Title: After the Match
Rating: G
Fandom: 'Saved By The Bell'
Author: Jen
Summary: After his championship match (see spoilers), Slater discusses his future and his family with Zack
Spoilers: 'Wrestling With The Future', in which Zack poses as Slater in order to fail an acceptance interview to West Point
Author's notes: This is my first 'SBTB' fic, and it wasn't until I started writing that I began to realise how little insight that show gave us into its characters. Kind of makes you feel glad for all the angst we get to see in 'BWOC'.

Sweat and deodorant were such familiar smells that they were almost unnoticeable in the locker room. The drip of water in the showers provided a comforting counterpoint to the distant buzz of conversation in the hallways, and the faint thrum of the air conditioning was as solid and dependable as ever.

After the exertion of a match, losing himself in the near-silence of the locker room was more relaxing than any hot shower could ever be. So soothing, in fact, that he never heard the click of the locker room door as it opened. The first clue he got that he wasn't alone was a hesitant clearing of a throat. His head snapped up, and he turned to the door, half-rising from the bench. He saw first a shock of bleach-blonde hair, and then the broad smile already spread across Zack's face.

At the sight of the other boy, he sank back down to his seat and closed his eyes again, sensing Zack's presence beside him on the bench without having to look.

"I may be wrong, but don't State Champions usually look happier than that?" Slater could hear the smile in his voice: the friendly smile, the genuine one, not the ingratiating one that usually appeared when the blonde was trying to get one over on him.

He held back the sigh that threatened to make his exhaustion known, before looking up at Zack and mustering a lop-sided grin in his direction.

"Go team?" he tried, half-heartedly punching the air. Zack snickered, and shook his head, still smiling. The wrestler wondered if he ever stopped smiling. He dropped his gaze to the floor for a moment, suddenly conscious of the silence he usually found so comforting. "It's not like I'm not happy I won," he muttered, wondering if his voice sounded as tired to the other boy as it did to him, "it's just been a long week, that's all. I'm just glad it's over."

"Are you kidding?" Zack's voice was loud enough in the empty room to make him look up again, into the astonished face of the boy sitting next to him. "I had a blast! What's not to enjoy?"

"How about coming this close to ending up in a military academy?" He demonstrated a fraction of an inch with a thumb and forefinger, turning slightly sideways on the bench to face Zack. "Or having Belding letting us think we'd been arrested? Or having to have that talk with my father?" His voice dropped almost to a whisper, and he looked away once more, hoping the blonde wouldn't catch the quaver when he spoke. If he did, he didn't say anything, and Slater was half glad he couldn't see whatever reaction showed up on Zack's face. But he was being stupid. He cleared his throat, the noise echoing back from the tiled walls, and looked back up. "But then, after what you said about the interview, I can understand why you'd think it was fun." He tried a laugh, and was grateful when Zack joined in. "You were the one who got to play soldiers and destroy Belding's office."

"Yeah, that was fun." Zack's impossibly wide smile seemed to grow even wider, and Slater allowed his mind to wander just far enough to think of ways he could wipe that smile off his face. Not for too long, though. "But I hope you're happy now. You and your dad."

Finally, Slater allowed the pent-up sigh to escape his lips, and he leaned forward on the bench, elbows resting on his knees. The fabric of his sweatpants felt ever so slightly cool against his skin, a welcome relief from the damp heat of the locker room.

"I don't know about happy, but at least he's given up on West Point, which is good enough for me." He ran a hand through his still-damp hair and fixed his gaze on the blue metal of the row of lockers in front of him. Having a heart-to-heart with Zack wasn't exactly what he needed, but somehow it seemed better than trying to rationalise the week's events in his head, and besides, there were worse people he could be alone with in the locker room. "Maybe now he'll ease up on all the armed forces stuff he keeps bombarding me with."

Zack's sigh confused him a little, and he couldn't help tearing his gaze away from the lockers to look at the other boy. He too was leaning forward now, mirroring Slater's position with elbows leaning on knees. His head was bowed, but when AC glanced over at him, he looked back up, locking eyes with him. It felt a little uncomfortable, but Slater couldn't bring himself to look away.

"Why do we do it, Slater?" the blonde asked, suddenly sounding as tired as he did. "So much trouble, just for our dads?"

Slater couldn't stop the snigger that had worked its way up from his throat, and he regretted it immediately when he saw the other boy wince.

"We?" he asked, unable to keep the astonished tone out of his voice. "Don't try and tell me your dad's as insane as mine? I've met your dad, he doesn't seem the in-your-face type."

"That's the whole point." When Zack had walked in, he'd expected a few compliments about the match, an invitation for celebratory sodas at The Max, maybe a joke or two about the past few days, but certainly not meaningful conversation. It felt strange, hearing Zack get ready to confess whatever was troubling him, but it didn't feel like the sort of conversation he could walk away from, even if he wanted to.

"So, what, your dad pushing you into his college too?" He didn't like the odd tone his voice had taken on, but then he wasn't entirely sure how to approach this new line of conversation. It wasn't like Zack to come to him with problems, and he wondered why he'd been chosen. Perhaps it was something that had just happened, and Slater was the only one around. Or if it was something to do with his father, then maybe the week's events simply made Slater a more obvious choice to talk to than any of their other friends. With his family worries already out in the open, maybe Zack just saw him as a likely sympathiser. Whatever it was, he didn't want to pass up an opportunity to get the blonde alone for a few minutes, even if it was just to talk.

"Are you kidding?" There was no mistaking the self-pitying tone, despite the laugh that accompanied the question. "Do you know what I'd give for him to pay me that much attention?"

"I think you're the one who's got it good, Morris." He cursed himself for resorting to the blonde's surname, but there was something about the way the conversation had turned that was making him nervous. Zack wasn't the type of guy he usually had serious conversations with, when he could ever actually bring himself to have a serious conversation with anyone. "I mean, nobody wants their parents on their case the whole time."

"Hey, I'm not asking for that," Zack protested, raising his hands defensively, "just...I don't know, some sign he actually knows I exist?"

This time, he managed to restrain himself from laughing. It was obvious Zack was looking for some kind of sympathy, but he couldn't figure out what the problem was, or even if there was an actual problem. On the rare occasions he visited Zack's house, there was never any indication that the household was anything other than a typical middle-class LA family. Hard-working, high-earning dad, career-mom, big-man-on-campus son. What was there to worry about?

"Most people I know would be glad to have their parents give 'em space," he ventured, wishing he could figure out what it was Zack was trying to say, and why.

"Space is one thing," the other boy continued, "but sometimes I think he spends more time talking to his cell-phone than he does talking to me." Slater was still trying hard to figure out exactly what was so bad about having a father who wasn't obsessive about his son's life

"Maybe if we just swapped dads, that might solve everything," he joked, wishing he could think of something helpful to tell the other boy, but Zack's problem seemed so far away from his own that it was near impossible for him to contemplate. Beside him, Zack began shaking his head, the smile beginning to show itself again.

"Hey, I don't plan to go to West Point either!"

Slater sighed, and squeezed his eyes shut, turning back to face the lockers. The movement left him with his shoulder pressed up against Zack's, and he kept his eyes closed, his face hidden from the other boy's so he wouldn't see Slater's reaction. He waited a moment for the blonde to move away, but Zack didn't move: just stayed right there next to him, his arm against Slater's from the shoulder to the elbow.

He heard the other boy chuckle, and he allowed himself a brief glance at his face. The impossibly wide smile was there, and Slater had to look hard to find the last traces of hurt in his eyes. He wondered idly if it was always there, then told himself to stop being so sappy and stupid.

It would have been nice to sit there a while longer, his arm pressed against Zack's, but after a moment he felt the blonde shift, and then he was alone on the bench once more.

"You coming to the Max?" That was the Zack he'd been expecting when he walked into the locker room: breezy, relaxed and casual, but he couldn't ignore the brief flicker of excitement at the thought that he'd seen the Zack their friends hardly ever got to see. He wanted to follow Zack out, but the Max would mean seeing everyone else, and he wasn't sure he was up to that just yet.

"I'll catch up with you." He didn't turn to watch the blonde walk out. Instead, he continued to stare at the lockers, trying to recall the feeling of Zack's shoulder against his and wondering if this was another missed opportunity. There'd been so many chances to tell his dad what he really wanted, but it had taken getting 'arrested' and the threat of jail to make him desperate enough to say anything. What would it take to make him forget about the impossibility of this situation? How desperate would he have to be?