The night after Arsenal’s win over Manchester City, Frida found herself tucked into her hotel bed and ready to go to sleep before they headed to the airport the next morning. She had gotten back to the hotel just an hour ago, and the team had a light dinner together before they all parted ways, heading up to their rooms for showers and to head to bed. Frida didn’t have a roommate for this game, so she showered in the peace and quiet before climbing into bed.
Her and Emma had been texting as Frida got ready for bed and Emma got ready to go out. Emma had played a game today as well, which she had also won. Her team had a few days off, and she was going out to a bar with some of the other girls to celebrate the win and relax a little bit.
Frida knew exactly the place they were going, could picture and smell it in her mind as she closed her eyes, opening them again to see that Emma was calling her.
She accepted the call quickly, sitting up in bed as Emma’s face appeared on her phone screen, a smile quickly spreading across her face at the sight of the doe eyed woman.
“Hi min skatt,” Frida said softly into the phone. Emma’s eyes crinkled in the corner as she smiled easily back at Frida and her little nickname for her, a light blush spreading across her cheeks, even after all this time.
They had been together for years, and still she felt butterflies in her stomach every single time Frida used a term of endearment towards her. The brunette still sometimes couldn’t believe how lucky she was that she got to love Frida, and that the Norwegian loved her.
“Hello Frida,” Emma said brightly into the phone, immediately asking Frida how she was feeling, how the game had gone, for a run down of her day. It was standard procedure for the two ever since their relationship had moved to being long distance.
Frida ran Emma through everything that she had done since they had last spoken this morning, chronicling the game, the bus ride home, how Viv had made Beth laugh so hard that she snorted water out of her nose at dinner, and everything in between.
“How was your game?” Frida asked after she finished her little rundown of her day, and Emma immediately launched into the play by play as she picked out her earrings, getting ready while she told Frida all about the goal that her teammate Cathinka had scored to break a tortuous tie they were stuck in until the 86th minute, and Frida couldn’t help but chuckle under her breath at Emma’s theatrics.
The defender had always been exceptional at telling stories, and this game seemed to be no different. Frida didn’t get a chance to watch many of Emma’s games in person, and they weren’t televised heavily, so she often relied on the stories that Emma told her in order to understand how the team had actually done, outside of just the score.
The two talk for a few more minutes, with Frida helping Emma pick out an outfit (and if she made her change her top one more time than necessary…well that is a secret she will never tell) before they hang up for the night, with Emma heading off with her friends and Frida tucking herself into bed.
Frida spends a few more minutes going over an email from her manager before she finally decides to turn in for the night. They don’t have to be up ridiculously early for the plane ride home, they’re only leaving at noon, but Frida wants to make sure that she’s up with enough time to get ready and pack before breakfast.
Frida texts Emma goodnight before she plugs her phone in, setting her alarm and putting her phone away for the night.
Her and Emma have a routine where Frida always texts goodnight, typically going to bed before Emma does.
And somehow, the Swedish defender always seemed to wake up earlier than Frida did, and thus would always text Frida good morning. It was one of the routines of their years long partnership, and it was a tradition that Frida did not easily forget.
So she sent off a quick text to Emma wishing her good night and that she hoped that she had a nice night, before she turned the light off in her room and slipped into a dreamless, deep slumber.
—
Frida was woken up to the gentle pinging of her phone’s alarm, rolling over to shut it off before she sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes gently. She pushed the covers off of the bed, stepping out of bed and making her way into the bathroom to get ready.
The Norwegian made it a habit not to go on her phone in the mornings for as long as she could, letting herself get ready and wake up naturally before she tended to whatever was necessary on her phone.
The Norwegian changed from her pajamas into the team’s travel attire for the day, the sweatpants and shirt with the Arsenal emblem on it, before she emerged from the bathroom and set about getting her limited luggage in order. They had only spent the one night here in Manchester, so Frida didn’t have much to clean up before she was zipping her suitcase up and setting it near the door.
It was only 8:30am, and breakfast wasn’t until 9am, so Frida finally decided to go and check her phone finally, flipping it over in her hand as she grabbed it off the table. She clicked it on, looking through the few notifications that she had on her home screen.
Something felt…off.
Frida couldn’t put her finger on it exactly, on where the unsettling feeling in her stomach came from so suddenly, but it was there in full force.
The Norwegian opened up the first notification on her phone, an email about scheduling a photoshoot for one of her sponsorships next week, which she quickly replied to, confirming the date and time that they had agreed upon earlier.
She opened her texts next, and that’s when she realized why she was so unsettled.
Her text thread with Emma was up at the top of her texting app, pinned so that her texts would pop up first. But surprisingly, there was nothing from the brunette. Frida opened up their conversation, at the text that she had sent Emma the night before, looking at her phone with a furrowed brow.
It was probably nothing. Emma probably just passed out and was tired from being out so late last night. She was surely still in bed, sleeping soundly at her little house in Linkoping.
That was all.
Right?
Frida couldn’t explain the pit in her stomach as she stared at the empty space after her last text, right where Emma’s good morning text should be. She tried to take a deep breath and remind herself that everything was alright, that she was being irrational. She had no reason to believe anything was wrong, and therefore she shouldn’t worry until she had something to worry about.
After she did her best to calm herself down, she clicked back to the list of text threads, looking at the very top, right below Emma’s name.
The next unusual thing was that her next unread text was an old friend of Frida’s, from back when she had lived in Sweden and played in Linkoping actually, named Olivia.
Frida clicked on the text, quickly reading over what her old friend had sent her.
Olivia: Hey, I know it’s been awhile but I just saw the news and wanted to reach out. Are you alright? Is Emma and everyone else okay?
Frida looked down at the message with utter confusion, not understanding what Olivia was saying.
News? What news was she talking about?
She immediately opened up the Safari app, her hand hovering over the keyboard as she realized she had no idea what Olivia was talking about, at how vague the text really had been.
News, about her? About Emma?
Frida could only assume that this had to do with Linkoping in some way, for Olivia to mention Emma and everyone else. She quickly typed in the name of the Swedish city and hit search, watching the page load slowly, achingly slowly.
Frida has googled Linkoping before. She knows what normally pops up when the city is searched. It’s not a terribly popular place, not much news to really be had on a large scale.
Instead of that though, she is greeted with an assault of bolded news headings, and Frida can feel her heart drop into her stomach as her eyes read over the words of the first headline.
“Shock in Linkoping as Nighttime Bar Shooting Leaves Ten Injured and Two in Critical Condition, Including Linkoping FC Players”
Frida feels time grind to a halt in front of her as her eyes just keep reading.
Everything drops away that isn’t her and her phone in her hand.
Her heart stops. It restarts. It kicks into high drive. It beats so fast it feels like it might burst out of her chest. Panic is settling there, making a home in her heart and flowing out into her veins.
Frida clicks on the article, skimming it with hungry, terrified eyes. It gives little information, but the name of the bar that Emma was at with her teammates is staring her back in the face, right there in bold print. The article goes on to explain that ten people were injured and that as of the time of writing, nobody had been declared dead, but two people were in critical condition.
The shooter had been apprehended promptly according to the article, but Frida doesn’t really give a flying fuck about that. She looks for more mention of the Linkoping players that had been injured, but the article doesn’t mention anything further about what they stated in the headline.
Frida’s fingers are shaking as she clicks the back arrow on her screen before she goes to read the next article, and the next, and the next, but there’s nothing. Nobody seems to have any useful information, anything that will tell her who is injured or what’s going on.
With her entire hands shaking now, she swipes out of the Safari app and opens up her call app, hitting Emma’s name with more force than she would usually take out on her phone, but she can’t bring herself to care about that right now. She just needs Emma to pick up her phone, to tell her that she’s okay, that she’s still here.
She places it to her ear, listening to it ring in her ear over and over and over again.
The line clicks, and Emma’s voicemail starts to rattle through to Frida in Swedish. She pulls the phone back from her ear as dread and terror begins to seep into her bones, as the reality of this sets further and further into her as she presses Emma’s phone number again.
She calls Emma three times.
Emma doesn’t pick up, three times.
By the time the last call is ringing, Frida is cursing at her phone.
“Fuck Emma, pick up!” Frida screamed at her phone, staring at the small device helplessly as she pulls it back and away from her ear.
Frida’s phone is shaking in front of her, her entire body vibrating as panic courses through her, thrumming right along with her heartbeat. Her vision is blurring as tears coat her eyes, and she feels like she’s choking, like she can’t get any air into her lungs.
Frida’s brain is starting to scatter, but she manages to have enough clarity to try Emma’s mother, who doesn’t pick up the phone either.
If Frida was scared before, she’s terrified now. Emma should have picked up the phone, and Emma’s mother certainly should have picked up the phone, and Frida’s thought process cannot stop the course that it’s charting in her mind.
The Norwegian is trying to bring air in but there seems to be no oxygen in the room with her anymore, leaving as soon as the panic set into Frida.
“I don’t, FUCK, I don’t know what to do oh my god–” Frida is saying out loud to herself when there is a sharp rapping at her door, someone knocking on the heavy wooden hotel room.
Frida lurches toward the door, her chest heaving. She throws it open, finding Jordan and Beth on the other side, looking at her with equally concerned faces.
“Frida, is everything okay? We heard screaming and…you look like you’re about to be sick–” Jordan started, and was only cut off when Frida turned, realizing that Jordan was right. She ran to the bathroom right as whatever was left of her dinner upended out of her, violently retching into the toilet as the girls run to follow her.
Beth is right there, holding back her hair as Jordan rubs her back gently, and Frida gags several times before she sits back on her heels, trying to stop herself from hyperventilating. Her entire body is shaking, tears streaming down her face, but she forces her eyes closed as she tries to take a few deep breaths.
Emma was probably fine. But she wasn’t answering her phone, and neither was her mother, and it set Frida’s everything on edge. She could hear Beth and Jordan trying to speak to her, but she hadn’t really been listening, so she opened her eyes and tried hard to pay attention to the words coming out of her teammates mouth.
“Frida, what is going on?” Beth asks gently, and Frida chokes air in, trying to open her mouth to explain and finding her voice gone. She closes her mouth, swallowing roughly before trying again, her eyes wide and wild.
“There was a shooting in Linkoping. At a bar that Emma was at last night, and ten people were injured, and apparently someone from Linkoping FC was hurt and I can’t…I can’t get ahold of Emma,” Frida said all in one breath, her voice dying at the end as she ran out of what limited air she did have.
Jordan and Beth were not terribly serious women, as a generalization. They were serious about football but tended to take life as it came, more relaxed in their attitude and practices. Everything about both women is dialed in right now though, realizing what this situation could mean. You could cut the tension in the room with a knife as Jordan and Beth look at each other, realizing the weight of Frida’s words, at the panic in their teammates' entire body.
“Beth, go get Viv and see how we could get Frida to Sweden as quickly as possible. Get back here when you can,” Jordan instructed, and Beth nodded, standing and dashing out of the room. Frida brought her hands up, digging her fingers into her eyes as she tried to stave off the tears she felt coming, shaking her head slightly.
“Nobody is dead,” Frida mumbled, and Jordan leaned forward with concern, having not heard the Norwegian.
“What?” The small forward asked gently, her hand on Frida’s shoulder. The blonde looked up at her, blue eyes filled with unshed tears and a fear that Jordan hadn’t ever seen in one person's eyes. This was completely uncharted territory for everyone involved.
This kind of stuff just…it didn’t happen.
But now apparently, it did.
“They reported that nobody is dead, that’s…that’s good right?” Frida asked again, her voice tiny as she managed to get the full sentence out. Jordan froze, and Frida watched as she swallowed, glanced over at the door quickly before she began nodding very slowly, looking back at Frida.
“Yes, yeah that’s really good,” Jordan agreed, and Frida thought her voice might sound choked just slightly with emotion, but her brain is moving at a million miles an hour and can’t really seem to stop in order to actually determine that.
They’re both sitting there on the bathroom floor when all of the sudden a shrill sound knocks them both out of whatever trance has settled over them. Frida realizes it’s her phone ringing from where she had dropped it out in the room on her rush to the bathroom, and her legs are moving so quickly from under her that she nearly falls right on her face, her hand shooting out to grab it from its spot on the carpet.
Frida’s brain just manages to register that it’s Emma’s mother before she clicks accept, putting the phone to her ear as her heart leaps into her throat.
“Lena?” Frida stuttered desperately into the phone, hating how wrecked her voice sounds. She can hear Jordan letting Beth and presumably Viv into the room, but she can’t focus on anything other than Lena and the phone being held to her ear.
“She’s going to be alright, Frida,” is the first thing out of Lena’s mouth, and Frida feels everything in herself nearly collapse with relief, and she’s glad she’s on the floor or else she’s sure her legs would have given out on her.
“She was hit in the shoulder, a clean shot,” Lena explains further, and Frida lets in a strangled noise followed by a sharp intake of breath as her hand comes out to land on the carpet, her fingers digging into the soft material she finds under her fingers until her knuckles are turning white.
“She was shot?” Frida asks quietly, but she hears the sharp exhale of Beth behind her, and every single emotion in her is rattling around inside her, a barrage of relief and anxiety and panic and calm serenity all bottled into one person.
“Yes, she was. But she’ll be okay, and she’s the only one of the football girls who was hurt. She’ll need surgery, but they want to wait a day or two, to give her some time to rest. She’s being kept for observation and safety right now.” Lena explains, and Frida nods slowly, unable to really say anything. There’s a hesitation after the last sentence, and Frida can hear the noise of a hospital in the background, the organized chaos and the sterile noises in the background.
“Frida, sweetie, if you can’t come with work and your schedule, it’s alright. Emma will understand, I know that your football club is bigger now, more important…” Lena starts, and Frida can hear the clear delicacy in her voice, the motherly instinct to protect her daughter but also the effort to show compassion to Frida. Lena had always liked Frida, and knew how important her daughter was to the blonde. The Norwegian really appreciates that very kindness right now, but there is genuinely nothing in the world that would stop her from getting to Emma at this moment.
Nothing, not even football. Some things in life were bigger than even football. If Jonas and the management at Arsenal didn’t understand that, then this simply wasn’t a club that Frida wanted to be at.
“I’m coming.” Frida says with a confidence that she’s not quite sure she actually feels when she doesn’t actually know what her exact plan is, and she turns her head to look at Viv, Beth, and Jordan, who are standing near the door, watching her carefully.
She knows that she is probably the picture of uncertainty right now, entirely different than how she had just sounded on the phone, but her confidence feels slightly bolstered when she sees Viv’s face, the way the Dutch striker nods calmly as if they’ve got everything figured out.
Frida’s never been more grateful for the certainty on Viv’s face, the way that she seems to know just what someone needs.
She figures out a few logistics with Lena before she clicks off the phone, dropping in on the carpet and placing her other hand in front of herself, and suddenly Beth and Jordan are beside her, helping her sit up as Viv grabs her luggage, not wanting to overwhelm her.
“We’ve got you, Frids. We’re getting you to Sweden,” Viv said quietly as she stands, and Frida can only manage a nod, hoping that her expression is conveying as much gratitude as she actually feels.
—
Frida manages to get on a direct flight to Linkoping, though she’s not entirely sure how. The power of Vivianne Miedema and Beth Mead seems to be a strong one, that little Frida knows.
She has to walk past her teammates eating breakfast in order to leave the hotel, cringes at the way that twenty heads turn to look at her as she walks past. She offers a small nod, knowing that she looks absolutely wrecked, her face red and tear stained. She’s not sure how much they actually know, but it’s not usual for someone to leave so suddenly, or with such emotion on their face, so she can imagine they know that something is wrong, even if they might not know what exactly.
Kim and Leah stand as she walks past the group, falling into line with Beth, Viv, and Jordan as they walk out toward the car that has been called for Frida. Leah and Jordan take Frida’s bag, going to place it in the trunk while Kim comes to stand in front of Frida, appraising her silently for just a second.
“You call us if you need anything, you hear me?” Kim says, her tone serious and captainly as she places her hand on the Norwegian’s shoulder, and Frida nods at her quickly. For a moment Kim sees her for what she is, just a kid who’s entire world has been rocked by a tragic and shocking event that impacts one of the people she loves most in the world. The Scottish midfielder softens at the tremble in the Norwegian’s chin, squeezing Frida’s shoulder before she lets her hand fall back to her side.
“Thank you guys, really,” Frida added softly to the group, looking at the expression of every single teammate standing in front of her, at the kindness and compassion staring her back in the face. Jordan has Leah’s hand in her’s, gripping for dear life, and Frida feels like her lungs are constricted suddenly, and she ducks her head and slips into the car, trying to shove any more tears down her throat before she entirely loses it.
Frida can’t help but spend the entire flight wondering how something like this could happen. How it was possible for someone to be this hateful, this cruel. To go out and change people’s lives in this way, in this permanent way.
Ten people’s lives were affected by this, dozens more changed forever. Frida’s heart hurts for everyone there, for everyone who had to be affected by one person's actions. It’s not fair, for others to bear the burden of someone else's pain.
Frida genuinely tries to keep herself distracted for the entirety of the flight, but she just ends up fidgeting nervously for the whole flight, tapping her knee and trying to breath steadily. If she thinks about it for too long, if she thinks about Emma for too long, she feels like she might throw up, and she eyes the bag that she placed in the compartment in the seat in front of her just in case.
Her seatmate looks over at her with sympathy, the flight attendants speak to her in reassuring voices. It’s a Swedish airline, and every single voice somehow just sounds like Emma’s, the tinged accent she’s grown so used to over the years. It’s almost as though those around her can sense that she’s struggling and they all do their best to offer her their best kindness, which probably isn’t a stretch if you were to glance at her.
She wonders if they know why she’s so anxious though. Wonders if anyone else on this plane is running to their loved ones after what happened. If they were all grateful that their loved ones were safe.
Frida’s hadn't been though. Emma hadn’t been safe. Emma had been hurt, and Frida wasn’t even fucking there.
Frida hates that her and Emma’s relationship has to be long distance, but she’s genuinely never been more angry about that fact then right now. Angry at herself that she wasn’t there when Emma needed her.
Every time she closes her eyes she thinks about Emma being there in that bar, scared and hurt and not knowing whether or not those around her were alive or dead. It makes her stomach roll over uncomfortably, to think of Emma being hurt in that way. So violently, so suddenly.
Football injuries were something that Frida understood, on some level. When Emma hurt her hamstring, Frida had known how to handle that. But this was an entirely different level of trauma and injury, and it makes the Norwegian’s heart hurt that she’s not there with Emma right now. Simultaneously, she’s not exactly sure what she’s supposed to do when she gets there. There is no protocol for this, no precedent. No personal experience to draw from.
There’s just her girlfriend, her perfect, wonderful, loving, gentle girlfriend. Who was in the hospital. Because she was shot.
She doesn’t even realize she’s crying until her seatmate, an older gentleman, hands her a handkerchief, which she takes gratefully, though with a touch of surprise. She dabs lightly at her eyes, trying to stop further tears from falling. She pushes the heel of her palms into her eyes again, taking in deep, stuttering breaths as she calms herself, trying to rationalize the train of thoughts in her mind.
Emma was hurt, but she was okay.
Frida was getting there as fast as physically possible.
Frida would be there.
She just keeps repeating those over in her mind, trying to let them be enough for right now. Trying to let them be enough while she’s still stuck on this plane.
When the plane lands, Frida is off it like a shot, doing her best to move gently past others and trying not to bulldoze everyone over like she wants to. She hails a cab quickly, giving them the address of the hospital that Lena had told her they were at. She notices the way the cab driver's eyes widen when she says the name of the hospital, and suddenly they’re off, the driver swerving rather quickly through the lanes of traffic as though they understand Frida’s urgency. Maybe they do, somehow, but Frida is grateful for it regardless
It should be a thirty minute drive, but the cab driver makes it in twenty, refusing to accept Frida’s payment when she offers it, insisting that she get inside to her loved ones. The Norwegian tries not to let the nice gesture restart her tears, and she’s only slightly successful, wiping at her cheeks as she enters the hospital.
She walks into the hospital with her small suitcase pulled behind her, walking up to the front desk and doing her best to smile kindly at the nurse, who looks up at her with an exhausted but friendly expression on her face.
“Hi, how can I help you?” The nurse asked gently, looking up from her computer to Frida.
“Hi, I’m here to see a patient, Emma Lennartsson? She was admitted after the shooting last night,” Frida said quietly, trying to be courteous to the others in the waiting room and keep her voice down. The nurse clacked away at her computer, typing out Emma’s name and searching, looking at the Swede’s file.
“Absolutely, and what is your name? We are only allowing up immediate family for security reasons,” the nurse explained, and Frida’s heart plummeted, wondering if she had come all this way just to be turned away.
“My name is Frida Maanum,” the Norwegian managed to push out softly, watching the nurse as she read through something, presumably Emma’s chart. Her eyes brightened as she read Frida’s name off, nodding as she looked back up at the Norwegian with the same friendly expression on her face.
“There you are, I just need to see some identification real quick and then you can head up,” the nurse explained, and Frida quickly produced her drivers license, offering it to the nurse, who checked it over before handing it back to the blonde.
“Alright Ms. Maanum, Emma is in room 603, up on the sixth floor. The elevator is right over there,” the nurse, Jennifer, pointed toward the elevator, and Frida nodded her thanks as she turned, trying to force air back into her lungs. The relief she felt at making it up was short lived though, overwhelmed by the waves of anxiety that replaced it, at the need to get up to Emma’s room as quickly as humanly possible, to get to Emma.
Frida texts Lena telling her that she is on her way up, and when the elevator opens, Lena is standing there in the hallway, red faced and looking toward the elevator. Frida walks off of the elevator, letting go of her bag and immediately wrapping Lena in a hug. She’s taller than her girlfriend's mother and she uses it to her advantage, enveloping the woman in a tight hug. She can feel Lena’s arms wrap around her, holding tightly as they embrace for just a moment before both lean back, Frida’s eyes roving over Lena’s face for a sign of what was going on.
“She’s doing okay, she’s sleeping right now,” Lena started, and Frida nodded softly, trying to claw back at the anxiety rising in her and listen attentively as her girlfriend's mother explained further.
“She was standing facing the door when it happened, and just happened to get caught in the crossfire. She was hit in the right shoulder, and it was a clean shot which was good. It missed most of everything important, she’ll just need the one surgery to repair some of the damage. They want to wait until Monday to do it, give her some time to just rest and recover. They’re keeping her here to make sure that nothing gets infected until then, and then she should be able to come home after the surgery,” Lena explained softly, Frida hanging onto her every word.
“Is she…I mean how is she actually doing?” Frida asked quietly, and Lena softened slightly, looking down the hallway before she looked back at Frida, and the blonde watched as she swallowed before starting again, emotion thick in her voice.
“We got the call that she had been brought in, and she was in and out from the blood loss, but she was doing okay. Scared, but okay. She wanted to make sure all the others were okay and…” Lena trailed off, looking back down the hallway as she seemed to contemplate whether or not to keep going.
“And?” Frida inquired lightly, a nudge more than a push, wondering what the Swede was holding back.
“...and she was asking for you. She’ll be glad you’re here, she was just a little frantic before, with the adrenaline and everything. Thank you…thank you for coming Frida,” Lena said finally, her words swirling with emotion. The blonde has to blink back tears that spring to her eyes, an indescribable emotion blooming in her chest.
“Of course,” she manages to force out. “I love her, I’m always going to come. I should have been here already–” The Norwegian starts, only for her girlfriend's mother to cut her off decisively.
“No. Frida, don’t do that to yourself. This could have happened to anyone, at any time. Don’t let this be something that impacts you in that way.”
“This was a freak, horrible occurrence. This is, and will be, the exception and not the rule. It is something we will have to carry, that Emma will have to carry, but we will not let it control or rule our lives. You’re here, and that’s what matters.”
“Come on, let’s go see Emma. She’s probably still asleep, but you can come sit with her,” Lena said, placing her hand on Frida’s shoulder. The midfielder nodded, settling herself before she grabbed the handle to her luggage, letting it trail behind her as she followed Lena.
Lena led them to the door that read 603, turning the handle gently and pushing into the room. The lights were low, clearly dimmed, but Frida’s eyes were immediately drawn to the bed, to Emma.
The Norwegian immediately set her bag into the corner, offering a tiny smile that probably looked more like a grimace to Emma’s father as he stood, giving Frida his own nod of greeting as she entered the room.
“We’ll give you the room, let you be with her. We’re going to get some food and go home quickly to grab a few things, okay? You can text or call us if you need anything, and just let the nurses know if you need anything.” Lena said calmly, her voice barely a whisper. Frida nodded in understanding, watching as Lena and Anton slipped out of the door, closing it behind themselves.
Frida drifted immediately toward the bed in the center of the room, settling in the chair that is placed on the left side of Emma’s bed. The brunette had her hair pulled back in a braid, and some of her baby hairs had fallen out near the front, framing her face with little curly wisps. Frida reaches out and runs her fingers through them, pushing them back into Emma’s hairline, letting her hand run through Emma’s hair loosely before she pulls it back.
The brunette’s chest rises and falls evenly, the heart monitor beeping slowly and steadily from its position next to her bed. She’s wearing a hospital gown that’s pulled off of her right shoulder, revealing the thick white bandage they have around her shoulder. Frida runs her eyes over it, taking in the lines of the gauze and trying to find a single trace of blood.
Relief courses through her when she somehow finds none. She’s not sure why she’s so relieved, as if the appearance of blood somehow would have made everything 100 times worse in her mind.
Emma had her head turned toward the left side of her bed, her left cheek pressed against the hospital pillow. They have her bed propped so that she’s propped upward as opposed to really lying back, and she knows Emma probably isn’t a fan but she can’t bring herself to mind it, not when it gives her the chance to actually look at her girlfriend.
Emma’s face seems peaceful somehow, despite everything that has occurred over the past twelve hours. It never fails to amaze Frida, how calm and peaceful Emma looks when she sleeps. How content and happy she is, even in sleep. She was a relatively heavy sleeper, something that Frida was quite jealous of, but that she was glad for now.
It gives her the chance to reach down, to take Emma’s hand in her own and lace their fingers together.
She’s there.
She’s okay.
Frida is here with her.
She’s okay.
The blonde repeats those statements to herself in her mind, over and over again as she just stares at Emma. She can’t get herself to look elsewhere, to care about anything in the slightest.
She catalogs every single one of Emma’s features, committing it to memory, as if it’s the last time she will ever see her. Just watching her sleep, making sure that she is safe, under her watchful eyes.
It’s all she can do to look at everything that she could have lost today, to think about how this could have all turned out so horribly differently.
Frida can’t stop the first tear that falls from her eye, hitting her and Emma’s intertwined hands, but she does bring her left hand up to scrub away the tears that were to follow, not letting them follow in the originals path.
—
Frida would have sat in that chair for hours, watching Emma.
Examining the slope of her forehead, the soft rise of her cheeks, the part of her lips, the curve of her chin. Perfection personified, in every single way. At every single hair that was weaved back into her braid, at every inch of skin she could see, at the feeling of her hand in Frida’s, at the soft skin of the back of her hand as Frida rubs her thumb back and forth, over and over again.
But the Norwegian has only been sitting there for an hour when the doe eyed woman begins to stir.
First it’s her leg twitching, Frida’s head swiveling to examine the movement curiously. She immediately looks back up at Emma’s face, notices the way that the brunette’s face has shifted, her expression going from one of neutrality to one of pain.
Her face is screwed uncomfortably, and she lets out a tiny whimper as she shifts in bed, one of her legs kicking out.
The heart monitor behind the bed is muted, but Frida watches as it speeds up, not to an alarming heart rate but certainly one different than the steady consistency of the past hour.
Frida knows a nightmare when she sees one, and she stands immediately, letting go of Emma’s hand in favor of bringing her hand up to rest on the defender's forehead, running her thumb over the smooth, soft skin she finds there.
Emma thrashes again slightly, leaning into Frida’s hand as a tear slips down her cheek, letting out yet another cry as she curls in toward Frida, and the Norwegian takes Emma’s hand in hers, with her left hand this time.
“Emma, sh, sh, allt är okej,” Frida whispered softly, sitting again in the chair, but pulling it impossibly closer to the bed. She doesn’t want to startle Emma by standing over her so aggressively when she wakes up, sitting on the edge of her seat instead and keeping herself close to her girlfriend, her face right next to Emma’s in bed.
Emma wakes with a start, her eyes slamming open as she startles forward, the action causing more tears to escape down her cheek as she gasps in air, her eyes wild as she looks around the room, taking in her surroundings.
Frida is right there, her eyebrows furrowed in concern as she tightens her grip on Emma’s hand, watches as the brunette realizes that she’s safe here in her hospital room, her heart rate decreasing as she looks over at her girlfriend.
Deep, chocolate brown meets the lightest of blue, and Emma’s eyes widen in shock as she realizes who is sitting next to her, looking at her with an expression full of concern and worry.
“Fri-Frida?” Emma asks, her voice impossibly small, as if she can’t quite believe the words coming out of her mouth. She’s looking at Frida as if she isn’t quite real, as if she couldn’t possibly be here, with her.
“Hi, hey min kjære,” Frida whispers, leaning even more forward in her seat to reach up and press a kiss to Emma’s forehead. The defender's eyes flutter shut at the movement, leaning into the comfort of Frida, at the vanilla and pine scent of the midfielder, at the warmth, at the fact that she’s here.
“You’re here,” Emma manages to get out, emotion coating her throat. Frida opens her mouth to respond when Emma starts again, her words jagged and rough as she forces them up and out of her mouth.
“I mean you…you came,” she follows with, and Frida’s face falls just slightly as she nods, trying to stave back her own tears.
“Of course I came Emma, there’s genuinely nothing that would stop me from being here if you needed me,” Frida responded gently, and Emma’s eyes close at the words, the action causing two more fat, bumble bee like tears to roll down her cheeks.
Frida reached up and brushed them away with the backs of her fingers, letting them skip lightly along Emma’s rosy cheeks.
The Swede leaned even more into the movement but the action caused her to shift her shoulder, sending lightning bolts of pain down into her body. Frida immediately pulled her hand back, concern spreading in her chest as Emma winced, her face screwed in pain for just a moment.
“Are you okay?” The Norwegian asked quietly, and Emma was still for a moment, her face still scrunched in pain before she nodded quickly, her body relaxing as the pain meds kicked back in, the pain subsiding easily.
Frida retracted her hands as Emma began to shift in bed, moving her entire body to the right very carefully, furthering the distance between her and Frida. The blonde tilted her head to the side in confusion as Emma moved, but didn’t say a word as the brunette moved.
Emma finally let out a tiny sigh as she settled back into her hospital bed, a significant amount of space between Frida and herself now that she was on the far side of the bed. Frida furrowed her brows, silently looking at Emma in confusion at the change in position that left her unable to even reach her girlfriend.
Emma reached out with her good hand, patting the empty spot that she had created on the bed for Frida, gesturing for her to join the defender on the bed.
“Lay with me?” Emma asked quietly, her voice still small in the large room and Frida nearly leaped forward, pushing back the chair and climbing gently into the bed, settling on her side next to Emma, trying to leave ample space between her and the Swede so that she didn’t accidentally hurt her.
The brunette immediately threw that out the window, scooching until she was pressed against the blonde as she leaned into Frida, curling into the Norwegian until her head was tucked into Frida’s shoulder, breathing in the vanilla and pine scent of the midfielder deeply, trying to stave off the tears she feels coming. Her left hand curled into the t-shirt that Frida is wearing, her hand fisting around the soft cotton of the Arsenal t-shirt.
Frida is whispering sweet nothings into her ear, her hand over Emma’s forehead and scalp as she rubbed her thumb along the brunette’s forehead when the tears finally came. They fall down her cheek with reckless abandon, thick and constant as she finally lets everything out.
All the fear.
All the pain.
All of the anger.
Everything she’s been bottling up for the past twelve hours, as it all comes crashing back down on her.
And Frida just lets her, like the absolute rock that she is. Lets her girlfriend's tears drench the corner of her shirt, letting her girlfriend lean on her, in every way both physically and mentally.
Emma was usually the stable and solid one in their relationship.
Frida had been young when their relationship began, and she knew that some were skeptical of the age gap when their relationship first began. She herself had been wary of it, really.
And Emma was the one who tended to be the more level headed of the two, with more experience and more wisdom to offer in most situations.
But Frida was an incredibly emotionally intelligent person, and she always had been. And just as much as she had leaned on Emma over the years, Emma knew just as well that she could lean on Frida.
And the thing that those closest to Frida knew? It was that the Norwegian was one of the best people to lean on when everything went to shit in life.
Frida showed up, she was there, she did what she could. It came through on the pitch, sure, but moments like this, real life, it was far more important of a skill to possess. The Norwegian was quiet, but she was incredibly thoughtful, and the most wonderful listener and supporter.
And so Frida lets Emma lean into her, letting herself soak up the fact that her girlfriend is here, she’s safe, right where Frida can watch over her.
It might not be her fault that she wasn’t here, but she also knows that she’ll regret the fact that she wasn’t for the rest of her life. Because nobody deserves this, but if there was anyone who really didn’t deserve it, it was Emma.
Kind, gentle, nurturing, loving Emma. Emma who always made Frida smile and laugh the hardest, and had designated herself Frida’s personal cheerleader, no matter what team she played for. Emma who cleared her schedule for a whole month just to come watch her play in the Euro’s. Emma, who comforted her when they lost, letting Frida bury her face into her shoulder and cry, away from the pressure and expectations of the world for just a few minutes. Emma, who always knew that Frida was special, before she moved to a big club and got all the attention from everyone. Emma, who loved Frida regardless of whether she was a footballer or not, whether or not she did great things or just lived her life.
Frida never felt any expectations when Emma was around, never felt like she needed to be anything other than what she already was. She just felt love, and light, and happiness, and comfort. Emma, who just had that effect on people, who made those around her feel loved and wanted and cared for, regardless of their circumstance.
Emma, the love of her life.
Frida shut her eyes hard, pushing down the tears that were coming up. This wasn’t about her, right now. This was about Emma, and Frida was determined to keep it that way.
If she could have taken that bullet instead of Emma, she would have done it in a heartbeat. That’s just how Frida felt, how much she would have given to take away Emma’s pain right now.
The blonde opened her eyes and blinked hard several times, collecting herself and looking down at Emma, who was still curled into her. The brunette took several stuttering breaths as she tried to curb her sobs, her grip tightening on Frida imperceptibly. The Norwegian places her hand gently over Emma’s stomach, and the Swede relaxes under the contact, the muscles in her abdomen relaxing under Frida’s light touch.
Emma looked up at Frida, her big doe eyes red rimmed and tear stricken, and Frida would have done anything in that moment to take her pain away. For several seconds the two just looked at one another in complete silence, nothing but the quiet beeping of the heart monitor in the background.
Emma’s eyes broke off from Frida’s as her eyes roved over the blonde’s entire face, cataloging every single feature and examining every single thing about the blonde, cataloging every single feature that she comes across. She reached up, letting go of the midfielders shirt to run the backs of her fingers against Frida’s cheek, at the feel of warm, soft skin under her gentle touch. Frida’s eyes fluttered shut at the feeling, her long eyelashes blinking closed softly.
“I wasn’t sure I was ever going to see you again,” Emma stammered suddenly, her voice barely audible, and Frida’s eyes immediately opened, her gaze finding Emma’s with a surprised glint in her eyes.
“I wasn’t…I didn’t know if I’d ever get to touch you again. To give you a hug. Or to kiss you. Or hold your hand. Or hear you laugh. Or…or grow old with you,” Emma rushed out, all of her words coming out in one long breath before she sucked another one in, more words tumbling out of her mouth.
“I love you so much Frida, and I wish I told it to you more, I wish I told it to you sooner, I wish I could express it in some other way to show you how important it is, I wish…I just need you to never doubt that I love you. Because I do, I really do. And it was all I could think about, when everything happened and I was there and there were so many people around me.”
“I remember looking up at the ceiling and just thinking that I might not get to say goodbye to you and how unfair that was because you’re far too important to me not to say goodbye to. I couldn’t…I just, all I could think about was you. And how much I love you, and how I needed you to know that. Know it so deep, it’s in your bones.”
“And then I woke up and you were here. I mean, you came all this way for me and I’m sorry if I royally screwed up your schedule but thank you so much for coming because I…I needed you. I still need you,” Emma explained, her voice quieting as she continued, ending with hardly any sound coming out of her mouth as she breathed the words into the space in between them.
Frida brought her head down until her forehead very lightly connected with Emma’s, pressing their heads together.
“I love you so much, and I would always come if you needed me. I will always come. Doesn’t matter what I am doing, where I am, or anything else. If you need me, I’m there. I don’t care about my schedule, I only care about you. You’re more important than all of that Emma, you always have been.”
“And I’m so sorry you had to go through this, but we are going to get through this. I’m right here, and you’re right here, and we are going to get you better and figure everything out. Together.”
“I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, or the next day, or the next year, but what I do know Emma? Is that I love you more than it should be possible to love another human being, and I know that in my bones, and I know you feel the exact same way. And it would be the greatest privilege of my life to grow old with you, but if for some reason we don’t get that, there is nothing in me that would ever make me doubt your love for me, and I hope you know that I feel the exact same way.”
“I love you, min skatt, and I’m right here, okay? Nothing is changing my love for you, and I'm right here, I’ve got you,” Frida murmured gently, pulling her head back to look down at Emma with a concerned gaze, her eyes pleading as she hopes that Emma understands that she’s here, and she’s not going anywhere.
The brunette closes her eyes for a second, letting Frida’s words wash over her. She nods after a few seconds, letting out a deep exhale she hadn’t realized she had been holding. Exhaustion was pulling at her, the pain meds they had her hooked up to kicking again, but she fought them as she looked up at Frida, blinking sleepily.
“Sleep, min kjære. I’ll be here when you wake up,” Frida reassured softly, and Emma nodded, letting her body relax. She shifted slightly, realizing she wanted to be in a different position, something closer to Frida, anything to be closer to her.
“Hey, can we readjust?” Emma inquired lightly, and Frida looked down at her with complete rapt attention, nodding softly as the brunette explained what she wanted to do.
—
When Lena and her husband returned to the hospital three hours later, they were surprised to see both women curled up in bed together, fast asleep.
Emma was turned onto her left side in bed, Frida placed behind her with her front pressed against Emma’s entire back, her hand wrapped securely around Emma’s waist.
The brunette was holding Frida’s hand securely in place with both of her hands, while the blonde had her head pressed into Emma’s neck, her body entirely pulled flush to Emma’s. Keeping her safe, making sure that she was alright, that she was right here.
For that entire night, Emma slept securely with Frida right there behind her. The Norwegian woke up several times, worried that Emma had woken up, or that she would wake up with a nightmare or something of the sort, but it never happened.
Emma can’t help but feel safe when Frida is there. She knows that the blonde would never let anything happen to her, and despite everything that has occurred, the fear simply melts away with Frida there.
Lena and Anton spend the whole night awake and on edge, expecting something bad to happen that never ends up coming.
Lena looks up from her book at one point during the dead of night. The entire hospital apart from the staff are asleep, including her husband.
But that’s not what Lena notices. What she does notice, is the way that she really can’t tell where Emma ends and Frida begins. The two are so entangled with one another, curled into each other, that you can’t tell what limb belongs to what person. It’s incredibly intimate, in the most loving and gentle way. To be safe enough to sleep that close to a person.
Lena often had wondered if her daughter would ever get that kind of a love, that great love that transcended all of the other things in life.
When the nurses come in the next morning, they take one look at the pair before turning to Lena and Anton with a surprised expression on their faces. When her parents rush to say something, one of the nurses stops them with a hand, a smile beginning to spread across her face, a slightly sad smile, but a smile nonetheless.
“Most people can’t sleep through the first night. Your daughter is lucky to have a love like this, where she feels so safe,” she whispered gently, sure not to wake the sleeping pair who were still curled into one another.
But Lena didn’t need a nurse to tell her that.
She knew.
And she was grateful for it.