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timeout: chapter 11

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summary: With Christmas and other obligations approaching, Azzi has decisions to make.

a/n: Merry Christmas in August! 🎄

wc: 4.2k

Chapter 11: Christmas

Azzi

Azzi stared out the frost-laced window, watching the gray sky deepen as the days grew shorter. Christmas was inching closer, pulling with it all the questions she’d tried to push away, the calls from family checking if she’d come home, the texts from old teammates hinting at new opportunities, the steady drum of her own restless thoughts.

She hadn’t said much to Paige yet, but each night the decision felt heavier, pressing into her like the cold Montana air that seeped through the cabin’s cracks.

Paige hadn’t asked, not directly. But Azzi could feel the awareness in her, sharp as flint under all that quiet ease. The way Paige lingered a little longer in the doorway when Azzi came in from the cold. The extra log she added to the fire. The steady patience that felt, lately, a little like waiting.

Azzi shifted in her chair, the blanket slipping from her shoulder. Her phone buzzed once on the table, her agent again, probably. Or her mom. She didn’t check.

Instead, she looked toward the kitchen, where Paige stood barefoot, rinsing out two mugs. The light caught the edge of her profile, softening the familiar lines Azzi had come to know by heart. Her throat tightened.

She wasn’t sure what she was staying for anymore. Or if she was already too late to leave without breaking something.

One evening, Paige found her curled on the couch, a half-finished mug of cocoa growing cold on the table.

“Thinking about the holidays?” she asked, voice soft but edged with something Azzi couldn’t quite name.

Azzi didn’t look up. “Trying not to.”

Paige slid down beside her, knees brushing. She brought the blanket with her and tugged it over both of them, but the warmth didn’t quite reach Azzi’s chest.

“They still hounding you?” Paige asked, more casual than curious, but Azzi knew better.

“Not hounding,” she said. “Just... reminding me who I’m supposed to be.”

Paige was quiet for a beat. “Is that such a bad thing?”

Azzi turned, just slightly, eyes narrowing. “You mean going back?”

“I mean... they’re not wrong, Azzi,” Paige said, and her voice wasn’t unkind, but it wasn’t neutral either. “You’re still the best there is.”

Azzi looked away. Out the window, where snow clung to the corners of the pane. Her reflection wavered in the glass, blurred, unfinished.

“I was,” she said.

“That’s bullshit,” Paige muttered, sitting up straighter. “You didn’t stop being great just because you got tired. You’re allowed to rest. But that doesn’t mean you’re done.”

Azzi closed her eyes. Her hands tightened in her lap, knuckles gone pale beneath the knit of the blanket.

“It’s not just rest, Paige.”

Her voice was low, like she was afraid it might splinter if she said more.

Across the room, Paige exhaled. A tired, uneven sound. She dragged a hand through her hair, fingers catching on a knot she didn’t bother to untangle.

“I know,” she said. “I do. I just—”

She stopped, jaw working. The silence stretched, filled only by the wind whispering against the windowpanes, the soft hiss of the fire settling deeper into the grate.

Then, barely above a whisper:

“It kills me to see you throw it away.”

Azzi flinched like it hit nerve, not bone.

Paige saw it. Her shoulders dropped, regret already in her throat.

“That wasn’t fair,” she said gently, almost ashamed. “I’m sorry.”

Azzi kept her gaze on the floor. When she spoke, her voice was quieter than before, but steadier.

“I’m not throwing it away.”

She looked up then, met Paige’s eyes, and something behind hers flickered, hurt, maybe, or the ghost of exhaustion she never let show.

“I’m trying to figure out who I am without it,” she said. “Who I want to be if I’m not… that.”

“And if who you want to be isn’t someone who plays?” Paige asked, voice rough around the edges. But it wasn’t really a question. Not anymore. It sounded like something she’d already been asking herself in the quiet, when Azzi wasn’t looking. Something she maybe didn’t want the answer to.

Azzi looked at her then. Really looked.

The stubborn pull in Paige’s jaw. The soft shine in her eyes that hadn't quite spilled over. The way her arms stayed folded like she was holding something in. Grief, maybe. Hope. The truth, lodged somewhere between the two.

“I think you want me to stay,” Azzi said, her voice barely above the low hum of the wind outside.

“I do.” Paige’s answer came fast. Honest.

“But you want me to play, too.”

She didn’t say it like an accusation. Just a fact. A tender one. A small fracture between them that had been there for weeks, maybe months, finally named out loud.

Paige didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

Azzi sat back slightly, let the quiet settle.

“I’m still figuring it out,” she said after a moment. “But I can’t do it for anyone else this time.”

Azzi didn’t sleep much that night.

After Paige had gone quiet beside her, and the fire had burned down to a low orange glow, she lay staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint crack of wood settling in the cabin walls.

She was scheduled to go to Miami for Unrivaled the first week of January. It had been decided way before she’d known how everything in her life would unravel.

At the time, it had felt far away. Distant enough to ignore. But now? Now it felt like a ticking clock.

She hadn’t told Paige. Not out loud. Not yet.

But Paige probably knew. The way she always did, from the slight stiffening in Azzi’s shoulders when the texts came in. The way her gaze lingered on Azzi’s hands longer than necessary, like she was trying to imagine them still in motion, still in command of the court.

Azzi turned over, away from the glow of the embers. Her body still remembered how to play. That wasn’t the problem. The muscle memory never left. It was everything else, the press of attention, the relentless push forward, the sense that no matter what she did, it would never be enough unless she kept going.

She used to be fueled by that. Now it made her feel like she was breathing through a straw.

But still. There was a part of her, treacherous and familiar, that missed it. Missed the snap of the net, the rhythm of a clean release, the clarity of a game that made sense even when everything else didn’t.

And Paige… Paige didn’t say it often, but it was in the way she looked at Azzi when the game came up. That flicker of something, not jealousy, exactly. More like yearning. Like hope she didn’t know where to put.

Azzi’s chest ached. She didn’t want to hurt her. But she also wasn’t sure she could be what Paige wanted her to be.

She shifted again, restless. Her knee twinged a little, the old WNBA wraparound brace tucked somewhere deep in her duffel.

It started with the sound of the ball.

That steady, unmistakable rhythm, rubber against frozen earth, echoing off the quiet barn walls.

Azzi wasn’t sure why it hit her the way it did. She’d heard it a thousand times. In gyms where the echo was swallowed by whistles and sneakers. In driveways under summer sun. In packed arenas beneath lights bright enough to erase your name.

But this sound felt smaller. More human. Like memory breathing through cold air.

She stepped to the side of the barn door, hidden in the shadow. Let the wind bite at her fingers as she watched.

Paige was shooting.

She wasn’t moving fast. No real intensity. Just a slow, deliberate rhythm, set, bend, release.

She wore old thermals under a pair of faded sweats, and Azzi’s hoodie, the navy one with the frayed cuffs, hung loose around her hips. Her breath came in puffs, soft white clouds against the early dusk. Her follow-through still held shape, even as her legs betrayed her.

The third shot clanged off the rim. Paige winced, not from the miss, but the way she landed. She reached down and touched her knee, just for a second. Then went after the ball with a quiet grimace, dragging her steps through a patch of slush.

She didn’t shoot again.

Instead, she sat on the edge of the concrete slab, the ball tucked against her side. One knee bent, arms resting heavy on her thighs. She didn’t move. Didn’t cry. Just stared out across the trees like maybe, if she sat still long enough, something inside her might settle.

Azzi turned around in the cold without making a sound.

She didn’t sleep that night.

Instead, she sat at the kitchen table, a legal pad in front of her, the pages still mostly blank. Her flight for Unrivaled was booked. She hadn’t decided if she was going to take it.

But now something settled in her chest. Not clarity exactly. Not comfort. But stillness.

Paige couldn’t go back.

Azzi still could.

And not because someone expected it. Not because of money or obligation or brand loyalty.

But because, for the first time in months, she wanted to. Not to be what she was, but to see who she could still be.

Not to escape Paige.

But because Paige had reminded her what it was like to love something even after it had broken you.

And what it meant to choose it again anyway.

The fire had burned low by the time Azzi finally said it.

She’d been sitting cross-legged on the floor, back leaned against the couch, blanket pooled around her waist. Paige was behind her, curled into the corner cushion, one foot grazing Azzi’s hip in that absent-minded way she did when she was half-listening to the radio and half-dozing.

Azzi waited for the right moment, though she wasn’t sure there was one.

“I’m going back,” she said softly.

Paige’s foot stilled.

Azzi didn’t look up. She stared at the hearth instead, watching one ember pulse, then fade.

“I’ve had the flight booked. For Unrivaled. I wasn’t sure I was gonna take it.” She swallowed. “But I am.”

Silence stretched between them, quiet and thick. Then Paige shifted behind her. Slowly. Not away, just enough to sit up straighter, to take it in.

“Okay,” Paige said. Her voice didn’t crack, but it felt like it could.

Azzi finally turned to look at her. Paige’s face was unreadable, caught between restraint and something softer. Her jaw was set. Her eyes… weren’t angry. Just tired.

“Is that okay?” Azzi asked, almost surprised at herself for needing the answer.

Paige breathed in. Held it. Let it go slow, like if she exhaled too fast, something might splinter.

“You don’t need my permission,” she said, voice steady but quiet.

“I know,” Azzi replied. Her hands were wrapped around the mug she hadn’t touched. “But I think I needed you to hear it. From me. Not later. Not when I was already gone.”

Paige’s gaze dropped to her hands, loosely clasped in her lap, thumbs brushing over one another in slow, unconscious circles. She nodded once, small.

“When do you leave?”

“Week after New Year.”

Another nod. Barely there. “That’s soon.”

“Yeah.”

The quiet settled again. Not awkward, but thick. Like both of them were trying to hold something without breaking it.

Then Paige said, “You were always gonna go back.”

She didn’t say it like an accusation. There was no edge, no sigh behind it. Just a simple truth she’d been carrying for a while. One she’d tried not to look at too closely.

Azzi didn’t answer right away. Just watched her.

“I didn’t know if I could,” she said finally. “Until yesterday.”

Something flickered in Paige’s face then, eyes lifting, mouth parting just slightly, like a response had almost formed but caught in her throat.

“You were by the barn,” Azzi said. “Shooting. Sitting. I watched you for a minute.” She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It reminded me why I loved the game in the first place. Before everything.”

Paige didn’t respond right away. Then she gave a low exhale, rubbed the back of her neck. “I wasn’t trying to be seen.”

“I know,” Azzi said. “But I needed to see it.”

She shifted, slowly, leaning her back into Paige’s legs. Paige didn’t move away. She rested her hand on Azzi’s shoulder, gentle. Familiar.

“I don’t know what comes next,” Azzi said. “But I want to find out.”

Paige’s fingers flexed slightly, then stilled. “Then go.”

It wasn’t triumphant. Wasn’t joyful. But it wasn’t resistance either. Just a quiet, aching acceptance.

Azzi closed her eyes.

Neither of them said I’ll miss you.

They didn’t need to.

It was already there, in the way Paige’s thumb traced soft lines against her collarbone, and in the way Azzi leaned back just enough to feel her warmth, memorizing the weight of it before it was gone.

They didn’t talk much about her leaving after that.

It was like some unspoken agreement had settled between them, to fold themselves into the time they had left, to press it full with small, ordinary moments that would linger long after.

So they made Christmas into something soft.

They hung lights across the cabin’s porch, the mismatched, half-flickering ones Paige swore gave the place character. Paige strung cranberries and popcorn while Azzi tried not to eat half of them. They chopped wood, lit candles that smelled faintly like cinnamon and cedar, and baked cookies that came out uneven and slightly burnt at the edges.

Paige wore a reindeer sweater with a beer stain near the hem. Azzi didn’t ask about it.

On Christmas morning, snow coated everything in silence. Paige woke first and made coffee, humming tunelessly under her breath, barefoot on cold floorboards. Azzi came in still wrapped in a quilt, hair mussed, eyes soft.

There weren’t many gifts. A carved wooden keychain Azzi had whittled badly. A pair of wool gloves from Paige that somehow fit perfectly. A photo tucked into the bottom of Azzi’s stocking, the two of them standing in front of the truck last month, Paige’s arm thrown casually around Azzi’s shoulder, both of them mid-laugh.

Azzi didn’t say anything when she saw it. She just held it in her hand for a long time.

They played cards after breakfast, Paige insisting on some elaborate version of rummy she claimed Ruth taught her, the rules suspiciously changing every time Paige started losing.

Azzi narrowed her eyes, setting down a run of threes and fours.

“That’s not legal,” Paige said immediately, leaning over the table like a lawyer catching a loophole.

“You literally just made up a rule that lets you steal my entire hand if you hum the national anthem backwards,” Azzi replied dryly.

Paige grinned. “You didn’t hum it. That’s on you.”

Azzi stared. “I don’t even know the anthem backwards.”

“Sounds like a personal problem.”

She flicked a stray piece of popcorn at Paige’s forehead. Paige retaliated with a marshmallow to the face, and somehow that devolved into a full-blown indoor snowball fight with crumpled wrapping paper and handfuls of ribbon. The table got knocked sideways. The dog, Paige was watching her neighbor’s retriever for the week, barked once and then promptly joined Azzi’s side.

Later, Paige made grilled cheese with leftover ham, toasting it in a cast iron pan like it was sacred tradition.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” she said, flipping a sandwich with exaggerated care.

“For what?”

“For being the best part of your Christmas.”

Azzi smiled, propped against the kitchen counter in thick socks and Paige’s oversized hoodie. “You think pretty highly of yourself.”

“I’m delightful,” Paige said without missing a beat. “Also humble.”

Azzi let out a soft laugh, watching her. Something flickered deep in her chest. This was the version of Paige that always undid her, steady, confident, a little ridiculous, and entirely unafraid of being known.

They ate on the couch, legs tangled, watching a movie they’d both seen before. Paige recited half the lines under her breath, doing terrible impressions. Azzi leaned her head on her shoulder and let the sound of her voice carry her.

The day stretched out, slow and golden. No talk of flights or January or anything that would come after. Just shared space, shared time.

Paige made hot toddies that were more whiskey than tea. Azzi curled up under the quilt again, full and drowsy, and Paige put on a record, something old and scratchy that warbled as it spun.

Azzi didn’t say it, how rare this kind of peace felt. How Paige’s ridiculousness had become her favorite sound in the world.

She didn’t say it.

She just let herself feel it.

And Paige, maybe knowing the words Azzi wouldn’t speak, just reached for her hand and held it like she didn’t plan to let go until the last possible moment.

The record played on, low and warbling, some old soul ballad neither of them named out loud. The kind of song that sounded like memory, all longing and slow rhythm, as if the vinyl itself remembered being touched.

Azzi shifted under the quilt, her head still resting on Paige’s shoulder, their joined hands warm between them. The hot toddy sat forgotten on the table, the whiskey gone lukewarm, the tea never really steeped.

Paige’s thumb traced lightly over Azzi’s knuckles. Absent at first. Thoughtless. Then again, slower. More like knowing.

Azzi turned her head, just enough to press her cheek against the soft fabric of Paige’s sweater. It smelled like woodsmoke and lemon and something that was starting to feel like home.

“You okay?” Paige asked, her voice nearly a whisper, like anything louder might crack the moment open.

Azzi nodded. Then, quieter: “Yeah.”

But she didn’t pull away. Didn’t move at all, except to let her fingers shift in Paige’s grip, not to break it, but to weave between. Interlaced now. Closer.

Paige turned slightly, enough for their eyes to meet in the soft light.

Azzi didn’t say anything.

She didn’t need to.

She leaned in slowly, giving Paige every chance to close the distance or let it stay where it was. But Paige didn’t move back. Her breath caught, just once, and then her hand cupped Azzi’s jaw, thumb brushing along the edge of her cheekbone soft but with intention.

And when their lips met, it wasn’t sudden. It wasn’t desperate.

It was slow. Certain. The kind of kiss that doesn’t ask are you sure? but says I’m here.

Azzi melted into it.

The record skipped once, barely noticeable, and kept spinning.

Azzi’s hand found the hem of Paige’s sweater, fingers curling there like a question. Paige answered by pulling back just enough to look at her, eyes soft, open.

“Yeah?” she asked, barely audible.

Azzi nodded. “Yeah.”

So Paige leaned in again, slower this time, her lips brushing once, then again. Azzi’s breath hitched, and Paige felt it, felt her relax into the touch like tension unspooling from her shoulders.

Their mouths moved with more intention now, deepening by degrees. Paige’s hand slid under the edge of the quilt, finding Azzi’s waist, warm through cotton. Her fingers stilled for a moment, resting in that quiet space between permission and pull. Azzi leaned closer, answered without words, and Paige’s hand slipped higher, just under her shirt, callused thumb drawing slow, grounding circles along her ribs.

Azzi made a sound then, small and unguarded, and Paige swallowed it with her next kiss, gentler now, as if the closeness alone was enough to break them both open.

Clothes didn’t come off all at once. They unraveled between kisses and breath and quiet laughter, the couch creaking beneath shifting weight. Azzi pulled Paige’s sweater over her head, pausing to press her lips to the hollow of her throat, where her pulse jumped beneath skin. Paige tugged Azzi’s shirt free, fingers skimming the lines of her back, memorizing without haste.

They moved together like the snow outside: slow, inevitable, soft enough to blanket the world.

Azzi’s body curved into Paige’s touch, all trust and wanting, no performance. Nothing to prove. Just presence. Just the hum beneath her skin when Paige whispered her name like it meant something sacred.

And later, when the quiet had returned and their breath slowed, when skin pressed to skin and the record had long since spun out, they stayed curled around each other on the too-small couch, tangled and warm.

No talk of flights. No talk of goodbye.

Just Paige’s hand on Azzi’s bare shoulder, steady. And Azzi’s fingers at Paige’s hip, resting.

Holding on.

For now.

The days after passed far too quickly.

Maybe they always did, once a decision had been made, once time started slipping between the cracks of what you were about to lose. And Azzi had made her decision, at least in theory. Her flight was booked. Unrivaled was waiting. Her agent was already sending schedules and welcome-back texts, full of exclamation points she couldn’t return.

But theory and practice were never the same thing. Not when it came to Paige.

It was in the smallest things. The way Paige would knock snow off her boots before stepping inside, always with a muttered curse about Montana winters, and then toss a lopsided grin over her shoulder. The way she leaned back in her chair at breakfast, ankles crossed, eyes soft. The way she saw Azzi without needing to ask anything from her. The way her presence felt like something Azzi hadn’t realized she’d been aching for all these years, not fame, not adrenaline, but something much quieter. Solid. Real.

Azzi had learned how to be still again, here. But Paige had taught her how to belong.

And now the idea of leaving wasn’t just painful, it felt wrong. Like carving something essential out of herself.

She kept turning it over in her head, night after night, while Paige was asleep beside her, or humming in the kitchen, or driving them through snow-covered backroads like they weren’t heading toward the edge of something.

What if this didn’t have to end?

What if Paige came with me?

The thought wasn’t new, but it had grown teeth lately. It curled close when she least expected it, brushing her shoulders while she watched Paige lean over an engine, or while they sat in silence that didn’t feel empty. It felt impossible and obvious at the same time.

Azzi knew it wasn’t simple. Paige had history here. Roots that ran deeper than most people ever saw. This town had saved her when the rest of the world had let her fall. And basketball, that was the most complicated part of all. Paige didn’t talk about it much, but Azzi had seen it in the way she turned the TV off during games, or how her fingers sometimes twitched when she passed the ball outside with the neighborhood kids. Like there was still muscle memory there. Still ache.

Azzi didn’t want to reopen wounds.

She didn’t even know if Paige would want that, if she could leave this place that held so much of her past and pain. Basketball was still a raw wound for her, layered in scar tissue and silence. And yet, Azzi couldn’t ignore the quiet thread of hope that tugged at her: that maybe she could be the one to show her it could be different. That basketball didn’t have to mean giving yourself away to everyone but yourself.

The way Paige had helped Azzi remember who she was without a jersey, maybe Azzi could do the same in return.

Because it hadn’t just been the quiet or the cold or the time away that healed her. It had been Paige. The way she looked at her like she was whole, even on the days Azzi barely felt like a person. With Paige, Azzi was just Azzi. A girl who liked strong coffee and slow mornings. A girl who learned to split firewood with steady hands. A girl who could laugh again, real and full and cracked open, without it costing her anything.

Paige had seen her like that long before Azzi had been ready to see herself.

And maybe that was what stuck. That Paige hadn’t tried to pull her back into the light, she’d just stood beside her in the dark, until Azzi was ready to move.

She wondered if she could do the same.

There was still something there, still a part of Paige that missed the game in the quiet moments, maybe Azzi could help her remember what it felt like before the pressure. Before the injuries. Before the loss and the silence and the fear of being forgotten. Before she learned to hide the ache beneath dry humor and dusty boots.

Maybe Paige could remember what it felt like to move just because it felt good. To sweat and laugh and feel the ball in her hands again like it belonged there. Not because she owed it to anyone. Not because it was a comeback.

She didn’t say it yet. Didn’t ask. Didn’t even bring it up.

But she held the thought close, like a match she wasn’t ready to strike.

#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi fic #pazzi fic: timeout

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