la princesa

Against all the odds that say that she probably wouldn’t, Ingrid actually does end up going to see Carmen.

Maybe it’s because for years she’s felt so broken on the inside, and yet all of the people around her never did anything. Nobody ever really tried to get the Norwegian any help, even as they watched her fall apart. Not that was necessarily their job, but sometimes it’s crazy to realize how many people watched her slow descent into chaos, and yet never really seemed to do anything. Never tried to get her the help that she had needed, or even steer her in the right direction.

Despite being one of the people closest to her, more by proximity than anything else, never once had Maia offered to help. To be fair, neither had Ingrid even though she knew the blonde had been struggling, but regardless the two had let themselves starve one another in an ugly and destructive feedback loop.

Maybe it’s the fact that when she casually brings up the sports psychologist to Aitana one day after practice, her friend lights up, talking about how wonderful the woman is. How easy it is to talk to her, how much she seems to understand. She had played professionally for a few years before getting injured, and had a unique perspective on the role of an athlete, according to the small brunette.

Maybe it’s Mapi’s tone, the slightly pleading edge to it that afternoon in the car park. Or maybe it’s the way the defender had seen right through Ingrid, and suddenly the Norwegian had realized that she wasn’t able to hide anymore.

She hardly knew the blonde, really.

But somehow she felt like, for the first time, she felt like she had a safety net. If she fell, Mapi would know and the shorter woman would be there. Ingrid gaslit herself about a lot (not that she realized that was what she was doing), but there was a sincerity to the way that Mapi composed herself that made it very hard for Ingrid to twist and mangle her words like she could normally do with those around her.

The center back’s words just stood out, for whatever reason. The brunette doesn’t quite have the skills in her toolbox to unpack that startlingly large piece of information just yet.

On the Sunday after her first real conversation with Mapi, just two days later, Ingrid had met the blonde Spaniard at a little cafe just a few blocks from her house. She wasn’t dressed well, just a blue t-shirt and some gray jeans and she was just beginning to worry that she had underdressed when the door to the cafe rattled open, and Mapi stepped into the shop in a simple white t-shirt and jeans. The midfielder had watched as she had looked around the cafe, her expression softening into a little smile when her gaze finally landed on Ingrid.

Mapi waved brightly, pointing to the register and waiting for Ingrid to offer her a small thumbs up before she went over to get her coffee while the brunette tried to keep herself calm, wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans and trying not to let herself spiral with nerves. It’s been awhile since she had hung out with anyone, especially someone new, outside of football and she doesn’t know what to expect or do.

She doesn’t lead that interesting of a life. She has so few funny stories to tell. Her conversation skills felt like they had dwindled as the months had turned into years at Wolfsburg, and she’s left feeling entirely unequipped to handle this whole situation. She’s just riding the border of regretting the decision and trying to come up with some lame excuse of not feeling well when Mapi finally sits down, bringing an absolute flurry of energy with her.

The cafe is slow and small, and Ingrid has herself tucked into the corner, but she can’t help but mind the light that the defender seems to bring with her into the space. Her smile feels like it brightens the whole room, and the fact that it’s directed at Ingrid warms a part of the brunette that she hadn’t expected.

The blonde immediately launches into a story about her walk over to the cafe that morning, and it somehow has a smile pulling on Ingrid's face almost instantly, entirely without any sort of permission. She finds herself eagerly nodding along, listening intently as Mapi recounts the harrowing experience of what was apparently only a fifteen minute walk. When she reaches the part of the story about how she almost got hit by a car because she was too busy looking at a beautiful row of flowers, Ingrid finally can’t help herself, a laugh bubbling out of her chest and out into the air between them.

Mapi’s voice dies off at the sound, her mouth forming a little “o” as her eyes widened slightly, her whole expression shifting into surprise. When Ingrid noticed the shift in the defender, her laugh immediately cut off, her head tilting in confusion and concern.

“Is everything ok? Did I do something?” She asks softly, her voice not loud enough for anyone to overhear them, despite the fact that the cafe is rather empty. But the defender’s eyes don’t look like something is wrong, they look almost…excited. There’s surprise in her features, yes, but there’s something else there that Ingrid is missing somehow.

“No, no,” Mapi rushes to backpedal, shaking her head slightly at the Norwegian’s concern. She pauses for a moment, almost as if she’s trying to decide whether or not to say something before she finally opens her mouth again. “I’ve just never heard your laugh. It’s…it’s nice, you have a pretty laugh. You should use it more often,” Mapi manages to push out with a little more force than usual, and if Ingrid was a little less focused on the first part of the defender’s sentence and her own self consciousness, she would spend more time analyzing the blush rising in the blonde’s cheeks.

“Oh…yeah,” Ingrid chuckles weakly, keeping her eyes pointed at the table and Mapi’s hands, which are gently holding her coffee cup. “I guess I…I used to laugh more. Not so much anymore,” she offered back plainly, but when she looks up at the Spaniard, there's no judgment from the defender, just a smile that looks just shy of hopeful. It’s exactly two sentences, but it’s more than she's offered up to anyone about herself without some serious teeth-pulling type energy expenditure required. Ingrid knows, logically, that Mapi can’t possibly know how big of a deal it is for the brunette, but there’s a carefulness in the amber eyes of the blonde woman that makes the brunette feel as though she knows, somehow.

“Who knows, maybe me and the team can turn that around!” Mapi smiles as she speaks, and Ingrid finds herself mirroring the action. It’s exactly the thing that the Norwegian needed to hear. Mapi doesn’t make a big deal out of it, but she doesn’t minimize it either, and it leaves the midfielder relaxing back in her chair, an easy smile spreading across her lips. Her cheeks are beginning to ache from smiling so much already in the last hour she’s been here, but she can’t bring herself to care.

After all of the other versions of masochism that she’s played with herself, this one feels so startlingly different than what she’s used to. There’s a small part of her that wants to bring her hand up to rest on her mouth, to feel what it feels like to smile so genuinely after months of feeling like she was able to. But she doesn’t instead refocusing on the topic that Mapi has managed to shift their conversation into.

The defender manages to fill the space between them with ease, and Ingrid smiles and laughs so much that her stomach genuinely aches. It somehow doesn’t feel forced, and the energy of the blonde feels absolutely infectious in nature. Toward the end of their time together, she even finds herself telling stories, just little pieces here and there, but Mapi gives Ingrid her full attention as though she’s telling her about the beginning of space and time. The Norwegian didn’t realize until she started talking that she kind of had a lot to say. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been excited to tell someone something, but there’s something about Mapi, her eyes glued to Ingrid with her full attention, that just manages to motivate the brunette to speak.

They stay for hours, talking back and forth until the midfielder’s alarm goes off, alerting her to a gym class she signed up for. She looks down at her coffee cup for a minute, then back up at Mapi, who was gathering her own things to leave.

“Maybe…maybe we could do this again sometime?” Ingrid asked hopefully, her voice small. The blonde had looked up in surprise, but her lips were splitting into a wide grin before Ingrid even had time to feel really anxious about asking. The Norwegian feels…light, and it’s an absolutely addicting feeling.

“Yes! We definitely do, and there’s no shortage of cafes around here to check out,” the Spaniard said, before pausing for a moment, clearly contemplating as to whether or not she should say more, before she tacked on at the end, “We have team dinners…sometimes. Me and some of the girls, not always everyone but you know…some people. Maybe you could come sometime?” Mapi suggests, her gaze gentle as she watches Ingrid. It’s clear she's not trying to put pressure on the Norwegian, and Ingrid appreciates her for it even as the thought makes her freeze, for just a moment.

The midfielder tenses at the suggestion, a million reasons running through her head for why not to do it. But Mapi is looking at her with such endearing eyes, and it’s almost as if there’s…hope on her face and suddenly Ingrid isn’t so sure she wants to say no.

She…she finds herself wanting to say yes. Even if there’s a million reasons in her head to turn the offer down. She settles on the most obvious excuse though, offering it up casually and waiting with baited breath and a pit in her stomach for Mapi to agree to her sentiment, to turn her down and walk out the door.

“I mean…would the other girls even want me to come? I’m not exactly…nice,” Ingrid finishes with uncertainty, and Mapi’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, her head tilting to the side. The brunette braces herself for the inevitable, but the answer she receives is not what she expects.

“I mean…I think you’re nice! You’re serious at practice but that doesn’t mean that we don’t want to know you, Ingrid. I think sometimes it just seems like you won’t give us much of a chance?” the amber eyed woman presents, her face pinching with worry at Ingrid taking her words the wrong way. But the Norwegian is too focused on the first sentence that Mapi just said to be offended, trying to hide her shock at the answer.

She figured that the girls would have hated her. That Mapi would have hated her, for the way that she acted and how she treated all of them.

“You, you think I’m nice?” The midfielder asks, and she watches as the blonde softens, her expression on the border of sadness as she offers a reassuring nod.

“Maybe you don’t think you’re nice, but I do. I see the way you always hand water to Aitana and Frido before you get some for yourself. How you always make yourself helpful when you can. There’s a difference between being reserved and being mean Ingrid. And maybe the team sees you as a bit of the former, but definitely not as the later.”

“Plus, I wouldn’t sit here with you for hours if I thought you were mean. I wouldn’t have even asked to come in the first place. We want to know you, I want to know you. And everything I’ve learned about you today just confirmed to me that you are in no way mean. Your heart is kind, and that’s what matters. To me, at least,” Mapi says resolutely, and Ingrid finds herself nodding while fighting back tears.

The Norwegian failed.

She failed to make the girls at Barcelona hate her as she had tried so hard to do.

She’s never been so grateful to fail at anything in her life. Maybe it’s not too late.

“Maybe you could text me the next time you have a team dinner?” is the best that Ingrid can respond to that with, her voice thick as she feels entirely overwhelmed with her own emotions, but the blonde just smiles easily in return.

“How about I just tell you in practice when I see you?”

Yeah, yeah she would really like that.

—

Ingrid first goes to see Carmen the day after she gets coffee with Mapi, a Monday. She asks Aitana where her office is, and makes her way up slowly, not entirely sure what to expect or say. She’s never seen any sort of a counselor before, and she doesn’t really know what to expect.

When she gets up to the office, she can barely get her foot in the door. Carmen had been sitting in one of two very comfortable looking chairs over in the corner of the room, but she comes to stand with the midfielder by the doorway, asking her questions in a soft tone, her face kind. Ingrid leaves after just five minutes, her head spinning as she all but runs down to the locker room. She had only told the psychologist a little about her background, where she had played, that she had moved from Wolfsburg just a few weeks ago, but it still feels like a lot to give up.

She had managed to stammer out another time for her to go back to see Carmen properly just a few days later before she was flying down the hallway to the safety of the changing room, the safety of football and no probing questions or thoughtful gazes. She turns the corner, running promptly into Mapi, stopping herself from bowling the blonde over by putting both of her hands on the defenders shoulders to steady her, her hands gripping what one might consider to be unnecessarily hard on her shoulders.

“Whoa, easy there, is everything okay?” Mapi asks when she looks up and sees Ingrid’s wild eyes. The brunette shakes her head slightly, more to calm herself than anything. One of the center backs hands has come to rest on one of Ingrid’s forearms, and the contact feels like a lifeline. Mapi’s hands are soft and uncalloused, and her thumb moves up and down in a slow line, and the Norwegian feels the panic slipping out of her in favor of a surprisingly calm sensation. Ingrid can’t remember the last time someone touched her outside of football purposes, any sort of purposeful touch that wasn’t a tackle or shove to go for the ball.

“Yes, yeah, I’m alright. Well…I’m better now,” Ingrid supplies with a raspy voice, and Mapi nods gently but she looks skeptical, and they stand there like that for a minute before the Norwegian removes her hands from the Spaniard, shifting to walk alongside her, back down to practice.

It’s different for Ingrid after that. She wonders silently how it’s possible for someone's life to be flipped entirely on its head in seventy two hours, but that seems to be the power of Mapi León.

She lets herself be pulled into Mapi’s orbit, just slightly. When the blonde speaks to her in the changing room, she doesn’t shirk her off like she normally does. She listens quietly, offering no words back but perhaps a nod. When the defender comes to stand next to her in the huddle, she doesn’t receive a withering look from the Norwegian, but one of neutrality and eventually, even a smile.

She sees the surprise in the other girls, especially Frido and Aitana, but she ignores it and continues on with her job as if everything is normal. As if this isn’t what probably looks like an entire personality shift to someone they’ve seen act cold and annoyed to for the past six weeks.

The second time Ingrid goes to see Carmen, she manages to make it in the door and into one of her large, comfortable chairs, and lasts a whole thirty minutes there. It’s all surface level conversation, but the brunette finds herself melting back into the chair over the thirty minutes, her heart rate going from racing to regular, steady beats. Carmen is kind, and she doesn’t pry but seems curious, asking engaging questions and never pushing Ingrid to answer anything she doesn’t want to. She lets the Norwegian talk about missing her mom for five minutes straight practically, even though she doesn’t really miss her mom, she just felt like she needed to be saying something. She makes another session to see the psychologist in a few days, and as she’s leaving the room she pauses for a moment, looking back at the Spanish woman.

“I’m going to try to tell you more next time. I want to tell you more I just…sometimes feel like there’s something stopping me. I don’t really know why,” Ingrid says quietly, and Carmen looks at her pensively for a moment.

“I know that we have just met, Ingrid, and that you don’t know me very well yet, but you and I are a team. I’m here to support you however you see fit, whether that be to push you, comfort you, or anything in between. And while I can never tell you what to do, I would highly recommend trying to view me as someone on your team, someone who is here to help. Nothing is off limits, ok?” The psychologist is thoughtful in her answer, and Ingrid finds herself offering back a little smile along with the nod she gives her.

The girls have a game over the weekend, and it’s an easy 3-0 win over a smaller team, but Ingrid finds herself enjoying the win more, noticing the happiness on Mapi, Frido, and Aitana’s faces. The happiness on everyone's faces really, and several of the girls smile joyfully at her as they travel back into the locker room, and she finds herself offering one back for the first time.

On the bus ride home, she shifts toward the back of the bus to sit down, her hood drawn and her body turned out toward the window from her spot in the window seat. She’s prepared for a quiet drive back reading the book she has just pulled out, her noise canceling headphones drawn, when a flash of movement is caught in the periphery of her vision and she finds herself looking over at Mapi, who has seated herself next to the midfielder with a big smile on her face and half a sandwich in either hand.

She offers one of the sandwich halves out to Ingrid, who places her book down to take it with eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion, but she takes a small bite out of it and shifts her body to be more open toward the blonde. She’s surprised to see Mapi back here, the defender normally sitting with Alexia in the front of the bus, but she’s not all that upset.

Mapi doesn’t push her to talk, just eats her sandwich peacefully before she rests her head back, falling asleep in just a matter of minutes.

Ingrid is just flipping to a new page of her book when the bus rolls over a bump, and Mapi mumbles groggily in her sleep, shifting over to rest her head on the brunette’s shoulder. Everything in the Norwegian freezes at the movement, her hand stilling from where it had been moving to turn the page. Mapi is warm and solid against her, and smells of rosewood and bergamot. The amber eyed woman has wedged her head just on the edge of Ingrid’s shoulder, her nose just inches from the column of the midfielder’s throat, and the brunette is trying very, very hard not to blush or move. She stays rigid for a few moments before Mapi shifts even more toward her, her side pressing more fully into Ingrid as she breathes steadily.

The Norwegian lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding, allowing herself to turn the page of her book and continue reading.

She tries not to let herself focus on how right it feels to have Mapi here next to her, settled into her side. How nice she smells, and how her steady breathing calms Ingrid. It’s a little addicting, which is stupid because it’s just a nap in the back of a bus on some random Saturday, but the brunette can’t help the warmth that is rising in her chest as a result of the whole situation.

When the bus stops at the training center, Mapi is jostled just enough by the movement to wake up, lifting her head just slightly off of Ingrid’s shoulder. The brunette turns her head to watch her and is rewarded by the adorableness that is the center back’s sleepy eyes blinking back at her, dazed and confused.

She blinks at Ingrid for a moment before she seems to realize what she had done, her eyes opening in alarm as she sits up more fully, nearly knocking her head into the midfielder’s as she realizes what she was just doing. But Ingrid reaches her hand out, placing it on Mapi’s thigh before she even really thinks about it, offering a small nod and a little smile of her own, trying to show the Spaniard that it’s fine.

Mapi relaxes under the touch, and Ingrid watches as her body relaxes back into her seat as she shoots the Norwegian a guilty grin. Ingrid can only let out a little laugh, squeezing the blonde’s thigh with affection before she shifts back to her own things.

All of the girls filter off the bus one after another, and Ingrid splits off to go back to her car, giving Mapi and Frido both a little wave before she leaves.

The center back had driven in with Alexia considering that they live In the same building, and the blonde falls into line with one of her oldest friends as they walk into silence to the car.

They’ve been driving in silence for just a few minutes before the Barcelona captain finally speaks.

“So, what is up with you and tu chica?” It’s with a teasing tone, but Mapi scowls, her entire expression darkening.

“She is not mi niña,” Mapi responds sharply, and Alexia’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. She had been joking, and she had expected the blonde to do the same, not the seriousness that she so rarely saw of the defender.

“Hold on here, you actually like her!” Alexia exclaims, and Mapi squirms uncomfortably under her friends knowing gaze.

“Alexia, I hardly know her, it’s nothing.” The midfielder is looking back at her thoughtfully, her expression just on the side of cautious. She’s quiet for a moment before she speaks.

“Mapi, you deserve to be happy. After everything, you deserve that. If that’s what she is, then do it, she is opening up to you and she seems very sweet,” Alexia starts, and Mapi has known her friend long enough to know that there’s more coming.

“But you need to be intentional about this. Especially after everythi–especially after last time,” Alexia says with a final expression. Mapi’s expression next to her is rigid, but she nods anyways, and they both know that it needed to be said.

“I know that, and if that’s what this turns into, I won’t let history repeat itself.” Mapi whispers determinedly into the space of the car, and Alexia nods, taking her eyes off the road for a moment to look over at her friend, at the honesty of her words.

The Catalan is confident that Mapi wouldn’t dredge her past history into this, but old behaviors can be hard to quit. And neither of them want the center back’s history to repeat itself.

—

The third session that Ingrid has with Carmen, the psychologist is more prepared. She’s barely sat down in her seat before Carmen is asking her about her experience at Wolfsburg. It’s an opening, one that Ingrid is grateful for because it gives her the chance to talk about something relevant for once.

It takes her a few minutes to get herself in the mindset to share, but once she does she finds that she’s grateful for Carmen’s tactfulness. The psychologist pushes her below the surface that the Norwegian is trying to hold up, and manages to break into the wall that Ingrid is feebly trying to keep up.

“I didn’t um…have many friends outside of Frido when I was there,” the brunette said slowly, and Carmens nodded along, waiting a moment before responding.

“What makes you say that?” The psychologist asked, crossing her legs at the ankles as she shifted in her chair.

“Well I…they would have detracted from my performance. This is such a high level of football, there isn’t room for mistakes,” Ingrid recited, and it’s clear that it’s a line she’s told herself over again.

“But why does having friends detract from your performance?” Carmen asks, pushing deeper, and Ingrid opens and closes her mouth a few times before finally answering.

“They can distract you. This is a job, not a social hour.” Ingrid says in a rather judgmental tone, even if her heart isn’t quite behind her words.

“People all over the world at different jobs have friends. People here at Barcelona have friends, and the players are some of the best in the world. Do you see people like Alexia and Caroline who have friends as distracted?” Carmen proposed, and the midfielder immediately shook her head.

“I’m not asking you this to try to prove you wrong, Ingrid. There is no right or wrong here. But what I will say is that everyone should be allowed to get joy from what they do, or at least with the people that they work with.”

“From what it sounds like, the managers at Wolfsburg created a rather toxic environment that pitted you against your teammates. But those connections, off the field? They will make you a happier, more balanced and adjusted person most of the time. They might even strengthen your on field connection as well. It’s just something to think about, and something I think you should challenge when you have a thought like that in your head. We aren’t going to deconstruct your whole world view in a day, but you owe it to yourself to try.” Ingrid thinks on the statement for the moment before she finally says something again, her voice small.

“Do you…I mean I haven’t exactly been great to the girls these last two months. And I’ve started to be nicer but do you think that they’d even want to be friends with me? I don’t even know how to be a friend anymore I don’t think,” the Norwegian murmurs softly, and Carmen shakes her head gently.

“I think you should give yourself more credit, Ingrid. And nobody is perfect at everything. You’ll learn, and it sounds like you already have some friends on the team who will be there to back you up and support you. You just need to believe in yourself personally as much as you believe in your footballing ability.” Carmen said, and it shouldn’t have flattened Ingrid on her ass as much as it did.

But she resolves to at least try, so at training later that day, she waits until they are scrimmaging and she’s standing on the sidelines with Patri just a few paces from her. She breathes deeply before she walks over to her, just standing shoulder to shoulder with her for a few minutes.

“Oh, Aitana could have cut back there to make room for Geyse,” Ingrid says clinically, and Patri nods.

“She could have, but the pass that she made opened up space for Frido on the far side. She knows that Ana is weaker on that side, gives more of an opportunity for a break,” Patri replied after a moment, and Ingrid finds herself falling into easy conversation with the Spanish midfielder.

And suddenly, just like that she has another person who smiles at her when she enters the changing room. And out of nowhere, passes to and from Patri come more easily, and the more the two talk about the game, the better they seem to play together.

The next game they play, the Norwegian slots a ball easily for Patri to tap it into the goal, and suddenly the Spanish midfielder is running to her, jumping on her, her smile taking up her whole face.

When Ingrid watches the clip back, the way her hands immediately open up to welcome her teammate, her own matching smile, she feels something inside herself shift a little bit. Her trust in Carmen grows, and she resolves to go see her again.

—

The fourth session that Ingrid has with Carmen, it's the day after a game. It’s been a little over two weeks since the brunette had last seen her, a few roadblocks getting in the way of her going to see the psychologist.

The game had been fine. Ingrid had only played for twenty minutes, and she had played well enough, nothing spectacular. The last few weeks had felt like she was moving heaven and earth with some of these revelations she was having about herself, but this brought her right back to earth, right back to where she always was. This reality, this insecurity was her baseline and when something faltered, this was what she came back to.

When Carmen asks her about the game, she can’t keep down the barrage of things that were wrong about her performance, though. She feels like she’s sitting back in the office of her manager at Wolfsburg, being asked to repeat all of the things that she screwed up, even as the psychologist looks back at her with a skeptical expression.

“Ingrid, you just listed about seven negative things about the game, and nothing positive. Why is that? You guys won, you kept a clean sheet, and you played relatively well,” Carmen presses gently, and the midfielder stalls by shifting in her seat, the words dying on her tongue when she finally does open her mouth. She falls back to not knowing what to say, feeling like she should start talking about something random or positive or off the point.

“Ingrid, you can be honest with me. You don’t need to hold back, I’ve heard it all before,” Carmen reminds the brunette, and the Norwegian looks down at her lap for a moment.

“I’m just…a bit of a fuckup, is all,” is all Ingrid is able to come up with, and Carmen tilts her head curiously, watching the midfielder with a thoughtful yet somehow incredibly non judgemental look.

“Where would you get that idea?” Carmen inquires, and Ingrid opens her mouth and responds before she can even stop herself.

“Well I mean Maia was the one who brought it up but the managers at Wolfsburg kinda drove it ho…” Ingrid trails off when she realizes her mistake. Or perhaps, it wasn’t a mistake at all really, but something her brain had been wanting to say these past three sessions.

She knew her past relationship would come up eventually. She just hadn’t expected to say anything so soon, that was it. She considers herself lucky that she trusts Carmen as much as she does, because while she is unsettled by her slip up, she’s not necessarily anxious, looking over to gauge the woman's reaction.

And when she looks over at Carmen, what she finds is nothing but a quiet curiosity in the psychologist's eyes.

“Who is Maia?” She asks, and Ingrid swallows thickly, biting her lip. It’s not an aggressive question, one that The green eyed woman could get out of easily, if she wanted to. But she was going to have to do this eventually, so might as well start now and work her way up.

“She’s uh, well she was my girlfriend. We broke up a few months ago, a bit before I made the move here,” Ingrid murmurs softly, her words slow and carefully thought out. “Her name was Maia Dolvik, do you know her?” Ingrid asked with caution. She knew that Carmen had played football, but she didn’t know to what extent she followed it.

“I know of her, but I don’t know her personally. She plays for Vålerenga, correct?” Carmen asked, and the brunette nodded.

“I think she just went on loan to some Australian team but…yeah. We dated for like two and a half years before I broke things off,” Ingrid continued, her voice weary.

“And Maia would tell you that you were a fuckup?” Carmen pressed, and Ingrid somehow felt her body shrink back into itself at such a direct question. Nobody had ever asked her anything of the sort before.

“Uh…well that’s just how Maia was and it’s not like she ever meant it, I mean I said shit like that too it wasn’t–” the midfielder is left fumbling for an answer when Carmen cuts her off gently.

“Why don’t you tell me more about Maia and your relationship, if you want? Maybe you could start from the beginning? On your own terms,” Carmen offers, and Ingrid stills for a moment before nodding tersely, her jaw set uncomfortably.

When the Norwegian opens her mouth, she for some reason doesn’t even bother filtering any of it. She tells Carmen the whole story, from when her and Maia had first met, to the slow, painful death of their relationship, and everything in between.

And yet through even the ugliest parts of the story, the brunette never feels judgment from Carmen. It’s at this point that Ingrid knows that she can trust the woman, trust the way that she pays vivid attention, asking relevant questions and reconstructing the midfielder’s way of thinking about her relationship.

“It wasn’t an abusive relationship” Ingrid insists, her forehead scrunching in confusion as the psychologist's gentle words. Carmen lowers the pen that she has been holding, setting it on top of her notebook and setting it on a little side table, resting her hands simply in her lap.

“Ingrid, not all abusive relationships look like hitting each other, or threatening to kill one another. Maia tore down your positive perception of yourself, and your love for yourself as a person. That is abuse, and it is emotional abuse, and it never should have happened to you,” the psychologist explains, and Ingrid’s face sours at the implication.

She hadn’t been abused, she was fine!

She was fine, really.

“But…I said horrible things to Maia too!” She insists, and Carmen shakes her head.

“Maybe you did, and I think it is important for you to hold yourself accountable for those actions. However, it is just as important for you to understand that she never should have said those things in the first place, and even more important for you to understand that those things she said? They simply aren’t true. Friends, and love, and connection don’t make you weak. Those things fill your cup, they make you happy. You’re allowed to feel happy, and experience joy, and not just get through life but enjoy it while doing so, and your perception of yourself as so negative is stopping you from experiencing that.” Carmen finishes, and Ingrid is trying to keep her breathing even as she nods over and over and over again, unsure of exactly what to say to that.

When the Norwegian leaves Carmen’s office for the fourth time, she feels like a weight has been lifted from her chest, and she can breathe again, somehow.

When Mapi tells a joke while all the girls are getting water at practice the next day, she lets herself laugh out loud, her eyes closed and her head thrown back to the Spanish sun as she laughs along with her other teammates. It’s hard not to laugh when the defender is the one talking half the time, so Ingrid doesn’t deprive herself of it.

When she opens her eyes again, Mapi is looking at her with giant eyes, a tentative but huge smile on her face, and Ingrid offers a smile of her own back, one that is genuine and bright. It’s a strange feeling, but not an unpleasant one, and she can see the other girls looking over at her in confusion but she can only focus on the blonde, on her face and expression and just everything about her.

Ingrid feels butterflies erupt in her stomach at the look that Mapi gives her in return, at the shy, soft smile that the Spaniard produces.

While she knew it all along, it’s the first time that the Norwegian finally acknowledges her growing fondness for the Spanish center back.

And when Mapi gives her a look like that back? The brunette can’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, the blonde might feel the same.

When Ingrid goes to Carmen’s office for the fifth time, they spend the first few minutes of the session talking about how the midfielder has been the last few days, before they transition to talking about Maia again, discussing the tail end of their relationship that they hadn’t had as much time to talk about at the end of the last session.

Ingrid has had a question on the forefront of her mind for days now, and absolutely nobody to ask it to, except for maybe Frido, which is something she will not be doing. She didn’t really mean to ask it to Carmen, but she opens her mouth and asks the question without any thought at all, really. For some reason though, it doesn’t seem like the psychologist is very surprised by it.

“Do you think that Mapi is like Maia?” Ingrid blurts out, and Carmen thinks for a moment before answering.

“I think that Mapi looks very similar to Maia in terms of physical appearance. I’ve known Mapi for years, and I’ve only heard stories of and watched Maia play. I also can’t tell you exactly the things that Mapi and I have talked about, but no Ingrid, I do not think that Mapi is like Maia, at all really,” Carmen offers, and Ingrid nods slowly. She wrings her hands in her lap, unable to say much more despite wanting to. Luckily, Carmen seems to sense this, and she pushes the green eyed woman in the right direction.

“I know that it seems like you and Mapi have gotten closer. Do you want to talk more about your relationship with her?” Carmen asks slightly, her tone bright, and Ingrid flushes immediately even though none of what the psychologist just said or implied was being offered in a romantic context, necessarily.

“You mean me and Mapi…like that? No, no, no…” Ingrid says too quickly, laughing it off nervously as she shakes her head reverently. All Carmen does is fix her with a curious expression, and the brunette flattens a little bit, offering more.

“Mapi would never like someone like me, I mean I’m me and she’s…well she’s Mapi for Christ's sake she would never go for someone as much of a trainwreck as me!” Ingrid scoffs out, but when she looks back at Carmen, the expression on the psychologist's face can only be described as pensive and not agreement as the midfielder expected.

“You know, Ingrid, sometimes when we spend years thinking negatively of ourselves, convincing ourselves that we aren’t good enough, we will never be enough, that we don’t deserve something or someone, it can be overwhelming to try and deconstruct that.”

“But I challenge you to try something. Every single time that you think of yourself as less than enough, I want you to try to plant a seed of doubt in your mind. Ask yourself: is that really true? Where did this thought come from? What do I have to quantify it? Would someone else say this about me if I were to ask?”

“And while you might not believe me, let me tell you this. Anyone would be deserving of you, Ingrid. You are kind, and incredibly funny and compassionate. You try so hard to make those around you happy, and you lift up anyone and everyone, even if the majority of the time you try to hide yourself in the shadows. Anyone in the world would deserve that, would deserve the happiness of knowing and spending time with you. Mapi, maybe most of all,” Carmen stated as if it was simply fact.

“And Ingrid? I can’t tell you what to do and what not to do, but if I could make one more suggestion? When the time comes, I really think that you should tell Mapi about Maia. You are not obligated to tell anyone your story, and you only have to tell her as much as you want to, but having that understanding of a person can be really important. It gives you someone to lean on to, to get support from. You deserve that support and love Ingrid, really. Even if you don’t believe me right now, I hope that one day you will.”

And in an act that she can only describe as rebellion, Ingrid chooses in that moment to believe her, as best as she can.

—

Ingrid eventually does ask Mapi out, but it ends up being a bit more of an accident than the Norwegian originally intended.

The two are at a bar, of all places, a crowded little place in downtown Barcelona. They had come with Aitana, Caro, and Frido, but Aitana hadn’t been feeling very well, so Frido and Caro had taken her home after they had only been there about an hour.

When Mapi had asked Ingrid if she had wanted to stay, the brunette felt helpless against saying no, even if the thought of getting drunk alone with Mapi made her nerves feel fried. Ever since she realized that she liked the defender as more than a friend, she was having a hard time acting normal around the blonde, trying not to give herself away or act strangely.

But she agreed, which was how she had found herself standing at the bar just forty five minutes later, trying to get her and Mapi a fresh round of drinks after they had finished their second round. The two had been sitting in a little booth in the back, trading stories before they branched off into talking about the La Liga season, which had quickly descended into playful arguing with each other.

Ingrid was wearing a black dress that hugged her in all the right places, and she’d been getting more than a few appreciative looks as they talked. But nothing that she’d seriously considered, anyways.

Nothing that had blonde hair and tattoos up and down every extremity and amber eyes that looked like liquid honey when the light hit them just right and adorable little crinkles at the corner of their eyes when they laughed at something she said and–

Nothing that she was interested in, that’s all.

Had she been paying more attention when she came in, she would have noticed the way that a certain pair of amber eyes were immediately drawn to her, even in the chaos of the rather busy bar. Would have noticed the way that a certain someone with amber eyes couldn’t seem to take them off of her, or her dress, or the way that a blush rose onto her cheeks when she laughed. In fact, it was taking just about everything in that person to play it cool as well, and stay friendly when honestly she wanted so, so much more.

But Ingrid was tipsy, and so she didn’t notice the way that Mapi was looking at her when she was sure that the Norwegian wasn’t looking. Didn’t let herself think anything of the lingering touches that the Spaniard would brush over the back of her fingers when she laughed at one of Ingrid’s jokes.

Eventually, the brunette had stepped away to get both of them fresh drinks when she simply couldn’t take it anymore. Mapi’s laugh was addicting, even more so when she knew it was because she was laughing at something that she had said. The whole situation made her feel rather breathless really, the unexpected intimacy that came from being pushed together in a little corner booth in the back of a bar.

Ok, correction, Ingrid was trying to get another drink for both of them. She’s been standing at the bar for a few minutes now, trying to catch the bartender's attention, when she feels a hand slide to land at the small of her back.

She tenses slightly, turning her head to look at the culprit of such an unwanted touch, hoping that at best it’s just someone trying to get past her. The bar was crowded, and it could just be someone trying to get around her in an attempt to get the bartender's attention like she was trying to do now.

But it doesn’t appear that luck was on her side when her gaze turned to see a guy who looks to be about her age with brown hair, wearing a white button up with a few of said buttons popped, and black slacks, with dark leather shoes. He’s looking at her with an expression she can only describe as sleazy, his eyes roving over her with a gleaming eye.

“Hi,” she says stiffly after a few moments, when it becomes clear that this man isn’t going to speak first. He looks her up and down yet again, almost possessively, and instantly she goes from slightly annoyed to uncomfortable, shifting to her other foot in a slight attempt to get away from this man.

“Hello beautiful,” he says smoothly, and as she watches him she supposes that objectively he could be considered attractive, but everything about his demeanor and behavior is so incredibly off putting her mind can’t even quite go there. Her very gay mind can’t quite make it there, but clearly he doesn’t know that about her. He seems like the kind of guy who might be into that, so she decides to keep that fact to herself and go for another angle instead.

“Um…I’m uh flattered, but I’m not interested. Just trying to get a drink for me and someone else,” Ingrid says quickly, offering a little smile in an attempt at a peace offering, hoping that he will leave it at that. She’s leaning further and further away from him as the seconds tick by, but she’s quite packed into the bar, and can’t really move that far away, especially when he is still holding onto her, his hand splayed out over her lower back with no plans to move it seems.

“Come on, how about just one dance? You know that this could be really good,” he offers, pulling her further toward him, and Ingrid tries her hardest not to gag at the implication as she shakes her head just slightly.

“No, really, I’m here with someone and I must be getting back,” Ingrid insists, and she feels the person in the spot next to her leave, opening up a spot to move further away from him, but someone is sliding in right after them and she tries hard not to groan at the missed opportunity to slide back into the space, away from this man.

“Oye, don’t be difficult cariño come on! It’s just one danc…” The words in the man's throat seem to die on his tongue as Ingrid feels another hand slide across her back, the forearm of this new arm knocking the man’s hand off her back as someone's side comes to press up against her own, the hand wrapping rather securely around her waist.

Oh my god.

No.

No.

This is simply not happening right now, Ingrid thinks as her mind suddenly blanks, and it takes just about everything in her to shove down the surprised expression that is threatening to come to the forefront of her face.

But no, this is very much happening, and even more so because suddenly Mapi is leaning up, simultaneously pressing a featherlight kiss to Ingrid’s cheekbone while she pulls the brunette further into her side. The Norwegian moves like a ragdoll, happy to be pulled into Mapi’s space, the scent of rosewood and bergamot filling her senses, even in the sweaty and packed bar. The center back is solid against her, and she doesn’t even offer the man a look, instead keeping her gaze and attention fully on the midfielder, her eyes pooled with warmth and concern.

“Everything alright love? Almost ready to leave for our dinner reservation?” Mapi practically purrs and Ingrid’s knees feel weak and dear lord this is so not how she saw her day going when she had woken up that morning. But Ingrid happily plays along, finding nothing but reassurance and ease in the blonde’s eyes, leaning even more into the center back as she offers a response. All up the midfielder’s side and around her back and hips where Mapi was touching her felt like it was on fire, and it took the Norwegian a moment to formulate a coherent response to the question.

“Yes, yeah everything’s fine babe, I was just trying to get us some drinks before we left,” Ingrid responds sweetly, and when she turns her head back to the man she finds a rather disgusted look on his face, and all he offers in response is a sneer before he turns on his heels and walks away.

It might just be Ingrid’s imagination, but it almost feels as though Mapi’s hand lingers for just a moment longer than necessary before it slides off of her back as the blonde steps out of her space. It’s just a tiny step back, and she’s still close enough for Ingrid to smell her perfume, but she finds herself missing the contact all the same.

Or at least, the brunette is hoping that she’s not imagining it. Because the next thing she says is not really planned, but rather a spur of a moment, slightly tipsy decision.

“We could, you know,” is all she offers at first, her voice so quiet against the backdrop of the loud bar that Mapi can barely hear her. The blonde looks at her with an arched eyebrow, clearly a little bit lost, her head tilted to the side in confusion.

“Get dinner, sometime,” Ingrid adds in a rush, and the Spaniard’s eyebrows shoot up so far they might as well be in her hairline at this rate.

“Are you…are you asking me out on a date?” Mapi asks gently, her voice soft and disbelieving. Ingrid freezes, not having really thought this far ahead, her face scrunching as she tries to think her way out of this one.

“Um…yes? Or no–it depends on your answer? Because if it’s no than no I am not but if it was a ye–”

“Yes!” Mapi says a little too quickly, cutting Ingrid's nervous rambling off, and the brunette looks back at the blonde with big, surprised eyes.

“Yes?” She asks curiously, not entirely believing that the amber eyed woman agreed to this. That Mapi would agree to going out with her.

“Yes, Ingrid, I would love to go on a date with you,” Mapi assures, and the taller woman can only nod, not entirely sure what to say now.

“Oh ok, ok yeah…then lets do it. Next Saturday?” She offers, and Mapi is quick to agree.

“Next Saturday,” The blonde confirms, and Ingrid feels on top of cloud nine for the rest of the night. It couldn’t be further from what she expected from her night, but she can’t bring herself to care, honestly because this is ten times better than what she ever could have imagined.

—

When Ingrid opens the door to her apartment, all the breath in her lungs feels like it has been stolen right out from under her. Because Mapi is standing on her doorstep in a tan button down and black slacks, and she looks absolutely stunning.

Mapi is equally caught off guard, looking at Ingrid with big eyes as she looks over the Norwegian, who is wearing a maroon bodysuit and tan pants.

“Wow, I mean, wow. You look–” Mapi started, only for Ingrid to cut her off.

“Stunning,” The brunette finished, shaking her head slightly. She’s used to the center back in training gear or simple t-shirts, and she’s already drop dead gorgeous in those but this? This is a whole new level of obsession for Ingrid.

“I could say the same about you,” Mapi laughs softly, smiling at the green eyed woman gently. The midfielder blushes at the compliment, before she motions for the Spaniard to come inside.

“Please, come inside for a second. I just need to grab my wallet and keys,” Ingrid explained, and Mapi stepped into the Norwegians' apartment for the first time.

It was a cute, quaint little space, and after a short entry-way, it opened up into a living room and kitchen that were broken up by a dining room table with four chairs sitting at it. Ingrid walked over to the other side of the dining room table, disappearing into what Mapi will later learn is her bedroom.

The blonde takes the chance to look around from her spot just a few steps away from the kitchen counter. The apartment has a lot of light from a fair number of windows, and the kitchen is cheerful with patterned walls, slate blue cabinets, and white countertops. The dining room table is made of a magnificent wood, and the living room seems to follow the color pattern of the kitchen.

When Mapi looks directly to her left though, she realizes that there is a large rectangular structure with a black blanket thrown haphazardly over it.

The Spaniard doesn’t move towards it, but she’s almost entirely sure from the small corner that isn’t covered that it's a…mirror? And a broken one at that, if the crack she can see is anything to go by.

She turns back around, looking in toward the kitchen as she tries to wonder why Ingrid would have a broken mirror, when the brunette returns from her room, a small black purse in hand. Mapi decides not to ask Ingrid about it until she has more information, and she’s entirely too distracted by how jaw-dropping the midfielder looks to really remember the structure for too long.

“Ready to go?” Ingrid asks lightly, and Mapi nods happily, letting the brunette lead the way out of her place.

They begin to walk toward the restaurant, chatting about the team and the practice they had that very same day together.

“Do you live nearby?” Ingrid asks eventually when a lull in conversation presents itself, and Mapi nods easily.

“Yeah, actually most of the girls all live within a few blocks of each other! My place is about a fifteen minute walk from yours, so not too bad really. I live a few floors above Alexia, actually,” Mapi answered, and the clear excitement that the blonde showed at such a small thing was infectious enough to make even Ingrid smile.

Without really even thinking about it, the brunette stepped closer, pushing her hand into the space where Mapi’s was and threading her fingers through the blondes. The defender didn’t look over at her, but Ingrid could see her smile from her peripheral vision, and the center back squeezed her hand softly, the movement sending butterflies through the brunette’s stomach.

The dinner couldn’t have been more perfect. Ingrid isn’t sure if she’s surprised or not by how easy it is to be around Mapi. The blonde makes her laugh with ease, and she just tells the most wonderful stories, and whenever the midfielder even attempts to say something she seems to have Mapi’s full attention as if she’s telling the most riveting story.

Ingrid learns so much more about the blonde than she expects, and she can’t help but find that there’s so much more she wants to learn.

She wants to know everything.

The Norwegian can’t help but marvel at how different the amber eyed woman is compared to Maia. They might look similar, but everything about their personalities is different. Mapi might be a serious and dedicated footballer, but she is so open and gentle off the pitch, whereas Maia was all hard angles and intensity, both on and off the pitch.

Ingrid doesn’t feel the same nerves that she felt around Maia when she’s with Mapi. She just feels…at ease. It’s a nice feeling, one where she doesn’t have to feel like guard is up. The Spaniard doesn’t need or ask her to be anything other than herself. She compliments Ingrid’s skills and playing ability, asks all the right questions about her family and past without being too invasive, and listens with reverence anytime the taller woman opens her mouth.

When Mapi tells a story about pranking Alexia during one of her first stints with the Spanish national team, Ingrid laughs so hard she snorts.

She tries really hard to be embarrassed about it, but she can’t quite bring herself to, especially when it makes the blonde laugh even harder.

She can’t remember the last time she had laughed that hard. It’s a welcome change from the last few years.

Mapi makes her feel light, and like maybe all the horrible things about herself aren’t true. If this spectacular human being can appreciate her in this way, maybe she can appreciate herself.

After the defender pays the check (with a healthy dose of argument from Ingrid, who is only quieted after Mapi tells her that she can get the next one), the two walk hand in hand out of the restaurant into the setting sun. But instead of turning back toward where both of them live, the blonde turns them in the direction of the sea, just a block or two away from the restaurant they had been eating at.

“Don’t we both live in the opposite direction?” Ingrid questioned with a chuckle, and Mapi just looked over at her with a slightly guilty smile.

“Maybe I’m just not ready for the night to be over,” the shorter woman provided smoothly, and Ingrid felt herself melting into the response, couldn’t put it better herself really.

Ingrid brought her and the Spaniards' intertwined hands up to her lips, pressing it softly to the back of Mapi’s hand before she let them fall again, walking hand in hand with the blonde toward the beach. They talk lightly as they walk before they find a bench, sitting to watch the sun set.

They’re sitting there, just enjoying the sunset when the midfielder finally works up the courage to say what she knows that she needs to.

She knows that she doesn’t have to tell Mapi, but this is something that is important to her and who she is. The blonde deserves to know that, deserves to know what she’s getting herself into before she commits to anything.

Could she have said it a bit more eloquently? Yes…yes she could have but sometimes beggars can’t be choosers.

“I used to be in a relationship! Before I came to Barca, I mean…” Ingrid trails off, Mapi looks over at her with curiosity, but luckily not judgment.

“Okay…” the defender confirms lightly, her eyes on Ingrid. The midfielder swallowed before continuing, her hands rested on her thighs, her fingers digging into the skin there.

“It…it wasn’t good. It wasn’t good for me, or for her, or for anyone involved really. And it just really fucked with the way that I thought about myself, the way I still think about myself.”

“And Carmen is helping me navigate it but still I…I’m damaged goods. And I’m in the process of trying to fix myself but I understand if it’s too much of you to ask you to be with someone who thinks that she’s constantly a fuckup,” Ingrid finishes quietly, and Mapi is looking out at the ocean, at the waves crashing onto the shore slowly, a thoughtful look on her face. She looks over at the midfielder after what feels like forever to the brunette, but is probably only a few seconds. Her face is soft, her expression bordering on sad, and it makes the Norwegians' heart pick up speed, anxiety pumping through her as she doesn’t exactly know what Mapi is going to say.

But once again, the Spaniard surprises her in every way imaginable.

“How can you fix something that isn’t broken?” Mapi asks gently, her voice crackling just slightly over the last word.

“I don’t think you’re ‘damaged goods’ Ingrid. I understand if you’re trying to work on yourself, that I will accept, but I won’t accept you putting yourself down for trying to be a better person. Because you already are a good person, and it’s one of the reasons I liked you in the first place. You’re kind, and thoughtful, and so fucking compassionate and dedicated, sometimes I feel like it doesn’t even compute in my brain.”

“And I’m sorry that something like that ever happened to you, and I want to be here to support you however you need me to. I just…I want to be here,” Mapi vowed, and Ingrid ducked her chin for a moment, trying to shove her tears down. When she looks up at the defender, Mapi is slightly blurry to her through the tears.

“I really like you,” the brunette said quietly, and Mapi lets out a wet laugh that Ingrid mirrors.

“Well, that’s a good thing because I really like you too,” the center back says softly, and Ingrid’s not sure who leans in first but all she knows is that the blonde’s lips on her just feels right.

The kiss is slow and languid, and it settles something in Ingrid’s stomach that she didn’t even know needed to be settled. When they are forced to lean back on account of needing to breathe, the midfielder ducks her head just slightly and Mapi brings hers up, pressing a soft kiss to Ingrid’s temple before she rests her cheek there, her eyes fluttering shut.

“Mi princesa,” Mapi says softly, and if it’s even possible the Norwegian leans more fully into the defender, who smiles at the act.

Ingrid’s heart feels rested, for the first time in a long time.