Chapter Text
Conversations in the Dark
(And Under the Lights)
You're a saint, you're a goddess,
the cutest, the hottest, a masterpiece.
It’s too good to be true, nothin' better than you
in my wildest dreams.
After the pining glances across the pitch that when caught, led to cautious smiles and winks, after the long-distance handshake that really, they probably shouldn’t have done, but solidarity outranked their respective badges, after the first whistle blew, there was this moment – a split second is more like it – when they both froze. It was in that moment that it finally sunk in. No going back. No more room for denial. That thing that happened in January was real. But as soon as that moment passed, the nerves were gone.
For Sonnett, at least. It's just soccer. Soccer is soccer. Doesn't matter the team or the color of the jersey (though she had always been partial to the sky blue of Sydney FC because of the way it brought out her gray eyes and because she liked the hashtag) or the opponent. She’d known soccer since she was old enough to run without the bicycle helmet her parents kept putting on her because for a while there, she fell so often they were worried about brain damage. It’s. Just. Soccer
Force them wide. Keep them off their dominant foot. Don't dive in. Use your physicality. Be brave, but don't get a red (she's almost positive that last part was directed at her, but she wasn't looking at Marc when he said it, and technically, he could have been talking to Marta). Listen to Ash (she'd think about it, but Ash is... questionable... compared to AD and Alyssa). Push up as a line. Watch the bending runs. Don't forget, you're playing for the badge. You’ve got to have the mentality… she tuned out every time she heard that word.
Honestly, she hardly listened to what Marc was saying because it just wasn’t necessary anymore. He said a lot of the same stuff on repeat, and it was more bullshit concepts intended to inspire than actual instruction, she thought. She didn’t need external inspiration to get up for a game. Mostly, his words just jumbled up in her mind, so she pushed them out.
But Marc aside, playing for the Pride made her feel like that cocky kid at FCS who blossomed into a cocky young adult at UVA, and she kinda dug feeling that again. She had missed it. She lost it on the National Team, not so much because of her lack of playing time, because really, she wasn't going to take Kelley's spot. Or Abby's. Or Becky's. It was just hard to be cocky going 1v1 against the likes of Rose and Alex day in and day out. She was too scared going #1 in the draft to walk into the Thorns changing room with that attitude; there was too much pressure that came with that distinction. She kinda got it back when she went to Sydney, where they not only appreciated her but freed her to play. Sometimes, she felt it in Portland, but more often than not, she felt stress above all else. Especially over the last year. Felt blame, but for what? It wasn't on her that the team scored one goal in the final six games of their season.
And then they tossed her aside for something shiny and new.
But that cockiness came back in Orlando, mainly because she just didn't give a shit. She had no plans to stay. No loyalty to anyone, at least not on the level she had to Lindsey and Tobes and Sinc. Not a ton of respect for Marc, and she couldn't quite understand why Ash, especially, spoke so highly of him. Ali swore Sonnett would learn so much from him, but really, she learned more from Sinc yelling at her during a game and Kelley yelling at her after a game than she had from Marc and his staff. It didn't hurt that everyone went out of their way to welcome her, to make her feel wanted. She almost felt like a star since Alex wasn’t there. But really, playing in Orlando left her feeling free to play however she pleased on the Pride backline. It's not like they could do any worse than 9th place. Whatever happens this season, Sonnett figures, I’m at least an improvement.
Lindsey, on the other hand, seemed plenty nervous, judging by their texts and FaceTimes over the past few days. Whether it was the imaginary weight on her shoulders to have a redeeming tournament after the disaster of last season and the off-season trades, or the irrational fear in the back of her mind (Lindsey was always full of irrational fears) that this month of soccer would have some impact on her playing time in Tokyo a year from now, or the fact that she was playing against her best friend, Sonnett couldn't be sure. Didn't much matter; Sonnett got a kick out of it regardless.
She was about to get an even bigger kick out of it.
“Baby that red jersey, brought me to my knees. Oh but that black jersey makes it hard to breathe,” Sonnett sings, exaggerating a twang to sound more like Thomas Rhett. For effect, of course. It always does something to Lindsey. She can tell without Lindsey saying a word. Her first chance since kickoff to be close enough to say anything to her former club teammate – the ball played out over the touch – and that’s what came to her mind. Followed closely by “If you want me on my knees, we can arrange for that after this tournament,” as she skirts past Lindsey.
Lindsey breaks out into a fit of hacking coughs, the dryness in her throat making her feel like she’s going to choke.
In retrospect, maybe that last part was a bit too much.
Sonnett couldn’t help it. It just sprung to her mind and it’s not like she’s ever had a good filter. In all of her pre-planning on how she would throw Lindsey off her game with some more… intense and suggestive… compliments than she typically uses, that wasn’t one of them. That song just popped into her head when she saw Lindsey in black. She couldn’t help it really; black looked so fucking good on her. It really brought out the green in her eyes more than red or white ever had, made her tan look more golden. The sleeves were tighter around her shoulders and biceps, either the result of a different cut or Lindsey bulking up in the three months apart. Sonnett meant what she said, so she wasn’t going to apologize for it. She thought that Lindsey in red was as good as it could get (especially that red pantsuit); Lindsey in black was a whole different level of sexy. Under the stadium lights… mmm. And that part about being on her knees… well technically she meant that, too.
She puts a gentle hand on Lindsey's back, checking to see if she's ok. Immediately, Lindsey stands, jerking up from her hunched over position.
“Altitude getting to you?” Sonnett asks with a smirk, knowing full well that Lindsey trains at a higher elevation.
“What was that supposed to mean?” she snaps.
“Nothin’, you just look soooo sexy in black,” Sonnett shrugs, “so I thought I’d offer my… services. In case you’re interested. No pressure.” It’s not like she hasn’t joked about it before – after the unfathomable loss in Rio (as consolation), when they were drunk in France (to celebrate), when Lindsey was sad about Russell (for comfort). Maybe she was joking those times, or at least sounded like she was joking. She never let anything happen. It’s been awhile, but… well… apparently Lindsey found it funnier back then. Or maybe she finds in less funny on a field. Sonnett stays staring her down for an extra second before nodding back towards the ball. From that moment, Sonnett knows she’s in Lindsey’s head. It’s obvious, the way the blush spread across Lindsey’s cheeks, not even three minutes into the half.
She could back down, but she’s having too much fun with it. “You’re a saint, you’re a goddess, the cutest, the hottest, a masterpiece.” She keeps up with the singing because she knows damn well Lindsey loves it when she sings. Lindsey doesn’t look at her this time, watching as Kling throws the ball in to Morgan, but Sonnett sees her jaw and fist clench before she breaks off in a diagonal run to the near post.
She’s playing the six, providing Orlando with a more solid core where the Thorns are strongest. Without Hayley, Ellie, and Tobin, they’re far less threatening on the wings now. She knows she’ll never take Julie’s spot – hell, she’ll be lucky to get into the to center back – but it’s nice to play there now. It’s an important spot. Makes her a little cockier. Gives her that extra edge to say things she probably shouldn’t. It also should be giving her the chance to mark Lindsey more, except Lindsey has been spending a suspicious amount of time out wide over the last 20 minutes.
“Why are you avoiding me?” Sonnett asks as Lindsey comes into the box for a corner. “You didn’t even let me finish my song.”
“Fuck off, Sonnett.”
“It’s too good to be true, nothing better than you in my wildest dreams.” Sonnett croons. Van Egmond snorts. Kriegs makes a sputtering sound trying not to laugh. It’s really of very little consequence to her that those two are within earshot when she decides to keep this thing going. She was aiming for a smile that couldn’t be stifled, a brief moment to distract Lindsey just before the corner. She isn’t expecting the way Lindsey absolutely freezes as Kling plays the ball into the box. It sails through untouched. “Nice run,” Sonnett grins, and she maybe purposely brushes Lindsey’s shoulder as she pushes up the field for Ash’s goal kick.
Ok, maybe that was too far, Sonnett worries. It wasn’t a compliment. Teasing isn’t her M.O., especially when teasing in the middle of an intense game never comes off as good-natured. But that thought only lasts a second because Ash has played the ball back in and she has an objective. If Kelley were here, she’d tell Sonnett that there are no rules to this type of warfare; everything is fair game. If she wants to sing love songs to Lindsey in the middle of the match, that’s her prerogative. If she wants to tease, that’s fine too. If she wants to offer her services, well, whatever it takes to win, right? Man, I really make myself proud sometimes, Sonnett thinks to herself. She knows she’s funny. She kept a tally during isolation every time someone was asked the very important question – which of your teammates is the funniest? – on an IG live or Zoom. She’s up 4-2 on Rose. But sometimes, her comedic genius just comes out and it’s stellar. This is brilliant. Everything about Lindsey’s face is telling her that much. And if Lindsey thinks that by not engaging, Sonnett will eventually give up, she’s wrong.
Yeah, being on the other side of the country fucking sucks, but she’s going to get 90 minutes of pure joy out of this.
Marta puts them up right before the half. It’s a beautiful work up and finish. Little drop ball from Syd. A cutback that gets Menges wrongfooted. Marta rockets it into the upper 90 with her left. Sonnett celebrates – screaming, pumping her fist, sprinting up the field and leaping on the pile at the top of the box. She catches Lindsey’s eye as she jogs back. There’s a glint of hurt in it, and Sonnett knows instantly that it’s not because the Thorns are down; that level of happiness used to be reserved for her goals only. Her stomach drops.
If Sonnett went into the changing room at the break feeling bad about making Lindsey feel bad, she’s shaken it off by the start of the second half. “I liked those sweaty shorts on you better. The way they clung to your thighs, Mmmm!” Maybe she makes that sound like a moan.
“Sonnett!” Lindsey's voice sounds hoarse.
She had prepared that one ahead of time, knowing Lindsey would change at the half. The way it hits is perfection, Lindsey’s voice reaching a new octave. Sonnett winks and jogs away, wondering if Lindsey’s ever going to return the banter. And wondering why she hasn’t yet.
The first Pride corner, when she gets up to the top of the 18, Lindsey ends up next to her. And gets and elbow dug into her ribs for it.
“Ow!” she shouts backing a step away, before returning to mark Sonnett.
“Why are you marking me?” Sonnett says, pointy elbows keeping Lindsey at bay. “Go mark someone your own size! Get away”
“Not letting your sneaky little ass free in this box.” Lindsey knows how good she is at getting herself open and to the ball on corners.
“You just want to be near my ass,” Sonnett quips, and she turns, pressing into Lindsey. But it’s really just to roll around her and get free, which she promptly does, making that trademark front post run. The step she gets on Lindsey is enough, and no one picks her up as she comes crashing through the box. She almost scores on a header, but AD tips it over the bar. Lindsey’s face is bright red as AD yells at her for not marking tight enough.
Mark must have said something to Lindsey about staying more central at the half, because she’s around Sonnett all the time now. Sonnett takes advantage.
“God, I forgot how gorgeous your eyes are.” That draws a little smile from Lindsey and a shy ‘thank you’ that Sonnett certainly wasn’t expecting.
“I think I could live forever in the hollow of your neck. When are you gonna cuddle with me again, Linessi?” She makes sure that last part comes out in a whine. Lindsey looks at her, blinking, like she’s considering the question.
“You are looking fit, girl!” Lindsey stutters through telling Sonnett she hired a personal trainer.
“That Georgia peach givin’ Kelley a run for her money,” she says from behind Lindsey, watching her get back to her feet after a tackle. Lindsey turns bright red.
The compliments just keep coming, and Sonnett keeps wondering when Lindsey’s going to get mad, going to tell her to stop. But she never does, so Sonnett doesn’t stop.
And then she ends up next to Lindsey, marking a line of Thorns waiting to make a run in the box on Kling’s free kick. She uses that opportunity to hook her pinky finger around Lindsey’s between their bodies. Just a for a few seconds, long enough to see how Lindsey’s going to react. Lindsey lets out a hard breath. “I miss you, Sonny,” she whispers, not making eye contact. Sonnett’s the one who has to let go just before the ball is hit.
She takes it one step further on the next Thorns corner. “What are you doing?” Lindsey’s voice is strained through gritted teeth.
“Marking you.” She really shouldn’t be. Lindsey is too tall for her. Seems like the risk is worth the reward of touching Lindsey’s side.
“You can’t hold onto me.” Sonnett makes no move to release Lindsey’s side from her grip. It’s tight, but not uncomfortable. It feels like… well it feels like what Lindsey maybe imagined it would feel like if Sonnett ever got up the nerve to grab her by the waist and pull her into a kiss. If she had ever imagined it. Which maybe she had a time or two. It feels good. It makes her feel lightheaded, but lightheadedness can be blamed on altitude. Except it really can’t for Lindsey. “You’re gonna get called for a foul.”
“Nah, I’ve perfected this,” Emily assures her, stepping into Lindsey, her hand hidden again between their bodies. “Ali’s been teaching me things. Grab the body,” Sonnett’s fingers dig into her “not the jersey, so when you go to make your run, you just don’t go anywhere for a sec.”
Lindsey thinks her knees might buckle on the spot.
A few minutes later, Ashlyn bobbles Sinc’s shot and Lindsey crashes through the center backs, volleying the ball into the back of the net. The connection her foot makes with the ball is just as hard as Sonnett remembers it. She loves the thud of a perfectly struck volley. She doesn’t even have to see it, she can just hear if it’s clean or not. She rubs her head in her hands to hide the smile spreading across her lips and tries to look angry when she lets her hands drop back to her sides. Lindsey’s celebration is subdued – just a little fist pump – not the typical sprint across the field like it used to be, and a bunch of hugs. When she runs past Sonnett her eyes aren’t smiling. They’re not sad either. Sonnett thinks they look neutral, which kind of hurts her heart because Lindsey scoring is supposed to be happy. Lindsey is such an emotional player. This is just different for her in a way Sonnett doesn’t like. Her being traded wasn’t supposed to take away Lindsey’s joy.
At the hydration break a few minutes later, she passes Lindsey, and is determined to make her smile. “Couldn’t hit it on the half volley? Happy to help you celebrate it later if you want.” Lindsey sucks her lips in to hide her smile, but her dimples give her away, and so do her eyes. Her eyes always give away her smile.
Three minutes into stoppage time, the Pride finally win another corner. It’s only their third of the game. Lindsey lines up against Van Egmond, knowing they’ll be looking for her height in the box. Sonnett takes a step like she’s going to make a diagonal run to the front post. Kelli bites, and Sonnett spins away, bending her run. She gets to the box just as Marta’s ball dips near the front post, hits it on the half volley, and watches it all the way into the back of the net. And then everything goes black as she ends up at the bottom of a dogpile.
Game.
Winner.
The final whistle two minutes later is the sweetest one Sonnett’s heard since Parc Olympique Lyonnais. They won. They fucking won. She proved Mark and Merritt and anyone else who didn’t believe in her enough to keep her wrong. Yet all of a sudden, that thing that she thought was so important – proving herself – really isn’t anymore. Lindsey’s more important. They make a beeline for each other, oblivious to anyone else trying to pass around customary “good games” and elbow bumps and hugs. They meet at midfield, Lindsey waiting for her with open arms a few seconds before Sonnett makes it there.
“That’s how you half-volley!” Sonnett exclaims before Lindsey pulls her in. “I don’t think we’re supposed to hug,” Sonnett mumbles into her sweaty neck, the salt gracing her lips. The hollow of Lindsey’s neck really is perfect. Suddenly, she feels shy. All of the things she said to Lindsey on the field hit her like a truck, the hug giving her the opportunity to process and realize she meant everything she said. That it was about way more than distracting the Thorns best player. And it feels weird to win, to be the reason Lindsey lost. In all of her… well it was relief more than excitement, honestly… she hadn’t stopped to think about how Lindsey would feel. Not many people on the Thorns hate losing as much as Lindsey.
“What are they gonna do about it?” Lindsey doesn’t let go. And Sonnett notices that she doesn’t sound at all upset. “You wanna teach me how to do that sometime when all this is over?” Lindsey asks, and Sonnett nods against her. Lindsey takes a deep, contented breath. “I’m so proud of you, Son. And I miss you. So much.” Lindsey can’t think of another time in her playing career when a loss has bothered her less. In all of her pre-Cup interviews, she had talked about wanting Sonnett to do well, against everyone but them, because she had to toe the company line. But now, in this moment, her arms around Sonnett’s shoulders and their sweaty bodies pressed together, hot despite the chill in the night air, she’s happy. After a loss, she’s happy because her best friend in the whole world is getting to experience what it feels like to be a hero. “I, uh, think you have some teammates waiting to celebrate with you,” Lindsey finally pulls away, but keeps Sonnett’s forearms in her grip. She doesn’t want to let her go. “Sonny, I- ”
Sonnett blinks at her, taken aback for a split second by the way Lindsey’s looking at her before she recovers and falls back into that place of cockiness. Lindsey misses her. Lindsey doesn’t want her to go. “I’ll FaceTime you as soon as I can, k? Prolly can show you my half-volley form in my room,” Sonnett jogs off before Lindsey has a chance to respond.