There are no angels in this City of Angels, but Candace doesn't have a problem with that. Makes her fit in better, because while she's no devil, she sure isn't any angel either. Where's the fun in that?

She's used to the bright lights like searchlights, sweeping through the city so that she has to squint to see her goal ahead of her- but she sees it, unlike so many of the people around her, who end up blinded, groping for something that they'll never find. She's used to the noise, the questions forever being asked, the claims that other people make for themselves and in others' names. There's a hardness to this city that might have put her off once, but now only challenges her. Maybe it's a little disconcerting after four years in Tennessee, but Los Angeles isn't much of a city at all when she compares it to the grit of Chicago. Los Angeles is more the idea of what people think a city should be- a set of a city, maybe.

Besides, as mean as the city tries to be, there's no way it can break her down as long as there's a real down-home feeling in the locker room. Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana, Mississippi, Texas: she doesn't know how to tell the difference, she just knows that Sid sounds a little different from LaToya, that both of them sound more like each other than they sound like Temeka, that Sherill sounds different from all three of them, that Taj's deep voice is completely unlike the others. They all remind her of Tennessee, and how she almost felt at home among the collection of talent that Pat had collected and continues to collect, building one dynasty on the reputation of another. She doesn't have to ask for her number: Taj offers it up immediately, because Taj doesn't care what number she wears, but she does understand the importance of marketing the star.

She and Lisa don't talk much, except when it has to do with basketball or photo shoots. There's no need for it: in having everything in common, they have nothing in common; the understanding they share remains unspoken because there's no way to put it into words. They both realize, recognize, that the plural of star isn't "stars", it's "drama". Candace is content to watch and learn; Lisa may not have much to show her when it comes to playing her position, but Lisa's been down the road of stardom before, and Candace takes mental notes every day on the way Lisa handles herself in front of the few reporters who cover them in Los Angeles and the more numerous media on the road. This is backwards. This is not right. Candace decides that when she's the Sparks' undisputed superstar, this is a thing she'll make change.

When it comes to the game on the court, though, her teammates take her by surprise. Coming in, she expected to feel resentment, and she certainly gets that from Moore right up unil the day Moore gets cut, but that's only to be expected from a Husky. But Taj and Christi both accept her as the starter immediately; there's no need for her to prove her dominance. She almost misses it. Then again, it's good to be queen, and good that people understand that she's the queen. And she does learn a lot of tricks from Taj, who's as cagey a veteran as they come. More to her surprise, she picks up a couple of pointers from Christi- she hadn't expected that, what with Christi being around her age and apparently having the attention span of a concussed puppy. But Christi on the court is different from Christi off the court, as if she's pulling a secret switcheroo and there's really two of her. Christi off the court giggles and puts like in places where like should not be. Christi on the court snarls and puts elbows in places where elbows should not be. Candace finds the split strangely fascinating.

For all that she studies it, though, for all the time she spends trying to figure out how Christi does it so that she might be able to do something similar herself, she doesn't notice that she in turn is the object of study. She doesn't get it until Christi comes up to her after a game one day and says, "Hey, check this out!" and follows it up with a deep kiss when Candace turns in her direction, her hand very carefully cupping Candace's ass in a way that feels surprisingly good. If Candace had bothered to apply logic to the situation, she might have eventually realized that of course the locker room would be the place where Christi is both her on-court self and her off-court self. Then again, logic wasn't one of the skills the Sparks drafted her for.

"What are you-" But Candace doesn't get to finish the question, loses all interest in it when Christi's fingers slip down her shorts, searching and searching until Christi has found what she's looking for.

Candace's control is sliding away, very obviously fading away, and she knows she can't be seen like this by her teammates: a rookie has enough trouble commanding the respect Candace deserves, but a rookie who can't even control herself in the locker room is worse than nothing. Just the thought of it makes her shudder. Makes her feel weak. Christi's hand on her back, arm at her waist, reassures her. She can relax into the warmth of the touch, let herself really feel soft skin against hers (since moisturizer seems to be a foreign concept to the guys she's known). Christi's a big strong woman; she's useful for providing physical support.

The voice of common sense in the back of her mind keeps reminding her that she's in the locker room, that she and Christi are in the locker room and it’s not like it's the very end of the day when they're the last two left in there. She can hear noises in the background: the low chatter between Temeka and Sherill, Lisa trying to top every story Taj tells, a bang and loud swearing. She can feel people's eyes on her, see people looking at her and Christi as if they can't believe this is going on right here in their locker room. "We shouldn't-" she starts to gasp, but Christi looks up at her with a grin.

"You think this is the craziest thing that's happened in here? You should have seen the stuff that used to go on in here with all our Meeks.. Not all of them at once, 'cause that would have been pretty kinky, but enough of them. If we did this, though…" Christi leaves off what she's doing, but before Candace can take this opportunity to get her wits together, Christi has her shorts down, pooled at her ankles; now it's going to be pretty hard for her to get out of this, even if she could get over or around Christi. She'll probably cause more of a ruckus, have more people staring at her, if she tries to get out of here, and there's no way to explain why she'd be trying to anyway.

Christi's hands are locked around her ankles, depriving her of the support of Christi's arm around her waist, so she sags against the wall; why she's having such trouble staying upright, she doesn't know, but it almost feels good, this release of the pressure she hadn't even noticed has been building up over these months in a city whose ennui she doesn't understand. She spends every day of her life being scrutinized, but she's never felt so exposed. Have You Seen Her, indeed. And somehow it seems so right to have someone on their knees in front of her. Lisa probably hasn't had this happen to her. If this doesn't establish the pecking order, nothing will.

Something soft and warm and wet between her legs, and then again something warm and wet. She reaches out blindly; her fingers catch in the frizz of Christi's half-done ponytail, rough strands snagging against ragged nails and rough cuticles. She pulls, not intentionally, and Christi stops for a moment to cry out; when she goes back down, she bites down just a little, and Candace answers her.

Christi is the best of them at cleaning up on the court. Opportunities don't go by her often. She'll forget to bring her sneakers to practice one day, or get so caught up in plans for the winter that she doesn't do her grocery shopping, but she really is a Bulldog on the court. Candace never really considered that she might bring this thoroughness to anything else, but Christi uses her tongue- her whole mouth, really- like a professional might, lingering at spots that cause Candace to moan and melt a little more, and Christi's fingers kneading her calves provide a counterpoint. The tightness flows out of her, taking with it stress, concern, worry- wasn't there a reason they weren't supposed to be doing this? What does that matter? She's Candace Parker.

After a time that seems far too short, even if every moment lasted forever, Christi gets up. She wobbles, and it's Candace's turn to steady her. Somehow, it also seems right to kiss her, to lick her lips and taste her arousal. Christi's tongue slides slowly into her mouth; all Candace has to do is think about what that mouth was doing five minutes before and she's ready to cream the pants she's not currently wearing.

Someone coughs. Someone coughs again. Someone finally says, "Guys? Thanks for the show. I'm sure some of the ladies appreciated it. But unless you want them to start throwin' money at you, you ought to stop."

Candace and Christi break the kiss. Someone is Taj, who looks maternally amused and concerned at the same time. Taj continues, "For future, I'm told it's easier if you wait 'til everyone leaves. So I heard back in Connecticut, anyway."

Christi can't possibly respond, "But it's more interesting if they don't." Candace doesn't know what Christi actually says, but it can't be that. Whatever else, the party's over, and it's time to shower and dress. Shower… now there's a thought.

But Christi's already changed out and ready to go. She blows Candace a little kiss as she heads out the door, and parts with a dismissive wave, leaving Candace alone, backlit, subject to the piercing and inquiring gazes of those around her, the only one who can answer questions about what's just happened here.