fic: a way to keep you close (in treatment, sophie, pre-series).
so i'm super late, but i finished it! first in treatment fic, first thing officially finished in 2008. so that's something, yeah? oh, pre-series entirely, so it's not necessary to have watched the show, though if you are not iamsab, why aren't you?
a way to keep you close.
author: furies.
fandom: in treatment.
character: sophie, pre-series.
rating: g.
notes: late, but finally here, for round 6 of picfor1000. picture found here. thanks to amy and leigh for being enthusiastic.
summary: .
*
The flashbulbs didn't bother her. It was over and she was smiling. She was prepared for this moment. After all, this was the glory she craved. She would be the next Nadia, better than both Dominique's on the Magnificent 7, she would anchor the team in a way Shannon Miller never could. (Never mind they both loved the beam. She would take gold, in a way Shannon never could.)
Her hair is slicked back into a cute little pony-tail; Sophie had added little red barrettes to keep her flyaways safe. Her red scrunchy was just added decoration. Every hair was anchored in place by hairspray and bobby-pins, rubber bands and the careful ministrations of Darlene's fingers. Dana had given Sophie a little jar of body glitter right before the meet, and Sophie was glad she was not the sort of girl who cried, even at twelve years old, winning junior nationals. She didn't need glitter running into her eyes before she took to the microphones and Si introduced her, Sophie, America's next great gymnast.
It's thinking of Si that makes Sophie's eyes water a little. Si loves her so much, has taught her so much. And she loves Dana and she loves Darlene, and it doesn't matter that she has to wave to her parents at different ends of the arena after her floor routine, because at least she has some people. The girls on the team treat her like she's their best friend, and even though she's only twelve, Sophie knows that they are only nice to her because she's the best.
Today proves to Sophie that perfection is the only way to really keep people who claim to love you close. Today, Sophie has won the gold, but she has also won her life back.
Sophie is perceptive, she knows. Even at twelve, she sees things that other people don't, which is maybe why she knows before she vaults onto the beam exactly what the judges want - if they want more flair, or simply technique, or if she should risk it all on her back handspring-back handspring-back handspring right into a pirouette at the very end of the beam.
Sophie's hands are still a little gross from the chalk on the bars - today, the uneven bars were her last movement, and she flew like a bird through the air. For once, she wasn't afraid of falling. Sophie knew she was going to win today, she knew that she wouldn't have fallen from the bars because everyone was watching her, because her arms and fingers wouldn't let her down like that. Sophie was lighter than air, and she almost enjoyed the bars more than the beam today. Every handstand was perfectly timed, her toes pointed. She thought of Svetlana Khorkina, the tall Russian who everyone knew was too tall for gymnastics but still managed to win medals every meet on the bars. Sophie hoped she wouldn't get much taller, Sophie is desperate not to have a growth spurt or go through puberty or start her period the way everyone at school seemed to. Sophie needs to stay like this, exactly like this, exactly as she is on this particular day.
Sophie needed to have the ability to flit away, to disappear, while everyone still wanted her. While Si looked at her with such admiration and respect, while Dana looked up to her like an older sister, while her parents were proud of her and her teammates were jealous, and the world saw her as the next great Olympic hopeful - which is all any little girl ever dreams of, isn't it?
And then the press is clamoring toward her, the flashbulbs going off in her face, and she's happy she's practiced her winning smile in the mirror all those times. Si is gesturing to her, to go to the group of microphones set up to talk to her, to hear her words, so that the world can listen to little twelve year old Sophie, with the weight of expectation on her tiny shoulders as she vaults through the air.
She loves Si, and she loves being the best. She zips her team jacket up, her tiny body engulfed in polyester and stars, and so she goes to podium, and she is everything America wants her to be. She makes a joke about being sure she'll ace nutrition and physics in high school, and the press laughs.
For a moment, she's not a child, and she's not an Olympic hopeful. She's not even Sophie. She's exactly what the press wants her to be, what Si wants her to be, what her parents want her to be. She isn't a child, and yet she lets them picture her that way. It'll lead to more interesting profiles in the newspapers, Sophie knows.
The moment is over, and Sophie blinks against the lights, her smile never faltering. She is not a child, and perhaps she never was, not with the way everyone always looked at her, not with the way everyone knows what she is capable of. She misses what the reporter asks her, and Si pokes her, hard, on her arm. Sophie doesn't flinch.
She's going to the Olympics. Sophie is going places. So many places. She knows it with every fiber of her twelve year old being. And if she doesn't reach the level she wants, it will all be over, anyway. No one notices how much Sophie understands, how aware she is that her star could flicker out tomorrow, how an injury would ruin her entire future.
But Sophie knows. And when she's on the beam, she knows her feet will find their place. And the lights are suddenly too bright, and she's warm, and she wants to leave and listen to her criticism from Si and then plan on heading back to the gym tomorrow. But for now, she smiles. Because Sophie knows what they want from her - a perfect, charming, twelve year old rising star.
a way to keep you close.
author: furies.
fandom: in treatment.
character: sophie, pre-series.
rating: g.
notes: late, but finally here, for round 6 of picfor1000. picture found here. thanks to amy and leigh for being enthusiastic.
summary: .
*
The flashbulbs didn't bother her. It was over and she was smiling. She was prepared for this moment. After all, this was the glory she craved. She would be the next Nadia, better than both Dominique's on the Magnificent 7, she would anchor the team in a way Shannon Miller never could. (Never mind they both loved the beam. She would take gold, in a way Shannon never could.)
Her hair is slicked back into a cute little pony-tail; Sophie had added little red barrettes to keep her flyaways safe. Her red scrunchy was just added decoration. Every hair was anchored in place by hairspray and bobby-pins, rubber bands and the careful ministrations of Darlene's fingers. Dana had given Sophie a little jar of body glitter right before the meet, and Sophie was glad she was not the sort of girl who cried, even at twelve years old, winning junior nationals. She didn't need glitter running into her eyes before she took to the microphones and Si introduced her, Sophie, America's next great gymnast.
It's thinking of Si that makes Sophie's eyes water a little. Si loves her so much, has taught her so much. And she loves Dana and she loves Darlene, and it doesn't matter that she has to wave to her parents at different ends of the arena after her floor routine, because at least she has some people. The girls on the team treat her like she's their best friend, and even though she's only twelve, Sophie knows that they are only nice to her because she's the best.
Today proves to Sophie that perfection is the only way to really keep people who claim to love you close. Today, Sophie has won the gold, but she has also won her life back.
Sophie is perceptive, she knows. Even at twelve, she sees things that other people don't, which is maybe why she knows before she vaults onto the beam exactly what the judges want - if they want more flair, or simply technique, or if she should risk it all on her back handspring-back handspring-back handspring right into a pirouette at the very end of the beam.
Sophie's hands are still a little gross from the chalk on the bars - today, the uneven bars were her last movement, and she flew like a bird through the air. For once, she wasn't afraid of falling. Sophie knew she was going to win today, she knew that she wouldn't have fallen from the bars because everyone was watching her, because her arms and fingers wouldn't let her down like that. Sophie was lighter than air, and she almost enjoyed the bars more than the beam today. Every handstand was perfectly timed, her toes pointed. She thought of Svetlana Khorkina, the tall Russian who everyone knew was too tall for gymnastics but still managed to win medals every meet on the bars. Sophie hoped she wouldn't get much taller, Sophie is desperate not to have a growth spurt or go through puberty or start her period the way everyone at school seemed to. Sophie needs to stay like this, exactly like this, exactly as she is on this particular day.
Sophie needed to have the ability to flit away, to disappear, while everyone still wanted her. While Si looked at her with such admiration and respect, while Dana looked up to her like an older sister, while her parents were proud of her and her teammates were jealous, and the world saw her as the next great Olympic hopeful - which is all any little girl ever dreams of, isn't it?
And then the press is clamoring toward her, the flashbulbs going off in her face, and she's happy she's practiced her winning smile in the mirror all those times. Si is gesturing to her, to go to the group of microphones set up to talk to her, to hear her words, so that the world can listen to little twelve year old Sophie, with the weight of expectation on her tiny shoulders as she vaults through the air.
She loves Si, and she loves being the best. She zips her team jacket up, her tiny body engulfed in polyester and stars, and so she goes to podium, and she is everything America wants her to be. She makes a joke about being sure she'll ace nutrition and physics in high school, and the press laughs.
For a moment, she's not a child, and she's not an Olympic hopeful. She's not even Sophie. She's exactly what the press wants her to be, what Si wants her to be, what her parents want her to be. She isn't a child, and yet she lets them picture her that way. It'll lead to more interesting profiles in the newspapers, Sophie knows.
The moment is over, and Sophie blinks against the lights, her smile never faltering. She is not a child, and perhaps she never was, not with the way everyone always looked at her, not with the way everyone knows what she is capable of. She misses what the reporter asks her, and Si pokes her, hard, on her arm. Sophie doesn't flinch.
She's going to the Olympics. Sophie is going places. So many places. She knows it with every fiber of her twelve year old being. And if she doesn't reach the level she wants, it will all be over, anyway. No one notices how much Sophie understands, how aware she is that her star could flicker out tomorrow, how an injury would ruin her entire future.
But Sophie knows. And when she's on the beam, she knows her feet will find their place. And the lights are suddenly too bright, and she's warm, and she wants to leave and listen to her criticism from Si and then plan on heading back to the gym tomorrow. But for now, she smiles. Because Sophie knows what they want from her - a perfect, charming, twelve year old rising star.