"Congratulations, Fleur!" the interviewer shouts above the noise, holding the microphone to my face. "How does it feel to be named the player of the match?"

We haven't stopped dancing and singing, basking in the win while they set up the medal stand, the trophy gleaming in the sunlight. My voice hoarse and legs aching, I can't think of much else to say other than, "it feels unreal."

She smiles. "In light of the recent news, do you think it is–"

Patri and Lucy crash the interview, throwing golden confetti over me, and running off. I only glance at the interviewer, curious about what the end of her sentence could have been, before chasing after them, the wind picking the bits of confetti out of my hair.

They stop by the stands, Lucy getting passed her nephew to bring onto the pitch. I scan the stands for my own family, finding them a few metres from where I am, waving at me.

Everyone is here. Opa, Oma, my aunts and uncles, my cousins. Papa. Jaimie.

I rush towards them, glad that the first they will see me in person for ages is in a good mood. It would have been terrible to lose for so many reasons.

The first to hug me is Jaimie, who looks apprehensive when I pull back, grinning. I think back to the interview and the unfinished question, but I don't let that consume me just yet, too happy; too in-the-moment.

"You're here?" I ask her once I have gotten through the rest of my family, hair significantly messier than it was before, cheeks red from being pinched by Oma. "I thought the French wasn't conveniently timed. I thought you couldn't come."

"Well, you're hardly ever right, Flootzy," she replies with a smirk. The babies of the family, my cousins' children, are all being hoisted over the barrier, the youngest handed straight to me. Beatrix is six, and holds onto Noa's hand, keeping the three-year-old from running off just yet. "I need to talk to you about something, but celebrate first. Noa wants to meet Alexia. She's her third favourite player."

It's spoken to provoke me, but it doesn't. "Let's make her dreams come true then. Has she seen Leah yet?"

I've heard about Noa's growing collection of Arsenal shirts. "Flootz, Leah has just met our whole family." Maybe that explains Jaimie's unease. "Go, go. The babies are getting impatient."

Making sure Tess is secure in my arms, and Beatrix is following me with Noa, I lead them to where the team has gathered for the medal ceremony. Mapi is quick to snatch the baby from me, causing a fit of giggles between the two of them, happy to teach Tess a bit of Spanish.

"I want to play with him," Beatrix tells me as I crouch beside them, watching my teammates continue to celebrate. She points to Lucy's nephew with her free hand, Noa still clutching the other as though she is scared she will be swept away in a sea of her idols. "Noa, stay with Fleur." She takes off, her adorable sense of responsibility forgotten as she joins in with their game.

"Do you want to meet Alexia Putellas?" I ask Noa, picking her up so that I can focus on actually locating my captain without having to worry about losing my cousin's only child. She nods enthusiastically, slinging her arms around my neck, the number 11 plastered on her back on full display.

I thought they were all going to wear my shirt, but alright.

Alexia stops talking to the physio when I approach her, conversation ending with how her lips part in surprise. We won this together, so I'm not sure why she is taken aback. I'm proud of her. I know this means a lot.

"Hola," Alexia says as I put Noa down. The toddler hugs my leg shyly, hiding her face until Alexia comes closer, reaching her hand out. "My name is Alexia. What's yours?"

"Noa," comes the muffled response. I give her a slight nudge, but accidentally cause her to tumble into Alexia's arms. I might still be running off adrenaline.

"Fleur!" Alexia scolds as she rubs Noa's back to prevent the impending wave of whiny tears. It must tickle, I think, because she giggles at my captain and stumbles a few paces backwards, looking up at me as if to check I am still there.

"Foto, maak een foto," she babbles at me, turning around to back into Alexia, posing. I roll my eyes, knowing exactly who she got this sassiness from. A photographer notices my lack of mobile phone, and offers to help, telling me to get in the picture too. "En Leah," Noa giggles in my ear as Alexia and I sit either side of her.

Noa is content to plonk herself down between us long after the photo has been taken, giddily looking at Alexia as she and I talk, both of us wondering how long it is going to take for the medal ceremony to start. A finger poking at my cheek interrupts our conversation, followed with a silly question only a toddler could conceive. "Is zij je vrouw?"

My eyebrows raised, Alexia's furrowed, I reply instantly, "nee!"

"Je vriendin?"

"Nee, Noa."

"Zoals Leah en Jaime."

"Nee."

Alexia places her hand on my bicep, pulling my attention away from my little misunderstanding with the three-year-old. "Fleur, the medals."

"I want a medal!" exclaims Noa, scrambling up into my lap to repeat her sentence in my ear. "Alexia, medal!"

"Ja, Alexia gets a medal too." She presses a sloppy kiss to my cheek, and then launches herself into the woman beside me, who takes the hit with a soft grunt and an annoyingly charming tolerance for children. "Don't kill her before she can lift the trophy, though."

━━━━━━━

Everything is perfect until I make my way back to the stands to return all three children to their parents.

Jaimie said we needed to talk, but I don't expect her to have made it over the barrier to do so. It must be important. Maybe all of our family hates Leah, and she needs help convincing them otherwise.

As she gulps, I can't help but feel as though my internal doom clock has ticked down to the final second. The bomb is about to go off.

"Flootz, I'm so sorry." I barely hear the rest of what she has to say, feeling as though my entire world has crumbled and crashed and burned.

Everyone knows now.

There are videos of our arguments – the ones that happened in seemingly empty public places. They have quotes from a person close to us that spin the story, twisting it, mangling words so that they are out of context.

There are articles. Tons of them.

They call me a liar, a cheat, a cold-hearted bitch.

I'm the reason she went down.

I'm the reason she died.

A disloyal, emotionally-unavailable psychopath.

Too focused on my career. Raised wrong. The product of a child whose parents divorced, demolishing her childhood and traumatising her and her sister into being relentless over-achievers with difficult relationships with the people in their lives.

The press couldn't let me have one moment of victory. Of joy.

Every article ramps it up – made it seem like it was abusive – ahead of the final that I have just won. To completely diminish everything I have just achieved; to ruin it, stomp on it, cover in a steaming pile of bullshit that is only going to be amplified by my incredible performance today.

I had not seen them when they went live this morning, shielded by my focused state as though it was a forcefield. It seems as though they fueled me, now. Like I got some sort of sick enjoyment from letting everyone think I am some kind of monster.

I'm not a monster.

"Right?" I breathe as Jaimie picks apart my expression, deciding what she needs to do.

"No, you're not," she declares, a hand sliding around my waist to squeeze me against her, a subtle reminder that she will always be where I would expect to find her. Next to me. "You're not at all. We might be able to sue. I have people working on it."

"No, no, I don't... I don't care about that. I just– Well, fuck, Jaimie, is everyone going to hate me? Is this going to affect my career? Can I see the videos?"

"Flootz..." she starts with a regretfully sympathetic look in her eyes. "They're cut; edited to antagonise you. In all honesty, they are well-done and it's unfortunately believable. They seem to be one epic rant from you, but, because I know you, it is easy to see that they are fabricated."

Easily, my question voices our shared fear. "And what of those who don't know me?"

"You sounded mean, but only the articles have alluded to further toxicity. Social media seems to be evened out – more enticed by the dramatics than the stone cold facts. And nothing was illegal."

I pale, the medal hanging around my neck cutting into my flesh, trying to pull me to the ground. "What do you mean 'nothing was illegal'?"

"Well, there would be no trial. You haven't done anything wrong."

"Is that how bad they have made it out to be?"

She hesitates, her breath hitching as the words she wants to say die on her tongue, murdered by the tears welling up in my eyes. Jaimie hates to see me so upset on such a momentous day. She cannot stand the fact that I am being destroyed by the press over lies and deceit, and a facade that she advised me to display, in front of the entire world. All eyes are on me, but not because of my brace, or how well I played.

We have managed to find an inch of privacy, but even then, someone will be recording us; photographing us.

Jaimie nods slowly.

"Yes. It is." 

notes: 

double update day! yay! 

well, um, idk if u guys forgot that scarlett died and was the poster girl of english football or not but... tying up some loose ends here

noa asks if alexia is fleur's wife and then if she is her girlfriend, to which fleur says no

good thing jaimie is loaded and has a lawyer and publicist ready and rearing to go right? 

thanks for reading xx