The Rugby Players (1)
Part of the TS Sports AU
A series of short fics telling the tale of a found family of all star sports players competing in competitions across the globe
Words: 1,029
Ships: Morolo, Apaceit, Jamil
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To say that Alistair was tired couldn't have been more of an understatement. In all honesty, he felt prepared to drop dead then and there, and never wake up again, and it was a tempting concept. However, the blinding smile he got from his Dec as they locked eyes in Heathrow in the wee hours of the morning was enough to keep him going. He nodded in response to the vague mumbles he'd assumed were questions, and kept his sheer exhaustion concealed until they returned to the car, where he promptly fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
He awoke the next morning, bleary, but feeling a lot better. According to Dec, who had been tangled in his arms and legs and still half asleep as he mumbled his recount, they had tried to wake him when they had reached the hotel several times, but to no avail, and had eventually resorted to carrying him inside, where they got several very suspicious looks. He'd laughed at that, and Ali couldn't help but fall a little bit more in love with his sunshine smile and his laugh like the warm summer days he spent completely content with his own existence. He spent quite a while thinking about it, before he was dragged back to consciousness to answer the door to a disgruntled Logan, with Roman still clinging to his torso in his pajamas. Judging by the weight on his back, Ali had the matching set.
There was an exchanged fond, exasperated look as the two parted ways to deal with respective boyfriends who couldn't handle mornings. By the time they eventually all got downstairs, it became obvious that Emil has been up for hours, as he seemed alert and aware as he read his book, ignoring the icy looks the two groggy outliers were giving each other. Jay, with his refusal to participate in a sport, attempting murder by glaring on Emily, the only girl of the group, and easily the youngest at just 15. Roman hooked an arm round his brother to pull him to the buffet table, in order to prevent the ensuing massacre that was inevitable at this point. They were an odd bunch, Ali thought for not the first time, but he wouldn't have anyone else.
Nobody saw Castor until it was time to go, already dressed in kit, like Ali. There was something about the uniform that made his usual business-like appearance seem more dangerous and threatening than it was. It had always unnerved him how different he looked, like two completely different men, but he was the only one who saw it. He was the only one who saw a lot of things, but the regular trips to a place in Chelsea, London seemed to help.
The day seemed to go by so quickly. They arrived before most others, split up as usual, and the two players moved to the field, taking the free time as opportunity to practice. Ali felt the stares, the insecurities bubbling and he and Castor performed with their stereotypical brute force and cunning calculating that saw them through so many games. With a smug grin that seemed to permanently coat his face, he nodded to Alistair, who nodded back. They moved deliberately, taking off their helmets to pretend to talk. They were too far into the field for anyone to hear that no words came out, but a few people took notice of the tousled hair, the glistening sweat. He thought that the last straw must have been when he yawned, exposing his chiseled midriff. He definitely heard Patton gasp in what he called Patton's Proud Papa Noises, and Dec went noticeably red and ducked behind Roman's back to calm down. He loved getting a rise out of Dec, which made it very hard for him to come to games.
Alas, the whistle blew to bring the players in, and the two disappeared inside, where they met with their team, and listened closely to the briefing. He could hear the crowd growing, hear the kind of mumble only achievable by layers of jumbled, incoherent voices speaking over each other, and it only served to swell the growing sense of dread in his stomach.
Despite that, the game went so fast he barely remembered it all. He knew that he and Castor worked on absolute tandem due to their intense training together, and that any opposition was crushed, attack or defense. They never stood a chance against the combined strength and knowledge of The Village Boys, as they were known. Sort of an urban legend, but when the two played together, it was like they shared a mind. Of course, that started the joke that the Village was one big hive mind.
Oddly enough, that particular joke got a harsh reaction from the higher ups, and several lawsuits that were claimed to be uncorrelated were dished out, but everyone was sure it was just the company saving face for the recovering athletes. People still took to calling whoever got sent to the Village as The Marked Ones, and more conspiracy theories popped up here and there.
All Ali remembered was try after try after try, an impact with another player that left him feeling really dizzy, and the taste of blood, before waking up in the hospital. Apparently he'd suffered a concussion and had been taken off the pitch immediately after collapsing over the try line. The others had joined him, he numbly noted. Even Castor, spattered in mud and ruddy cheeked, but they all looked unmistakably worried. Dec especially, he looked positively sick, and clung to Ali's hand far tighter than necessary.
Ali wasn't one for talking, much less apologising, but apologise he did. He couldn't help but feel he'd disappointed them in failing to complete the tournament. Castor in particular told him that it was not the case, but the others were quick to reaffirm it.
"Oh, and guys?"
"Thanks. You know, for staying. You could have left, but you didn't. So, thanks."
He didn't miss Dec's tears, and wiped them away with a soft thumb, smiling uncharacteristically gently.
"Save the water for tomorrow when you win for me."
