Chapter Text
chapter one: prologue
consciousness returned in fractured pieces, each one slotting into place with a sharp pulse of pain behind Beth’s eyes. The first thing she registered was the light. It was everywhere. Harsh, clinical white that bled through her eyelid and stabbed into her skull. A groan escaped her lips as she tried to turn away from it, but even that small movement sent nausea rolling through her stomach.
Hospital.
The realisation came slowly, sluggishly. Her mouth was dry, her head throbbed. Something beeped steadily nearby, the sound irritatingly precise in the otherwise muffled haze surrounding her.
Beth tried to open her eyes. It felt impossible. Her eyelids were heavy, her limbs were heavier, as though someone had replaced her bones with concrete while she slept. For a second she considered giving up, letting herself sink back into the darkness, but panic flickered somewhere beneath the fog.
why was she in the hospital?
The last thing she remembered was — her chest tightened. The breakup. Long conversations that had gone nowhere. The awful, hollow feeling that had settled in her ribs when she’d finally accepted it was over. The exhaustion of pretending she was fine when everyone around her seemed determined to remind her she wasn’t.
Dann. The name surfaced immediately, familiar and painful.
Beth swallowed hard. Then, gathering every ounce of strength she could find, she forced her eyes open.
The room swam into focus in blurred fragments. White walls, medical equipment, flowers sitting on a windowsill. And photographs. Dozens of them. Beths brow furrowed. From where she lay, she could just make out flashes of colour. Red shirts. England kits. Smiling faces.
One photograph in particular caught her attention.
She instantly recognised herself staring back at her, an arm slung around the shoulders of a tall blonde teammate, their faces pressed together, cheek to cheek.
Viv.
Beth frowned.
The picture looked oddly intimate.
Before she could make more sense of it, movement from the corner of the room caught her attention.
Someone in the corner of the room,
same blonde hair, same tall figure.
Viv.
Outstretched on a chair. One of those hard plastic hospital chairs designed for short visits rather than long vigils, yet she was folded into it as though she’d been there for hours. Maybe days.
And she looked awful.
Beth had seen viv after heartbreaking losses, after injuries, tired after a big night out, after matches where nothing seemed to go right. She’d never seen her like this.
Dark circles shadowed her eyes. Her hair was pulled back more carelessly than usual, loose strands escaping around her face. Exhaustion clung to her, etched into every line of her posture.
But it wasn’t the tiredness that made Beth’s stomach drop. It was their hands. Viv was holding hers.
Not casually. Not the way friends might. Not the way teammates sometimes reached for each other after a difficult game.
Her fingers were threaded through Beth’s, gripping tightly, as though letting go wasn’t an option. As though Beth slipping away was a very real possibility.
And viv’s thumb… it moved slowly across the back of her hand, absent-minded and familiar, the kind of touch that came from habit rather than thought.
The kind of touch that belonged to someone who did it every day.
Beth froze.
For a moment, her brain simply refused to process what she was seeing.
Viv.
Holding her hand.
In a hospital room.
Like this.
The confusion only lasted seconds before panic crashed into it. Because none of this made sense. The last Beth remembered, Viv was her teammate, her friend, and very much in a relationship of her own, with Lisa.
A sharp rush of anxiety squeezed her chest.
The monitor beside her immediately reacted, its steady rhythm breaking into more rapid, frantic beeps.
Viv’s head snapped up.
Their eyes met.
And the look of overwhelming relief that flooded viv’s face terrified Beth far more than the machines beeping ever could.
“What…” the word scraped painfully from Beth’s throat.
Her gaze darted from their intertwined hands back to Viv’s face.
”What are you doing?”
The question came out harsher than she’d intended, edged with panic.
Instinctively she tried to pull her hand free. The effort was pathetic. Her muscles barely cooperated, weakness making her arm tremble almost immediately. Still, she managed to loosen Viv’s grip enough to create a few inches of space between them.
Viv let her. But she didn’t move away. If anything, she seemed to lean forward.
Relief was still written plainly across her face, but now it was tangled with something else. Something softer.
Something that made Beth’s stomach twist.
People didn’t look at her like that.
not teammates.
not friends.
not Viv.
Especially not Viv.
“Liefje.”
The word slipped out before Viv seemed to realise she’d said it.
Beth blinked.
Viv’s eyes widened slightly.
“Sorry,” she said immediately, her voice much quieter. More careful.
“Sorry”… but she didn’t sound sorry. She sounded scared. Terrified actually.
Like she was one wrong word away from watching everything fall apart.
“It’s okay,” Viv continued softly. “You’re okay.”
The gentleness in her voice only made Beth more uneasy.
Nothing about this felt okay.
Her heart was hammering against her ribs.
The room felt wrong.
Viv felt wrong.
Everything felt wrong.
“Where am I?” Beth demanded
Her eyes swept the room again.
Hospital.
Flowers.
Cards.
Photographs.
The same photographs she’d noticed before.
Only now her eyes had adjusted, she could make out more details.
Arms wrapped around torsos.
Smiles.
a small brown dog she didn’t recognise.
One picture sitting closest to the bed made her breath catch.
It was her and Viv. Not celebrating a trophy. Not in an arsenal kit, not joined by teammates and friends. It was just them… just standing together.
Viv’s arm wrapped tightly around her waist.
Beth leaning into her.
Both of them smiling at the camera like they belonged there.
Like they’d done it a thousand times.
“What is this?” She whispered, voice wavering with unease.
Before Viv could answer, the door opened.
Middle-aged. Tired looking.
He glanced at the monitors first, then at Beth. Then at Viv.
No surprise crossed his face.
No confusion.
No awkwardness.
As though Viv beside her bed was the most normal thing in the world, like it was a scene he’d seen before.
“Beth” the doctor smiled genetely.
“It’s good to see you awake.”
Beth stared at him. Then turned to viv.
“What are you doing here?”
The question hung in the room.
the doctors expression shifted almost imperceptibly.
Confusion, then concern.
He looked at Viv.
Viv suddenly looked pale. And for the first time since waking up, genuine fear flickered across Beth’s face.
Because neither of them looked surprised that Viv was there.
They looked surprised that Beth had asked.
The doctor stepped closer to the bed.
“Beth I’m going to ask you a few questions, alright?” His voice was calm, practiced. “Just routine”
Beth didn’t answer.
Her eyes were still fixed on Viv.
Viv, who looked as though she hadn’t slept in days.
Viv, who was standing now, hovering near the bed like she couldn’t decide to come closer or back away.
She looked undeniably anxious.
The doctor clicked on a small pen light.
Beth winced immediately as the beam crossed her eyes.
“Sorry,” he murmured, “follow the light for me.”
she did, reluctantly.
“Good. Can you tell me your full name?”
”Bethany Jane Mead.”
the answer came instantly
”and what year is it?”
Beth frowned
“what?”
”what year is it?”
the question made no sense. Why was he asking that?
A headache pulsed behind her eyes.
Memories flickered through her mind.
Training.
The euros that summer.
Arsenal.
moving through another season.
Conversations she’d rather forget.
The ache of heartbreak she still carried around with her like a second skin.
“Twenty-twenty-one”
she said it confidently. As if there was no other option
“it’s september 2021.”
The room went silent
Not ordinary silence.
The kind that swallowed all the air.
The doctor’s expression changed first.
Then Beth looked at Viv.
The colour drained from her face so quickly it was almost frightening.
For a second, Viv just stared. The gravity of what Beth just said hitting her slowly.
Then she looked away.
As if she physically couldn’t bear to hold Beth’s gaze.
“What?”
Nobody answered.
Her pulse began to climb.
“What?”
”beth,” the doctor said carefully, “can you tell me the last thing you remember?”
the question was easier.
“Dann.”
The words left her before she could stop it.
“I remember…” she swallowed hard. “I remember everything with Dann ending.”
The familiar grief rose immediately.
Raw. Fresh. Like it happened yesterday.
”I remember Arsenal training.”
her brow furrowed
“I remember having dinner at viv and Lisa’s place a few days ago”
at that, Viv made a small sound.
almost inaudible.
But Beth heard it.
The doctor exchanged a glance with her.
One Beth didn’t understand.
“What?” Beth asked again, louder this time.
No one answered.
Her breathing quickened.
The monitor beside her sped up in response.
”why does everyone keep looking at me like that?”
the doctors shoulders sagged slightly.
“Beth.”
his voice had become gentler somehow.
More cautious.
“You suffered a significant head injury during Sunday’s match.”
”Sunday? its pre season?”
”the match against Manchester city.”
Beth blinked.
Manchester City.
Viv.
The Emirates.
Pieces clicked together.
Tiny fragments.
Grass.
Floodlights.
A challenge.
Then nothing.
A wall of black.
The doctor continued.
“You’ve been unconscious for nearly two days.”
Two days.
Okay.
Fine.
That made sense. Mostly.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
The doctor hesitated.
And suddenly Beth didn’t want him to answer.
Because Viv looked devastated.
Not worried.
Not relieved.
Devastated.
As if she already knew what was coming.
“Beth,” the doctor said softly, “it isn’t 2021.”
The words hit her harder than any tackle ever had.
She laughed. A short, disbelieving sound.
“Yeah, alright.”
nobody joined in.
Nobody smiled.
”it’s 2025.”
The room tilted.
“No.”
Beth shook he head immediately.
“No.”
Her heart hammered against her ribs.
”that’s not funny.”
”I’m not joking Beth” the doctor said with certainty.
”No.”
She looked to Viv.
Instinctively.
Needing someone to confirm the doctor had lost his mind.
But Viv wasn’t arguing.
Wasn’t correcting him.
She was staring at the floor, eyes shining.
And somehow that was worse.
Much worse.
Because for the first time since she’d opened her eyes, Beth wasn’t looking at the doctor anymore.
She was looking at Viv.
Really looking.
At the way she kept hovering beside the bed.
At the exhausted grief written across her face.
At the photographs scattered around the room.
The ones she’d been trying not to think about.
And suddenly a horrifying possibility began to form.
One that made her stomach drop.
One that made absolutely no sense.
Yet somehow explained everything.
Viv finally lifted her head.
Their eyes met.
And the look on her face—
The love.
The heartbreak.
The fear.
It was so open.
So painfully real, that Beth’s breath caught in her throat.
Because people didn’t look at teammates like that.
They didn’t look at friends like that.
and whatever had happened in the missing years between 2021 and now…
Vivienne Miedema was looking at her like she was loosing the love of her life all over again.