Em. @allezhoop - Tumblr Blog

Come on Mess Me Up

Summary: Azzi Fudd is the darling of the WNBA: a former UConn star and number one draft pick, lethal beyond the arc. Quiet, effortless, unreachable. The People’s Princess and MVP favorite. Until a season-ending injury sidelines her for over a year, and she disappears from the spotlight.

Now she’s back, just as the league’s youngest star is becoming its new face: UConn’s latest number one pick and fresh off winning Rookie of the Year, Paige Bueckers.

Their first time sharing a court, and it’s the World Cup Qualifying Tournament.

a/n: Let me know if you love it or hate it or if one person reads it. Also there’s a prologue that I’d read first, but I’m not going to tell you what to do. Cheers, em.

Word Count: 5.7k

ao3 link

Chapter One – “I’m Just Playing”

Miami, Florida March 6–7, 2026

Paige dumps the contents of the USA team backpack she’d been handed at check-in onto the hotel bed. A few packs of electrolytes and granola bars tumble toward her feet. An embossed water bottle rolls beneath the suitcase stand. A blue foam ball falls out last. Sick.

Paige sprawls across the bed, squeezing it once before tossing the ball with her left hand. Her wrist flicks. It arcs, nearly missing the ceiling fan, before dropping neatly into her waiting palm.

“Your new coach and a few front office staff are here…let me see if I can figure out who exactly,” Lindsay says, scanning the schedule for the weekend. She sidesteps around the pile Paige dumped across the floor, never looking up from the paper in her hands.

It is odd that they added a stress ball to the bag. Paige tosses it again.

“Oh, and Curt is here, obviously,” Lindsay adds.

Did they expect players to need something to squeeze out their frustrations?

“They want to do dinner tonight.”

Maybe they hoped the players would use it for hand-eye coordination? Toss. Catch. Repeat.

“Are you even listening?” Lindsay mutters.

Paige closes her eyes and tosses the ball. When she catches it without looking, she smirks.

“Paige.”

Maybe the stress ball was for unnecessarily stressed-out agents?

This time, Paige tosses the ball with her right hand, but nothing lands in her palm.

Her eyes snap open. Lindsay is standing over her, stress ball in hand, peering down at her. From this angle, her 5’4” frame takes on a more menacing presence than usual.

“Don’t worry, I got it.” Paige reaches out for the ball. “Dinner tomorrow with the crew.”

“Paige,” Lindsay sighs.

“Kidding, kidding. I know it’s tonight.” Paige pushes herself up again, but Lindsay stretches her arm higher above her head, keeping the ball just out of reach.

Paige rolls her eyes. Fine, she’ll play this game. “Anything else I need to know?”

“We need to go over your schedule for the whole weekend.”

Paige flops dramatically back on the bed. She knows she shouldn’t complain, but a twelve-hour travel day across the country has her praying for some alone time before her presence is required with front office staff for logistic bullshit.

“Starting with tomorrow, you’re no longer doing media in the first slot. You’re now third or—”

“Wait,” Paige interrupts. “Why not?” Paige had asked for the first slot months ago. Being first meant she was finished before practice even started, leaving her to complete the long, meticulous pre-practice routine she and her trainers had built. Got to keep the joints oily.

“Apparently, Azzi Fudd showed up.”

Paige sits up so quickly she knocks into Lindsay’s chest.

“Ow! Paige, what the hell?”

“Azzi Fudd?”

Lindsay glares at her, while rubbing around her collarbone. “It is officially confirmed.”

“That she’s showing up?”

“No, that your head is made of rocks.”

The pillow Paige tosses at her barely grazes her shoulder.

Lindsay chuckles and moves out of Paige’s immediate vicinity to sit at the desk. “Anyways, yes, Azzi Fudd is here. So, you don’t need to be ready until mid-morning.”

Azzi Fudd showed up. That was…

…interesting.

She had most certainly not been on the published roster, and Paige hadn’t heard her name in any recent preseason discussions. Actually, if she was being honest, she hadn’t heard her name in any basketball discussions for about nineteen months.

“…immediately after practice and you really cannot be late to that, Paige.”

“Huh,” Paige says.

“Pai-ge.” Lindsay enunciates her name in two syllables.

Paige smiles sweetly. “You know if you give me back the stress ball, I might focus—”

Lindsay hurls the ball at Paige’s head.

A wicked grin spreads across Paige’s face as she catches it. Can’t argue with the reflexes of a professional athlete. She’s pretty sure Lindsay mutters something about athletes under her breath.

Her grip tightens once around the ball until her knuckles whiten. Azzi Fudd showed up.

Had it really been since Seattle?

Paige wonders if she’ll wear her two braids.

…

By the time Paige ushers Lindsay out of her hotel room, she’s wiped. She’d bribed Lindsay with fake promises to memorize her schedule and pre-vetted talking points—but now she wants to lie on the floor and just exist. Or sleep.

Her phone chimes.

young n’turnt

Kiki: we still on tn? 🍻🍾

Cameron: yes lol

Sonia: pb’s got early media so she can’t do anything crazy

Sonia: and she can’t meet us until after her dinner with FO staff

Paige: why do u have my schedule memorized

Sonia: lindsay has me on retainer with favors

Cam: it’s ok p we can get you home early dw

Paige: no need I got bumped to later media

Kiki: LFGGGG

Kiki: freedom arc begins

Cam: kiki what

Sonia: who bumped you?

Kiki: please don’t say ccc

Paige types: Azzi Fudd.

The cursor blinks on her screen as she hovers over the send button. The letters arranged on the screen look different outside her own head.

She deletes it. It wasn’t really her news to share and, perhaps more truthfully, she doesn’t want to field questions she doesn’t know how to answer.

Paige: dunno probably some vet

Paige looks up at her ceiling fan for a moment, spinning rapidly. For a second, the room tilts with it. Her eyes blink back the sudden onset wave of vertigo. The phone beeps again.

Kiki: classic bureaucracy

Cam: again, kiki what?

Sonia: fine, but we’re still keeping it lowk since it’s day one tomorrow

…

Paige’s head the next morning does not feel like they kept it lowkey at all.

She didn’t even drink, adhering to her strict no-drinking policy the night before a practice. But the girls had stayed up late, gossiping and giggling, despite having seen each other only a few weeks earlier. Plus, it’s not like she could sleep with her mind running through every possible version of today. It’s not that she’s nervous, per se. But she is aware that it’s the first day of training camp, with a new team. Newer than expected.

Lindsay can probably already hear the excuses. She’ll have to blink through bleary eyes and force a smile through media availability, and she’s not entirely convinced her face is cooperating yet.

Despite her ravenous need for caffeine, the elevator seems content to take its sweet time to arrive. When the doors finally open, a chirpy Kelsey Plum looks up.

“Good morning, sunshine. You look great.”

Paige shuffles past her and steps in. “Yeah, good morning, Plum.”

Kelsey smiles wider. “Miami’s always good time, no?”

Paige shrugs. She likes Kelsey. She likes coffee before Kelsey even more. And Kelsey has a propensity to be a little bit of a shit.

“Bueckers, I’d avoid the lobby if I were you.”

“Oh?” Paige rubs at her face, then pulls at her ponytail.

“Social media team is already set up to capture us heading to our first day of practice.” She starts unwrapping a granola bar that appeared from her pocket. She takes a bite. “You know the girl they have running the social media is pretty cute; persistent but cute.”

If Paige is asked to answer some asinine question about her favorite album or bench, start, cut: DT, Sue and Maya—she might do something drastic. “Fuck.”

“The dining room is on level two, and there’s coffee and a back stairwell—”

Paige jams her fingers as she smashes the level two button.

The elevator doors open and she steps out into a crowded dining room. The LED lights are unforgivingly bright.

“Good luck, rookie.” The elevator doors close too quickly for Paige to turn around and chirp back. Not a rookie anymore.

Paige really should know better than to underestimate Kelsey Plum. The dining room is not full hotel guests, or the maybe-cute social media intern, but fans milling around in her jersey or Caitlin gear. Before she can step back towards the elevator, signs, basketballs, and jerseys are being shoved towards her. What a little shit.

When Paige finally gets to the practice facility, she’s been fed and caffeinated and, despite her right hand being a bit sore, the world does not look so dim. Well, except for the fact she’s looking down at her jersey.

The nineteen stares back as she sips at her pre-workout drink.

“Holy shit dude.” Kiki sounds a bit breathless, shoving the locker room door open. She looks completely unaffected from their night. Sonia follows close behind, looking a bit weary but somehow spared the dark circles Paige can feel sitting beneath her eyes.

“Y’all suck, I thought we were going to keep it chill last—”

“You will not believe who bumped you for media,” Kiki interrupts, completely ignoring Paige’s complaint. She grabs at Paige’s arm and drags her down onto a bench in the middle of the row of lockers.

Sonia scoots in on her other side. “We’re not to blame for your poor sleeping habits.”

Kiki shoves her phone into Paige’s lap and presses play on the live stream of media availability happening only a wall away.

Azzi Fudd looks different from the last time Paige saw her. Her hair is slicked back into a ponytail, her curls left loose, and there is something more settled about her than Paige remembers; composed and maybe a tad older.

“Before I take any questions, I will start with the obvious: Yes, I am back.”

“Holy shit,” Kiki breathes. Sonia hums in agreement.

A reporter off camera asks: “Where have you been the last year and a half?”

Paige had just gotten to her breathing exercises of her morning routine when Sonia and Kiki barged in. By the reporter’s first question, she forgot she was supposed to be breathing at all.

“Rehabbing.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s a full-time job.”

Another person chimes in: “There were rumors you left the country.”

“People come up with interesting rumors.”

“So, they’re false?”

“Most of them.”

“Did you ever consider not returning?”

“No.”

Sonia exhales. “They’re vultures.” Paige nods because it is true, but she also can’t help but wonder.

“Are you ready to play full-time?”

“I am at one hundred percent.”

Azzi stares at the reporters and smiles; it’s disarming.

“Damn, she’s not giving them anything,” Sonia shifts slightly closer to Paige to get a better angle.

An astute observation; every answer landed exactly where Azzi wanted it to. The questions continue, purposefully crafted, hopeful they will split the story wide open.

The girls stay glued to the phone.

“So, no more signature braids?”

“It’s just practice today,” Azzi offers.

“One more question, Azzi.”

Azzi turns to the camera, she smiles. “For you, Myles? Anything.”

Paige would bet her Rookie of the Year bonus that Myles was blushing.

“Your last appearance with Team USA training camp before the 2024 campaign, you were the new kid on the block, and now—”

“Myles,” Azzi says, drawing out his name. “Are you calling me old?” She might as well wink at him.

“Of course not.” His slight chuckle is disproportionately loud through the microphone. “I am just wondering what your thoughts are on all of the younger faces here at training camp, like Caitlin Clark and Paige Bueckers?”

Kiki snorts. Sonia exhales. Paige blinks slowly, watching Azzi’s face. Something flickers there, but it’s gone before Paige decides whether she imagined it.

“I always love seeing the sport growing.”

“So, you’re excited to play with them this weekend?”

It’s pushy. The reporters have been salivating after her.

“We’ll just see if they have what it takes.”

Paige nearly chokes.

…

The Kaseya Center’s practice court looks like any high school court you’d find across America. It is buried under the main stage, away from any public viewing, meant for players to grind, work, repeat. It isn’t glorious. Paige loves it.

The loudness of USA Basketball feels far away. It is just players in a gym.

Except of course, Sue and Kara sitting on the sidelines in the middle of a line of folding chairs watching and writing notes on a clipboard. Singlehandedly deciding who represents the country.

“Have you seen everyone yet?” Paige asks.

In an impressive feat of flexibility and hip mobility, Cam lunges forward and twists her upper body toward her forward-facing leg. With her elbow resting on her front leg, she looks down at Paige sitting cross legged on the ground.

“Nope,” she pops the “p” as she uncoils herself and begins to repeat the stretch on the other side.

Paige’s joints feel stiffer the longer she watches. She raises one hand in the air and leans over her side. That’ll help.

“I saw a few people in the locker room, I think with the media schedule everyone got here at different times.” Kiki adds from underneath her forward fold.

Most players had wandered in to start individual warm-ups. Paige looks around the gym, watching people separate into self-selected groups.

“Who are you looking for?” Cam moves into a wide stance before twisting into a triangle-esque shape.

Paige ignores her question. “Did you do media already?”

“Mhmm, asked all about group dynamics.” She unwinds and retwists back down. Long legs and arms flow easily. “Did you really call us the ‘young interns?’”

“Yeah P, I got asked what I thought I would gain from this internship experience.” Sonia pipes in as she joins the group. Her elbow collides with Paige’s side as she sits down. Unbelievable.

“Bruh,” Paige raises her other hand to even herself out. “I obviously said ‘young n’ turnt.’”

Their laughter distracts Paige, soothing her mild headache. For a moment, she lets herself enjoy this. The easy familiarity of them, the way their laughter loosens the tension in her chest—the feeling of being constantly watched by coaches and cameras, the eve of qualifiers haunting them, a whole week of expectations. The weight of it feels like it’s settling in at home between her shoulder blades.

These three settle in with her.

She isn’t looking around anymore when Kiki’s elbow jabs at her other side. Really this is abuse at this point.

Kiki nods towards the locker room entrance.

Sabrina cruises onto the court, her ponytail swinging on beat with her steps. But Paige looks behind her where, with her head slightly down, Azzi slowly walks in.

The sounds from the court feel suspended. The movement stills and the energy shifts slightly.

It’s quiet the way the room tilts towards her; bending and contorting itself to frame her.

Or, maybe that’s just Paige.

From the side wall, Sue stands and walks over to greet the new duo. She side hugs Sabrina before grabbing at Azzi and embracing her. “Thank god you’re here. We need you.”

For the first time in person in years, Paige hears a smushed Azzi speak. “You’d have been fine without me.”

“Probably true,” Sue smirks. “But luckily I don’t have to find out.”

The pressure around the gym snaps and the court moves towards the newcomers as people start shouting out welcomes and exchanging hugs. Paige remains sitting, unsure whether she should move yet.

A voice floats from the crowd: “Team USA’s official backcourt is back together.” Paige watches Caitlin’s jaw tick from the corner of the group.

She slowly stands, her joints protesting. Half of her wants to stay rooted to the ground, wait until the group dissipates, be the last one to approach, and say something undeniably charming. Azzi would probably hate it, and Paige would revel in her annoyance. The other half, the one with logic and reasoning, remembers that would be weird and she should try hi first.

A whistle to huddle interrupts any reunion plans as the players are asked to gather round. Kara starts talking about “the goals for today” and “different lineups” and “getting to know each other.”

Paige’s brain tries to focus on instructions, absorbing each word, but her eyes keep glancing across the huddle at Azzi and her unwavering concentration. Azzi is listening. Her expression seems to sharpen with every detail, filing away the information she’ll need on the court.

“Focus on not running plays but reading and reacting.” Reading Azzi’s pinched eyebrows. Reacting to Azzi shifting her weight off her right leg.

“Paige,” Sonia whispers from her side. “You good?”

“Huh?”

“You’re like vibrating.”

“Oh.” Paige looks down at her feet. She’d been bouncing on her toes, teetering forwards, just so. “Yeah, just amped.”

Sonia exhales loudly. It sounds more like a choked back laugh.

The players are separated based on jersey color for the first round of scrimmages. Paige hustles to the endline where the rest of the red team waits.

“First five out: Plum, Ionescu, Gray, Iriafen, Boston.” Nate doesn’t look up from his clipboard as he reads the names out. “Let’s just see what we can do.”

Paige settles near the scorer’s table. On the other team, she watches Caitlin walk towards their coach.

“How often are we doing subs?” She asks, and Paige has to resist the urge to roll her eyes. She might normally also be annoyed about not starting, but today it gives her an optimal vantage point to watch.

On the court, Azzi bends to retie her shoe. Before standing, she taps the compression sleeve over her right knee three times, gently, almost absentmindedly.

Paige keeps watching. The scrimmage begins.

The gray team brings up the ball. Azzi cuts behind her defender and slips into the corner, hands out and ready, expectantly.

Wide open. Paige groans internally.

Instead, the pass goes down the post where two defenders descend.

The sounds of players calling for the ball rises, but Azzi waits, balancing on the balls of her feet, watching the play develop as her teammate drives into traffic.

Some players would demand the ball; Paige knows better. A shooter like that doesn’t need to announce herself. She needs someone who can find her, someone to help capitalize on the other team’s—her own team’s—mistake of leaving a player like Azzi open.

The contested shot from the paint misses.

Someone should have made that pass. Paige could’ve made that pass, which was arrogant enough to think. Still. She couldn’t exactly argue with the truth.

Kiki snags the rebound and passes it to Sabrina to bring up for the red team. In an instant, Azzi is suddenly moving the other direction. She flies out to pick up the ballhandler, staying attached through the first step and forcing her to give it up.

Paige’s eyes narrow. She hasn’t seen her play in years…it’s strange to think about.

Kara’s whistle rings out. Subs are ordered in and Kelsey jogs towards Paige to tap her hand in.

“Good luck,” Kelsey says as she grabs a towel. “And I mean on both sides,” she adds. Paige nods absently, but she is watching Caitlin tap Sonia out and go straight to Azzi.

She leans in, barking out some instructions. Azzi listens, then lifts her chin in acknowledgment.

Paige bristles, irrationally, she supposes. Of course. It’s just that Paige hasn’t even said hi yet, and well. Caitlin is already giving instructions.

Which is fine.

Obviously.

“You aren’t going to learn anything helpful by overhearing their plays,” Sabrina calls.

Paige’s cheeks flush. She dips her head and jogs over to join her team.

“Five-out motion offense. Everyone can shoot.” Sabrina looks at the team, clearly taking the one. Paige exhales and grabs the ball.

She scans the court; the red team is taking position across the half court line. The rest of the gray team join them, while Veronica and Azzi walk to the center circle.

There is always a moment, even in practice, right before the whistle where the air feels static. Everything continues in motion, but Paige holds her breath and feels the world—the court—freeze. Years on the hardwood, but it is always the same.

Kelsey shouts something from the sideline at Kiki, and Kah clutches her side as she laughs. Aliyah bumps Caitlin’s shoulder passing her to get down the post. Chelsea calls out to watch for the switch.

Paige exhales.

She looks up across the court and almost trips into inbounds. Azzi is at the halfcourt line looking directly at her.

Paige’s breath sputters out and her stomach drops into her shoes. She’s suddenly overly conscious of the dead skin on her dry lips and the ever-present ache in her right knee. She wants to bend down and scratch at it, her feet having stuttered—hiccupped to a halt at the precipice of the court.

Finally, she is being noticed and she feels ill. The pre-scrimmage adrenaline from moments before now poisons her bloodstream.

She feels hot and damp.

Azzi’s chin tilts, a quick movement that Paige would’ve missed if she blinked. She crouches low in a defensive stance.

Paige’s mouth waters.

The whistle blows. Somehow Paige is of right enough mind to pass the ball in and catch it back, before she’s running headfirst into the trap.

Azzi picks her up at halfcourt, bodies nearly colliding. She mirrors every one of Paige’s movements with sharp precision. Paige takes a half step to the left, but Azzi is already there. She’s close enough to breathe her in. Paige’s eyes sting as sweat falls off her eyelashes. Her steps feel slower than usual.

Azzi’s hand juts out for the ball, testing her control.

Paige pulls back, almost losing it.

Clearly, she's not going to out-handle her. She tosses the ball out to Sabrina, hoping to recalibrate.

The game continues on the other side of the arc, Sabrina and Veronica testing each other, seeing who can get around. Paige expects Azzi to be drawn into Sabrina’s pull, but she stays on her hip. They’re so close that the hairs on Paige’s arm almost brush hers, static prickling across her skin, a tiny electric charge. The gravity shifts, just slightly, pulling Paige towards her. If she moves her arm forward just a bit, their skin will bump—

Sabrina steps left and pulls up, but Veronica follows upwards, snatching the ball out of her hands.

Azzi is already running. Her feet dig into the hardwood as she sprints. Paige is definitely faster, but Azzi had been expecting the turnover, had seen it before it played out, and Paige had been busy calculating the distance between their arms. Veronica’s pass slices the air straight into Azzi’s hands.

But Paige is not one to give up. She pushes. It’s too much for practice. Too much when two points don’t matter. Still. Her feet rise with Azzi, her hand stretching out to slam the ball away. And that’s why they call me Paige Blockers.

Her hand grazes air, and she’s crashing down onto the floor. Onto her ass.

Azzi’s fake-out pause is rewarded with an easy uncontested layup.

She looks down at Paige, still laid out.

Paige is still heady with adrenaline, her thoughts a half-step behind her mouth. “Almost had you—”

But Azzi just turns on her heel and walks away back down the court, not listening.

So. A year away apparently had not changed her. Still cool. Completely unaffected.

By the time the morning ends, the red team has a slight edge. Paige’s blood is pumping in her ears; she doesn’t like losing, and the slight lead gives her a small, ugly satisfaction. She had been loud all morning.

Preening.

Azzi only looked at her when she had the ball in her hands. Whatever.

Paige slides down the wall, sitting down while sucking at her water bottle. Her shorter strands of hair that came loose from her ponytail cling uncomfortably to her face. She watches Sue and Azzi speak in low voices in the corner. Catches the way Sue looks down at Azzi’s knee briefly, and how Azzi shifts her weight onto her right foot and shrugs.

“Are you going to actually talk to her today or—”

“Don’t.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” Sonia slides down next to her, Cam and Kiki on her heels.

“Whatever it was, I don’t want to know. I’m just playing.”

Sonia chuckles and looks like she might counter that point when Kiki points to the entrance of the gym.

“Heads up, they’re letting them in.”

A group of people start filtering in. Phones held out in front of them ready to capture every moment. Media let in to observe the afternoon and hopefully get a few viral moments.

Cam tugs a few strands of hair out of her ponytail to frame her face, giving her an effortless model-wearing-athleisure-but-I-don’t-actually-sweat type of look. A type of beauty that makes lesser women cruel.

“You’re unbelievable,” Kiki chastises lightly, bumping her shoulder.

“What,” Cam flashes a blinding smile at them. “I play better when I look good.”

The group breaks into a fit of giggles, and Paige can feel the cameras already pointing towards them. It’s a good shot, the youngest members of the roster all laughing together; Lindsay will be happy with the good pr.

The teams change around for the afternoon scrimmages. Paige looks down at her new gray jersey and the number nineteen clinging to her body.

“First out,” Steph shouts. “Boston, Gray, Copper."

"And the backcourt is Fudd and Bueckers.”

Paige rolls her shoulders twice and walks to the top of the key. Sonia and Caitlin are at the opposite baseline, both wearing red.

She turns to her left. Azzi is wearing the same gray jersey, except hers features a zero. The sweat from the morning work makes it cling more to her body, giving Paige a more definitive outline of the shapes of skin and muscles hidden underneath. She should probably look away.

She also wants to say hi. Something normal. Something that doesn’t make it obvious this is the moment she has been thinking about since she woke up.

Paige’s exhale catches slightly in the back of her throat. She opens her mouth to try again. “Do you want Sonia or…”

“I’ve got Clark.” Right.

It’s the first thing she has said directly to Paige all day. Her voice travels through Paige, wedging her way into her brain.

Paige blinks, tempering any expectations. It’s not like a good to see you was what she expected, but maybe a hello. Okay. It’s not like she opened with hi. Basketball. It makes sense.

A whistle sounds off, and Azzi is moving away from her, never having really looked at her. Paige pauses for a moment too long and then forces herself down the court.

The play has begun.

The next few possessions, Paige falls in line with the game plans and tries to stay upright not thinking about whether she is being watched. The irony doesn’t escape her that the media is now in the room with them. Not what she means.

She keeps tabs on all the players, or at least that is what she tells herself.

A behind-the-back pass to Aliyah in the paint. Azzi drags two defenders towards her. Kah drives instead of passing. Azzi finds an open space. Again.

Space.

Paige is almost annoyed at how obvious it is.

At the next reset, she jogs to the end where Chelsea has gathered the team.

“We’re going to run man-to-man.” Chelsea points at Aliyah. “You’re on Kiki, and…”

“Let’s run a horns flare for Azzi.” The syllables of her name stick to her teeth, strange and out-of-body. Saying her name first, but not to her.

The group turns to look at Paige. She keeps her eyes on Chelsea and repeats, earnestly, “Let’s run a horns flare for Azzi.”

The weight of everyone’s attention settles over her. She resists the urge to visibly shiver, especially beneath what feels like Azzi’s glare. From the corner of her eye, she looks downright dangerous.

Chelsea considers her before shrugging. “We haven’t run one today.” She looks at Azzi and nods, “let’s get Fudd open.”

They jog quickly back onto the court. Paige swallows, rolling the ball once between her palms before passing it to Chelsea. Chelsea would inbound it to Paige, and then it was on her to run it right, execute the play.

At the top of the arc, Sabrina immediately picks up Paige on defense, exactly what they predicted. Chelsea steps in between them, setting the screen. Step one done.

Paige steps around it, anticipating the screen, while Sabrina struggles to get around Chelsea. Caitlin steps towards Paige to help Sabrina on defense, leaving her assignment. Step two done.

Two on Paige. She whips a pass across the arc to a now-open Azzi. Step three.

The pass lands directly in her hands; she rises and shoots. Step four.

The net barely moves as the ball clears.

Paige cannot help the feral scream that tears out of her as she throws her arms above her head and spins in celebration.

Azzi doesn’t react to her shot. She just turns and runs back down the court.

“Less celebrating, rookie,” Azzi snaps.

“So, she does speak.” Delightful.

Paige jogs to catch up to her. “I know you haven’t been around, but just so you know I am not a rookie anymore.”

Azzi ignores that completely. “I don’t need you calling plays for me.”

Paige stutters, gaping at her for a moment. She slows to a stop, the words catching up with her a beat late. What in—what the hell?

“You—no, I’m…that’s kind of my position.”

Azzi whips around to face her, and Paige thinks she’s going to add something snarky. Instead, she just looks at her, not bored, exactly, but something flatter.

“Bueckers. Fudd. Y’all going to join us?” They had stopped a quarter of the way back to their side, and the rest of the team was waiting.

Azzi turns back to the team, not looking at Paige, and starts walking back.

“You’re still a rookie here.”

…

A few media members linger by the entrance, filming the last bits of the day, already sending out punchy, headline tweets. Paige maneuvers herself into a blind spot between their cameras and the background of Cam and Kiki’s TikTok.

The end of a long day does not need to be filmed. And, well, it puts her right in line to walk towards Sabrina and Azzi, standing near the edge of the room, speaking lowly.

Paige’s mind drifts to practice, to the assists and to the horn flare. They had played brilliantly together; it’s probably that which fuels her confidence as she steps towards the duo.

“Hey.”

Sabrina smirks. “Hey, Paige.”

Paige daps her up, bumping her shoulder. She turns to Azzi. “It’s great having you on the roster.” She tilts her head down slightly and tries to soften her eyes. “Injuries are a tough break.”

“Yeah,” Azzi agrees. She looks over her shoulder, glancing towards players heading into the locker room. “It’s good to be back.”

The words feel stilted, but spurred on by an endless supply of confidence, with a hint of delusion, she continues, “First time on the court together…not too bad.”

“It was fine.”

Sabrina coughs to cover up a laugh, and Azzi flashes her a warning.

“Well, that’s not exactly—”

“I gotta get going, sponsor dinner,” Azzi interrupts. She turns her shoulder to Sabrina. “I want to talk about those provisions more, text me later?”

“Alright, just know they’ll be the same no matter where you land.”

Azzi rolls her eyes, amused, and Paige feels restless. “Bueckers.” Azzi looks over and nods once before turning and walking towards the locker room.

“About that play earlier…” But Azzi is already halfway into the locker room. Sabrina huffs out an easy laugh and shakes her head.

“Don’t take it personally.” Right.

Paige stands there like an idiot.

Her brain lingers on fine. She wouldn’t say they were Steph and Klay, yet, but there was definitely something to consider.

“Paige!” A media member is waving frantically, camera already trained on where they had all just been standing. “Anything to say, about the first day of training camp?”

This isn’t new. Paige has been playing basketball at this level for longer than most people, and she can smile, and wave, and charm media in her sleep.

“Absolutely fantastic. Feeling incredibly grateful to be here.”

It is not a lie. USA Qualifiers. Her senior national team debut. Paige is grateful to be selected, and she feels fantastic about being able to play. These are the steps to greatness, to being the best, to winning gold.

The locker room echoes this energy back to her. First practice with her team for the next week, and everyone is loud.

She watches Kelsey slink over to Azzi who is shoving her gear into the USA team backpack.

“First day back, Fudd. Feeling ready?” Kelsey asks, falling easily into Azzi’s space with a casual confidence, the kind that makes Paige swim in envy. “Any of these youngins making you nervous…worried you might be replaced?”

Azzi exhales, but she doesn’t respond. She continues to dutifully pack her bag; her hand shoved deep into the backpack.

In a flash, she removes her arm, and chucks a blue foam stress ball at Kelsey, hitting her on the side of her head.

“Finally figured out why they gave us these stress balls.”

The locker room erupts again, laughter rolling through the room until Paige cannot help herself.

Azzi’s eyes lift and meet hers like a car crash. A head-on collision. She actually thinks she takes a step back.

Those dark brown depths grow even deeper. And she watches them squint—twitch in the smallest of movements, almost too small to catch. Then Azzi resets her jaw, straightens her back leaning against the lockers, her right leg propped up on the bench. One of her hands seems to brush over her knee—another tiny movement Paige almost doesn’t notice. But she sees her fingers flick—jab—at the fabric over the skin for just a split second. It’s the last movement she sees before their eyes disengage and Azzi pushes off the locker, pulls her backpack on, slips around the edge of the door and leaves.

And for a moment, Paige is almost giddy.

Because Azzi is a great basketball player, and they were decidedly not fine today. Paige passed to open spaces only Azzi could find. And Azzi always returned the ball when Paige needed to relocate. And Paige is convinced, despite everything Azzi has done to pretend otherwise, that she knows it too. They could be exceptional together.

On the basketball court, of course.

And Paige is the kind of person who cannot walk away from the possibility of being exceptional.

#pazzi fics #paige x azzi #paige bueckers fic #azzi fudd fic #wbb fic #pazzi