Pazzi Oneshot: Paige's scramble of inner thoughts. Somehow, they're all about a girl.
w/c: 1146 | masterlist
note: I had an unexpected Pazzi feeling on a Sunday in March, which resulted in this. Not my usual style. Severely unedited.
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There's this girl that won't get out of her head.
She's quiet and she stares, like she's waiting, patiently, for her turn to speak.
Or probably like she's just judging Paige for whatever stupid thing just came out of her mouth.
And so Paige shoves the girl a little, to annoy her, to get her to furrow her brows and wrinkle her nose in disdain.
It's not a pleasant emotion, but god does it light Paige up from the inside out.
Her little teenage acne-filled heart is bursting, and she's gotta put a stop to this.
Every now and again, she catches herself smiling, eyes up to the sky in a daydream of swirly chocolate hair and sweet honey laughs.
Every so often, she's face to face with that so-called laugh, and she swallows the urge to blabber something more stupid than usual.
The girl has no idea, no goddamn clue in the world how cute she is. How perfect her smile is. How kissable her lips are.
She has no idea that everyone around her adores her, vying for a sliver of her attention.
Paige doesn't know why she tends to receive the most of it, that sought-after attention.
She knows it's mostly impatient sighs and rolling eyes; she knows it's because she pokes and prods and tickles it out of the other girl.
She knows it can't be more than this.
They're young, and Paige is oh so dumb.
But she's smart enough to keep it to herself.
-
It's a year or two of this back and forth, this push and pull that Paige laps up like it's water from an oasis.
She's done now; she's had enough of the pining.
She still can't get the girl out of her head.
She still annoys her, pulls the blanket clean off her back when they nap together.
She presses into the confines of the sofa beside her, leaving less than a hair's distance between them.
It's stupid, and Paige can't help it.
She knows she gives more an impression of a growing wart rather than the loving, devoted friend she is.
She knows how this all looks like.
She's heard her other friends giggle about it, her teammates groaning every time she mentions that one name that lays on the tip of her tongue.
It's like her mind announces it, every few hours. Think about Azzi. Dream about Azzi. Go bother Azzi.
Nah, Paige is chill about it. Nonchalant even.
Shame that everyone around her says the opposite. They laugh at her, even.
Paige in her feelings.
Who'd have thought?
She doesn't stand a goddamn chance.
The thing was, she was okay with that fact: made peace with it. It had even grown into an encouraging thought.
She was comfortable where she was, bleeding out from afar.
Azzi’s a smart girl. And Paige knew it would be a stupid thing to like her back.
Not with the way Paige tussles around like she wasn't raised with manners, untamed hair, and unruly limbs.
Not with the way she dressed, more like a boy than a pretty girl; her sagging shorts and mismatched socks.
Not with her pimple-covered skin, her short temper.
Azzi is calm, cool, sweet. Beautiful too.
Paige is reckless and well... dumb.
She is good at basketball though. Like really good. Unfortunately for her, Azzi just happened to be amazing at basketball too.
Can't she just have a win?
Overall, there wasn't much she had to offer Azzi at all. And Azzi knowing her as well as she did, the odds just didn’t seem likely.
Azzi is a smart girl.
Liking Paige back? Not a smart move.
-
She was set in her ways, as was her stolen heart apparently, another year passing by even as the two girls separated from each other.
Paige has some more of her shit together now, being a college student and all, but her feelings remain nauseatingly stuck on one particular girl.
The same girl as always.
Paige sees her more rarely now, though her sweaty palms and red-tinged cheeks wouldn't know the difference.
It's always a blur when she visits, vanilla-scented perfume and big brown eyes that batted at her until Paige would cave into whatever it was Azzi wanted from her.
They rarely see each other, but they text every day.
Azzi tells her about stupid high school drama.
Paige closes her eyes and imagines Azzi beside her, gesturing widely with her arms as she usually does when explaining something she’s excited about.
Paige fills Azzi in on college.
Makes fun of the younger girl for something dumb.
Tries to make her laugh.
Don't you dare forget me. Look at how funny I am.
Sometimes they argue, though Paige treasures those moments too.
Azzi wishes Paige would be more serious sometimes. Paige simply hopes she doesn't bore Azzi enough to scare her away.
Because what was she if not a tool of entertainment? Someone that could make those dimples pop in a smile?
It was a role she prided herself on, as much as it ached her deep down to admit.
She could be satisfied with being that, and only that, to her beautiful best friend.
So the day the message came through, Paige remains unphased.
‘I got a crush on you,’ it reads, mocking her.
Must be Azzi’s attempt at teasing.
Tears well up in her eyes. She brushes them away angrily.
It was a cruel joke. Below the belt.
How was she to breathe now?
‘Damn, that's definitely not a good idea,’
She replies. Cooool. Cool. Cool.
FaceTime incoming.
She answers because not a bone in her body works against Azzi Fudd.
"I'm serious."
Is what she's greeted with, and that.
That makes her pause.
She shudders in a breath, then out. Then again.
"What the fuck, Azzi?"
"I know."
They both wince. They both know.
Of course, Azzi knew. She had to have known. There wasn't a soul that saw the two interact and didn't know.
But then, why would Azzi toy with her like this? Unless..
"You mean it?"
Paige needs to confirm it. Needs to know for sure because she can't quite wrap her mind around it yet.
Azzi nods, and Paige has an overwhelming urge to fold the younger girl into her arms.
Instead, she frowns.
"You can't just… tell me this when I'm not there to kiss you."
Azzi blushes bright red.
Paige supposes she settle for that.
"Sorry. I was nervous. I couldn't keep it in anymore."
And really, Paige couldn't be too mad after all.
Her mind still reeling, but her mouth stretched into the widest smile she had ever worn.
"I can’t wait until you're a Husky."
Is what she says because Paige is still just a silly girl in love with her best friend.
Azzi just rolls her eyes, a smile grazing her lips.
-
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I saw a post with this earlier, and I lost the account. If anyone knows, tag me.
i’m not sure if it’s too late, but the snippet of the unfinished one shot you posted, could you please finish it and post it? i’m not sure if it will help with a writer’s block but i’m bought into the tension and angst of it
hi my love. I dont have any intention to finish or post it as of yet, but I may repurpose the snippet into something else I write in the future. sorry about that dear.
as for right now.... I have a little something coming soon that I have been working on.
Summary: Paige wishes it were just a front, just something she needed to do to save face. But she’s part driver; it’s a concrete section of who she is. Right next to the need for speed, the craving to be a winner at all costs.
Authors Note: This begins a new arc for our friends. I’m grateful to everyone who is reading this story; I hope you enjoy it. I also want to say a big thank you to the people who take so much time to brainstorm, proofread, chat, and give feedback to me as I work on Hot Lap. Especially @nellstark and @buffalo1221.
From “A Beginners Guide to F1 Slang”: ‘Dirty air’ is created by the odd vortices of air spinning off the back of a leading car and reducing the efficient airflow over the wings of the following one, giving it a performance disadvantage by reducing downforce. Clean air is when a car is out on its own, with a nice, undisturbed airflow passing over its wings, providing good downforce.
Hot Lap Chapter 8: Zandvoort
The first time Paige hears someone else talk about Azzi Fudd, she’s fourteen years old. She’s in her room, in the house, with the view that looks into the Oak Tree. The same Oak she’d nearly broken her wrist climbing down two months ago when she wanted to go to a party and Geno said hell no.
It ended up being fine. Paige was grounded for a week, but she’d gotten to kiss Tara, so really it was all good.
Tara isn’t her girlfriend or anything, but she’s sweet and fun to hang out with. And she’s a good kisser.
She’s laying on the bed, tossing a football up and down because it’s an easy repetitive motion while she texts back and forth with Tara. The girl is cute but literally terrible at geometry, and they have a test coming up.
“Alright, welcome to another episode of Dirty Air.”
Paige consumes as much content about Formula 1 as possible - because she loves everything about motorsport and because she’s walking the up ramp to the start of her career. She’s about to start on the national carting circuit, now that she’s finally aging into F4. It means bigger opportunities, better tracks, more exposure. It’s a platform for Paige to finally get onto the scene.
“We’re Syd and TP.”
It’s not impossible that she could end up in F1 one day. It’s her goal, her dream, and now she’s taking more and more steps that will actually put her on the path to make that a possibility. Far fetched, sure. But possible.
She loves the chatter about it. Formula 1 is getting more and more popular in the US, and there’s a boom of content. Podcasts and blogs and so much more. None of the kids at school are that into it — neither is Tara — but it’s still what Paige eats, sleeps, and breathes. Even more so than she always did before.
The Dirty Air podcast is one of the best. She thinks the hosts are hilarious and they actually know their shit about racing. But they also like to gossip. So it’s the best of both worlds, really. She always listens when it drops on Tuesdays.
“Listen bro, I was at Mercedes the other day —”
“—Humble brag—” TP interrupts Syd.
“One hundred percent,” Syd laughs. “I will brag all day every day. I was also at McLaren last week, do you remember? No but for real, I was at Mercedes to do our interview for today with Mercedes Chief Strategy Engineer Maya Moore, which we had a great fucking conversation let me tell you.”
Paige blinks. She always pays special attention to anything about Mercedes.
“I can’t wait,” TP laughs. “I just can’t wait. She’s such a legend.”
“Total legend,” Syd agrees. “We talked about her experience at Alpine and winning the world championships there with Elena Delle Donne, what the transition has been like now that she’s at Mercedes. I think what makes her so good and I’ve thought this for a while now, but talking with her really confirmed it; she really thinks like a driver. And we talk about that so stay tuned for the second half of today’s show.”
Sweet, Paige loves those kinds of interviews.
“Who else did you meet at Mercedes? Sue Bird hanging around?”
Syd laughs. “Bro, I fucking wish! Nah, didn’t see Team Principal Sue. Everyone’s favorite, right? Nah, we just walked around the engineering floors and I got to see a bit of the public parts of the factory.”
“That’s dope,” TP drawls, and Paige can’t help but smile. TP is hilarious. “Who else did you meet? Anyone cool?”
“Neither of the drivers, though I got to meet some of the F2 prospects.”
“They’ve always got a great young talent coming up at Mercedes, gotta respect that attention to the pipeline.”
“Thousand percent,” Syd agrees. “You know, oh my god, I do have to say, I met this really smart girl. Her name is Azzi. She’s the Fellow for this year.”
Paige is instantly on alert. She blinks at the ceiling.
“Alright,” TP hypes. “Do you think it’s like, the most competitive internship in the world?”
“They’d have thrown my application right out, that’s all I’ll say,” Syd says, laughing. “But like for real, all those folks are geniuses.”
Her heart is beating just a little faster. What a surprising thing to happen on a Tuesday. Paige holds the football still, all her attention on what her headphones are delivering.
“Did she give you any inside scoop? She writes their blog, right? I would say that I agree with so many of her assessments. Like I don’t know what the editing process is over there or how much she writes herself, but like. Spot on, girl.”
“No, she writes all of it,” Syd says.
“Really?”
“Yeah, it’s something we were talking about with Maya, and she’s like wicked smart, bro. Like crazy smart. I was like give me a hot take they won’t let you put on the internet.”
“What’d she say?”
Paige appreciates TP; she is also extremely interested in learning this.
“We were just going over the strategy from the last race and talking about how hard those racing lines were with the wind. Yo, let me tell you. This girl says she doesn’t think there’s ever a reason to abandon the racing line. She says if you’re good enough, you can always find it and keep it.”
“I mean, that’s bold for an engineer.”
“So bold, right? But she backs it up, man. Let me tell you.”
“Did Maya give you any dirt on the Ferrari mishap?”
“No, girl, I was like, trying to pick up crumbs.”
That’s all they say before they move on to all the other subjects. Paige pauses the podcast and runs slider back a minute. She closes her eyes and listens to the full intro to that part of the conversation again.
Damn. Azzi Fudd. Again and again she comes up.
She’s so sharp. Her tweets are so smart. Paige doesn’t have any idea who she is, really, or what she looks like or anything about her personally. She exists in this space where Paige feels like she kinda knows her but actually, doesn’t at all. It’s strange.
It feels different than the way people are with celebrities, like athletes or personalities. Paige doesn’t know how, couldn’t list the differential. It just feels different.
The podcast continues to play. Paige keeps half an ear on it as she reads a text from Tara, as she responds, as she eventually succumbs to the need to do her algebra homework. But she goes back, later, before bed. Listens to it again.
There’s never a reason to abandon the racing line. If you’re good enough, you can always find it and keep it.
It’s not that Paige writes it in her notes app, or includes it as one of her mantras. But it slips inside; in her brain, in her foot, in the way she grips the gearshift. It’s there.
August 29 - 31: Zandvoort: Netherlands: Dutch Grand Prix
Amsterdam has always been one of Paige’s favorite cities. She likes the canals and the prevalence of stroop waffles, the dismal weather and the food scene.
“You know, it’s wild — I’ve never had Indonesian food,” DiJonai remarks as they walk by another restaurant.
“Colonization,” Paige supplies, adjusting the lay of her pink jacket; she doesn’t even need Azzi to be physically present to ensure her opinions are represented. “The Dutch East India Company ruined a lot of the world.”
“Figures,” DiJonai mutters.
“Indonesian food’s delicious,” Paige adds.
They continue walking the cobblestone streets alongside the canal. Paige’s stomach rumbles with hunger at the sharp smell of fresh frites being fried.
“That’s where Phee and KMac are staying,” she says, nodding toward the fancy mansion across the canal. “The Waldorf Astoria.”
“Yeah, I definitely see why you chose to sleep in a trailer instead of a five star luxurious mansion,” DiJonai deadpans.
“I mean, Phee and KMac are both World Champions. Plus, it’s a nice trailer,” Paige argues, but she knows it falls on deaf ears. Nobody understands her preference for the motorhome. Paige is chronically misunderstood.
And even after the break —- maybe even because of it — after the villas and experiencing the luxury of what her name can buy and get gifted, Paige hasn’t changed her mind. If anything, she’s doubling down. She may have affluence now, but she’ll do everything she can to cling to normalcy. A life without an abundance of money is all she ever knew.
“Left up here,” she murmurs, glancing at her phone.
They’re on their way to an investor dinner, this time with some billionaire Italian tech titan Diana wooed last year. Paige doesn’t understand why Diana — a billionaire — needs to recruit other billionaires to fund Team Lamborghini when she could write the check herself and not have to deal with other people’s nonsense. But that must be why Diana is a billionaire and Paige is not.
Capitalist systems are about keeping money centralized, she can hear Azzi saying. That’s the myth of the free market.
Sue Bird sent Azzi to an investor dinner exactly one time and never repeated the mistake.
At least Paige has DiJonai with her. That’s another great part about being an F1 driver; she doesn’t have to take her medicine and suffer alone if she doesn’t want to.
“What a drive in Budapest, Paige. Masterful.”
Fernando Barzetti is broad shouldered and tall; he wears a custom suit and hand stitched leather shoes. He gives Paige the absolute ick. All the Lamborghini merchandise — the cars, the shirts, Paige — bear his company’s stupid yellow logo.
“Thanks,” Paige says, enough of her mouth moving to imply a smile. She doesn’t want to revisit Budapest with these people; soul sucking money grabbers. But this is what she’s been brought in for; to let them sidle up and get close to the raw power.
“You must have been so disappointed,” Barzetti’s wife, Catriona, says. She’s at least fifteen years his junior, if Paige were to hazard a guess and be generous. “But what amazing teamwork! I always thought of it as such an individual sport until I met Fernando. He’s absolutely mad about racing,” she adds with a laugh.
“What Italian man isn’t,” Fernando booms, and laughter breaks out from their group almost on cue.
“Best sport in the world,” Paige says, because Catriona is still looking her way. “But I guess I’m biased.”
There’s a look in Catriona’s eyes that makes Paige simultaneously feel good about herself and a tad bit nervous.
Eventually, the pre-dinner drinks transition into actual dinner. Paige and DiJonai have been split up since Paige is the main attraction and DiJonai is basically the lion tamer. Disgust bubbles in Paige’s belly but one shake of DiJonai’s head keeps her from making a scene. She wonders if it were the same for DiJonai when she was with Delle Donne. If it made Elena as out of sorts as it makes Paige, to be separated.
Diana’s there too, of course. She’s seated directly across the table from Paige, outfitted in her usual black blazer. Her eyes don’t linger, but Paige can feel the weight of her attention, knows she’s on display. Or onstage.
“Wine, miss?”
She shakes her head at the waiter. “Sparking water, thanks.”
Next to Diana, the Italian billionaire orders another scotch. His wife orders a white wine, her eyes flicking to Paige every few seconds. But Paige ignores the looks and keeps an ear on the conversation that the man is carrying on with Diana, even as she does her duty and engages in chit chat with some of the other rich assholes seated at the table.
“...bad business, really. The euro’s losing weight every day to the yen. Fucking unacceptable.”
All of it is an eye roll.
Paige hasn’t had a moment alone with Diana since arriving in the Netherlands and it's making her anxious. She wants a read on the dynamic, needs an opportunity to try and see what card Diana’s going to play next.
Because Paige understands enough about life in Formula 1 — the money, the power, the game — to know she can’t outsmart or outmaneuver her Team Principal. Best she can do is to try and win a hand now and then to show that she can hold her own.
How successful she’ll be at that is anyone’s guess.
Diana’s telling a story about her summer break; she and Penny did not go to the moon as Paige jokingly hypothesized back in Budapest.
They took the kids to Antarctica.
“What about you, Paige? How was Sardinia?”
“Healing,” Paige says with a grin, playing Diana’s game. She may be a rookie but she’s still a pro. She’s still got nerves of steel. “It was good to relax.”
“You needed it,” Diana chirps, faux-kindly.
It’s a show. It’s all a show.
“Our Paige here was racing with a broken rib in Budapest,” Diana says to the folks who can hear them. Their immediate table mates all make sounds of shock and concern, a layered chord of spurious sympathy. Barzetti the billionaire nods his head in commendation.
“Tough girl,” he approves. “Do what it takes to win, right?”
Sadistic fuck.
His wife leans forward, the already low cut of her dress forced to push the laws of physics in restraining her implanted breasts.
“That must have been so painful,” she all but coos.
She’s blonde, like Paige, but the hue is so bright it verges on neon. A beacon, a distraction; the diamonds at her neck sit heavy. Everything about her seems fake. Paige is willing to bet her cunt is like plastic. Smooth and dry. She has an inexplicable urge to squeeze this woman’s lip, to see if filler pops out like edamame from its shell.
“It wasn’t too bad,” Paige says, instead of giving into her urges. “I wanted to race.”
“Too damn bad about your record at the Hungaroring,” this motherfucking billionaire grouses. Half his scotch is already gone. “Set me back a bit because of it,” he announces with a laugh, like Paige’s sole purpose in life is to pad this man’s pockets.
“But a win for the team,” Diana deflects with a smile. Her eyes are focused on Paige; her thumb and middle finger spin her wine glass slowly. She’s got expensive taste, Diana.
“Spirito Toro,” Paige holds her glass a few inches above the table in mock salute. The bubbles in her water crackle and pop at the movement.
“Hear, hear,” the billionaire echoes, his voice booming. “Spirito Toro. A win’s a win.”
Diana taps her glass to his but she salutes Paige before she takes a sip, her eyes gleaming in the low light of the restaurant’s attempt at setting the mood.
Dinner takes fucking forever. Paige ignores her nutritionist’s advice and orders the fillet, rare and expensive; she’s desperate for the taste of blood. She talks about the history of Amsterdam with the couple sitting next to her and the safari that the man on Diana’s other side recently went on. She wants to vomit when the talk turns to the upcoming French elections, and excuses herself to the bathroom before the dessert course is served.
But she stops at the restaurant bar on her way back, well out of sight from the private dining room.
“Two shots of tequila,” she requests. “Whatever your best blanco is.”
She’s breaking her own rules for race weekend, but she needs fortification or she’ll never make it through this godforsaken dinner.
“Make that four,” Diana says, materializing and stepping into the pocket of space next to Paige. She doesn’t look over as she drums her long fingers on the marble bar top.
Paige steels herself; she mentally pours cement into her spine and slows her breathing. She clears her mind, pushes away any thoughts of Azzi or what happened in Budapest. She needs all the focus she can have around this woman.
“You need to get better at this,” Diana says, her voice low but conversational. It’s not a reprimand. If anything, it sounds like an amused observation. Like she’s giving feedback to a child.
“If you wanted people charmed, you should have asked for Soni,” Paige replies, mild and unbothered. She doesn’t have her sights set on management. Fuck this noise.
“You think you’re cute?” There’s delighted gratification in Diana’s tone; she loves this. Paige can tell.
But being a driver means you have to be good at the game. And Paige is the best. On and off track.
“You tell me,” she drawls in response. “You’d know better.”
Diana does laugh at that. “He’s disgusting,” she agrees, like she’s responding to a comment. “But he’s a necessary evil.”
“You hurting for money?” Paige glances over lazily.
“I’m looking at the future,” Diana corrects, and Paige thinks there’s a strain of honesty woven deep into that statement. “It can’t be all about the now.”
The bartender pours their shots from a beautiful bottle of Clase Azul, the warm lights of the bar reflecting on the white ceramic. He provides each of them with their own bowl of lime wedges. The shot glasses are ice cold in her fingers.
“To Zandvoort,” Diana offers.
The ting as their glasses clink is satisfying, and the tequila’s so smooth it barely burns. She casts about for some kind of small talk.
“You see any penguins, in Antarctica?”
“Yeah,” Diana says, nonchalantly. “We slept on a glacier one night. Little guys got curious in the morning. The kids loved it.”
What is this woman’s life?
“So. How was Pompeii?”
Pompeii, Diana’s asking. Not Sardinia.
“Old,” Paige bites out. Fuck, she’s out of her depth. Every time she thinks she can play this game and at least be a good matchup, Diana puts her on her ass.
“Never one for ancient ruins myself,” Diana muses, her tone slightly mocking. “I’d rather look ahead than dwell in the past.”
Paige can only watch with the sinking feeling of being overtaken on track, as Diana tosses back the second shot and pulls out her wallet to lay three hundred-dollar bills on the bar.
“Don’t fuck the wife,” she adds, stealing Paige’s second shot glass and smoothly downing it as well. She leaves Paige at the bar without another word.
“Jesus Christ,” Paige mutters, signaling to the bartender. “Yeah I need two more, please.”
She’s in over her fucking head.
—--
After three weeks apart and an ocean of angst brimming between them, Paige’s first time seeing Azzi at Zandvoort is massively anticlimactic, given that they’re seated across the table from each other in a strategy session in a room full of engineers.
It’s Paige’s own fault, since she was late getting to the paddock gym and DiJonai was unimpressed. Nai made Paige spend an extra ten minutes running at peak speed, so Paige had to rush through a shower and doesn’t slide into her chair in the strategy session until two minutes past the hour.
It means she doesn’t have the time to properly spiral about it in advance, to plan and pre-plan and overplan. She doesn’t have the opportunity to get herself set. To make sure she can back up the promise she made in her voice note.
“Okay, let’s talk through the tyre report,” Azzi says, acknowledging Paige with a distracted nod. It’s probably the best that Paige could have hoped for. It’s a relief, at least, that she’s not pissed about the lateness; hopefully the way Paige is sweating and red faced because she ran from the motorhome indicates her commitment. “Pirelli went very soft for the tyre line this weekend. The C2, C3, and C4. Jana?”
Jana, Queen of the Nile and of bullshit, opens her binder with a decided thwack. “Yup, yup, people. Pirelli fucking sucks, these tyres are total shit-”
“Jana,” Azzi sighs, rubbing at her temple, “focus.”
“Right. Sorry, boss. So the C4’s are gonna degrade fast, like super fast, like faster than KK when she sees a spider-”
“Fuck you, Jana-”
“You screamed like a little boy, this morning-”
“The tyres,” Azzi interjects, bringing them both back to the point.
Paige loves the Lamborghini girls — the engineers that Diana has brought on and empowered in the garage and on the strategy teams. They’re young and bright and wickedly smart but they’re also fun in the way that the brains at Mercedes weren’t.
“Indeed,” Jana says, nodding sagely. “So. Pirelli is saying twenty laps, but like, no way-”
“I think they could go twenty,” KK argues.
“Bro, are you blind?” Jana scoffs. “Look at these temp degradation graphs-”
“Yeah but these are CYA numbers-”
“What are CYA numbers?” Paige interrupts. There are a thousand acronyms in aerodynamic engineering; she can’t place that one in relation to tyre degradation times.
“Cover your ass,” Azzi supplies dryly. Her tone implies this is not the first time she’s had to explain it to someone.
“Love it,” Paige grins. “Absolutely,” she agrees. “Fuck Pirelli.”
“That’s what I’m saying,” KK and Jana chorus in unison, and then immediately high five each other.
“Jinx,” KK shouts.
Paige adores the two of them. This is definitely what Azzi’s personal hell looks like.
As Jana and KK’s “conversation” devolves into something else, and Kelis and Gandy jump in, Paige takes the opportunity to look across the table.
And Azzi — who looks inexplicably tired even though the entire sport of motor racing has been on a literal three week break — stares back at Paige helplessly. A touch of humor hangs about the corners of her mouth, and she rolls her eyes and shakes her head. Paige bites back a smile, helpless to fight her enjoyment at seeing Azzi navigate the personal dynamics of her team. Leadership didn’t come easily to Azzi, but Paige thinks she’s found her way.
One meeting turns into two, turns into three, turns into the FIA mandatory press conference.
Which.
Paige hasn’t had a chance to get her head ‘round how to act with Azzi so she certainly has no fucking idea what to do if she runs into Sabrina. But some god out there blesses Paige, because Sabrina’s not in her press group. Instead, Kah and Cam are seated on the couch when Paige arrives.
“Hey!” Cameron’s smile is enormous as she greets Paige.
Paige leans in to dap them both up, already mentally calculating what the vibe will be. Cam has a sunny disposition most of the time, and Kah will say everything as efficiently and dispassionately as possible. It’s as good a mix as Paige could hope for; it’s easy to take the middle ground.
“How was Sardinia? I saw Kate and Soni earlier, they said it was awesome. Did you have fun?”
God bless Cam, who never has a bad word to say about anyone and can make any situation better. Paige can’t handle that kind of sunshine all of the time, but she’s genuinely fond of the bubbly statuesque blonde who has a hilariously aggressive case of roadrage. Kah, of course, ignores both of them as Paige recaps the trip with enthusiasm and asks about Cam’s break.
“I went home for a bit — home stretch of wedding prep and all that.” Cam’s engaged to some finance guy who still lives in California; Paige has met him a few times and he’s nice enough, but they run out of conversation topics in about three minutes flat.
“Still planning to say ‘I do’?” Paige jokes. Cam has the insane idea that she can gather everyone for her nuptials in December, like any of them will want to be around each other once the season ends in Abu Dhabi.
“Angela Davis says marriage is about domination. It reinforces the economic and social subordination of women,” Kah offers, as if that’s in any way helpful, looping into their conversation in the most depressing way.
“You been talking to Azzi again,” Paige sighs.
“She sent some new recs,” is all Kah offers on that subject. She and Azzi often had their heads together, though they refused to call their trading of suggestions and titles and subsequent conversations a book club.
“I mean, yes, obviously, historically marriage has been an institution that has trapped women — especially Black women,” Cam sputters, “but Ben and I have a foundation very based in equality. And equity.”
“She’s baiting you,” Paige sighs, waving off Kah’s comments, because sure enough, Kah is grinning at Cam like a cat that caught a canary.
“Girl should know what she’s getting into,” Kah objects, her hands up, transforming into the picture of innocence.
“Like you have any idea what she’s getting into,” Paige rolls her eyes.
“I don’t know that “getting into” it is the right mindset,” Cam tries to interject. But she’s too sweet when she’s not in a car, so it doesn’t do much to re-center the conversation.
“I know more than you,” Kah laughs at Paige. “Miss twenty-year old phenom.”
“I’m twenty-four—”
“Still a fuckin’ youngin,” Kah says, her face unimpressed. “You’re too young to get married,” Kah tells Cam, who looks genuinely distressed at the way the conversation has diverted. “You should fuck more people. Live a little. Break some hearts.”
“This is not helpful advice,” Cam says.
“Be more like Paige,” Kah adds, threading whatever needle she thinks is going to sew the discussion together.
It’s Kah, so they aren’t arguing, it’s just her spitting what she believes are facts and trying to stir the pot. She’s got her own goddamn ledger for how the world works and a different kind of math to add it all up.
“I hesitate to ask.” Cameron’s confusion is apparent, but Paige’s bullshit meter is starting to ding.
“Ignore her—”
“She spent her break with Nastya,” Kah says, and Paige wonders what the actual punishment would be for leaping across the couch and punching her. She makes money now, she can afford a steep fine.
“I did not spend my break with Nastya—”
“You saw Nastya over break?”
“No - well, yes, but—”
“Girl I know we’re on the same internet,” Kah admonishes Cam. “You need to reprogram your algorithm.”
One of the F1 media coordinators appears then, with microphones for each of them; Paige breathes a sigh of relief. She’s never been so glad to take questions from the press before. She shoots Kah one last dirty look before turning to fully face the press corps and pasting her public smile on.
“Paige, how are you feeling about the Budapest results now that you’ve had some distance?”
So the press questions are equally asinine.
Paige reminds herself that she’d still choose the media over Kah’s mind reader bullshit. She tries to form her face into a genial smile. “Same as I felt when you asked three weeks ago, Tom. It was the most successful outcome for our team. That’s all that’s important.”
And really, it’s the truth.
Paige wanted that win — of course she did. She’s an F1 driver and the Hungaroring has delivered her victories before. But she’s proud of their strategy execution, of their teamwork, of her own actions. There’s no use in soaking in the discontent.
The bomb from Diana is different. It’s wounded her; an open, festering sore that Paige feels with each breath she takes. But even with the pain, with the infection that’s setting in, Paige is glad she knows. It feels even more self sacrificing, really, to be so resentful and still determined to keep her new promise. And Paige is nothing if not a martyr inside her own head.
“You’re sitting in second place in the Driver’s Championship, just six points behind Caitlin. Given the difference, and what a win would have done for you in the standings, did Diana say anything to you about the outcome?”
The world is obsessed with team dynamics, with the inner workings of the F1 network. There aren’t enough drivers to provide endless speculation so personalities become even more important. The F1 media are always hungry for division and alliances.
And everyone knows Diana Taurasi is a personality.
But so is Paige.
“She told me good job on not fucking up,” Paige shares with a sly grin.
Everyone laughs. Even Kah, who grins and nods at Paige, proud.
“Keep on pressing, rookie.”
—--
Paige and Nika get some time to put their heads together that afternoon; they huddle in a quiet corner of the garage out of direct sight from CD, who’s been looking for Paige. They aren’t exactly whispering but they’re not trying to invite others into their conversation, even though Paige can see Jana lurking around — likely trying to get through her task lists before Azzi wanders through.
She’s sitting cross legged on top of a tool cabinet; Azurá, the head of engineering in the garage, is always yelling at her about it but Paige has been sitting on tool cabinets for most of her life, she’s not going to change her ways now.
“I think the modeling is wrong.”
She squints at the readouts in her hands, tipping her head as if that will make the projection arcs make more sense. Everyone’s always surprised at how good she is with modeling, with the math of it all, but Kathy taught high school physics and Geno made sure Paige started learning the day she moved into the house. Kathy sat with her at the kitchen table every night, patiently grounding Paige in kinematics, Newton’s Laws, friction — even while Paige was learning basic geometry in the local elementary school.
“It’s not,” Nika replies without even looking over. She’s messing around with the calculations on lap times and the write up from the weather team back at the factory.
Paige turns the pages to see the arcs from a different angle. “It’s too fucking gloomy about traction.”
“Don’t be a baby.” Nika doesn’t even look over.
“It completely ignores my instinct to go fast and assumes I’ll wait too long to get back on the throttle. Tell them to rerun it with a more aggressive pickup.”
“No.”
“Twin,” Paige whines.
“Go play in the simulator if you don’t believe it,” Nika suggests. “So you can see for yourself.”
Paige will not. She studies the briefing binder in her hands, glancing down to see the charts that are attached for each figure. Velocity, air quality, engine data.
“Oh for god's sake,” Nika laughs. “It’s literally showing you that earlier throttle is going to cost you more on the next corner than you’ll be able to gain at the turn and then you’ll be fucked down the straight.”
Easy for Nika to say. She’s not the one that’s got the most powerful engine built for a human to drive humming between her thighs.
Paige loves it, obviously.
“I still think the modeling is wrong.” It’s not and Paige knows it but she feels like being a baby and she’s not going to ask Nika for coddling.
Nika sighs and hoists herself onto the cabinet next to Paige. “You’re right about it being conservative and how it’ll feel okay, but that’s in clean air. Those rear temps are gonna spike,” she reminds Paige. “It’s going to be too late for you to adjust on the correction. The factory folks have been saying all week that the dirty air is going to hurt more than anyone thinks it will.”
She pauses, eyes scanning over the charts. “You could move off the racing line if you get into trouble,” she suggests slyly. “Just a quarter car width.”
Outrageous.
Paige snorts. “You gonna present that idea to Azzi, then?”
“No way, that’s fun for you to do on your own,” Nika laughs.
“Azzi’ll kill you,” Jana supplies unhelpfully from where she’s digging through a packing crate, clearly chewing bubble gum and eavesdropping. Paige glowers at her as Nika chuckles lowly.
“She won’t,” Nika teases.
Jana snorts. “Duh, because Paige is too scared to try it.”
The audacity. Those are fighting words. Paige glares at her, mouth open in outrage.
“I am not scared of Azzi.”
KK enters the garage, likely coming from one of the engineering rooms judging by the stack of blue binders in her arms.
“Yo KK,” Jana bellows. “Paige says she’s not scared of Azzi.”
KK bursts into laughter, like Jana’s told a particularly hilarious joke and not merely lied through her teeth. She’s really abusing her excellent combination of beauty and brains.
“Aww, delusion be with you now and forever, my friend,” KK says with a bow of her head, winking at Paige.
“Y’all are the fucking worst,” Paige complains. “I’m not scared of Azzi.”
“Sure you aren’t,” Nika murmurs.
“Oh like you aren’t scared of her?”
Nika shrugs, unbothered by the implication. “Azzi’s my boss. I’m allowed.”
“Yeah. Yeah!” Jana agrees. She’s gone through the crate and her brow is furrowed as she consults the checklist on the clipboard in her hand. There are a hundred lines with checkboxes and she’s only halfway through the list. “It’s normal to be scared of your boss,” she adds.
“But Azzi’s not scary,” Paige admonishes them. And it’s true. Azzi isn’t scary. She’s brilliant and efficient and lovely.
“You hurt your head in addition to your ribs in Mexico City, girly pop?” KK wanders over and deposits the binders into Paige’s lap. Doesn’t even ask if she can put them all there.
“Bro,” Jana adds, surveying Paige like she’s particularly dim. “Azzi’s terrifying.”
“She’s not!”
Jana and KK exchange looks with Nika who only smiles.
“Then why are you scared of her?” KK asks, arching an eyebrow.
“Bro, like I said, I’m not,” Paige defends herself.
She watches as Jana curls her lip and raises her eyebrows at Nika. “Was it always like this? How did you deal?”
“Worse, probably,” Nika supplies. “But Azzi wasn’t calling her races back then, so, you know,” she waves her hand, “different dynamics.”
It’s super cool that they’re just talking about her shambles of a love life. Just right in the open, no respect for her at all. Paige takes a deep breath and remembers that she has no reason to get agitated or out of shape.
The sigh Jana lets out implies she’s been suffering for years instead of a measly eight months. If she really wants to know how hard it could be for her, she should talk to Kiah Stokes at Mercedes. Paige smiles just reminiscing about it.
Jana reaches for her water bottle and chugs a few gulps; Paige would be truly shocked if it contained actual water instead of an energy drink.
“Ok, since you’re stupid,” Jana allows, “I’ll explain. We are scared of Azzi because she’s the smartest person on any team at Formula 1. She’s so sharp and she thinks ten steps ahead and you can’t bullshit her and she’s brilliant. AND she’s an incredible leader. And beautiful.”
Jana holds her hand over her heart and looks away dreamily. “The way she invests her time and energy. I want to be her when I grow up. And it makes disappointing her all the worse.”
“Okay, but that doesn’t—”
“You,” Jana overrides her, coming back to the moment and pointing her long finger in Paige’s face, “are scared of Azzi because you’re in love with her.”
The garage goes silent around Paige; her brain puts everything on mute. The number of people who can just say it out loud seems to be increasing at an alarming rate.
And the folks who can say it are getting farther and farther in proximity from people Paige either trusts or has some stronger connection to, for better or worse. It feels different coming from Jana. From someone that Paige likes and respects, but who falls neatly into the category of coworker or colleague.
The reality of that hits her squarely in the chest, even if she doesn’t understand why it feels so impactful. Everyone knows. Paige is aware of that. She is.
That’s why Sophie said what she did.
Why Diana can twist Paige up.
But people don’t talk about Paige’s reaction time being prodigious for nothing.
“Nah, bro,” Paige laughs, infusing just enough bravado into her voice that it’ll hopefully detract from the way she feels cracked open for everyone to see. “I’m not scared of Azzi.”
It works, but the snort that KK lets out is insulting. She doesn’t even try to stifle it. Paige sees Jana unsuccessfully try to bite back a grin.
Beside her, Nika bites her lip.
Outrage.
“What?” Paige looks over at her in betrayal. She doesn’t know why she expected differently. Loyalty means nothing these days. Friends can stab you in the back without a second thought. Eh tu, Nika?
“Oh come on, Twin,” Nika appeals, like rationality is something that could come to Paige.
“I can’t believe this,” she protests. “I’m not scared of her.”
“Okay,” Jana says, easy as anything. She and KK exchange another look.
Paige has a bad feeling about it. Her spidey senses are tingling.
“Prove it then,” KK says. “I’ll bet you five hundred euros that you can’t defy Azzi.”
Fuck. Paige really should have seen that one coming.
—--
She’s sitting in the simulation room just before dinner, running a full session with the team at the factory in her ear.
“Push harder on throttle this lap at Turn 5.”
The words are quiet through the comms, even though Paige doesn’t have any of the audio enabled for car noise or crowd.
“Okay,” she hears halfway through the lap, “lift at Turn 12.”
Simulation sessions like this are helpful. Paige doesn’t mind doing it in the sim, even if it’s annoying. It gives the engineers the data they want to play with, and she’d much rather follow their never ending directions and deal with their constant nitpicking it in the simulator than have to do it in the actual car.
Twenty minutes later, the team head at the factory in Sant'Agata calls an end to the session. He thanks Paige for being such a good sport, and she does one more lap in peace and quiet, just to get a run on qualifying simulation.
Soni’s waiting for her turn on the sim when Paige gets out; she’s holding an iced coffee that’s almost gone, the cubes clink together as she takes one last suck of the straw.
“Yo,” Soni greets. They were stuck in the same meetings for most of the day.
“I think dealing with bullshit is an acquired skill,” Paige says.
“For sure,” Soni agrees. “One that atrophied during break.” She pauses, tips her head a little bit. “Heard you found yourself in a pickle.”
Paige rolls her eyes. “Glad to know it’s made its way around.”
“It didn’t,” Soni assures her, as if that’s the problem. “I think it came through our private grapevine.”
Nika to Georgia to Soni, then.
“Have fun,” Paige says, nodding towards the simulator. She leaves Soni there and wanders through the administrative hallways. She’s got half a destination in mind, and it materializes when she pops her head into the main engineering room.
Azzi’s pouring over the schematics for the fuel pump with the girls from the factory team who brought the new parts over. They’re crowded around the table on all sides, their heads close together as they talk and point. Azzi’s got a red felt-tipped pen in her hand, making notes on the enlarged copy paper; the cap is held between her teeth.
“Hey,” Paige announces herself. “I just finished with the sim team.”
Azzi narrows her eyes, no doubt expecting a barrage of requests that she’s absolutely not going to grant — a lower ride height and fuel usage for practice sessions, just to name a few — so Paige smiles in what she hopes to be a convincing manner. Judging from Azzi’s expression, she’s largely unsuccessful.
“Do you have a second to talk about lap windows?”
It’s always satisfying to surprise Azzi; she blinks a few times, recalibrating. “Sure.”
She gives a series of instructions to the people around the table and stands up, her bones audibly cracking. Azzi does a little stretch with her arms and Paige resists the urge to lecture her about poor posture. The urge to run a hand down her spine and press.
“What’s up?”
They walk out of the conference room and Paige immediately decides to steer them toward the hospitality suite, her heart hammering like Thor himself. This is their first time alone since Budapest. She can feel the memory of that simmering between them, luxuriates in feeling her body soften all over and inside too. Circumstances can vary, can change the dynamic between them, but Paige loves being the object of Azzi’s attention. That hasn’t changed in all the time they’ve known each other and it certainly doesn’t seem like it’ll change any time soon.
“I’ve been thinking about the tyre compounds,” she admits, centering her thoughts on things that Azzi will actually want to engage about. And shit that they genuinely need to talk about.
“It’s going to be rough,” Azzi agrees. “Thermal degradation, not just wear and tear. Like being in the desert.”
Jana may be a dramatic busybody but she’s not wrong about Pirelli being fuckheads most of the time. Paige knows it’s true and so does Azzi, even if she won’t publicly admit it.
“You think pushing early is going to cost us more than we can gain?”
Azzi frowns. Paige imagines that she can see her brain working; fast like a racing engine, her thoughts and calculations moving like the pistons inside the cylinders. She’s brilliant, of course, but Paige always has to remind herself — and remind other people — that Azzi’s not a machine. She’s a human, a person; she needs rest and nutrients and sunshine just like every other person.
“I think the thermal degradation is going to be worse than they think it will be,” Azzi admits.
The hospitality suite has a nice set up going for the afternoon; pastries, fruits, little parfaits. Paige snags a muffin for herself and puts a danish and a yogurt in Azzi’s hands out of habit; as expected, Azzi’s too deep in thought about tyre wear to even notice.
“Really? Like we’ll have trouble with the compounds sliding?” She asks it around a bite of her muffin, then grabs two bottles of water with one hand and leads Azzi out of the suite.
“The C4’s are going to give us hell in Sector 2,” Azzi answers. Her brain’s already on the track, Paige can tell.
“You want to run opposite to whatever Soni’s going to do?”
The teams do that, sometimes, just to hedge their bets. They’ll run their drivers on different strategies to cover all the bases. That’s never been Azzi’s thing — she’d rather make proactive decisions based on data than to throw noodles at the wall to see what’ll stick — but Azzi’s not the lead strategist for Team Lamborghini. She’s just in charge of Paige.
“No,” Azzi shakes her head. “I want to make a plan and execute. I think we can make pace and protect tyres. It’ll be work for sure, but let’s see what can be done.”
We. We. We.
It feels like we, when she and Azzi can talk like this. Maybe Budapest did more to repair them than Paige even realized. Even if learning that Azzi sought out Diana to join Team Lamborghini threatened even more damage to their relationship.
But Paige has emotionally grown — at least a little bit — and she made a promise to Azzi that she intends to keep. Because the conversation with Lili stays in her head; Azzi’s her favorite person, and it’s time that Paige actually showed her that.
“Let’s touch base after FP2,” Azzi says. She’s already got the danish hanging half out of her mouth, scrolling through the unread messages on her tablet, flagging things for follow up like she’ll ever go back to respond.
“For sure,” Paige agrees. They’ve entered the garage, the hive abuzz with activity. In the far corner, Nika’s typing on the computer and barking instructions at her assigned minion. “Thank you,” Paige adds, quietly, sensing her window narrowing. “For Budapest.”
Azzi freezes. She’s not looking in Paige’s direction so there’s no opportunity to read anything her eyes are saying.
For a moment, Paige worries Azzi’s going to say something stupid, like don’t worry about it, or, worse, it was nothing. And that would be tough for Paige to take because she does worry about it and it wasn’t nothing.
But to Paige’s surprise, Azzi doesn’t say anything. She nods, though — a jerky little bobble of her head — and to anyone else it might not be enough, might not suffice. But Paige takes the gesture to be everything.
She takes it as Azzi acknowledging how important what happened in Budapest was to Paige. She might not be ready to talk about it, or even to look Paige in the fucking eye, but it’s there between them.
And Paige wants to say thank you for the acknowledgement so she does the kindest thing she can think of and changes the fucking subject.
“Has strat team talked about doing double stacks at all this weekend?”
Paige hasn’t had to double stack before, because F2 and F3 teams only have one driver. Given the lap times and pit stop windows at Zandvoort it’s not an uncommon occurrence to bring both cars in together for a pit stop.
“It’s come up,” Azzi confirms, “but nothing decided. I always feel like it’s risky. Too much can go wrong.”
“Can we do a trial run during FP1? I haven’t had to do it before, and I want a go at being the second car.”
“Of course,” Azzi agrees. “Already on the agenda for the strat-ops meeting this afternoon.”
“Great. Thanks.”
Paige wants to ask about the voice memos, about Azzi’s break. She can’t think of a chill way to do it so she might as well just be obvious.
“You have a good break?” She says it as casually as she can. It’s probably not that casual. Not if the glance Azzi tosses her is any indication.
“Yeah,” Azzi shrugs. “It was fine. How about you? Italy, right?”
“Sardinia,” Paige murmurs. “With Nika and Soni and Georgia. And the Haas girls.”
She wonders what Azzi would say about Veronica and Kate — a relationship not explicitly against any rules but taboo all the same.. And Paige intentionally leaves out the part about Alessandra. Because why invite displeasure? They’re talking so nicely.
“It was really good,” she says instead. “Got to relax. Rest the rib. Lamborghini let me have the Huracán EVO Spyder,” she adds, and of course that catches Azzi’s interest, just like Paige knew it would. Her eyes light up.
“For real? Oh that must have been sick,” Azzi enthuses, finally perked up. “How’d she sound?”
“Gorgeous,” Paige smiles, nerding out. “Drove like nothing else, too. The throttle whine was unreal and the acceleration actually felt like a track car.”
“You get to do some good driving?”
“Some, they had hills and I was on my own the second week so I took her out a bunch. Rib was feeling way better by then,” she mentions, just in case Azzi decides to go full Hulk again about the rib recovery. She’s unpredictable like that.
But Azzi clearly doesn’t give a shit about Paige’s rib now that she’s been presented with new information about a high performance car.
“Did they keep the rear steering?”
“Yeah, I could really feel it at lower speeds—turn-in’s sharper than you’d expect for a convertible.”
“What about the horsepower?”
God, Azzi’s such a gearhead. Paige doesn’t get wet about that at all.
Paige shrugs. “Same power as the coupe—naturally aspirated V10, 630.”
Azzi smiles, a genuine grin that lights up her face. Paige’s stomach flutters at being the person to put that expression there.
“That sounds amazing,” Azzi says; there’s a look in her eyes like maybe she’s also thinking that if things were different, she’d have been riding shotgun with Paige in the Spyder.
She’d be riding Paige’s fingers is what she’d be riding.
“You get up to speed?”
“Nah,” Paige admits, regret lacing her tone. “Tapped out at 144 kph. Didn’t wanna become an international headline.”
“For the best,” Azzi agrees.
The vibe is so nice that Paige is reluctant to walk away and leave their conversation. Being around Azzi like this feels like pouring Gorilla Glue over the cracks in her heart. The new ones and some of the old ones.
“Diana went to Antarctica,” she offers, desperate to keep engaging. “They like, slept on an iceberg or some shit. With penguins.”
Azzi shakes her head in disbelief. “Rich people,” she complains with a roll of her eyes.
Yeah. Page agrees with that.
“I’ve got to meet Dorka and Caroline,” Azzi sighs. Paige wonders if she’s imagining the reluctance she hears in Azzi’s voice. Maybe she’s projecting.
“Cool,” she says, starting to turn away, like she already has a destination in mind. She doesn’t. “I’ll see you later.”
“See you,” Azzi echoes.
Paige forces herself to walk forward. She meanders through the garage until Azzi’s out of sight.
“Smooth,” Jana comments, from where she’s standing at the counter highlighting different data readouts in one of the tyre binders.
“Shut the fuck up,” Paige growls.
“The little bitches room is that way,” KK points with a snicker. “I accept Revolut and Venmo, by the way. Whichever you prefer. I’m accommodating like that.”
“But if it’s Venmo you need to do the conversion first,” Jana instructs. “The dollar’s still low against the euro.”
Paige glares and stalks off without another word, ignoring the high five that KK and Jana exchange.
The engineers at Mercedes would never.
—---
3:22
…It’s wild to be here again. For F1. I remember our first time at Zandvoort. The internet was so shitty in the hotel and your mom kept calling because your brother got his nose pierced. It was like full on Fudd family chaos. And Sabrina’s rears were sliding all over the place and you were in such a mood. God, all I remember about my first year in F3 is being so fucking nervous, I was like bricking it every single weekend. And then Stef got that bug bite on her cheek, and me and the engineers on the F3 team thought we were so hilarious because….
—--
Free Practice 1 is scheduled to start at ten on Friday morning.
Paige is clear on the plan, on the data sets and lap windows the strat ops team wants. She and DiJonai make their way from the driver room to the garage, talking quietly on their walk about the recovery session that Paige is booked into; she’ll go into the city tonight and come back to the track to sleep.
“See how your body feels after this,” Nai advises. “Then we can decide about adding cryo. Might make FP3 and Qualifying go easier tomorrow.”
Paige nods, sure that a cryo session would feel good and still dragging her heels about committing. But she needs to; even though they did a lot of work in St. Moritz, she doesn’t feel quite back to form. The rib injury really fucked up her plans for summer break training.
As Nai helps with the helmet and Nika comes over to strap Paige into the car, KK runs over and steps into their pocket of space as well.
“Azzi says we’re gonna do double stack after the first tyre change,” she shares, extending a hand to help Paige. “We’ll wait for a good window and pull you in. Soni will be in front.”
“Good,” Paige nods. “Who’s calling?” She swings a leg over the side of the car and slides into the cockpit. It’s like being inside a glove, like the car is moulded around her.
“Jana’s gonna call,” KK grins, clearly proud of her friend.
Paige nods, also impressed. Calling a double stack is a great opportunity for Jana, even if Paige is annoyed as fuck with her — and with KK — over their stupid observations.
“I’ll try not to fuck it up for Jana,” she says with a smile.
Then Nika’s the only one she can see, bent in close to mess with the safety harness. She arches an eyebrow at Paige as her fingers dance across the straps, tugging and testing to make sure there’s no give.
“You remember the first time we raced here?”
Nika smiles. She has gum in her mouth, she always does; an oral fixation almost worse than Paige’s.
Her hair had been shorter, their first time in the Netherlands. The result of a bad haircut given to her by some cousin that was in cosmetology school. Paige’s hair had been box blonde because paying for professionally dyed hair had still been laughably out of the budget. They’d hardly known each other then — it had only been a few weeks into the F3 season.
“I remember you vomming in the bushes outside the paddock,” Nika teases.
“Interesting. I remember you having a sneezing fit and getting snot on your shirt,” Paige recalls.
But what she remembers most, what stands out from that first time at Zandvoort, is how connected she felt to Nika. It had been Zandvoort where Paige first understood just how important Nika was going to be to her.
“Have a good run,” Nika rumbles, and the statement feels more like a prayer, the way it always does.
Paige salutes her, then looks forward, ready to be guided into traffic.
—--
The bet isn’t front of mind while Paige is in the car.
It’s not gone from her brain, but it’s not where her concentration is. Not with Nika yapping in her ear about tyre temps and dirty air readouts, and everyone and their fucking mother trying to get a flying lap in for no good reason so early in Free Practice 1.
“Ease up and coast,” Nika instructs.
Paige follows direction. She’s not going to defy orders just because of the bet. That would be stupid. She’s got to wait for the right moment, for the right gap. Because Paige may be a lot of things, but a bad driver isn’t one of them; she’s not going to make a dumb choice just to keep five hundred euros. If she’s going to go against orders, or go against what Azzi wants her to do, she’s going to do it when it’s worth doing. When she actually disagrees.
“Great, Paige. We’re going to box next lap. Try and pick up pace just a little bit. We want you in a five second window behind Soni.”
“Copy.”
The double stack goes beautifully. Paige gets in good position and follows Soni into the pit lane, cruising in behind her for new tyres right as she’s released. Nika and Azzi are at the pit wall, turned around in their chairs to watch. Paige only really sees them as she’s coming into the pit and sliding in behind Soni.
“Oh that was great,” she crows into the radio as she exits. “Well done everyone. Thanks for the trial run.”
She’s got one under her belt, at least, if they need to do it on Sunday. Paige is comfortable in the car; she could have done it spur of the moment if it was needed in a race, but she feels better for having a dry run.
Practice makes perfect her father used to say, when she would go home for a week or two as a pre-teen and not want to do her reflex exercises.
But she did them. She always ended up doing them.
Paige knows how to prepare.
—--
Preparation only takes someone so far, she learns.
Because Paige walks into the strategy room later that day, after Free Practice 2, taking pride in her laps. She came in first — though it doesn’t really matter or mean anything from a practice session — and it’s got her feeling good.
“Yo,” she calls to Azzi, a smile already blooming on her face. “I gotta question for you.”
Azzi looks up and her face is pre-annoyed.
Pre-annoyed with Paige specifically. It’s a look that Paige is intimately familiar with, after so many years devoted to her favorite pastime of rage baiting Azzi.
“Are you involved in whatever stupid bet is going on?” Azzi asks, her eyes narrowing. “I don’t know what it's about but I assume Jana and KK are involved.”
“No,” Paige lies, scrambling for nonchalance.
“Okay then,” Azzi nods. She looks down at the schematic, for a moment, and then back up at Paige.
She can’t let it go. Paige is fucked.
“How dumb is it?” Azzi asks.
“Don’t know what you mean,” Paige pretends cluelessness.
“Very dumb, then,” Azzi surmises.
“Extremely,” Paige sighs, put upon.
She almost feels bad, given that it’s clear Jana and KK tread upon Azzi’s last strings of patience on a regular basis. Paige truly wishes she didn’t have such an urge to encourage them.
Alas, she can only be herself.
“What was it you wanted?” Azzi’s already distracted again, her nose buried in the schematic.
“The tyres felt good,” Paige improvises. “Just wanted to tell you that.”
“Good,” Azzi mutters. “I think we can push in FP3 tomorrow. I’ll talk to Dorka about compound strategy across teams.” She makes a note on her tablet, as if she’ll ever be able to find it again.
Paige can see Kelis writing down the same thing on her own tablet; she meets Paige’s gaze and then looks back down.
Once, back in Brackley, Azzi complained about her phone being slow. Paige had a theory it was user error and when she stole Azzi’s phone to check, it turned out Azzi had every app — every single one on her phone — open and hadn’t updated it in years.
“Cool.”
Paige doesn’t run away, but it’s a near thing.
—--
She’s fucking about with a quick run of Blitz on Fortnite, taking satisfaction in ruthlessly killing pre-teens, when Nai pops her head in.
“Yo, don’t you have your drivers meeting?”
“On it,” Paige assures her. “Leaving in two minutes.”
“Yeah, that’s when the meeting starts.”
So she runs down the paddock and ends up catching Kate. The Haas garage is all the way at the end because they were the worst team last season, though with Kate and Veronica on board now they’re steadily making gains. But it means that Kate and Veronica are either late or leaving for any obligations earlier than anyone else would.
“Cathy’s on one this week,” Kate warns as they take the stairs to the admin offices at the circuit.
“Just my fucking luck,” Paige grumbles.
And sure enough, the meeting has already started and Cathy glares at them as they walk in.
“I’m so sorry we’re taking valuable time from your day,” she calls to them as they take their seats. “But please do try to be on time.”
“Sorry,” Paige tips her head in deference. Mock apologies have gotten her through worse than this.
She slips into the seat in front of Soni and turns around to shoot her a dirty look.
“I told you I was leaving and you said ‘gotta merc this kid first’,” Soni reminds her in a whisper, her face the picture of innocence. She had her hair done over break so it falls in long gorgeous waves and it’s given her a big head. Literally and figuratively.
“Blatantly untrue,” Paige accuses under her breath.
Soni kicks the bottom of Paige’s chair twice and Paige reaches back to slap her ankle. Except she misses and gets Cam “Daddy Long Legs” Brink instead, and the surprise of it makes Cameron accidentally knock over Aliyah’s water tumbler, which gets Marina’s backpack wet and that gets Marina yapping at Sophie with misappropriated blame — though nobody is going to correct her — and then, of course, Sabrina turns around to tell Sophie to shut the hell up.
Cathy continues to glare at Paige, as if any of it is Paige’s actual fault.
It is.
KMac sighs something about goddamn rookies and Veronica goes in on that with another I’m not a fucking rookie comment and the entire meeting gets derailed for a few minutes.
“Did all of you lose your brains over the summer break?” Cathy snaps.
Everyone blames Paige.
—--
Paige wakes up on Saturday to Soni letting herself into the motorhome and jumping on the bed. She’s gotten really fucking bold in their friendship; Paige misses when everyone thought she was a hotshot and didn’t have any friends.
“Why,” Paige groans.
“Guess what I heard,” Soni says, uncaring that she’s just woken Paige up with her bony fucking knees. She’s holding two iced coffees but Paige knows better than to assume one is for her.
“I don’t care.” But she rolls onto her back anyway. “What if I were naked.”
Soni’s eyes flick down, taking in Paige in her sports bra. “You kind of are naked.” She doesn’t sound impressed.
“I could be more naked. I could have had a girl in here. Or been getting myself right.”
“Yeah. I guess that’s a possibility. Far fetched, but possible.”
Paige throws one of the pillows at her. Soni ducks it without any effort.
“Marist isn’t making you come right,” Paige says, referencing Soni’s boyfriend. “You should still be in bed.”
“It’s like seven-fifteen,” Soni says. “And he’s not here this weekend, he’s back in season,” Soni reminds her. She frowns. “I think I need to order a new vibrator.”
“How did we get here,” Paige wonders, staring at the ceiling. But she pulls one of the remaining pillows behind her head to prop herself up just a little bit.
“I was at the coffee cart,” Soni says, “the good one.”
“Which one is the good one?”
“The one at the end of the paddock, down by Haas. So you have to really want the good coffee to walk all the way down there.
“Why would they put the good coffee all the way at the end?”
“To separate the espresso enthusiasts from the sad girls who need caramel in their caffeine to love themselves.”
Paige hasn’t even looked at her phone yet. She wonders if there’s an emergency, if there’s some new piece of news that’s hit the world before she even had the opportunity to open her eyes. That’s how it happened in Abu Dhabi. It’s made her a little jumpy every single race weekend since then.
So she looks at Soni with expectation, one knee pulled up to make herself more comfortable. She’s never had this kind of intimate early morning interaction with someone she’s not fucking, except maybe Nika. Soni’s literally in her bed.
“What’s up.”
“Sue Bird and Diana Taurasi had a fight.”
Paige stills. The pulse sounds extra loud in her ears, all of a sudden.
“Start at the beginning.”
“It happened at the paddock,” Soni says. “Late. After the driver's briefing. I heard Katie Lou and Tiffany Hayes talking about it. They didn’t see me though. Well, they did see me but I had my airpods in but I was only pretending to listen to music.”
Katie Lou is Sabrina’s Nika. Of course, nobody’s like Nika, but Katie Lou fulfills the same role and does the comms for Sabrina during a race. She did it for the driver before Sabrina, too. And Tiffany Hayes is an engineer in the Mercedes garage. She’s a little nuts, though Paige tries not to think uncharitably about her. Unique is the world Azzi always used.
Unhinged is what Paige would have gone with.
“Like fight-fight or their usual weirdo rich person banter.”
“Fight-fight,” Soni confirms. “Like bad enough that apparently Sue left the paddock and didn’t go to the Mercedes sponsor dinner last night. That’s how pissed she was.”
“They get along really well,” Paige says, confused. Because it’s true; Sue and Diana have always been friends. They’re competitors, sure, but they have an undercurrent of friendly banter. They’ve vacationed a few times in St. Tropez together, with their families. They’re such good friends, in fact, that when Paige got face to face with Sue after declining the Mercedes F1 offer, Sue had just laughed and said to go see DT, she’s expecting you.
“Yeah, well, they didn’t get along last night. Apparently voices were raised. It was about Azzi.”
Paige’s blood freezes.
“Nobody knows what about Azzi, though,” Soni adds, sensing that Paige has been lost to the swell of her emotions. “It seems like everything was mostly fine during the day – they would have both been in the Executive Sports Briefing yesterday morning. But then I don’t know. Something happened last night.”
“Azzi’s a big bargaining chip for Diana,” Paige says. She doesn’t get nervous on track, and she doesn’t let people bully her or bait her off the tar, but she also doesn’t fuck around with people talking about Azzi.
“Yeah. Her biggest bargaining chip, probably,” Soni agrees. “Also, rumors are everywhere that Sophie’s losing the seat at Red Bull too,” she adds, “but who gives a fuck about that. I’ll throw a party. I bet everyone would chip in. Cam says that Jewell makes really good guacamole.”
If there’s one single, solitary thing that Paige hates more than Azzi coming to Lamborghini and ruining all their plans for a happy life, it’s that by doing so she’s put herself squarely in the crosshairs of a pissing match between team principals. Which is a dangerous place to be. Especially for someone like Azzi, who’s never been adept at or interested in playing political games.
“How sure are you?”
Soni hesitates. “I went to Sabrina,” she admits. “Because I wanted to know. And she wouldn’t say anything. Which kinda says to me…”
“That it’s definitely the truth,” Paige finishes for her, and Soni nods.
“And Sabrina was pissed,” Soni tells her, voice lowering a little bit even though they’re the only two people in the motor home, given that she’s perched in Paige’s bed and Paige is only wearing boxers and a sports bra. “Like so fucking furious, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen her that angry.”
“Azzi spent her break with Sabrina,” Paige blurts, because keeping it in doesn’t feel like it’s possible.
There’s part of her that feels badly — she hasn’t even had this conversation with Nika, with her Twin — but it’s not like Paige found out through any secret channels. It was on an Instragram carousel, for fucks sake.
“Or part of her break,” she allows. “I don’t know the details.”
Soni narrows her eyes. “They friends like that? I hadn’t realized.”
And that’s the thing, isn’t it.
“No. They aren’t. They weren’t.”
Maybe they’re best friends now. Maybe Azzi left Mercedes so she could be with Sabrina because they were secretly in love and spent all that time pining for each other under Paige’s nose. Maybe the sky is neon green and Haas will win the championship this year.
Too bad Paige has never met another human as heterosexual as Sabrina Ionescu. The love triangle idea would have legs if not for that.
“Get up,” Soni directs. She hands Paige the second iced coffee and stands up. “We have strat in forty-five and you can grow some ovaries and ask Azzi what the fuck is going on.”
She’s so mean, Paige is such a saint for putting up with such treatment. First from the girls in the garage — including Nika — and now from Soni.
“I don’t even like coffee,” Paige reminds her, as she does often.
“I know,” Soni says, soothingly. “I’m trying to help you become a better person.”
—--
The garage is already bustling when Paige and Soni enter from the paddock. Engineers and engineering assistants are scurrying around, clipboards and headsets and tablets abound. She and Soni split up — Paige grabs their tablets and Soni goes for the updated logistics binders — and they both walk into the conference room with their haul, exchanging a binder for a tablet.
Azzi is already seated, talking quietly with Caroline and Dorka, but she glances up as Paige and Soni walk in, sliding an agenda across the table silently.
She looks…fine. Not at ease, because it’s a race weekend and Paige can’t imagine a world where Azzi has any kind of happy-go-lucky attitude when they have to compete, but she certainly doesn’t look twisted into knots or like she’s got any additional worries than normal. Maybe she did see Gabby over the break. Gabby always had a way of re-centering Azzi.
“We waiting for Diana?” Soni asks it nonchalantly, as it becomes apparent that the rest of the engineers are gathered.
“No, she’s caught in meetings,” Dorka says, casual as can be. Like it’s a normal occurrence for Diana to miss the Saturday morning strategy session. “Alright, people, let’s get started. We’re running different strategies for FP3 this morning. Caroline, then Azzi. And then Azurá has some updates from the factory team.”
The strategy for Free Practice 3 isn’t all that interesting; go fast, check the fuel load on turns, figure out how the car can do in dirty air when people are going a little faster. Paige listens well and writes down anything that feels of high importance, but mostly she just lets the information wash over her.
“Paige, any discomfort yet? If we need to do any kind of padding again we absolutely can.”
She looks up at Dorka’s question. “No. No discomfort.”
“You sure?” Dorka’s asking like she’s checking boxes off; beside her, Azzi looks amused. She knows the truth.
“Yup.”
“Alright, keep us in the loop on this,” Dorka says. “We want to make sure we aren’t sending you into a relapse on anything.”
“Paige would rather have her rib amputated than have padding in the seat again,” Soni says, unhelpfully.
“We’ll keep that in mind for Suzuka,” Dorka mutters. Paige makes a mental note that Dorka will not be an ally when the time comes. From the way Azzi’s looking down at her notepad and smiling to herself, she’s clearly clocked the same thing as well, only the opposite.
“What’s the differential in dirty air on tyres?” Paige hasn’t seen any data that has given such indications and she’s been looking through the binder readouts since the meeting started.
“We won’t have that until after qualifying,” Dorka says, and she holds a hand up as both Paige and Soni begin to complain. “One of the sensors was malfunctioning yesterday so that’s why it’s not included in your data readouts. I cannot measure the difference myself with a thermometer so this is where we are. If you have additional concerns, I suggest you take them up with Diana yourselves during your one-on-ones.”
Soni looks genuinely annoyed, and Paige feels similarly. “So what’s the plan to mitigate during qualifying without the data?”
Dorka looks up, her eyebrow arched. “I guess you’ll just have to drive fast. Okay. That’s all for today.”
“I’ll… talk to Georgia,” Soni says very quietly as she and Paige gather their things. “She always has an ear to the ground.”
“If she comes to me I reserve the right to put her in a headlock,” Paige warns Soni.
The two of them don’t have much time to linger; they’re sent to get ready for FP3. Paige stretches first, by herself, and then again with DiJonai to incorporate resistance. They talk casually about recovery and what Paige needs to do at night to prepare, but all in all she feels pretty good.
“How’s your rib today?”
Paige isn’t impressed. “Was there a meeting? Everyone seems to be wondering.”
DiJonai shrugs. “Might be that people are worried about you because they, you know, care? Or they could be protecting their millions of dollars in investments.”
“So what am I to you, then,” Paige asks. “An investment?”
“You’re a pain in my ass,” DiJonai responds, ever sweet.
But after she gets Paige stretched and into the race suit she takes the water bottle and goes to fill it with some ice water, telling Paige they’ll meet up in the garage.
It leaves Paige alone in the hallway for a brief moment, until Azzi comes around the corner. Also by herself.
Paige is blessed by God herself. Absolutely favored.
“KK and Jana are deciding how to split some kind of prize pot and figuring out what they want to spend the money on,” Azzi says, her voice airy as she tosses the information at Paige like it’s a grenade and she wants to see how Paige’s body will react.
“Damn they’re bold,” Paige mutters. “How are the youth so confident?”
“KK’s your age,” Azzi reminds her.
“My confidence comes from my abilities on the track. KK’s comes from being born of pure chaos.”
“Wouldn’t it just be easier to tell me what this is about? I know you’re involved. They’re obviously involved — I’m sure they’re the origin point, actually. You know I’m going to find out anyway, probably.”
It’s not a long hallway, so they’ve realistically only got another ten seconds until they’re in the garage. The cacophony is already starting to permeate.
Paige just shrugs. “Eh. Chances are high you get distracted by a data sequencing model,” she says. And it’s meant as a cute little line but it’s also ninety-nine percent accurate, which is higher than the data sequencing models allege to be.
“I’m laser focused on this,” Azzi warns her.
“Better not let Diana find that out.” They’re engaging in what Paige might call banter, if she were to put a name to it, and the ease of slipping into old patterns feels so comfortable.
“You’re really not going to tell me?” Azzi sounds surprised. Like she does assume — correctly, probably — that she could get Paige to tell her anything.
“Ask KK and Jana,” Paige says with a smile.
She almost pushes to ask if Azzi knows what Diana and Sue were fighting about, but Azzi’s smiling and the moment feels too nice to ruin.
Because she looks so, so beautiful, in the morning light. Her curls are freshly washed and they’re springy, not frizzy, even though they’re pulled into a high topknot. Her Jordan’s are, as always, on her feet — it’s qualifying day, after all — and she’s in the three-quarter length leggings which show the curve of her calves. She missed a spot shaving on her shin, and the short hairs there catch the light in the rare sunspot that’s above them. It’s perpetually grey in the Netherlands, so Paige doesn’t know why the Dutch included skylights in their hallways around the racetrack paddock.
Paige lets herself imagine for one quick moment, what Azzi would look like in the mysterious purple dress. The shape wasn’t visible on the hanger, but it was long and slinky. Probably didn’t have back; Paige would take a lot of pleasure in kissing down Azzi’s spine.
“You like the Lamborghini girls,” Azzi says, her voice fond; it’s not an accusation but it falls somewhere past the vicinity of an observation.
“I like that they drive you crazy,” Paige says honestly, allowing the grin to take over her whole face. They must look like loons, smiling at each other as they walk into the garage.
Past Azzi, Paige can see Diana standing on the pit wall talking with Nika and Georgia, as well as a few other engineers.
“Have a good FP3,” Azzi says, leaving Paige by the door.
“You too,” Paige says, too quiet for Azzi to hear as she walks away.
—--
There are no revelations that come out about the fight between Diana and Sue or anything regarding Azzi. Soni comes up with a blank and Georgia isn’t able to pick up any gossip on the paddock — which means it really is kind of a secret. Azzi’s demeanor doesn’t change at all. In fact, she’s so pleased with Paige’s runs in FP3 that Azzi begins the debrief with a smile.
Heaven.
Diana is somewhat scarce but that isn’t all that uncommon; team principals have a lot of fucking bullshit to deal with. So Paige bides her time and makes it through the rest of the morning. She tells DiJonai to let her know if there’s any weird chatter about the paddock and she tells Nika what happened in between bites of bitterballen that she takes from the hospitality suite and eats quickly so DiJonai doesn’t see.
DiJonai does see and she promises Paige retribution in Monaco after the race. Whatever. Paige will sweat off the calories in the car on Sunday.
The main meeting space is full of people coming and going when Paige wanders by an hour after qualifying. She’s still in her overalls, though they’re unzipped to the waist, a Nike branded towel slung across her neck to help collect the sweat and the Lamborghini hat on backwards.
“Good job,” Diana says as she walks down the hall. She’s wearing boots with heels and it gives her a few inches on Paige, which feels disconcerting. “P2 is better than we were hoping for this weekend.”
“Thanks,” Paige says, but she’s half distracted by the tablet in her hand. “The upgrades McLaren’s bringing are going to make it difficult out there.” She tips the screen to show the comparison graphs to Diana.
“Do what you can do,” Diana shrugs. “We’re bringing a bigger aero tweak to Monza next week, we’ll close whatever gap opens up there.”
“Monza?” Paige raises her eyebrows. Given everything, she assumed any big changes would wait for North and South America.
It’s the first moment they’ve had alone since the dinner. The one-on-one that she usually has with Diana prior to qualifying got kicked because of a tyre pressure issue on Soni’s car, so it wasn’t the usual afternoon of saying how she feels or where her head is.
If Diana’s feeling agitated, or if she has any lingering frustration after the fight, Paige can’t read it on her. She seems a little tighter than usual, maybe, but nothing that someone would be able to pick up on if they weren’t looking for it. Like Paige is looking for it.
“We’re leading the Constructors’ Championship, Paige. I’m not looking to bring home second place this year. We’ll bring upgrades to keep ourselves ahead.”
“I’m feeling good about tomorrow,” Paige says. “I know this isn’t our strong circuit, but I’m ready to work.”
Diana nods, curtly. And then she’s off, leaving Paige in a cloud of money and the lingering scent of a power war.
—--
“Maybe they fought about the pipeline,” Nika suggests that night, when they’re gathered for dinner with the other girls.
Paige doesn’t love Azzi or what happened being the topics of conversation, but she’s quickly learned that nothing can keep Soni or Nika from hashing everything out like a scripted procedural show.
“Diana doesn’t care about the pipeline,” Georgia disagrees. “FIA haven’t even granted Lamborghini an F2 team. What could they be arguing about with that?”
They’re seated at the picnic table set up between Soni and Paige’s motorhomes. With the sun about to set, the temperature has come down a little; it’s pleasant enough to sit outside and enjoy the evening.
“It wasn’t about the pipeline,” Paige says. “Georgia’s right, Diana doesn’t give a shit about F2. Not until the this team has won.”
“And we will win,” Soni says. She and Paige tip the tops of their waterbottles toward each other. Nika and Georgia roll their eyes in unison.
“Spirito Toro blah blah blah,” Nika sighs. “This is a mystery and I want to know the answer.”
“What could they be fighting about yesterday,” Paige wonders aloud, though her voice is so low it’s really just muttering to herself. “Like, this weekend of all times.”
“First weekend back from break,” Soni supplies.
“If something came up in the Team Execs meeting why would they have fought at night about it?”
Georgia’s not wrong. The timing is odd. Paige frowns.
There are a thousand things that could have happened. Paige isn’t self-centered enough to think that she and Azzi dominate Diana or Sue’s thoughts at all moments of the day; both of them are trying to win, trying to lead teams to win a championship where millions of dollars are on the line.
But to fight over Azzi. Yesterday. Today. That’s the wrench in the plan.
“And we don’t feel like we can just ask Azzi about it,” Georgia adds, a statement more than a question.
Paige shakes her head. Sharp. Deliberate.
“No. Things are…” she bows her head, rubs at the back of her neck. “Things are…good this weekend. With us. Between us.”
She doesn’t say anything about the audio notes, because that feels incredibly private. All of it feels private, really. Paige would have preferred to suffer in silence about all of it, to keep herself hardened to the outside world.
But Georgia looks earnest. And Soni looks emotional. And Nika looks like she always does, but Nika doesn’t wear her emotions on her face.
They care. And that matters to Paige.
“I don’t want to rock the boat with Azzi,” she adds. “And we’re not gonna solve this, so let’s move on.”
All of them nod, and Georgia immediately perks up. “I know it’s bad karma, you don’t need to tell me, but I’m bloody thrilled with all these rumors about Sophie.”
Soni snorts. “God it would be great to not have to deal with her bullshit.”
The conversation devolves from there, as everyone rushes in to give their two cents. And there’s a lot to talk about because it’s the topic of the weekend; Red Bull has been meeting with young drivers and all the chatter on the internet is about Sophie fighting for her seat.
Paige has no opinion on the matter. Even though everyone is entitled to their own unique personal opinion.
—--
Race days are serious.
It’s not rainy but it’s grey; Paige checks the weather that was updated in the internal app, relieved that there’s such a low chance of rain. She slips out of bed, yawning as she stretches. She has her routine, the things that she needs to do to feel prepared.
And Paige wants to win. She always wants to win.
She wakes differently than she did yesterday. Yesterday brought thoughts and concerns. Revelations that answered nothing and created more questions.
That’s not today.
She’s methodical in her preparation, as she always is.
She takes out the diamond studs in her ears, attaching the backs to the post. They’re simple, the kind of jewelry that Paige can wear all the time - a gift from Azzi when she won her first F2 championship. She places them in their own little pocket of her jewelry case, next to the gold ring from Nika – their first championship together, back in F3 — and across from the other two pieces; an antique sapphire ring with gold detailing and a delicate little charm bracelet.
Paige showers, brushing and pulling her hair into a braid, and pulls on her clothing the same way. She doesn’t put lotion on her face because it’ll sweat out in the car and drip into her eyes, but she does smear chapstick across her lips and take a moment to meditate.
It’s not superstition, it’s habit. It’s hard work put into practice. It’s just how she does it.
By the time DiJonai knocks on the door, Paige feels well settled. She’s got a good read of the car this weekend, she’s feeling comfortable. The strategy sessions have gone well, implementation has been successful. Zandvoort might not be the circuit most aligned with Lamborghini’s car model, but they’ve had good pace. Good enough pace that Paige qualified P2. It’s not pole position, but it’s second on a weekend nobody thought would be as much of a success.
“You ready?”
DiJonai looks similarly focused. She’s suited up in the Lamborghini polo, a pair of aviators atop her head as she focuses on making sure Paige’s hydration bottle is prepared.
“I’m ready.”
—--
But it’s not all serious, it’s not every moment that needs to be. Paige brings pastries for the engineering girls —- arranged by the hospitality suite — but it’s a radical enough act to inspire adoration.
“Damn. You really gotta death wish,” Jana says, chewing a cherry danish. “Eating so close to the garage.”
“If Azurá catches us, I’m a hundred percent throwing you under the bus,” Kelis says, her eyes wide. She reaches in for a blueberry scone.
“Chill. Azurá loves Paige,” Nika lies. She’s got her little espresso cup, content with a liquid breakfast. She probably already ate a tree’s worth of bananas; Nika will tell anyone who’ll listen that Potassium is the secret to health.
“I’ll take the heat,” Paige promises. She arches an eyebrow at KK, a come hither glance that would make lesser lesbians pant.
“I don’t want your suck-up pastries,” KK says with a scoff. “You’re in this.”
“I got no second intentions,” Paige promises, a snake smile on her face. “I always pay my bets. And my debts. But I’m not going to need it.”
Kelis looks back and forth between them, eyes the size of saucers. She was an intern last year; the same kind of fellowship that Azzi had at Mercedes back in the day. Apparently Azzi took a liking to her and plucked her from the program, re-mapping Kelis’ entire career path with what probably amounted to barely more than an email.
“I can’t be here,” Kelis announces. “I can’t lie for shit, and Azzi’s digging around.”
She goes off, comes back, takes the pistachio donut, then re-exits.
“It’s cool that she’s in love with Azzi and not you,” Jana comments. She’s unashamedly drinking a Monster to wash down the danish.
“Chill, she’s sweet,” Paige says. “And everyone should be in love with Azzi,” she admits with a smile.
“You really are the most lovesick idiot in the world,” Jana says, aghast. “I can’t believe I thought you were cool.”
Paige laughs though the spike of discomfort. “I am cool. I’m just also this, I guess,” she says honestly. “It’s a dichotomy. I got layers.”
“A regular onion,” Nika mutters.
They talk for a bit since Paige doesn’t have obligations for another ten minutes, but they’re interrupted by — surprise, surprise — Azzi walking by.
“What is that smell it’s like sugar — Jana!”
Azzi’s face is aghast. She groans and closes her eyes, like that’s going to erase the picture right in front of her.
Jana holds her hands up, the shoulders of her polo stiff as she does. “Yo, it was Paige.”
Fucking traitor. She’s got cherry jelly all over her thumb.
“Raspberry tartlet?” Paige offers the platter to Azzi with the sweetest smile she can manage.
“There is a ten million dollar car beyond that wall,” Azzi lectures them. “A crumb could cause catastrophic damage to the engine and more importantly, Azurá would kill you. And then me. And then you again.”
But Azzi smiles as she takes the proffered cookie. Paige asked the kitchen to make them specially. She didn’t mention to them that Mercedes used to have them in rotation.
“I’m not going to save your asses if you’re caught,” Azzi says. She surveys the group of them with suspicion, clearly thinking about the bet that she “doesn’t know about” and nobody will cop to. She narrows her eyes in concentration, sweeping over each of them for a second. When she can’t locate a weak link, she harrumphs and wanders off.
Jana sighs. She glances at Paige and a wicked smile curls across her lips.
“I guess it’s nice to know that Azzi’s scared of someone too. You aren’t alone, Paige.”
“Bro, it’s raceday. I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to treat me with respect.”
“Being aggressively right with your elders is showing respect.”
Paige is going to enjoy taking five hundred euros from these two. She’s absolutely going to collect on it. And she’ll do something like host a happy hour for everyone but the two of them.
—--
She obviously loses the bet.
The race goes about as well as any of them could have hoped. Good start, good pace, good pit stops.
But it’s hard. It’s really hard.
Paige is slipping all over the place in the dirty air. Keeping the racing line means she’s doing her absolute best to control the tires, and it’s a slog. She doesn’t have the brainpower to divert to thinking about the bet, but its presence is there, in the back of her mind. Thrumming under her skin.
She can move off the racing line and it’ll earn her a little bit of a breather on the turns. She’ll lose an iota of pace and it wouldn’t make a difference in the long run, probably. But she doesn’t. She can’t bring herself to do it.
In an easy moment — because eventually Caitlin gets a good enough lead and Paige is ordered to let her go, thereby clearing the air — she wonders what other drivers would do in the same situation. Not the bet, not the situation of gambling for Paige’s dignity, but generally.
Sabrina would do precisely what she wanted. She would make the decision look like something she was committed to, it wouldn’t be a mumbled apology. I’m focused on keeping position, she’d say. Not on losing two tenths. We can discuss in debrief.
And it’s not just because she’s a veteran, a world champion. That’s the easy out, the obvious give.
Because Soni would say no as well, Paige thinks. She’d say it sweetly and she’d be a little apologetic, but she’d do it. I’m struggling with grip. I’m moving the racing line for a few laps. Help me manage pace between turns.
But everyone knows Azzi wouldn’t like that. Would never give up two tenths just to make things a little easier. The racing line is the racing line.
What people don’t know but Paige does, is that Azzi privately thinks holding the racing line is really the mark of how good a driver is. If you can hold it, if you can streamline your race and make your time spikes as consistent as possible, she’s got just a little more respect.
It’s worked into the strategy as efficiency, officially, but Paige knows it’s more than just doing things by the book. More than about following the map.
And she can’t move off the racing line.
Paige started second and she ends P2, because even though McLaren have pace, they fuck up Marina’s pit stop and didn’t have good qualifying laps. Caitlin takes P1, which means the gap between them widens to fourteen points. Thankfully, Soni breezes through in P3, and Sophie ends just outside the top ten, which means she doesn’t take any points home for Red Bull. The chatter about her seat will only increase over the next week.
Paige and Soni stand nicely for the anthem, then douse each other in champagne. She shakes it out of her hair like a wet dog, her skin already sticky. On top for the day, Caitlin is all robotic smiles, and the Red Bull team celebrates below — but P1 when your second driver doesn’t even make the points isn’t enough of a boost for your team. Red Bull adds twenty-five points to their standing in the Constructors’ Championship, but Lamborghini adds thirty-three, keeping them in first place and widening the gap with McLaren.
After the ceremony, after press and a quick shower and sponsor obligations, Paige pops into the engineering debrief.
“Tyres were shit,” she says, and Jana raises her eyebrows in satisfaction. They fistbump in silence. “I lost traction on the front left too quickly.”
“Same for me,” Soni chimes. “But without dirty air I had a much easier time in Sector 2.”
“I really couldn’t say,” Paige laughs. It’s not dry or sarcastic, but it’s an acknowledgement. “Dirty air made it hard to combat understeer.”
There’s a brief moment that KK’s eyes flick up and meet Paige’s across the table. Jana very specifically doesn’t look up from her lap output chart.
They all know what happened. Paige had the opportunity to evade dirty air by sliding off the racing line and she didn’t take it. And at least five people sitting at the table know why.
—--
The masseuse is finishing up when Nika pops in. She’s being flown to Sant'Agata tonight so she can be at the factory bright and early tomorrow; with no week off between races, there’s no time to be wasted.
“Feeling okay? Rough ride out there.”
Paige shrugs. “Tired,” she admits. “Coming back from vacation, I guess.”
Nika snorts. “It’s not an office job.”
“Nah, it’s way better,” Paige agrees.
The best thing about Nika is she always knows what Paige needs. She doesn’t give platitudes or try to hype Paige up. The events of the day, of the weekend, they’re seeping into Paige’s bones. She’s got to wake up with them tomorrow, crystalized into the marrow of her bones. Heavy.
“You drove a good race,” Nika says. “A lot of things went well this weekend.”
“I know. Thanks.” Paige reaches for the fist bump and Nika doesn’t leave her hanging. “Safe flight,” Paige says, because that’s what they started saying early in their time together and it became their thing.
“You too. Heading with Caitlin?”
“Nah, catching with Phee tonight.”
And then Nika’s gone and Paige is left to her own devices. She packs her bag, her movements slow. The private airstrips get busy, this time of night. All the money leaves right after the race, if they aren’t staying for celebration. For P2 and P3 Lamborghini isn’t throwing any kind of rager, so Paige is still heading out tonight but has to wait; Phee says they got bumped down the airfield queue.
Paige has almost forty-five minutes to kill before she and Phee are scheduled for their car to the airstrip, and she opts to kill the time outside.
She does the conversion on 500 euro to dollars — Jana’s right, the dollar fucking sucks, capitalist pigs ruling the world — and then sends the money via Venmo. They’re going to America soon anyway, might as well start thinking in USD.
It’s a strange feeling of personal failure, because she knows all she had to do was move off the racing line. She just chose not to. Because she hated the idea of disappointing Azzi, of going against what she’d want her to do just on principle.
It makes her feel more pathetic than she’s been in a few days.
It’s dusk out, which is nice. Paige pops her headphones in and picks a post-race playlist she curated specifically for this kind of mood. Where not winning the race still means winning the day; an uneasy sort of success. Music helps a little, and she wanders about with medium pace, not making eye contact with anyone she passes, or lingering to chat.
Mac Miller features heavily; enough pep and beat to feel like celebration but not enough hype to feel like a winner. Paige skips some songs and repeats others, curating the music to match her mood, working to adjust her mood to match the music.
She rounds the corner to the pick-up lot and sees Azzi sitting on a bench, one knee hiked up. She’s got a duffle bag at her foot, a backpack at her side, and a cigarette dangling between her fingers, her phone lit up as she tries to type with just the thumb on her other hand.
“Hey.”
Azzi looks over, surprised. She’s still wearing the polo and her leggings. She hasn’t showered or shed her skin the way Paige has. She doesn’t look comfortable. Certainly not cozy.
There are people around them, waiting a few feet away here and there, talking in small groups or on their phones as they wait for the team-organized rideshares. Paige nods at a few of them, but she takes the few extra steps to get nearer to Azzi, to sit on the bench beside her.
Watching Azzi take a drag isn’t nice. She holds the cigarette to the side with the hand farthest from Paige, like maybe removing it from Paige’s line of sight will have an impact on how she reacts.
Paige closes her eyes and breathes out the urge to ask why and say please stop. She feels annoyed for a half second, that Azzi spent so many years smoking joints and that stupid bowl that she named Bilbo Baggins because she always loved The Hobbit and she thought the pun was funny. Maybe if she hadn’t been such a pothead switching to cigarettes wouldn’t have been easy. Paige glances over, sees Azzi scratching at the knee of the nylon-spandex blend of her leggings. Azzi doesn’t look over.
So it’s out there; Paige sighs.
“Who told you?”
“Kelis, obviously.”
Paige chuckles. “You’re abusing her crush on you.”
She gives Paige a side look, her eyes probing. Bracing for impact, probably.
Because they both know Paige hates losing. But Paige has made and broken promises to herself too many times in the last year to fail at another round of self improvement. She just sighs, long and deep, and kicks her foot against the one Azzi has on the ground.
“It’s okay.” Paige rolls her neck. “I’m okay.”
“It was an easy bet,” Azzi says, like she can’t help herself.
“Yeah,” she shrugs, unapologetic. “I shouldn’t have made it.”
“You’re not scared of me.” There’s surety in Azzi’s voice. She’s not looking for answers, or probing on assumptions.
“No,” Paige responds quietly. She links her fingers together, rests them across her stomach. Tries to form her lips into a smile. “But maybe I should be.”
Maybe it would be easier, she means.
Azzi ignores the personal flotation device that Paige has thrown.
“You know I think posturing and the showmanship of drivers is asinine,” she says, matter-of-fact. “And I know there’s a whole part to what you do that I don’t have insight into. Because I don’t care,” she adds, like she wants to be especially clear about that.
Paige snorts. “Yeah, I know.”
Azzi’s never given a shit about the personas the drivers adopt, about the way they all have to be top dog and flaunt their power and ability.
And Paige wishes it were just a front, just something she needed to do to save face. But she’s part driver; it’s a concrete section of who she is. Right next to the need for speed, the craving to be a winner at all costs. Losing has never been easy to take. Losing by choice makes it all the worse.
“But I wouldn’t blame you. I wouldn’t think less of you. We’d hardly lose more than a few tenths and you’d have had traction, if you’d just told me about this stupid bet I’d have told you to do what you needed to do to win it—”
“Azzi,” Paige cuts her off. She looks over, waits for the beat it takes Azzi to meet her gaze. “I’m a big girl. I made my decisions.”
It feels like the moment elongates as the words settle between them; it’s not rushed, not the frenzied pace that everything else is during a race weekend. The air is rich with implication, with history, with all that happened before. Azzi doesn’t ask why Paige made the decisions she did.
“You drove really well today,” is what Azzi says, finally. She takes another drag of the cigarette.
Paige wants to ask if the cigarettes are an all the time thing. If Azzi lets herself have one a day, or if it’s more; is it a pack every few days? Every day? She doesn’t ask, though, because if the answer isn’t one that feels palatable then it’ll make it harder to stick to her intentions.
“Thank you.” The moment feels like it's too full, and Paige doesn’t want to end on any kind of note that feels unfinished, so she nods her head toward one of the sprinter vans that pulls into the roundabout; there’s a sign in the window that says ALPINE. “You waiting on a team ride?”
Azzi shakes her head. “I’m flying with Diana. We have a call with the factory team about the upgrades they’re bringing next weekend.”
Does Azzi know what the fight was about, between Diana and Sue? Does Azzi even know about the fight? Two questions on the tip of her tongue and a hundred more tucked into the recesses of her mouth, the base of her brain, the dip of her spine. Paige wants to know all of it and she wants it now.
Will they talk about more than the upgrades coming to the car on the plane ride? There’s a lot that brims between them, between Azzi and Diana; just because Paige doesn’t know the depth of it all doesn’t make it a secret.
Just makes it none of her business.
It takes everything that she has in her to stand up, to introduce space between them. All she wants is to sit next to Azzi, to curl into her. Azzi used to debrief with her after every race; she’d get the data readouts from Stef in F3, and then from Stewie when Paige moved up to F2. Azzi would sit with Paige on the plane ride back or at night on the Monday after a race and go over everything together. It became Paige’s favorite way to wind down from a race weekend.
She can’t believe she ever took Azzi’s time for granted.
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” she says. One step. Two.
“I’ll see you in Monza,” Azzi replies, in lieu of saying goodbye.
no no no u can post it 🥹🥹🥹🥹 only if u want but also like its still winter 🥹🥹🥹
very small snippet of the very unfinished rough draft sitting in my notes. I'll let you all decide: do you want the (outdated) winter/christmas oneshot? Or should I just focus on my current works?
✸ TRITWWISIYTSTICS ⤷ chapter viii. all water has a perfect memory.
read on ao3.
masterlist: here.
cw: heavy angst, arguments about things that are not as big as they seem, child in distress, selective mutism (kit), my two faves: grief & mourning, references to past trauma/loss, animal encounter/threat (non-graphic), blood/minor injuries, discussions of death and loss, complicated family dynamics, emotional breakdown, everyone is going through it, love as both comfort and friction.
note: thank you for being patient with me. the end of 2025 was genuinely one of the bleakest of my life, and i feel more renewed as we begin to finish january. i hope this makes up for all the time spent away from this world, and i look forward to hearing what you think. i've also updated the chapter count from ten to twelve, because of restructuring.
hope you're all doing well and staying safe during the blizzard. love you so much. x
azzi woke not to sunlight or the earth’s shift beneath paige’s footsteps, but to the small tug of fingers in the tight snarl of her hair. kit’s face was pressed deeply against her chest, searching and freshly hot with sleep, her eyes wide and glassy when azzi gently tugged her backward and sluggishly blinked down at her.
“hungry,” kit whispered, and the word was so simple, so small, yet it nearly felled both of them.
azzi swallowed, smoothed her curls, and bent to kiss the crown of her head. she closed her eyes, took in the scent of smoke and a slight sickness, the innate tenderness that came with being a child—that particular sweetness every single one carried even through the end of the world. she felt paige shift at her back, half-rising already, but azzi touched her arm.
“i’ve got her.”
azzi’s own rise wasn’t typical of her, but she didn’t necessarily mind. her body felt heavy with yesterday—the core of her left smoking behind them—and all of the ghostly faces that followed her in memory, that she hadn't been able to carry out. kit clung to her through every minute motion, hands frail and desperate as she shifted this way and that. azzi said nothing, did nothing to rebuke her. she probably needed this, having gone without her mother for so long in a way her mind had been unable to make sense of.
it was a terrible thing, having to learn so young that the people you loved could simply vanish, could become part of the smoke. for a moment, azzi remembered the plane crash, the way the cloud had ascended with all its ash and all her family inside of it.
the memory brought a fresh surge of tears, and azzi fully grasped kit then, her hands coming to prop the little girl on her hip as they carefully made their way through their shelter. she could feel paige’s gaze like two circles of ice against her neck, twins, anxious for her to turn back and reconnect them.
paige, who had held her through the screaming last night and nearly every night before that. paige, who had said nothing when azzi's body had left her control and transformed into something else entirely. all of that open throat and grief and animal sound. all that endless pouring.
but azzi was focusing on kit, now. she had to, or else this great lake inside of her would pool inward, and she would be unable to ever move again. and if she looked at paige—paige, with her hair like pale fire. paige, with her roots seeding in, like upturned earth. paige, who had killed those men yesterday to get them out—azzi knew she’d crumble. she would stumble somewhere inside her head, collapse.
and that—that wouldn’t be fair to anyone.
outside, the world was silent, and azzi felt something loosen in her chest. she had a latent fear that all of her screaming from the night before, her much-needed release, had led someone to them. she’d felt her whole body tighten minutely as she stepped off the landing, but her feet only touched deadened grass, and she and kit remained standing. the barn stood skeletal around them, its ribs exposed to the sky like a body half-eaten.
small mercies.
outside the ruin of the barn, she found a basin half-sunk in weeds. the water inside was cloudy, rimmed with dirt and nearly-deceased leaves, but azzi looked into it and only saw its potential for usefulness. this was her doctor’s mind, constantly weaving solutions out of the little she had. she looked back at kit, who met her wide-eyed and silent, and decided to believe in it.
with a grunt, azzi swapped their places—kit now clinging to her knee and the basin on her hip instead—and carried it in, setting it to boil over the new flame paige had conjured since she’d left, allowing it to sit until steam curled against her face.
she stripped kit’s shirt, gentle with the knots of her hair, and traced the jagged ridges of her spine before pressing a loose kiss to the back of her head. each vertebra felt like a prayer bead beneath her fingertips, small pearls of survival—spheres of miracles. she restrained herself from the urge to begin whispering the rosary.
“in you go,” she cooed softly, and kit slipped easily from her hands and into the water. a small laugh shook free from some dark, bruised spot beneath her ribs.
azzi smiled at the sound and set about bathing her with ragged strips of cloth, the product of pitiful tears of what used to be one of her sleep shirts. she dipped them back and forth, into the warmth, out into the cold, where it couldn’t retain heat for more than a minute. for the most part, kit sat quietly, pliant, letting herself be washed as she had long ago forgotten what it meant to be tended to.
or maybe she was only now remembering.
azzi worked methodically: behind the ears, the creases of elbows, the dirt-dark crescents beneath kit’s nails. she wrung the water from her own hands, stared at the dirt swirling down the basin. it felt like nothing, only another burial, only another cleansing once again forced. she screwed her eyes shut tightly until the black behind them began to spark, and then wrenched them open again.
azzi thought of the people she'd left behind, the garden she'd tended for years, the small room with the windows left open. all of it ash, energy returned to the earth, or soon to be. all of it unreachable as the dead.
but kit was here. kit was warm and alive and laughing intermittently as azzi poured water over the brown slope of her shoulders.
she could still feel paige behind her. nothing, she wanted to tell her. nothing. you have done nothing. it’s me. i am my mind’s own malignant occupier. i am unable to hold my own, to reconcile with being saved.
but she couldn’t, so instead she reached behind herself and grasped at the air until she felt paige’s calloused palm settle against her own. she squeezed it for a long moment, and paige squeezed back, and for a moment it was as if they were both naked and able to see the inner workings of the other’s body—of the other’s heart. as if paige could see the way azzi was dissolving and reconstructing something brand new inside herself: not quite mother, no longer doctor, but something nurturing born of necessity and love and the simple fact that kit needed her and azzi, against all odds, needed to be needed.
she felt paige settle, her energy sweeping from nervous to understanding. they let go, and azzi was bereft again.
“i don’t regret it. i don’t—the saving. you. i don’t. i will never.”
she felt paige go still, and she knew it was more out of confusion than anything else. azzi hadn’t said anything up until this moment, but she trusted paige to understand. after a long silence, paige came in close, and notes of pine swaddled azzi until she felt immovable in a critically required way.
“i know, baby,” was all paige said, and then she leaned in, tucked in some so she could come further down, and wielded a kiss to azzi’s neck.
when she pulled back, it was as if a pressure had been adjusted, slightly released. azzi felt the tears rise, and her eyes closed again. kit’s palm, miniature and flooded with life, came to her wrist.
azzi rocked back, straightened. turned back to the water.
paige bathed her.
she knew that azzi was tired, and moreso, she knew that every minute they could spend alone would only increase in its importance. this was what children, family, did to you. it stripped away any walls or designs of privacy, any seconds of silence, which in a way was good—a strengthened connection. but at times it did nothing but strip, did nothing but chafe at the skin.
paige knew that something in azzi had fallen away, and she also knew that grief tended to misfire. she could handle the misfiring; it was nothing but another gun, another firearm that paige could eventually flick the safety on. she could handle the bouts of anger azzi fell privy to the longer they stayed in this shackle of a barn, the longer azzi brushed kit’s hair into something more manageable, only to have it ruined the moment kit stepped outside to play.
but what paige felt the most helpless against was the crying spells.
azzi kept collapsing, moments of wild unspoolings into tears. and she did it everywhere; nowhere was safe from whatever plagued her. she cried in the basin underneath paige’s hands, she cried in their makeshift kitchen over the water spiced with turmeric and nutmeg that azzi had slipped from their old home, tea she used to make for my mother from what little paige understood. tea, she could barely drink.
azzi cried occasionally on their walks together—her and paige, paige and her, and kit—but cried the most on her walks alone. terrible, miniature hiccups of isolated grief, discovered only through the careful distance paige implemented when following her so that she would not get lost.
or worse.
sometimes, azzi barely got into the act of crying. she would freeze on the floor, swaddled in their bed, and slowly tear up and then settle before the drop happens. silently, and very fast. paige chose to interpret these as small victories. but still, she was at a loss for what to do.
azzi’s face had become a meteorological system she could not predict; her body a planet with its own environmental disasters. some days, paige thought she might just crack straight down the center.
i want to weather you, paige ached to say, but her throat always closed in the face of azzi’s unhappiness, and so she said nothing.
it had reached a point at which paige thought it might last forever.
but she was learning that the woman she loved was as tidal as one could be when in a body made 70% of water. so it didn’t last forever, and the change was as swift as a blade sweeping down to slit a throat, engraved with one’s lover’s name to make the pain sweeter.
it started with a day grey and dismal with rain, and with the map.
azzi pulled it from paige's pack while she was outside checking their perimeter for what must’ve been the hundredth time today alone. her hands shook with anxiety that rose unbidden and had no origin to claim as she unfolded the creased paper across the warped floorboards, her feet bracing like a dancer’s to take most of her weight as she crouched. kit sat dutifully in the corner, watching her with those too-wide eyes, inês's sweater clutched in her lap like a talisman. she had barely spoken since they'd found her in her mother's kitchen. only a word here and there, to not a word at all.
just days before, she had been laughing freely in the tub, and now she only watched on with those eyes, dark and fathomless, tracking everything like something vulpine.
azzi traced the route paige had shown her previously, everything well-marked—countless rivers, every road that might still be passable, the port circled in fading lilac pencil at the coast. her finger kept returning to that circle, pressing into it like she could will them there through the paper itself. the circle itself was really a spiral of lines overlapping, and the trail felt waxen, like that of a colored pencil.
the thought made azzi smile briefly. her paige, hunched over like a child, a box of art tools spilled across her lap as she carefully selected different tones for all of her different places, color-coding every dream. azzi’s heart squeezed with enough affection to make her lean back and away from the map, less compelled than she’d been before.
but when paige came back in, rifle slung across her shoulders and face ruddy from the cold, azzi was returned to her former position. she barely glanced at her, only granting a terse look up.
"we need to leave," she said.
paige paused mid-step, mud melting off her boots onto the floor. "i know. i'm working on—"
"no. today." azzi's finger tapped the port, once, twice. "we need to figure out how to get there. how long it'll take. what we need."
paige crossed to her slowly, knelt down beside the map. her hand hovered over azzi's for a moment before settling on the floor instead. "okay. yeah. that makes sense. we can start planning—"
"i don't want to plan." azzi's voice was flat, and she could feel something coiling tighter in her chest. her head suddenly seared with pain, as if struck on one side. "i want to go. i want to get there and find a place and—" she stopped, swallowed. "and stay. i want to stay somewhere."
"we will." paige's voice had that careful quality to it, like she was talking to someone on a ledge. "but we need to be smart about the route. there's—"
"i know we need to be smart." azzi finally looked at her, and she could see paige register something in her face, some wildness. she had the odd thought that paige almost looked afraid. she nearly laughed, and her stomach contracted with the effort to hold it in. "i'm not stupid, paige. i know it's dangerous. i know we have to be careful. the rain will soon turn into snow. the waters will freeze. we need to be there beforehand.”
paige nodded, tried to show azzi that she was not discounting her concerns, but azzi continued without looking at her.
“but i can't—" azzi hands fisted in the map. that purple, waxen circle curshed into something smaller. "i can't keep doing this. i can't keep moving through places like i’m a ghost. i am alive and tired, and i feel—i need something that stays."
paige suddenly remembered that they were no longer just two and turned to glance over at kit, blonde hair tumbling down her back like a flaxen sheet. she found that the girl had gone very still in her corner.
"azzi—"
"don't." the word came out harder than azzi had meant it. "don’t. do not—i don’t need another reason.”
paige felt a surge of irritation then, and she jerked her head toward kit, the movement so sudden that a muscle in her neck twitched. azzi pushed a hot rush of air through her nose, her jaw tightening.
“yes, i know, paige. i know she's listening. i know she's here. i take care of her.” that was a low blow, and immediately, azzi wanted to take it back. “that's not what i'm—" azzi pressed her palms to her eyes. "i just need to know we're going toward something. that there's an endpoint. that we're not just going to keep running until there's nothing left of us."
"there will be something left." paige's jaw was equally tight now, and azzi could see her trying to hold something back. "we're going to get there. but if we rush, if we don't think it through—"
"i'm not asking to rush."
it was a lie, and not a very good one. because azzi was asking for that, for a sense of urgency that matched the building swell that seemed to swallow her body every evening, every morning, inbetween.
azzi's voice rose despite herself.
"all that i’m asking is for us to have a plan that isn't just 'survive today.' i'm asking to talk about what happens when we get there. if we get a house. if we—if we can plant something again. if—"
"we can talk about that when we're safe."
the words landed like a slap.
azzi stared at her, hands dropping to her sides. paige watched them twitch in place, fingers flinching with ghosts of movement, her entire body something phantasmal.
"when we're safe? and when is that, paige? when we get to the port? or when we get on a boat? or when we get to wherever the fuck we're going after that?" her hands were shaking now, her brown eyes suddenly amber, fever-bright. "do you have a date, then? when do i get to stop living in the next five minutes?"
paige felt herself splinter, then coalesce into something hard. her face had calcified, that soldier's mask sliding into place.
"you can’t expect me to fucking know everything, az. i’m trying. fuck, am i trying. no, i don’t have a fucking date,” she practically spat the word, “but i know that at least when we're not being hunted, when there aren't raiders burning down everything we built, we can start—"
"i know that!" azzi roared. she was standing now, didn't remember getting up. "i know what we lost. i was there. i watched it burn. i left her in that house, my house, paige—"
"our house,” paige hissed, and azzi felt something collapse inside of herself, finally soothed.
our. a tasting of the word, bittersweet on her tongue.
oddly, she had needed this correction, this confirmation that paige still desired her, still desired to love her despite the hell they found themselves living in.
paige continued, “and you didn't. you didn’t—her ashes are right here—"
"it's not the same!" the words ripped out of her. "it's not the same, and you know it. i left her room. i left the garden. i left everything i built after she—after i—" her breath was coming too fast now. "and i can't keep doing it. i can't keep building things just to watch them burn. i need—i need to believe the next place will be different. that we can stay. that i can—"
she cut herself off, but paige finished it anyway.
"that you can what? bring her back?" paige was standing too now, and there was something unbearably raw in her voice. azzi spun away from it, from kit still frozen in her corner with her limbs so small, and faced the wall. "you think getting to the port is going to fix—"
"don't you dare." azzi's voice went quiet, even, and that was worse than the yelling. "don't you fucking dare tell me what i think this will fix. you don’t know anything about her, about what i want to fix—”
“yes, i do, azzi,” paige shouted. “i live with inês every fucking day!”
the name did it, burst through. the room folded, vacuumed into the black hole of startled silence.
then,
"azzi, i—what do you want me to say?" paige's hands spread wide, helpless, voice beating against azzi’s back—desperate. "you want me to promise you we'll get there and everything will be fine? that we'll find another house and plant another garden, and nothing bad will ever happen again? i can't—baby, i can't promise that. god, i want to so badly, but i just can’t. all i can do is try to keep you safe, to keep us alive long enough to have a goddamn chance. a good one.”
"and that's enough for you?" azzi's said quietly, her shoulders loosening with a hollow laugh. "staying alive? moving from one place to the next, always looking over your shoulder, never—just that?" she stopped. started again. "you get to turn it off. you are so good at blocking it out. you compartmentalize. put it all in boxes and focus on the mission. but i can't do that. i never get a moment. i can't stop feeling it for a single fucking second, long enough to just—"
"you think i'm not feeling it?" paige's voice snapped, went ragged. it reminded azzi of how she cleaned her rifle at night. click. slide. click. slide. "you think i don't—every time i close my eyes, i see them. the people at the commune. the fire. your face when you came out of that room. my family. drew. you think i'm not—" she stopped, shook her head. "i'm doing what i know how to do. i'm trying to keep us moving because if we stop, if we—"
"if we what? grieve it?" azzi stepped closer. "that's what you're afraid of, isn't it? you’ve never allowed yourself that, paige. if you take the time to actually grieve what you’ve lost, maybe you'll—"
"i'll, what, azzi? fall apart like you?"
the silence that followed was devastating.
paige's face went white, beautiful and bloodless. azzi felt all the air leave her.
"baby, fuck, i didn't—"
"yes," azzi's voice was very quiet, "you did."
from the corner, a small sound. both of them turned.
kit had stood up, the sweater falling from her lap. her face was crumpling, tears skating down her cheeks in small tracks of salt, hands clutching at her own arms like she was trying to keep every inch of herself tucked in neatly. scared of making a mess, every inch of the child she was.
azzi noticed, with increasing dread, that she was shaking.
"sweetheart—" azzi started toward her, but kit stumbled backward.
the little girl looked between them, eyes wild and wet, and then she turned and ran.
the door slammed open, and gusts of cold air rushed in, greedy and heedless.
"fuck—" paige was already moving, grabbing her rifle, but azzi was faster.
she ran out into the afternoon, barefoot again, the cold biting at her soles. "kit!"
the meadow beyond the barn was empty, a hydrosphere of tall grass bending in the wind. not a slip of skin or a hint of a shirt. no small body.
nothing.
nothing at all.
paige was beside her now, scanning the tree line with those sharp eyes. "which way—"
"i don't know." azzi's voice was breaking. "i don't—she could be anywhere. paige—"
"we'll find her." paige's hand caught her elbow, squeezed once. "you go left along the tree line. i'll go right. we meet back here in ten minutes if we don't find her. whistle if you see her."
“i can’t—” azzi laughed then, overwhelmed. “i can’t whistle like that. i can’t. never been able to.”
paige cupped a firm hand around her cheek, pulled them together until their foreheads met.
“then scream.” she shuttered azzi’s every worry with a hard, hot kiss. “i know the dangers. i don’t care. you scream. i will find you.”
the woods had swallowed kit whole, and azzi felt like she had been devoured, too.
her stomach felt distended: with air, with panic, with the terrible certainty that this was her fault. she crashed through underbrush that tore at her clothes, that left thin red lines along her arms and legs, miniature snakes of blood dripping guilelessly. hooks of brambles caught in her hair, tugging her curls tight with glee, and a branch whipped across her face, though she barely felt it.
"kit!" her throat was going sore, her voice made primitive with the gravity of her fear. "katharine! sweetheart, can you hear me?"
she gave, and received nothing in return. only the wind moving idly through the trees, the distant cry of a bird unknown, the horrible silence bereft of a child; her child, their daughter, who couldn't answer even if she wanted to.
azzi pushed deeper, her mind overactive with the cataloguing of dangers, relentless in the same way as her heart—the muscle thudding and pounding, hoping to find a way to beat free of her chest, bloodied and gasping. so much could occur, she thought futilely: hypothermia, wild animals, falls, raiders who might still be searching the area. kit was small and silent and so, so fragile. her bones would withstand nothing, would cleave easily, the ends stark white like snow.
this is my fault, azzi’s mind chanted. all my fault. fighting in front of her. speaking of leaving. ignoring paige’s instincts to watch her, to pay attention. my fault, my fault, my—
she heard paige somewhere to the east, calling kit's name in a voice azzi had never heard her use, high and cracking and despairing. it should have been comforting, and in a way it was. she could picture an aerial view of the three of them, running, moving in the off-color sphere of love, a circle of constant question and answer.
yes, i will run. yes, i will chase. yes, i will find you. yes, there is still love.
but mostly, the sound of her woman, her soldier, near-shrieking with terror, only made azzi’s fear worse.
the sun was climbing, turning the frost on the grass to diamonds, and azzi thought distantly that kit would be cold, clothed in just her thin shirt. she'd be scared. she might not even be looking to be found.
then—there. a flash of pink caught on a low branch at the edge of a meadow.
azzi ran faster, her lungs burning, and grabbed the fabric. kit's shirt—a piece of it, torn. she held it to her chest for a moment, felt something fissure along her shoulder blades, then forced herself to move.
the meadow was beautiful in the afternoon, an assemblage of golden grass blazing under the light, dotted with the skeletal remains of wildflowers. peaceful.
and empty.
azzi turned in a slow circle, scanning, and that's when she heard it: a small, hitching breath. coming low, from the ground. quickly, she dropped to her knees, pressed her ear to the earth. there—muffled, but unmistakable. kit's breath, arriving fast and frightened.
azzi's eyes found it with a singular focus: a den entrance, half-hidden in the roots of an old oak tree, the opening small and gaping and dark, partially obscured by dead grass. a perfect place, the kind of shelter a frightened creature might fight with, might crawl into to hide. the kind of place where other things, too, might already be hiding.
she tried her best to whistle, but the sound sputtered and wouldn’t come, so azzi cried out, sharp and loud. she heard paige's answering call from somewhere in the woods, but there wasn't time to wait.
azzi got on her hands and knees, all fours, nothing but an animal, slotting her face as close as she could to the den.
"kit? sweetheart, can you hear me?"
a small sound. but azzi hadn’t expected any words—kit didn't have those anymore. she simply needed any form of acknowledgment. even one borne from fear.
"i'm here, baby. i'm right here." azzi kept her voice soft, calm, even though her heart was trying to strangle her. "i need you to stay very still, okay? very quiet. i'm coming to get you."
another sound from inside the den. decidedly not kit.
something else.
azzi went very still, listening. there, the soft rustle of movement. a peculiar rhythm of breathing that wasn't human. her medical training kicked in, again cataloguing: size of the den, likely occupants, threat level. fox, probably. maybe a badger. an animal, most definitely. possibly with teeth, and more importantly, exceptionally cornered.
she heard paige crash into the meadow behind her, heard the rifle come up. "azzi—"
"she's in there," azzi said without turning, placing a hand out. "i think there’s something else, too. she’s not alone."
paige was beside her in an instant, thighs tucked beneath her, peering at the den entrance. azzi watched her face cycle through every assessment: angles, risks, probabilities.
"okay. let me—i can—"
"no,” azzi cut her off. “you won't fit."
she was already pulling off her outer flannel, wrapping it around her forearm. "and if you shoot, the sound in that small space—kit's ears."
she left it at that, didn’t continue. there wasn’t a need to.
paige's jaw was rigid enough to crack, near shattering. "azzi. if it attacks—"
"then it attacks. and you shoot it when i come out." azzi looked at her, held her gaze with her own, stygian and immeasurable. "she's ours. our daughter. i'm not leaving her in there. you know this."
something in paige's face broke and reformed. she nodded once, then positioned herself at the entrance, rifle ready. "i'll be right here. you're not—i’m right here."
and azzi knew that she was really saying something else.
she took a deep breath, lungs ballooning with a taste like earth and terror, and then lowered herself into the dark.
the entrance was narrow, barely wider than her shoulders. dirt crumbled into her hair as she crawled forward, roots catching at her calves and inner thighs. the wrapped flannel along her arm scraped against stone, and she felt something tear. fabric or skin; she was unable to tell. adrenaline masked any pain that could’ve acted as her answer.
the smell hit her then: musk and stale soil and the wild, sharp scent of another mammal.
"kit," she whispered. "keep breathing for me, sweetheart. i can hear you. i’m coming."
a small, frightened sound from deeper in.
azzi's eyes adjusted slowly. the den opened up a few feet within, just enough for her to lift her head with only a slight strain to her neck and back. and there, kit, pressed against the far earthen wall, small face streaked with dirt and tears, whole body shaking. her mouth was perched open, frozen as though she had wanted to scream but couldn't, had forgotten how right in the middle.
and between them: the fox.
it was pressed low to the ground, ears back, teeth bared. its eyes caught what little light filtered in from the entrance, glowing russet and feral. but it wasn't looking at her daughter.
in fact, it was looking past her.
azzi went stockstill, following the fox's gaze. she could see it now, tucked carefully in the chamber, barely visible in the shadows. ripples of movement. small bodies, tumbling over each other. the high, chittering sounds of kits.
oh.
understanding settled over azzi like snow. the fox wasn't hunting them, wasn't even particularly aggressive. it was a mother, defending her young from an intruder. from kit, who had crawled into her home. and now from azzi.
the fox's lip curled back further, showing more teeth. a warning, matrilineal.
azzi's breath caught. she looked at the fox, at its kits tumbling in the shadows, at her own kit pressed against the wall between them. at this standoff, two mothers in a dark space, both terrified, both willing to enact violence to protect what was theirs.
"i know," azzi said softly, and her voice shook. "i know. she's mine. they're yours. i know."
the fox growled, low in its throat. its body coiled tighter, ready to spring.
azzi began to move, infinitely slow. one hand forward, then a knee. the flannel around her other arm dragging in the dirt like a funeral shroud. the fox's eyes tracked every jerk of muscle and limb, every rise of breath.
"i'm just getting her back," azzi whispered. "that's all. i'm taking my girl and leaving. you can have your home back. i promise. i promise."
so many promises. as was life, a long unfurling of words you were trying to fulfill.
another inch forward, and the fox's growl deepened.
azzi could feel her pulse sounding dully at her temples, climbing fervently in her throat, piling in every fingertip pressed against the earth. she thought of paige outside, rifle ready but useless, unable to shoot without risking kit. without risking azzi.
she thought of inês, how she'd dragged herself home to die. she thought of every patient she'd ever lost, every person she couldn't save.
she thought: there is a point where a cycle breaks. this is the fragment, the wedge into the wheel.
"kit," she breathed. "look at me, sweetheart."
kit's eyes found hers in the dark, wide and terrified and so full of trust it nearly broke her.
"when i reach you, you're going to hold onto me as tight as you can. okay? don't let go. no matter what."
kit's chin dipped. the smallest nod.
“it’s okay, sweet girl. it’s okay, baby. i’m right here.”
azzi moved again, closer now. close enough to see the fox's muscles bunching. close enough to smell its breath, carnivorous and with a thread of metallic notes. this close, she was able to see its kits more clearly, small and blind and in their weakest moments.
what a gift to know that she was not the only one with something to hold on to.
she thought of kit, silent and grieving. she thought of the fox, just in front of her, ready to bite, just trying to protect her young. she thought of herself, crawling through the dark her entire life, crawling through the dark now to save a child who wasn't hers by blood but who had become hers in every way that mattered more than what had been.
we're all just trying to keep something alive, she thought. we're all just trying our hand at nurturing, forced to vehemence when in half-light.
one more movement brought her within reach of kit. the fox snarled, and azzi froze.
"i'm just like you," she said, and didn't know if she was talking to the fox or to some unreachable part of herself. "i keep losing. i can't—i can’t lose her. please. please."
the fox fell silent, glaring at her with those yellow, yellow eyes, and for one impossible moment, azzi thought she saw something in them. recognition. understanding of her language. the understanding of paralleled exhaustion, of striving forward in a dying world.
then its head turned, just slightly, toward its kits. its ears swiveled back, then forward. it looked back at azzi, at kit, and something in its body shifted. it was far from relaxed—still ready to spring—but… waiting.
azzi moved. she reached forward in increments, gulping distance until her hand touched kit's arm. the little girl lunged forward into her chest, arms wrapping around her neck hard enough to hurt. azzi gathered her up, held her tight, and began to back toward the entrance.
the fox watched them go without chase. it watched and watched, body still bent upon reflex, ready at a moment's notice, as azzi crawled backward inch by inch, returning to light, kit pressed against her chest so hard she could feel her heartbeat carving a cavity through her ribs.
azzi's back scraped against roots, and her knees found stone. the light grew brighter. there was only a second of breath, but still, azzi said,
“the earth will return. we won’t.”
she wasn’t sure if it was meant as reassurance, but the fox’s eyes seemed to laugh all the same. we know, it seemed to tell her, tongue lolling out of its mouth. we are waiting.
and then paige's hands were there, pulling them both out into the cloudy smear of the sun, into the air, back into safety.
they collapsed into one another in the meadow grass. kit was sobbing soundlessly against azzi's chest, her every limb shaking with it. paige's arms came around them both, and azzi could feel her trembling too, could feel her face pressed into azzi's curls.
"you're okay," paige was chanting, rough and tumescent with relief. "you're okay, you're both okay, you're here. jesus. jesus, i was so fucking scared. i was so scared, i was so—"
scared.
azzi sat up, gently, and looked down at herself. she was covered in dirt, streaked with it. her flannel wasn’t much more than odd patches of fabric, all of it torn. there was blood on her arms—hers or the earth's, she couldn't tell. she probably looked half-feral, half-dead.
she looked at paige, at her face so pale and frightened, and felt something settle in her chest. she opened her mouth, and the words rolled out, like a bell’s peal.
“i’m sorry you have to live with her, too.”
paige said nothing, her face devastated. azzi looked away from the rise of her apology.
"and i do. trust you," she continued. her voice was steadfast. "i do, paige. i trust you. i trust you to keep us safe. to get us there." she reached out, cupping paige's face with one dirt-stained hand. she felt kit shift between them, her head now in the braid of paige and azzi’s laps. "but i also know what i need. and sometimes what i need is to fall apart. to feel it. and i need you to let me do that without trying to fix it. without making it about the next five minutes."
paige's eyes were wet, red-rimmed. her jaw worked for a moment before she could speak. "okay. that’s fair. i don’t— i’m not always good with that. i don't know if—if i know how."
"okay. then we’ll learn." azzi's thumb traced her cheekbone. "we'll both learn. how to do this. how to be with the feeling, and still move. how to let each other—" she stopped, swallowed. "how to let each other be what we are."
paige's hand came up to cover azzi's. she dragged it forward until she could press a kiss to the center, her lips warm and dry. for a long moment, she just breathed in, the scent of azzi’s skin flooding her.
then:
"okay."
"okay?"
"yeah, okay." paige's other hand found the back of kit's head, cradled it gently. "i can't promise i won't still try to—to manage everything. that's just—that's who i am, azzi. but i can try. you know, not always—not always make it about logistics." her voice cracked. azzi watched the flex of her throat, wanted to put her mouth there. "to remember that its not just trying to survive. we're trying to live."
azzi felt something loosen in her chest. it wasn’t as simple as saying it was all fixed—nothing was fixed—but she felt seen. she felt her eyes were open, unshielded when she looked at paige.
both of them had been acknowledged, with no promise to stop. it was a new beginning.
"we want to live," she whispered. “i want to live. that doesn’t change because i go on a walk.”
paige laughed, and azzi let a smile crawl free, burrowing into the crevice between paige’s neck and shoulder with a small huff of joy. she pulled back.
“trying is all that we can ask of each other. at least for right now. we’re allowed to want more, but we can save that. we can save it for the future, for the new house.”
paige said nothing, but azzi flushed as if she had, because the way she was looking at her held more hunger than azzi could ever know what to do with. kit's arms tightened around her waist, and they sat there in the meadow, holding onto each other.
three figures learning clumsily how to return to being people, how to be a family in the ruins of the world.
after a while, paige stood and helped them both up. kit stayed pressed against azzi's side, one small hand fisted in her shirt. paige shouldered the rifle, looked at the sky to gauge the time, then back at them.
"we should head back to the barn. then, we should keep moving," she said, but it was gentler now. "if you're ready."
azzi looked at kit, who peered back up at her and nodded. then at paige, who was waiting. learning to wait.
"we're ready," azzi said.
there was a final night in the barn, and then they left.
azzi felt nothing while doing so, though it wasn’t like before. it was an all-encompassing blankness, a comforting bit of peace.
they walked for four more days, following paige's route on the map. the weather held, cold but clear, the sun thin and pale through the trees. kit walked between them, one hand in each of theirs, creating an unbroken chain. she still didn't speak, but she had started to hum sometimes, soft and tuneless, and azzi thought it enough for now.
there were still sudden occurrences of feeling, moments where azzi needed to stop and cry. and she did, more than once. paige held her every time, made no attempt to rush her through it. slowly, the distance between heart and head began to close, a slow, continuous knitting.
paige, too, seemed to let something in, let something loose. there were nights when she woke flailing, gasping, released from the hostage of nightmares spun from varying things. and every time, azzi rose, held her too. not once did she ask her to talk about it, always keeping silent until she sensed paige was ready. in the moment, azzi simply stroked her hair and kept paige anchored.
it was like this that time passed, every moment acquiring new language, every moment fortifying their spiderweb of love, cocooning them until one of them chose to tear open into their awaiting future.
on the fifth afternoon, they crested a hill, and paige stopped walking so suddenly that kit stumbled into her, hands small where they strained against paige’s broad back.
"there," paige said, and pointed.
azzi looked.
spread out below them in the valley was the port, a cluster of brown buildings and charcoal smoke billowing from cook fires and the semi-organized pool of people all trying to rebuild. but it wasn't the port that made azzi's breath catch.
it was what lay beyond it.
the sea.
vast and grey and breathing, stretching to the horizon like a glittering, beckoning lung.
azzi hadn’t seen the ocean in a very long time. her memory of it had fragmented after a time, and from then on she’d only heard it described, had only imagined it from books and inês's own eroded memories. but here it was spread before her, different and impossible, but existent.
she could hear it from here—or thought she could. that vast inhale and exhale, that ancient rhythm, older than the plague, older than the world's ending. something that had existed before and would exist after.
something that couldn't and would never burn.
something that remembered everything, that recorded it for her.
kit's hand tightened in hers, and azzi looked down to see her gazing at the water with radiant wonder dawning across her face, alighting on her cheekbones and playing around her mouth.
when azzi looked back up, the tears were already falling.
she sucked a high, reedy breath in.
paige's arm came around her waist, solid and warm. kit clutched at her trousers, fused against her other side. the jewelry box flashed from the mouth of paige’s open pack. inês carried close by, moved somehow by the sight of this, too.
they stood there on the hill as the sun began to dive, the moon spinning by, and for a moment the solar bodies kissed, painting the water in infinite shades of silver and rose. the wind carried the salt smell up to them, sharp and clean and new.
azzi closed her eyes and released her breath. as the sob left her, a whale’s cry sounded from some invisible trench and echoed her.
they cried together, a link of exhaustion and mourning.
they cried together, an enthrallment of hope, the promise of the hereafter.
it was extremely underwhelming if I'm honest.. I have the flu and so I spent the day in bed!
but I've never really felt too attached to the idea of Valentine's Day, I suppose I find romance in the more mundane moments instead.
as for the new fic.. well I'm excited too! I'm writing from Paige's pov and I've really missed it haha
what if I told you all that I have an unfinished oneshot (angst & comfort) and I really adore the premise of it... but it is set during Christmas/winter break... so I can't post it?
Summary: Paige figured she’d fall for a set of big brown eyes when she walked into the Dallas Humane Society. She just didn’t expect them to belong to the volunteer behind the counter. Suddenly, she comes to the unsettling realization that adopting a puppy might not be the biggest commitment she’s about to make.
tags: happy ending, lots of flirting, cute fluffy dogs, very brief mentions of animal abuse
wc: 8k+
The Dallas heat is stifling as Paige crosses the parking lot, phone to her ear, the sun bright enough to make her squint because she’s pretty sure she left her sunglasses at the training facility. Again. Her gray practice tee clings to her back, shorts hanging loosely above her knees, which are still red from having ice bags strapped to them during the drive.
“I promise I thought this through, mom,” she whines, stepping off the curb and adjusting the assortment of bracelets dangling from her wrist. “I wouldn’t just… do this.”
She listens, jaw tightening slightly.
“Yes. I know it’s a commitment.” A pause. “Yeah, I have all that lined up. I am an actual adult. Like… you know that right?”
A car door slams somewhere nearby and she glances up automatically, the familiar rush of anxiety of constantly being noticed bubbling up. But the couple that piles out of their car pay her no mind, so she keeps walking toward the building ahead. The sign is visible now, big blue letters mounted above the glass doors that fill her with excitement.
“Stop trying to talk me out of this,” she groans, softer but more pointed.
Paige exhales through her nose, pushing a hand back through her hair where it’s still damp at the edges, not sure if it’s lingering from the grueling practice or from being out in the hot sun.
“I’ve looked at my schedule. I’ve talked to the trainers. I know when we travel.” She hesitates, listening. “Bro, I’m not making a rash decision because I’m lonely. Are you for real right now?”
She slows as she reaches the sidewalk and glances up at the building again, at the streaked glass doors and the bright, hopeful logo on the window.
“Okay, mom. I’m here. I’ll call you later.”
She ends the call before the response comes through and lowers the phone. Staring at the dark screen for a second, she rolls her eyes. Of course DiJonai had decided that Paige’s very mature and well-thought-out decision to get a dog required a full risk assessment and unsolicited group discussion.
Paige slips the phone into her pocket and lets out a quiet breath, a mix of irritation and nerves. She loves DiJonai. She really does. But sometimes her friend forgets that Paige is capable of making decisions like an adult. And okay, maybe that has something to do with the fact that her fridge is never full of actual food, her snack drawer consists of potato chips and slim jims, and she insists her national championship net is actual decor, but that’s really beside the point. Paige has a lot of love in her heart and she wants to share it with someone. Preferably someone with a soft coat, and four legs; that won’t get mad if she doesn’t text back.
She reaches for the handle and stops, fingers curling around the metal.
Dallas Humane Society.
The letters stretch across the top of the building in thick blue letters, bright against the washed-out brick building. For a second, she just stands there, heat pressing at her back, heart beating a little faster than it should for something like this.
Then she tightens her grip, pulls the door open, and steps inside.
The first thing Paige expects when she walks into the Dallas Humane Society is dogs. Or at least animals, like a whole variety pack of them. Arike had told her once, very casually, that she adopted a ferret from here. Paige hadn’t asked follow-up questions at the time because the mental image of Arike living with a ferret was already too much. Although, Franklin is pretty cute.
So okay, dogs, but also cats and birds and rodents. Maybe even some fish if that’s a thing people rescue?
And, to be fair, when she steps inside there are animals. There’s noise, and barking that ricochets off the dirty tiles, and a woman holding a leash while a dog drags her like it’s late for a very important meeting while another person pets the most massive white bunny Paige has ever seen.
But that isn’t what Paige notices.
Nope.
What Paige notices is the woman behind the counter.
She’s standing there with her elbows braced on the surface, looking down at something she’s writing like the chaos in the background doesn’t exist. Her black hair is half braided tight along her scalp, neat rows that look like they took patience, and the rest is pulled into a bun that sits high and a little messy, like she ran out of said patience or decided she had better things to do. Her face is stunning and it makes Paige’s brain go quiet because it needs to stop all other thoughts to make room for the fact that this might be the most beautiful woman she has ever seen in real life.
It hits her so hard she almost stops walking entirely, right inside the doorway. Then the woman looks up and Paige’s stomach drops when those big brown eyes lock on hers.
And honestly, Paige's brain forgets how to work for a second. Which is embarrassing. She has played in packed arenas, in front of hostile crowds, with cameras pointed at her face while trying not to vomit from adrenaline. She has stared down defenders who wanted to prove a point and smiled through interviews that were designed to get a rise out of her. And yet, she can barely walk up to a counter without losing her ability to form a coherent sentence.
The woman’s mouth curves slightly, and oh my God, she has the cutest dimples and bunny teeth. While Paige is trying to remember how words work, the woman steps out from behind the counter and meets Paige halfway.
“Hi, I’m Azzi,” she says, voice light and easy, and absolutely fucking not what Paige expected. “How can I help you?”
Paige watches her approach and realizes, with a jolt of panic, that she is going to have to respond to this woman. Out loud. With words. Like the adult she just promised DiJonai she is.
“Dog,” she manages.
It comes out too blunt, and Paige wonders where her rizz has vanished to, because there is certainly no trace of it in her body right now.
The woman’s brows lift, maybe slightly amused, but still attentive. “Okay,” she says, drawing the word out a touch. “What kind of dog?”
Paige opens her mouth. She has a list in her head. She did research, watched videos, and made notes. She talked to trainers and absolutely has opinions on energy levels and temperament and the merits of different breeds.
None of that survives the direct hit of those eyes.
“Beautiful brown eyes,” Paige stutters.
There’s a fraction of a second where the woman just stares at her, like she’s making sure she heard correctly. Paige doesn’t even try to backpedal. She can’t. Her brain is still stuck on the part where she accidentally said the quiet thing out loud and she could try to salvage it but that would probably make it worse. If that’s even possible. She’s not entirely sure.
Then Azzi’s mouth twitches, the smallest hint of a smile, and she tips her head like she’s studying Paige.
“Right,” she says. “Well… that’s… really helpful information.”
Paige presses her lips together, because the alternative is admitting she’s completely aware she sounds insane. And Paige is going to live in the delusional world she’s created where this interaction is still salvageable.
The woman reaches behind her, grabs a clipboard off the counter, and flips to a form. Her tone stays friendly, but it shifts into something more official.
“Let’s get some details on you,” she says, pen poised. “Just so I can make sure you’re fit to own a dog before I let you back.”
Paige’s heart skips a beat. “Before you let me back?”
“Yeah,” Azzi replies. “Into the adoption area. We don’t just let anyone wander around back there. You’ve got to get approved.”
Paige’s mouth opens, then closes. She wants to argue on principle, mostly because she’s used to being allowed places, which is a gross thought but also completely true. Instead she just studies the clipboard like it might provide some sort of explanation on why the universe saw fit to have her vetted by the prettiest person she’s ever seen.
Azzi taps the top of the paper with the pen. “Okay,” she says. “What’s your name?”
Paige’s eyes narrow before she can stop herself. She doesn’t mean to make it a thing. It just happens; it’s almost automatic at this point. It’s the same look she gives a ref when they call something questionable. She’s never really been great at controlling her facial expressions.
Azzi looks back at her, unbothered, expectant.
Paige lets another second pass, then says, “You don’t know who I am?”
Azzi’s brow lifts. “Should I?”
It’s not rude or necessarily sarcastic, but she looks at Paige like she’s just a random stranger who walked in off the street. Like there’s not an entire billboard with Paige’s face on it a few blocks away.
Paige’s confidence, which usually never takes a day off, pauses to regroup. For a second she almost laughs, because this is somehow the most disorienting thing that’s happened to her all week.
“No,” she says, forcing herself back into motion. “No. Sorry.” She clears her throat. “Uh, it’s Paige. Paige Bueckers.”
She thinks that might get a beat of recognition from her interrogator, but Azzi writes it down without hesitation, like it’s the same as if Paige had said her name was Emily from accounting.
“Okay, Paige,” she says, sliding her pen down the form. “Address?”
Paige gives it.
“Do you rent or own?”
“Rent. For now.”
“Do you have any other pets?”
“No.”
“Anyone living with you?”
Paige hesitates. “Not permanently.”
The woman’s eyes flick up, curiosity flicking through them. “Meaning?”
Paige can feel herself starting to smile, because apparently she has no self-control in front of this woman. “Meaning I have teammates who think my apartment is their second home.”
That earns her a quiet look that Paige could interpret as skepticism. But Azzi doesn’t comment on it, just keeps writing.
“Yard?” she asks.
“No.”
“Okay. What’s your schedule like?”
Paige hears the trap hidden inside the question and tries not to tense. “Busy,” she admits. “But manageable.”
“Mhm,” Azzi hums, still writing. “And what do you do for work?”
“I play professional basketball for the Dallas Wings.”
The pen finally stops.
Azzi sets the clipboard down on the counter with a calmness that feels a little too deliberate, then looks fully at Paige. Her stomach drops. She watches Azzi’s face carefully, waiting for the normal reaction. The recognition, the excitement, the comment about a game she caught, the question about her stats. Or, there’s the “my cousin loves you,” or a request for an autograph.
Instead, Azzi’s eyebrows knit together and she says, “Doesn’t that involve a lot of traveling?”
Paige stares at her, thrown for a beat. “Yes,” she says, careful. “It does.”
“And you want a dog.”
It’s not really a question, but it still lands like one. Paige feels judged so fast she almost laughs again, not because it’s funny, but because she can practically hear Dijonai in her head going, “See? Even the shelter lady agrees with me.”
“I do,” Paige says, keeping her tone steady, even as heat creeps up her neck that has nothing to do with Dallas. “And I have a plan.”
Azzi leans back slightly against the counter, arms folding, like she’s giving Paige the floor but also not giving her a fucking inch.
“A plan,” she repeats.
Paige nods quickly, probably too quickly but she’s kind of sick of everyone questioning her choices. “A whole plan. I have a dog sitter lined up and someone who can do overnights when we’re on longer trips. I’ve already looked at trainers and have the best vet in Dallas on speed dial. I know what I’m getting into.”
Azzi’s eyes stay on her, assessing. Paige thinks she’d absolutely get lost in those warm brown pools if she didn’t care so much about passing this test.
“And you’re sure?”
Paige holds her gaze. “I’m very sure.”
“Mhm,” Azzi hums again, like she’s cataloging the answer but not quite buying it yet. “Because I’m not trying to be difficult, Paige. But it's my job to make sure a dog doesn’t end up back here in a month because the person who wanted it didn’t think past the cute part.”
Paige’s stomach twists. She’s not necessarily offended. She gets it. She really does. Still, she can’t stop the small edge in her voice when she says, “I did think past the cute part. I know what I want and what I’m capable of.”
Azzi watches her for a second longer, then sighs and reaches for the clipboard again.
“Okay,” she says. “Tell me your plan.”
Paige exhales slowly through her nose, then nods, convincing herself can handle this. She’s handled DiJonai so certainly this can’t be any worse. However, she wasn’t really prepared for the person holding the pen and doing the questioning to look like that while she did it.
After some back and forth, Azzi finishes the last few lines on the form, pen scratching steadily across the page in a delicate scrawl while Paige stands there, shifting on her feet awkwardly, trying not to look like she’s back in high school waiting on a scouting evaluation.
“Okay,” Azzi says finally, flipping the forms back and setting the clipboard aside. She smooths a hand over the stack of papers and Paige feels like she’s sealing her fate. “Why don’t we go into the back and you can see who we’ve got.”
Paige blinks. “So I passed?”
Azzi pauses halfway around the counter, brow furrowing slightly. “Passed what?”
“The little test,” Paige says, twirling her finger at the paperwork. “Y’know. The vibe check.”
Azzi’s lips tighten like she’s fighting back a smile. “That wasn’t a test. It’s just paperwork.”
Paige narrows her eyes, not believing that for a second. It certainly felt like a test. A hard one at that. “But I passed,” she insists. “Right? Because you’re letting me go back there to see dogs.”
There’s a beat where Azzi just looks at her, and then she laughs.
It’s easy and warm, hitting Paige somewhere in the ribs like a chest pass that Arike put too much muscle into just to be a dick.
Paige has heard entire arenas scream her name. She has heard the snap of the net on a buzzer beater that sent her team into the playoffs. She has heard commentators lose their minds on national broadcasts.
Literally none of it compares to that laugh. If she’s being honest, she wants to hear it every day for the rest of her life.
Azzi’s laugh settles into a smile that lingers, eyes softening in a way that feels… admittedly not professional. “Sure,” she says with an exaggerated nod, still smiling. “You passed.”
Paige feels ridiculous and pleased at the same time, which is a dangerous combination. She does a small, subtle fist bump at her side, muttering “yes” under her breath because if there’s one thing Paige loves, it’s winning. No matter the context.
Azzi steps toward the hallway leading deeper into the building, gesturing for Paige to follow. “Come on,” she says. “Let’s see if anyone matches your very specific criteria.”
Paige wants to kick herself for the earlier failure, now that she’s regained her footing, but Azzi is smiling at her so there are worse things in life. She falls into step beside Azzi, her heart beating faster than it has any right to.
The barking grows louder as they move down the corridor. This must be where the dogs are, she thinks. But as she watches Azzi walk ahead, Paige has the disorienting realization that she would’ve followed her down any hallway she chose without a single question. Literally none.
The door swings open and the sound hits Paige first.
It’s louder back here, a layered kind of noise that’s part barking, part whining, part nails scratching against kennel doors and concrete floors. The air is cooler than outside but still warm and a bit stifling with an unfavorable smell. Every few feet a pair of eyes tracks them. Some bright and hopeful. Some wary. Some tired in a way that makes Paige’s chest twist a little bit.
Rows of kennels stretch down the corridor, metal and concrete with hand-written tags clipped to doors. A volunteer in rubber gloves walks past with a mop bucket, murmuring to a dog like it’s a coworker. Paige’s gaze flicks from cage to cage, trying to take it all in without looking like she’s about to lose it.
She forces herself to breathe, then glances at Azzi as if Azzi is the only part of this that makes sense.
“So,” Paige says, aiming for casual. “What do you do for work?”
Azzi looks at her like Paige has asked what the sun does. She extends her arm slightly, then opens both arms and gestures around them, the barking, the corridor, the chaos, like the answer is so blatantly obvious.
Paige feels heat rush up her neck so fast it almost makes her dizzy. “Oh,” she says, voice catching on the word. “Right. I guess I thought people just volunteered here.” She clears her throat, scrambling for recovery. “I didn’t know you could actually work here. That’s… that’s fire.”
“I’m actually the executive director,” she says. “But we’re short staffed, so here I am.”
Paige’s confidence snaps back into place “Must be my lucky day then.”
Azzi smiles and dips her head, and Paige watches it happen. There’s a faint pause, a second where Azzi’s eyes flick down like she’s composing herself, and Paige’s mind supplies the extremely unhelpful thought that she made her blush.
Azzi straightens, voice professional again. “Go ahead,” she says. “Look around. If you like any of them, let me know.”
Paige nods, trying to look like she is a person who can behave normally in the presence of a beautiful woman with big brown eyes, even when all she’s done thus far is prove she absolutely cannot.
She starts with the first kennel on the left, a shepherd mix who sits calmly, head tilted like he’s evaluating Paige right back. Paige crouches and holds her fingers out through the bars. He sniffs, accepts the contact, then turns his head away with a dignity that makes Paige feel like she’s bothering him.
“Hi,” she whispers anyway. “You’re very handsome, sir. You also seem like you don’t give a shit about me. Respectfully.”
Azzi makes a noise that might be a laugh but quickly covers it with a cough.
Paige stands and moves to the next kennel. This one, a two year old cattle dog mix named Betty, according to her plaque, is bouncing, paws hitting the gate, blue eyes bright and frantic, tail whipping so hard it rattles the metal. Paige pets her through the bars and gets immediately licked, which makes her grin even as her hand gets wet with slobber.
“Okay,” she murmurs. “You’re adorable, Miss Betty. You’re also clearly a full-time job.”
The third kennel they come across is a pair of Chihuahuas, both small and trembling and dressed in tink pink jackets, pressed into the corner of the kennel like they’re trying to disappear into the concrete. Paige crouches again, lowers her hand, keeps her voice soft. They watch her with wide eyes, but don’t move.
“Those two are a bonded pair. They have to go together,” Azzi supplies. “We have someone coming to look at them later.”
Paige swallows, glad for an excuse to not make up an excuse to keep walking. She stands slowly, giving the dogs space as she continues her journey down the line.
In the next kennel is a lab mix who shoves his face toward the bars and demands affection. He’s soft and wiggly and so undeniably adorable. Paige gives her attention willingly, scratching behind his ears, baby talking without shame.
“Oh hi, Captain! You’re so cute,” she says, her voice doing that ridiculous soft high-pitched thing that she can’t help. “You’re such a good boy. You could be famous. You could have brand deals.”
Captain pants happily, tongue lolling, and Paige smiles, but the feeling doesn’t click into place the way she thought it would. She’s charmed, but she’s not sure he’s the one, so she decides to keep perusing for her new best friend.
After another couple kennels, Paige looks down the long row and lets out a deep sigh. The corridor stretches on, and the sheer number of kennels settles on her shoulders. It’s hard not to feel the sadness under the chaos, and the reality that for every dog here, there are more that never make it inside.
She finds Azzi’s gaze.
“There’s so many of them,” Paige says quietly.
Azzi nods once. “Yeah,” she says. “We have to turn a lot away, too. It’s tough.”
Paige’s mouth tightens. Her instincts kick in, that ever present feeling of wanting to fix any issue she encounters. “Should I maybe get two to help?” she blurts, then winces slightly. It’s impulsive, and she knows it. She barely passed the test-not-test for one dog, she doubts the director would let her leave with two. But she also knows she would do a lot of things if it meant easing the heaviness in Azzi’s eyes.
Azzi laughs. “I appreciate the concern, but why don’t you try your luck with one first, superstar.”
Paige’s chest lifts with pride at the nickname, even though it’s clearly meant to be teasing. Because Azzi didn’t know who she was, so she clearly doesn’t know that Paige is, in fact, a superstar. She tries not to smile too hard but fails miserably.
“Well,” Paige says, as they start walking again, “do you guys take donations?”
Azzi glances at her. “The adoption fee is a donation. We don’t just give them away for free.”
Paige shakes her head quickly. “No, I know that,” she says, keeping pace. “I mean extra. Like… the Wings are always looking for charities to sponsor, and maybe we could do an adoption night at a game or something.” Her words come faster as the ideas start stacking one on top of another. “You could have some dogs there, and like, I don’t know, we could do a feature on the jumbotron. Maybe a little segment. We could get people to sign up to foster. Or donate supplies. Or…”
She falters when she sees Azzi’s eyebrows narrow slightly, not in annoyance, though. At least Paige hopes not. She slows, suddenly unsure if she just said something stupid.
“What?” Paige asks.
Azzi shakes her head, and her voice softens. “Nothing,” she says. “You’re just… really sweet to think about all that.”
Paige grins before she can stop herself, because Azzi just called her sweet. And she’ll take that to the grave with her because holy shit, is Azzi flirting back?
“Right… um,” she rubs the back of her neck, not sure what to do with that new bit of information. “I’ll… uh… have our community relations team reach out,” Paige says casually, like she isn’t already picturing Azzi standing beside her at center court, smiling while holding a bunch of wiggly puppies in their arms. Because that’s one hundred percent the image in Paige’s mind right now.
Azzi nods and hums, and they keep walking. The barking shifts around them, louder in some stretches, quieter in others. Azzi’s gaze flicks from kennel to kennel automatically, calling out their names because she knows each one.
“You know,” Azzi says after a beat, “maybe you could do a photo shoot here to raise some awareness. I’ve been trying to get some Cowboys players here, but if you and your teammates are interested…”
“Bet,” Paige says immediately, blue eyes lighting up in wonder. Because Azzi wants to see her again, and even if it is just to use her fame and charm to rehome dogs, Paige will take what she can get. Also, Azzi wants to take pictures of Paige. And she… wouldn’t want to do that if she didn’t think Paige was pretty, right?
“I’ll get my whole team to show up. And I know CeeDee Lamb on the Cowboys, so he’ll bring some of his boys too.” Paige’s hands start moving as she talks, ideas spilling out in rapid succession now that she has a runway. “This place will be empty when I’m done with all these ideas in my head.”
Azzi laughs again, and Paige gathers that laugh like a reward.
“Is that so?” Azzi asks, amused.
Paige nods, dead serious. “Trust. We’ll do a whole calendar spread. And I’ll match all donations. Or maybe like one of those things where I donate for every point I score. I dunno… I’ll think of something good.”
“And do you score a lot?”
“What?” Paige squeaks, trying to cover it with a cough as her mind ventures into extremely unhelpful territory.
“Points… “ Azzi clarifies, eyes sparkling with mischief that let Paige know she’s keenly aware of her effect. “Do you score a lot of points?”
“Right,” Paige clears her throat, reining in her thoughts that definitely did not discern Azzi’s question as something else. “Yeah, I mean… I’m pretty good.”
Azzi hums. “Maybe I’ll check out a game sometime.”
This information does something irrevocable to Paige’s brain. The image of Azzi sitting courtside at her game, dressed in something other than muddy jeans and a humane society polo—not that she isn’t also rocking that out—cheering for her, flashes through her head.
“You… uh. Yeah. You definitely should.”
They share a look that warms Paige’s entire body, before Azzi turns and keeps walking, leaving Paige to clamor after her.
“So what other great ideas do you have?”
Paige keeps going, because momentum is a disease and she is currently infected. She starts listing more ideas, partnerships, themed nights, social posts, player features, sponsors. She’s halfway into her spiel that’s legitimately three steps away from becoming a full on strategic marketing plan when she realizes Azzi has stopped walking.
Azzi is just looking at her, expression unreadable in a way that makes Paige freeze mid-sentence.
Paige clears her throat and forces herself to dial it back, suddenly aware she might be insulting Azzi, like she doesn’t have all these ideas already. “Well,” she says, slower now, “I mean… you’re the boss. So whatever you think will work.”
Azzi’s lips press together, and when she speaks, there’s something honest under the dryness. “I’ve been trying to do literally all of that for years,” she admits with a sigh. “Just haven’t been able to get in front of the right people.”
Paige’s confidence returns, steady this time. She tilts her head slightly, meeting Azzi’s eyes and leans forward to adjust the wrinkled collar of Azzi’s navy blue polo.
“Well,” Paige says, pulling her hand back, “you’re definitely standing in front of the right one now.”
Then she winks. It’s subtle and quick, but it’s also the move that usually works for her.
Azzi’s stare holds for a second longer than it should, and Paige has no idea whether she just flirted successfully or signed herself up for another round of judgment. But then her eyes land on a kennel past Azzi's shoulder, full of fuzzy husky puppies. Like, an actual pile of them. Her eyes widen with pure glee. Their little gray-and-white faces are pressed up against the bars, tiny bodies wiggling, ears not fully sure what they’re doing yet, paws too big for the rest of their bodies.
Paige points before she even thinks about it, the words flying out of her mouth with zero thought for her dignity.
“Please let me in there. Pretty please.”
Azzi glances over, then back at Paige, like she’s taking in the fact that Paige Bueckers, professional athlete, is begging like a kid to be let into a room of puppies, hands clasped in front of her and everything.
She grins. “You’re serious?”
Paige nods emphatically, already stepping toward the kennel, running her sweaty palms over her shorts to dry them off like these puppies will judge her for it. “So serious, bro.”
Azzi shakes her head like she’s humoring something ridiculous, but she walks over and unclips the latch. “Alright,” she says, stepping aside. “Go ahead.”
Paige doesn’t even hesitate. She slips in and plops right down on the floor, gangly legs crossed, hands out, inviting the chaos. The puppies swarm immediately, climbing her thighs, shoving their faces into her hands, pawing at her shirt and Paige makes a noise that is absolutely not a normal adult sound. It might not even be really human.
“Oh my god,” she shrieks, laughing, voice going soft and high in a way most people would think her incapable of. “Hi. Hi, you’re all so cute and perfect and insane. I love you all.”
She lets them crawl all over her like she’s a jungle gym. One puppy wedges itself under her leg, another tries to crawl up her shorts, while the most bold of the bunch climbs her shoulder like it’s a mountain.
Paige runs her hands over their fur, helpless and completely addicted to the softness. “Who wants to come home with me?” she coos, like she’s not talking to animals that will forget she exists in ten minutes. “Who wants me to feed them off my plate and chew on all my furniture?”
One of the puppies tries to chew on her sleeve, and she just grins. “Oh, hi little guy,” she says. “Please don’t do that, sir.”
Azzi chuckles behind her but Paige barely registers it. She’s too enamored by fluff and puppy breath and tiny sharp little nails pressing into her arms and legs.
“Who wants to come home with me and snuggle in bed every night?”
She glances up at Azzi on that one and winks, because Paige is Paige, and she literally cannot help herself. But then she turns right back to the dogs like she didn’t just flirt with the executive director of the Humane Society while being attacked by tiny fluffy husky puppies.
One of them, an especially determined light gray and white boy with darker eyebrows and stunning blue eyes, starts tugging on Paige’s shoelace with tiny teeth, growling like it’s a real fight. Paige laughs and gently boops his nose.
“Hey,” she tells him, mock-stern. “You are stupidly cute but these are new, buddy.”
He ignores her, obviously, and just tugs harder so Paige scoops him up. Lifting him easily, the puppy immediately licks her face and then shoves his cold, wet snout into her neck, settling there like he’s decided Paige is his and that’s that.
Paige could picture it now. Curling up on the couch after a long day of practice, eating a bite of her Wingstop herself before sharing one with the puppy melted across her lap. She’d order plain wings, obviously, but Nai would still scoff. Or how’d she’d sneak him into the practice facility, dodging José who would definitely be fucking pissed about it. Nola would help her keep the secret. Probably. And she’d also need to order the cleaning staff lunch a few times during the whole potty training phase, but the DoorDash sponsorship would help with that.
Paige’s smile softens as she cuddles him tight and thinks about all the adventures they’ll have. She looks at Azzi over the puppy’s head. “Is he available?”
She holds her breath when the words leave her lips.
Thankfully, Azzi nods. But Paige doesn’t feel relief because there’s a look on her face that Paige can’t place at first. It’s not really annoyed or disapproving, but there’s something under the surface that doesn’t read like joy at another dog leaving the shelter.
Paige’s grin fades slightly. “What’s wrong?”
Azzi leans a shoulder against the kennel door, arms—arms that are actually quite muscular, not that Paige is looking—folding loosely over the chest, ruffing her polo a bit.
“Nothing’s wrong,” she says, then she exhales. “It’s just… everyone always wants the puppies.” Her eyes move over the pile of fluff climbing all over Paige’s legs and the little one tucked on her chest. “These guys will be gone by the end of the day.”
Paige nods slowly, processing. She sighs and kisses the puppy once on the top of his head, then lowers him back down with a careful gentleness to rejoin his littermates.
She stands, haplessly brushing fur off her black shorts, then looks at Azzi having just made a decision.
“Show me the dog who’s been here the longest.”
Azzi’s brows lift. “Are you sure? I’m not trying to guilt you if you think that puppy is the right fit…”
And again with the people telling her what to do.
Paige nods without hesitation. She steps out of the kennel and gently nudges the puppies back inside as they try to follow. “Someone will be here for you cuties soon,” she promises, voice a whisper like she’s keeping a secret from the rest of the dogs there. “Bye. I love you all. Be so good and have the best, most happiest lives.”
Azzi laughs at that and Paige grins, pretending it isn’t her favorite sound in the world. She follows Azzi down the long row, past more kennels until she stops at one near the end.
Inside, tucked into the back corner, is… a dog.
That’s literally the first thought Paige has. Just a dog. Not in the “what a handsome boy” way or really anything that involves being cute, per se. This one looks like someone took the leftover genes from five different breeds and tossed them in a blender.
His fur is curly in places, straight in others, patchy along his back like it can’t decide what texture to commit to. The brown color of his coat is uneven, fading lighter around his muzzle, darker and almost muddy near his tail. One ear flops forward while the other sticks out to the side and his tail is too thin for his body and slightly crooked at the end.
If Paige had to guess, she’d say there’s some doodle in there. Maybe a retriever or lab. Definitely some pitbull. Maybe a shepherd. Probably something that once barked at a shepherd. She’s not entirely convinced a DNA test would come back with anything other than: Yes, this is a dog.
He’s pressed low into the corner of the kennel, paws tucked awkwardly under him, head dipped eyes wide, but not wild. He looks more unsure than anything, and is, objectively, not the dog that would get picked first. Or maybe even last, which Paige supposes is why he’s still here.
And yet… there’s something about him.
Paige feels the pull before she understands it.
Maybe it’s the way he doesn’t budge when they approach, or how his nose twitches cautiously instead of snapping or retreating further. Maybe it’s the way his fur, despite the uneven curls and questionable grooming history, looks unbelievably soft right at the top of his big fat, disproportional head.
Or maybe it’s the way he watches them. His sad eyes not hopeful, just waiting, like he’s resigned himself to living in this five by three foot cage for the rest of his life so it’s not even worth getting up to try. And for some reason, that makes him the most endearing thing she’s seen all day.
“This is Lenny,” Azzi says quietly, with a sigh like she’s already waiting for Paige to find a polite excuse to pass.
Paige crouches. “Lenny, huh?” Her voice turns soft on instinct and she glances at Azzi. “What’s his story?”
Azzi’s shift. She seems a little caught off guard, but her eyes narrow, expression more serious now. “He’s eight,” she says. “He came to us almost a year ago after his owner passed away.” She pauses, eyes on the dog, offering him a contrite smile. “He got passed around by family members for a while. Some of them… weren’t very kind to him, so he’s a little skittish at first.”
Paige’s jaw tightens, muscles tensing as she thinks about what kind of vile human can lay a hand on such an innocent being. And then her mind drifts to the way she was passed around after her parents divorce. Admittedly, it’s not the same thing. Plus, she eventually settled in with her dad and then got Drew. But still, deep down, she knows that listless feeling, of not knowing where home is. And this certainly isn’t a place any dog should call home permanently.
Azzi keeps going, voice cracking just slightly. “He’s so sweet,” she says. “But everyone passes him up because he’s not the most social. The kennel situation gives him a lot of anxiety. He does better in quieter spaces. He just doesn’t show well in here.”
She keeps her tone measured, but Paige has spent decades reading tells on the court and Azzi has them too. Paige sees the way Azzi’s eyes soften when they land on him, how her fingers wrap around the latch like she’s itching to go in there and pet him. This is someone who has spent months memorizing the way this dog breathes and there’s something achingly tender about it. The way Azzi talks about him like he’s misunderstood instead of inconvenient. Like he’s worth defending even when no one’s asking her to.
Paige can tell he means a lot to Azzi, and that makes Paige tread lightly. “Can I go in?” she asks, quieter now.
Azzi studies her for a beat, like she’s deciding if Paige is worthy of him. Then she lets out a reserved sighs, unclips the latch and opens the door. “Yeah,” she says, handing Paige a treat from her back pocket. “Go ahead.”
Paige steps inside and lowers herself to the floor just inside the door, knees bent, hands resting on her thighs. She extends one hand out slowly, palm up with the treat resting on it, giving him room to decide.
“Hey, Lenny boy,” she murmurs. “How are you today?”
Lenny’s eyes stay locked on her hand, but he doesn’t move at first. His whole body looks braced for something bad.
Paige doesn’t let that deter her. She keeps talking in a low, gentle voice, the way she used to talk to Drew when he was a baby and Mila, now, when she’s trying to convince her to lie so Phee doesn’t yell at her for the whole ice cream after bed thing.
“You don’t have to do anything,” she tells him. “You can just sit there and judge me. That’s fine. I get it. I’m kind of a stranger.”
She shifts slightly, sitting down fully, careful not to crowd him. Arm extended, hand lying on the floor beside her, Paige lets the minutes pass, humming an Olivia Dean song absentmindedly. Paige can feel Lenny’s eyes on her and Azzi’s eyes on her, but she doesn’t feel pressure. Doesn’t rush it.
Eventually, Lenny’s body loosens by a fraction. He inches forward, and takes one cautious step, then another. Then he pauses again like he’s fighting his own instincts, a war waging inside him. His eyes flick up to Azzi who just offers a soft, “It’s okay, Lenny.”
Paige stays still, only wiggling her fingers slightly, inviting him. “There you go, bud,” she whispers, eyes wide, as he inches closer again. “That’s it. You’re doing great.”
He finally reaches her hand and sniffs, long and slow, then nudges her fingers with his nose before cautiously grabbing the treat with the most dainty bite. Paige’s heart clenches as he backs away to eat it. She casts a glance over her shoulder, catching Azzi with an absolutely beaming smile as he steps back into Paige’s space. She slowly slides her hand up and rests it on his head, fingers sinking into the curls. And she was right. They are soft. Impossibly soft.
Lenny doesn’t flinch when Paige starts rubbing slow circles, murmuring nonsense in a soft stream, telling him he’s good and safe and sweet, like the words might rewrite the past year if she says them enough times.
After a few minutes, Lenny’s body shifts even closer. He hesitates once, then settles his front paws onto her leg like he’s testing her. Paige holds her breath, doesn’t move, just shoots Azzi a proud smile like she can’t believe he’s coming around.
Then, like something in him finally gives up the fight or maybe he just senses the pureness of Paige’s heart like they say dogs can, he climbs fully into her lap. Curling against her, he lets out a long, shaky sigh that comes from somewhere deep.
Paige swallows down the knot in her throat when Lenny lifts his big dopey head and looks up at her.
Those big brown eyes are soft and a little sad, but still beautiful in a way that makes her chest feel like it’s in a vice. Paige feels something inside her quiet, like there’s been tension buzzing under her skin for weeks or maybe even years and she didn’t notice until it was released.
“You wanna come home with me, Lenny?” she whispers.
Lenny just stares at her like he doesn’t have the energy to do much else, and Paige stares back like she’ll find the answer in his eyes. She can feel it, the certainty settling in as he gives her face one big lick before dropping his head back onto her lap.
She looks over at Azzi. “This is my dog.”
Azzi’s expression is careful. “Are you sure?” she asks. “I know you really liked the husky puppies. And having an older dog can be hard. There’s an adjustment period and Lenny is a special case.”
Paige knows what Azzi is doing. She isn’t trying to talk her out of it. She’s protecting Lenny, making sure Paige understands what she’s saying yes to. But Paige’s hand just keeps stroking Lenny’s head, a newfound sense of calm washed over her. “I’m sure,” she says, and she means it with a certainty that surprises her.
Azzi exhales reluctantly. “Lenny is my favorite.”
She steps into the kennel and lowers herself beside Paige, reaching out to scratch Lenny’s head. Lenny relaxes even more, then rolls slightly in Paige’s lap, exposing his belly like he’s offering trust without reservation.
Azzi’s fingers move gently through his curls, though they get stuck in the more matted parts. “He’s had it rough the last year,” she says quietly. “He really deserves the best for the short time he has left.” She looks at Paige with a sense of hesitation. “Can you do that?”
Paige meets her gaze and nods assuredly. “I can definitely do that. I promise I’ll give him the best life.”
Azzi nods once, decision made. “Okay then.”
She stands and grabs a leash from the hook on the wall, clips it onto Lenny’s blue collar, then hands it to Paige, hesitating just a beat like she’s passing over something fragile.
“Let’s go finish the paperwork.”
They take care of all the paperwork up front in a blur that feels surprisingly efficient and not nearly long enough for Paige’s liking. Which is saying something because there’s a lot to cover. Like more, Paige thinks, than she had to sign when she signed her rookie deal with the Wings.
Still, she signs where she’s told, initials where Azzi taps with the pen, listens to the rundown about microchips and food transitions and follow-up vet appointments. And the whole time, Lenny stays pressed against her legs, sitting directly on top of her shoes like he’s making sure she doesn’t disappear without him. Not that she would dream of it.
Every so often Paige feels his weight shift, a small sigh escaping him, and she glances down with a warm smile, squatting down to pat his head a few times and feed him one of the treats Azzi insisted she take.
Finally, Paige slides her card across the counter and tries not to think about how different this feels from any other purchase she’s made in the last five years. So much more permanent.
“Thank you,” Paige says when it’s done, meaning more than the transaction. “I promise I’ll take the best care of our boy, okay?”
Azzi nods, tucking the paperwork into a folder with a sigh as she meets Paige’s gaze. “I know you will,” she says. “And I’ll look out for a call about some promos from the Wings.”
Paige grins. “You will. I’ll give our community relations director a call when I get home and get Lenny boy settled.”
Azzi smiles and walks them to the front doors. Right before Paige reaches for the handle, Azzi crouches down in front of Lenny and wraps her arms around him, pulling him into the tightest hug, pressing her cheek into his mess of soft curls. “You’re the best boy in the whole world,” she murmurs, voice soft in a way Paige hasn’t heard yet but absolutely wants to hear over and over again. “Be so good, okay? I love you and I’m gonna miss you, but I know you’re going to be so so spoiled just like you deserve.”
Lenny leans into her like he understands every word, and maybe he does.
Paige watches the whole thing and something warm spreads through her. It’s impossible not to see how much this place, and these dogs, mean to Azzi. Especially Lenny.
Azzi stands slowly, brushing her hands down her shorts, and for a second their eyes meet and Paige swears she sees a tiny tear forming in the corner of Azzi’s eyes.
Paige takes a breath and reaches for the door.
Then stops.
She can feel her heart starting to sprint again, and she hates that it does that around Azzi, that she’s not in control. She shifts her weight, then turns back around before she can talk herself out of it.
“Hey,” she says, trying for casual but not coming close as she trips over the next words that leave her mouth. “Can I… um… maybe get your number? You know. In case I have any problems.”
Azzi’s mouth curves. She reaches into her pocket, and grabs a card and extends it toward Paige. “That’s the shelter’s direct line,” she says.
Paige looks down at the card, then back up at her a little dumbfounded. She thought she was being pretty straightforward. “Well like… what if it’s after hours?”
Azzi tilts her head. “Then you wait until we open the next morning?”
Paige frowns. “Okay, but like… what if it’s an emergency.”
God, she’s never had to try this hard. If anything, girls usually read too much into what she’s saying, not the other way around.
“I thought you had a trainer and a vet all set up,” Azzi replies smoothly.
Paige huffs, because she walked right into that. “Okay, yeah, I do. But you and Lenny are like… friends.”
Azzi’s brows lift, amusement pulling the corner of her lip up into that adorable dimple. “Friends?”
Paige nods, smiling in a way that she knows probably looks a little unhinged. “What if he misses you? I mean, I gotta keep Lenny happy. It’s really for his quality of life if you think about it.” She gestures vaguely toward the dog who looks like he’s ready for his fifth nap of the day. Honestly, so is Paige with all the mental gymnastics she’s doing. “And you know… he doesn’t have a lot of years left, so we gotta make them good.”
She throws Azzi’s own words back at her without shame.
Azzi just laughs. Then, without warning, she steps closer and reaches into Paige’s back pocket.
The contact is brief, her fingers just lightly brushing against Paige’s hip as she pulls the phone free, but a sharp jolt runs straight up Paige’s spine like that one time she shoved her finger into an outlet as a kid… or maybe it was college.
Azzi holds the phone up in front of Paige’s face until it unlocks itself, then types in her number, and hands the phone back. Their fingers linger for half a second too long, the cool metal iPhone half in each grip.
“Lenny really likes ice cream,” Azzi says, looking up at Paige through long eye lashes.
Paige nods, trying to remember how to breathe.
“And so do I,” Azzi adds, softer with a smile that almost borders on shy.
Paige’s grin spreads before she can stop it, cheeks warming under the fluorescent lights. She knows Azzi can see how red she is, but she doesn’t even care. “Noted.”
She shoves the phone back into her pockets, and reluctantly pushes the door open, the suffocating rush of sweltering Dallas humidity hitting her again.
As Paige walks to her Jeep with Lenny at her side, leash secure in her hand, she glances down at him and smiles.
“We’re gonna get you another mom soon, Lenny,” she murmurs, rubbing his fluffy head with her free hand. “Don’t you worry.”
idk if this has been asked before, by me or by someone else, but do you have any plans to post your stuff on a03? I'm really trying to get off tumblr but I can't leave your fics behind they're too good
hmm.. I have thought about it before, and I am seriously considering it.
I suppose I am nervous to post there, as I don't have an active writing account. But since i have a couple of asks to post on ao3, I really might do so.
give me some time to think it over lovely anon. I appreciate you so very much x
omg that chapter was AMAZING!! the kiss was so cute and i love love love reading azzi’s thoughts when she’s falling in love w paige. do u think ur gonna write any chapters in paige’s pov? no pressure, just think it might be really interesting!
writing A's inner monologue is the most enjoyable part of writing this series for sure. I love her character so dearly.
as for Paige's POV... I do think her perspective would be really interesting, however, I truly feel that the story lives within Azzi's mind. the plot and the emotional struggles within the fic are centred around A's character, and I don't honestly see myself shifting POV to Paige.
that being said, Never say never! if I feel that the writing needs a perspective shift for the storyline, then I may add a little change in POV somehow. (Maybe through a different narrative technique such as letter writing ;) )