Water was never the first thing Candace thought of when she thought of Texas, but Houston is on the Gulf Coast, in the path of the hurricanes that batter the South when the summer comes. She can see ocean from here. She's seen it before in her travels, but she's not used to it. Sometimes she likes to think that the wind whipping up from the Gulf is the wind of change, blowing the dust off and clearing the air. Sometimes, when she's feeling especially imaginative, she closes her eyes and thinks of herself as that wind.

These are not the Houston Comets that once dominated the WNBA. Coop is long gone, Swoopes is a strange sight in green, and Thompson- well, Candace doesn't know what she's doing; maybe she's in a gym somewhere practicing post moves to use on the Russian centers, maybe she's kicking back with a drink and taking advantage of her time off. The foundations of the dynasty have crumbled. Everything's different, but Houston tries to make it the same. Candace gets this sense that they want- no, they need- for her to be everything to everyone, to have Coop's swagger, Swoopes's regal bearing, and Thompson's power. She has to burn hot and burn cold, fire to draw the fans, ice to repel her opponents. Inside, outside, offense, defense, stabilizer, firestarter, leader, follower- she's CP3, she can do all those things, right? Of course!

And she's still CP3, because Hilton and Karleen all but beg her on their knees to take #3. Funny thing is, they really don't need to, and the fact that they do makes her suspicious. But then, there are a lot of things about the Houston Comets that hint of rot and decay at the core, of desperately grabbing for anything to keep limping along so they can ignore the real problems. They didn't work to keep their success here, and that's where the traditions differ. This isn't Tennessee anymore, even if she's not the only Lady Vol in this town.

Something else bothers her about this team. Her teammates all act like they've been whipped into submission, like they've been told they have a place, and they'll be put back in it with extreme prejudice if they try to get out of it. Even though she's a rookie, her teammates defer to her constantly. Pat would have kittens, or a cow, or something else people only have on the front covers of tabloids, if she ever saw a team this beaten down. Even Mistie's fallen into the trap- Mistie, a Dukie!

Even Michelle. Pat's never done well with centers, a flaw Candace has learned about but will never let on to. She's thought about it, and maybe it's because a playmaking guard like Pat never could understand big girls and the difference in focus, that they could never measure up to the high standards Pat set because they weren't their standards. She remembers the way Pat and Nicky butted heads, heard from Ashley about Pat's up-and-down relationship with Michelle, read about Tiffani Johnson and Teresa Geter in one of Pat's books. Candace knows her history, too; she knows that Michelle's class was the first to leave without a ring, just like Sid's class was the first one to bring the jewelry back to Knoxville. There's something in Michelle's eyes that belies her swagger, like she knows she's alone, even if she doesn't want to be.

Candace wouldn't mind being the one to tear off that aloof façade. Vols hang together; Michelle needs to know that she's not alone here. If they put their minds to it, they can recreate the glory days of years past. After all, Tennessee girls deserve rings on their fingers. It's only natural.

Michelle is a hard nut to crack. She and Candace play different positions, but Michelle still acts like Candace is a threat to her. Only when Coach Thompson finally stops pitting them against each other in practice does Candace finally find the first break in Michelle's amor; commentators still rave about her passing ability for a big, and every time she feeds Michelle on the block, Michelle almost smiles shyly and her face almost lights up before she seems to remember that she's not supposed to care and closes up again, sullen and mumbling.

Candace turns up the charisma after one particularly successful practice- they won against Minnesota, which isn't much, but it's something after last year, and the execution today reflects that. Michelle laughs once after a slick series of passes, and actually covers her mouth to make sure no one notices. If there's ever going to be a chance, this would be it, so Candace calls out, "Hey, wanna grab a bite? On me. Rookie dues and all of that."

Michelle shrugs, shoulders up so she looks almost ready to take off. Candace has to resist the urge to grab her ankle to keep her from floating away all by herself. "Free is good," she finally mutters. "Sure, why the hell not?"

There are some great margarita places a few blocks from the Compaq Center, but Michelle's eyes get a little wild when Candace turns that way. Too bad, beause her point would be made a lot more easily and quickly in that area of town. They wander around for a little bit, not attracting enough stares and questions for Candace's liking- even if no one knows why they are, someone should at least be staring at two six-foot-five women wandering around town- until they find a little café with a hint of spice and tuck into nachos and quesadillas. Candace makes conversation with double entendres that Michelle either ignores or snickers at, and talk about former teammates that they have in common. Tennessee doesn't seem to have a lot of fond memories for Michelle, though, because she gets quiet during those parts of the conversation, and she doesn't bring herself to look at Candace.

Finally, Candace has had enough and goes all out. Earnestly, putting her hand over Michelle's, she says, "Girl, you need to get laid." Her face is so serious and her tone so deadpan that it takes a moment to sink in; Candace even lets herself be a little surprised that she makes herself sound so sincere with such a trite line.

"You offering?" Michelle asks, almost snarling, breaking the moment.

"What if I am?"

Michelle seems to consider this for a moment, putting herself into one of the classic thinker's positions. "You're shittin' me," she says.

"Let's say I'm not. Let's say that you need to get laid and I want to be the one to do it. You gonna be grossed out?"

"I'd say at least you got better taste than Sheryl did," Michelle replies.

"You gonna take me seriously or not?"

"I am taking you seriously." Now Michelle is pulling away, pulling back into herself, putting up her front again and squirming away from contact. Candace can't let that happen, and just before Michelle takes her hand off the table, she tightens her grip. "Parker, you-"

"My name is Candace, and you know that as well as anyone," Candace interrupts. "If you're taking me seriously, then sound like it. Give me a real answer, none of this crap you're giving me about Sheryl's taste and whether I'm serious or not. I mean every damn word, so the next time you open your mouth you better do the same thing." There's fire in her eyes, and under her words. Sometimes Candace doesn't know how bad she wants a thing until she has trouble getting it, then it's time to pull out the stops and go get it. Just ask Rutgers about that. Sometimes Candace wonders why people don't realize that she's not going all-out half the time, because she doesn't need to; she's good enough that she doesn't need to go as far as others might. Somehow she's not surprised that it takes another Lady Vol to make her go to that next level.

"If you're serious and you mean every word-" Michelle stops herself, leans across the table, and fastens her mouth to Candace's, almost knocking Candace's chair back with her momentum. Fortunately, the café is empty, so no one sees them; in this town, Comets getting it on with each other might be considered par for the course, but word does have a habit of getting out and Candace does have endorsements to think about. But there's no one here to see them, so Candace can instead think about the feel of Michelle's mouth moving against hers, lips parting; she imagines that she can taste Michelle's desperation, salty and bitter on her tongue. She rocks back in her seat as the kiss intensifies, and she breaks it off before Michelle can accidentally push her to the floor.

"I'll take that as a yes," Candace says when Michelle has retaken her seat. "It's been a while for you, huh?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but yeah, kinda has been," Michelle snaps. "So if you're done teasin', your place or mine, or are we gonna call the whole thing off?"

"I think your place is closer," Candace replies, not wanting to think about "calling the whole thing off", as Michelle so crudely put it. She's worked too hard to get to this point, to this day, and if she lets it go she knows she'll never get another chance, not with the fragility of Michelle's trust, not when it took a series of events that she doubts she'll ever get in a row again to even get Michelle this far.

"Here's the address. Need directions?"

Candace tries not to act surprised when Michelle gives her the address; she's got a dim sense of Houston at best, but she gets the feeling that the neighborhood Michelle lives in isn't as good as a 2002 first round draft pick should be living in.

Maybe she's wrong. Maybe she doesn't know Houston. Maybe she doesn't understand the rules the league used to play by when it came to draft position and salaries. Maybe one of these years she'll discover that Michelle has a secret slush fund tucked away and has more money than any of them for the years when knees can't bend so deep and feet aren't quite so fast. But one look at the sheepish expression on Michelle's face- it's only there for a split second, but that's long enough- and Candace realizes, uncomfortably, that she wasn't wrong. One of these days she'll have to get to the bottom of that, but she'll have time enough and trust enough to ask Michelle questions like that.

They've parked in different lots, so they separate. Candace uses the time to plan the next step. She learned a lot on campus, from co-eds of both genders who waited outside TBA after another blowout win. Her first couple of years, she turned down the pretty girls with blue ribbons in their hair and t-shirts tied up like halters, but after her knee injury, she learned how to accept and appreciate everything that was offered to her as her due. The flavors, the experiences, are different, and sometimes she likes to laugh at the people who still haven't gotten the idea of that, who still think there needs to be a limit. Enough people have tried to seduce her that she knows every trick in the book, and Michelle will never know what hit her.

Michelle's already got her pants loose when Candace pulls up in front of the building, and the way she lounges against her car, that see-if-I-care-what-you-wanna-do look, the casual swirl of her keys around her finger, gives Candace serious thoughts of banging her right against that car until both the metal and Michelle start to squeal. But she still has a reputation to think of, and this isn't what she wants to add to it. So she jerks her head towards the door and watches the roll of Michelle's hips as Michelle strolls to the door, cool and calm, like she doesn’t know what she's been doing to Candace.

So of course the first thng Candace does once they're through the door and Michelle has locked it behind them is correct that lapse in Michelle's attention, pinning Michelle to the wall with her hips, one hand working its way through Michelle's zipper and the other holding the back of Michelle's neck as she kisses her hungrily, trying to show with her hands and mouth the unexpected depth of passion that wells up in her. Michelle gasps and twists against her, pulling her closer, shoving her away, confused, aroused, terrified, excited.

Away finally beats out closer, and Michelle achieves separation. "Goddamn," she gets out between deep breaths. "You sure you aren't the one who hasn't had any?"

"Didn't know how bad I wanted what I wanted 'til I tried," Candace replies evenly, licking her damp fingers, tongue darting out between her lips and drawing Michelle's gaze. "Ready for another round?"

She doesn't actually give Michelle a chance to answer; she wants to make sure she gets the answer she wants, and the best way to do that is with a fait accompli, so her mouth is on Michelle's again, her hands on Michelle's breasts, and even though this time she gives Michelle more space to escape, she knows Michelle won't take the route offered to her. Candace always gets her way, after all.

"So nice not to have a size difference," she murmurs into Michelle's ear, and Michelle's laughter breaks the moment. Michelle pulls back, her face serious again. Candace steps towards her, and she steps back.

"I don't like being just another," she snaps. "Dress it up how you like, call it whatever the hell you want, but I'm not gonna be another mark in the little black book. You're all the fucking same, aren't you?" Maybe if she were in public, she would have spit, but not in the privacy of her own home. There's an ugly look on her face, worse than the mask Candace has torn from her; if this is what she was hiding, if this is what she doesn't want the world to see, then Candace would rather have the façade. "Welcome to hell, Parker. You think the attention you got in college was bad? That was nothing. Welcome to hell. Nothing you do is ever good enough. Wanna know why they tore 3 right off Ashley's back, why they forced it down your throat?"

"I didn't even realize someone was wearing it before I got here," Candace replies, shaken by the venom in Michelle's voice.

"Oh, yeah." Michelle manages not to sneer. Much. "Took it right off Ashley's busted ass, and before her it was Kelley. 3's a shit number, Parker. You wear that number, it's like a bull's-eye for all the shit the fans wanna throw at someone, because believe me, they're looking for someone to throw shit at since this team went down. Stick your head up, stick your neck out, you're gonna regret it. Of course they didn't tell you the history. They knew you'd run if they did."

"I don't run from anything. Or anyone." Candace puts her composure back on and approaches Michelle again. "You think you're going to scare me off this team? You want the spotlight all to yourself? Think again. You wanna help me drag this team back to respectability, or you wanna be dragged?"

"Spotlight? You think this is all about fame? You think I want the shit? You're a damn fool. I'm glad you're here- you'll get all the pressure you could ever want. You think you can do what you want? Welcome to hell, Parker, cuz you stay here long enough, you'll be the only one who can't even breathe without ten people telling you you're doing it wrong." Michelle smirks.

Candace has seen, and heard, enough. There's only one way to take that look off Michelle's face, one way to shut Michelle's mouth and make her stop coming out with what Candace convinces herself almost immediately have to be lies. She closes the distance between them, ready to shove Michelle against the wall and shut her up, but Michelle moves faster, and suddenly it's Candace against the wall, her shoulders jarred from the force of the blow, a sharp stab of pain that gets lost in the feel of Michelle's mouth against hers and the slow, jagged line of Michelle's nails along the back of her ear. "Like that?" Michelle whispers huskily, mockingly.

And the damnedest thing is that she does, even if she can't and won't admit it out loud. But she admits it nonetheless, falling into Michelle's embrace.

"Keep hating my guts, it's even hotter," Michelle whispers. Well, that's no problem. Candace rakes her nails across Michelle's back; Michelle's so thin that Candace imagines that she can hit bone. Michelle answers with teeth against her lip, tearing, breaking, and the taste of copper wells up in her mouth. Turn and turn again, and Candace's fingers are slick in Michelle's slit, bent and working in a way that makes Michelle moan into her mouth.

They'll need to explain some of this tomorrow: the cold bed in Candace's bedroom, the hitch in Michelle's stride, the bruises on Candace's shoulders, the daggers they glare at each other, the secret hidden deep in that glare. But tomorrow is tomorrow, and tonight is tonight.