-everything kind, but the easy kind. Teasing, light, safe.
Aggie glanced sideways as Niamh stifled a yawn, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. There was a small dimple when she smiled, one Aggie hadn’t noticed before.
She looked away quickly.
“You’re unusually chipper for this hour,” she muttered.
“Some of us don’t need caffeine to function,” Niamh shot back, bumping her elbow lightly.
“Remind me to hate you later.”
“You already do.”
Aggie rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth tugged upward all the same.
⸻
The locker room buzzed with low chatter — the sound of zips, laughter, and the thud of boots against benches. Aggie dropped her bag, stretching her arms until her shoulders popped.
Across from her, Niamh peeled off her hoodie and started chatting with Erin about a new drill. Her voice carried, soft and easy, filling the space. Aggie caught herself listening without meaning to — following the rhythm of her tone more than the words.
It was ridiculous, she thought. She was just tired. That’s all.
“You look half dead,” Niamh called over suddenly.
“Feel it too,” Aggie replied, reaching for her boots.
A protein bar landed in her lap.
“Breakfast of champions,” Niamh said with a smirk.
Aggie caught herself smiling before she could hide it. “You’re an idiot.”
“Yeah, but a generous one.”
Aggie shook her head and bit into the bar anyway. The sugar hit her tongue, the taste overly sweet but grounding. And for a moment, the morning didn’t feel quite so heavy.
⸻
Training started sharp at eight. The pitch was slick with dew, sunlight still pale over the grass. Warm-ups were brutal — laps, sprints, stretches that made Aggie’s muscles scream.
When the pairings were called out for drills, Niamh ended up beside her.
“Don’t slow me down,” Niamh teased, adjusting her bib.
Aggie raised a brow. “You wish.”
The first few minutes were all rhythm and breath — Niamh’s sharp movements, her easy control. She laughed when Aggie missed a touch, that quick, bright sound carrying over the field.
And Aggie — despite herself — laughed too.
By the time training wrapped up, her legs ached, her cheeks were flushed, and the weight she’d carried in with her had started to ease.
As they walked off the pitch, Niamh nudged her again. “Told you you’d survive.”
Aggie shot her a sideways look, smirking faintly. “Barely.”
Niamh’s grin softened. “Barely still counts.”
Aggie didn’t answer. She just smiled — small, tired, but real — and let herself fall into step beside her.