Fic: The Bet (1/1)
Title: The Bet
Author: cranberry_pi
Rating: R for language.
Spoilers: Absolutely none, totally AU, also time-shifted back to 1999.
Summary: This is pure indulgence on my part, I've just always wanted to work this game into a fic somewhere - sorry!
The bet, as Quinn remembered it, had been made a little over a month earlier. She’d been at Rachel’s - where else? She’d been spending an inordinate amount of time with the girl, and she’d felt herself being slowly pulled apart by the conflict within her. Finally, as they’d lain on the couch together watching football, she’d decided that she couldn’t hold it in any more.
“Rachel?” she asked quietly.
“Yes, Quinn?”
“We need to talk.”
“I know we do.”
Quinn sat up and took both Rachel’s hands in her own. “I can’t keep doing this. Sam is a good guy, and it kills me that I’m here at yours every second day, cheating on him. It’s not fair - he deserves so much better than that.”
“So,” Rachel’s voice was very small, “are we breaking it off, then?”
“I can’t do that either,” Quinn sighed. “I need you, Rach, so much - I just don’t know what to do.” The action on the screen caught her eye, and she was struck with an idea. “Tell you what - we’ll leave it up to the universe.”
“What do you mean?” Rachel raised a sculptured eyebrow.
“The Reds,” Quinn pointed at the screen. “If they do what everyone’s saying they could do - win the Treble - then it means you and I are meant to be. If not, I’m going to stay with my husband.”
Rachel swallowed around the lump in her throat. The odds, both of them knew, were astronomical. Win the league? Perhaps. The F.A. Cup? Almost definitely, after their incredible semi-final replay against Arsenal. But the Champions League? A competition United hadn’t won since 1968? “Agreed,” she said finally, in a choked voice.
Their meetings grew more infrequent after that, with Quinn spending more of her time at Sam’s side in preparation for the inevitable, but they still got together for every major football tie along the way. When United won the league on May sixteenth, they celebrated in Rachel’s bedroom. And on the twenty-second, when the F.A. Cup was decided in an easy game, they got completely and utterly drunk together.
This, Quinn reflected, was what had brought them here - to an absurdly high seat in a corner of the Camp Nou stadium in Barcelona, surrounded by thousands of cheering, banner-waving Manchester United fans - to watch the final of the Champions League.
It was almost too good to be true, both she and Rachel were well aware, that they had even made it this far. The Treble - something no English team had accomplished - was almost in their grasp, and the universe seemed intent on sending them a message. Neither of them dared voice the thought aloud, though, and so they sat with their hands tightly clasped, totally silent. When Basler scored a free kick for Munich only six minutes into the game, all the air seemed to disappear from the building around them. When the clock reached ninety minutes, Rachel turned to her with tears running freely down her face.
“I love you Quinn,” she whispered, barely able to get the words out. “Whatever happens - never forget it. I’ll always love you.”
“Game’s not over, Rachel,” Quinn directed her attention back to the pitch. United had won a last-minute corner, and she could see their giant of a goalkeeper, Peter Schmeichel, running into Bayern’s penalty area to assist. From the corner of her eye, she could see the trophy in the executive’s box, being adorned with Bayern’s colours, and her stomach clenched horribly as David Beckham lined the ball up. He aimed it toward Schmeichel, but it sailed over his head and landed at the feet of Dwight Yorke, who fired it into the crowd. Bayern’s Thorsten Fink tried to clear, but put the ball straight into the feet of Ryan Giggs. Giggs fired a weak shot that was caught on the way through by United’s Teddy Sheringham, who turned it into the corner of the net.
The stands around them were instantly chaos - but the two of them barely had the energy to stand. They leaned back in their seats, exchanging a heated kiss. The game wasn’t over, but they were at least guaranteed extra time, which was more than they’d been counting on. Less than thirty seconds after the teams had kicked off, United won another corner.
Quinn, Rachel, and everyone else dressed in red held their breath - there was no way that a fairy-tale ending like this could possibly happen, could it? Beckham lined up the cross and fired it toward Sheringham, who headed it on. Ole Solskjær stuck a foot out, poking the ball into the roof of the net, and the building exploded with noise. Flares were lit somewhere near them, and it cast them in a soft red glow. Rachel had to lean in and yell in Quinn’s ear to be heard.
“You don’t have to do this!” she shouted. “I mean, if you want to stay with Sam, I completely and totally-” Quinn shoved her cell phone at the other girl, displaying the last text she’d sent. It was time-stamped an hour before the game had started.
Sam - we’re done. I’m sorry - I can’t tell you how much. Quinn.
“But - I thought we were leaving it up to the universe,” Rachel protested, confused.
“In my heart, “Quinn yelled in Rachel’s ear, “I knew what I wanted. The Treble is just a bonus.” She grinned, and Rachel kissed her hard enough to take her breath away. They danced and sang with their fellow fans, they cheered when the trophy was raised - bearing the proper colours this time, mind - and, when they left the building, they retreated to their hotel room and didn’t leave Barcelona for almost a week.
Author: cranberry_pi
Rating: R for language.
Spoilers: Absolutely none, totally AU, also time-shifted back to 1999.
Summary: This is pure indulgence on my part, I've just always wanted to work this game into a fic somewhere - sorry!
The bet, as Quinn remembered it, had been made a little over a month earlier. She’d been at Rachel’s - where else? She’d been spending an inordinate amount of time with the girl, and she’d felt herself being slowly pulled apart by the conflict within her. Finally, as they’d lain on the couch together watching football, she’d decided that she couldn’t hold it in any more.
“Rachel?” she asked quietly.
“Yes, Quinn?”
“We need to talk.”
“I know we do.”
Quinn sat up and took both Rachel’s hands in her own. “I can’t keep doing this. Sam is a good guy, and it kills me that I’m here at yours every second day, cheating on him. It’s not fair - he deserves so much better than that.”
“So,” Rachel’s voice was very small, “are we breaking it off, then?”
“I can’t do that either,” Quinn sighed. “I need you, Rach, so much - I just don’t know what to do.” The action on the screen caught her eye, and she was struck with an idea. “Tell you what - we’ll leave it up to the universe.”
“What do you mean?” Rachel raised a sculptured eyebrow.
“The Reds,” Quinn pointed at the screen. “If they do what everyone’s saying they could do - win the Treble - then it means you and I are meant to be. If not, I’m going to stay with my husband.”
Rachel swallowed around the lump in her throat. The odds, both of them knew, were astronomical. Win the league? Perhaps. The F.A. Cup? Almost definitely, after their incredible semi-final replay against Arsenal. But the Champions League? A competition United hadn’t won since 1968? “Agreed,” she said finally, in a choked voice.
Their meetings grew more infrequent after that, with Quinn spending more of her time at Sam’s side in preparation for the inevitable, but they still got together for every major football tie along the way. When United won the league on May sixteenth, they celebrated in Rachel’s bedroom. And on the twenty-second, when the F.A. Cup was decided in an easy game, they got completely and utterly drunk together.
This, Quinn reflected, was what had brought them here - to an absurdly high seat in a corner of the Camp Nou stadium in Barcelona, surrounded by thousands of cheering, banner-waving Manchester United fans - to watch the final of the Champions League.
It was almost too good to be true, both she and Rachel were well aware, that they had even made it this far. The Treble - something no English team had accomplished - was almost in their grasp, and the universe seemed intent on sending them a message. Neither of them dared voice the thought aloud, though, and so they sat with their hands tightly clasped, totally silent. When Basler scored a free kick for Munich only six minutes into the game, all the air seemed to disappear from the building around them. When the clock reached ninety minutes, Rachel turned to her with tears running freely down her face.
“I love you Quinn,” she whispered, barely able to get the words out. “Whatever happens - never forget it. I’ll always love you.”
“Game’s not over, Rachel,” Quinn directed her attention back to the pitch. United had won a last-minute corner, and she could see their giant of a goalkeeper, Peter Schmeichel, running into Bayern’s penalty area to assist. From the corner of her eye, she could see the trophy in the executive’s box, being adorned with Bayern’s colours, and her stomach clenched horribly as David Beckham lined the ball up. He aimed it toward Schmeichel, but it sailed over his head and landed at the feet of Dwight Yorke, who fired it into the crowd. Bayern’s Thorsten Fink tried to clear, but put the ball straight into the feet of Ryan Giggs. Giggs fired a weak shot that was caught on the way through by United’s Teddy Sheringham, who turned it into the corner of the net.
The stands around them were instantly chaos - but the two of them barely had the energy to stand. They leaned back in their seats, exchanging a heated kiss. The game wasn’t over, but they were at least guaranteed extra time, which was more than they’d been counting on. Less than thirty seconds after the teams had kicked off, United won another corner.
Quinn, Rachel, and everyone else dressed in red held their breath - there was no way that a fairy-tale ending like this could possibly happen, could it? Beckham lined up the cross and fired it toward Sheringham, who headed it on. Ole Solskjær stuck a foot out, poking the ball into the roof of the net, and the building exploded with noise. Flares were lit somewhere near them, and it cast them in a soft red glow. Rachel had to lean in and yell in Quinn’s ear to be heard.
“You don’t have to do this!” she shouted. “I mean, if you want to stay with Sam, I completely and totally-” Quinn shoved her cell phone at the other girl, displaying the last text she’d sent. It was time-stamped an hour before the game had started.
Sam - we’re done. I’m sorry - I can’t tell you how much. Quinn.
“But - I thought we were leaving it up to the universe,” Rachel protested, confused.
“In my heart, “Quinn yelled in Rachel’s ear, “I knew what I wanted. The Treble is just a bonus.” She grinned, and Rachel kissed her hard enough to take her breath away. They danced and sang with their fellow fans, they cheered when the trophy was raised - bearing the proper colours this time, mind - and, when they left the building, they retreated to their hotel room and didn’t leave Barcelona for almost a week.