|an endangered thanksgiving peacock (thegeneral) wrote in betweenseasons,|
@ 2008-08-02 11:26:00
|Current music:||Andrew Bird - Fiery Crash|
Fic post - Roll Out
Title: Roll Out
Prompt: Washington Mystics - instrumental
Team/Players: Mystics, Laurie Koehn and Kendra Wecker
Notes: 7/20, post-game. 400 words.
There are scattered, isolated thunderstorms that night. Lots more rain than thunder, all of it making the air lighter and cooler and washing away the worst of Washington's start this season. Kendra joins in the celebrations even though she knows she doesn't feel this turn-around as deeply as anyone else on the team --not even the rookies. They've been here longer, long enough that this is sort of their team. She's not ready for it to be hers yet, but she stands outside with her glass of wine until it's watered down and she is shivering wet.
Laurie is getting ready for bed when she comes in. There is a look on her old friend's face like bemusement, but Laurie pushes the toothbrush in her mouth and merely indicates that she's going to bed now. Kendra raises her glass, a small salute, and listens to the low percussion of the air-condition until Laurie finishes in the bathroom.
They don't say goodnight, but that is what the clicking bedroom door is meant to mean. Kendra takes her time changing, listening to another storm pocket blow through, the fat raindrops drumming against the outer walls. The alcohol mellows these things out and warms them up. She gets to the bottom of her second glass, curled up in a fresh shirt and shorts on the couch. The TV is a murmur of Sunday night nothing.
She feels hazy and buzzed when Laurie comes to join her. It's time to turn in, Laurie's long, slack face seems to say; Kendra cracks a smile. It's well past Laurie's bedtime. On a night like this, Kendra could think of anyone else she'd rather have for company, but none of them are here. So she offers Laurie what's left in the glass.
Once upon a time, Laurie would have said something, some gentle chastisement, especially if Kendra did have company. (Probably Claire, keeping her awake even though they might have an early practice tomorrow.) Now Laurie seems to recognize that and shakes her head, saying something thickly that bounces muffled off Kendra's drifting consciousness and the low rumbling thunder in the windows.
Kendra hazards a guess. When was the last time we won a game like that?
Laurie's response is a decrescendo.
God, we're getting old aren't we, Kendra thinks out loud. The rain stops, and it feels like some small piece of the puzzle is missing.