A/N: This is a little different from what I usually write, actually a lot different. I tried to do upbeat and humorous, I don't think it turned out all that good and I've been debating over the last few days whether to post it at all. But alas, here it is.
I should mention that my whole reason for writing this was to picture Jack running around in a soccer uniform, yum. This, however, became a problem when I tried to do any kind of imagery because the story is more from Bobby's point of view-ish and I was trying to keep it platonic. Yeah. It's a much better story in my head.
Obligatory Disclaimer: Not mine. None of it. No profit.
-- -- --
"You're fucking kidding me right?"
"Language Bobby," Evelyn warned. "And I don't want to hear you picking on him about this."
Bobby scoffed as he followed her into the house, bags in hand.
"I'm serious young man, and besides, I think it'll be good for him."
"Oh it'll be good for something all right, like attracting boyfriends. Prancing around in those..."
Evelyn stopped short, turning abruptly to face her son, a scowl set across her features. Bobby stopped just short of running into her, trying to hide his smirk.
"Bobby Raymond Mercer, so help me god, if you make him feel bad about this I will throw your ass out of this house and you can sleep in your car."
"Come on Ma, you know I'm just kidding." He paused before setting the bags on the counter and following Evelyn. "But seriously, the soccer team?"
Evelyn sighed.
"Yes Bobby, the soccer team. Now don't you have anything better to do then follow me around? You're worse than a toddler for heaven's sake."
"Ouch, Ma." he feigned a hurt look, placing a hand over his heart before leaning over counter and snagging a bag of Doritos from the bag she was unpacking and popping it open. "I think I might head down to the bar, see if they need any help bouncing while I'm in town. You need me to pick Jack up from school?"
She stared at him for a moment, as if trying to decide how to answer him.
"He has practice until 5, then he usually runs home."
"Holy shit. The school's like..." he paused, thinking. "four miles away. You sure he isn't on drugs? You couldn't pay me to run that."
"Not everybody is as lazy as you honey." she smiled affectionately at him, reaching into the bag for a chip. "Now get out of here so I can get dinner started. We eat at six, don't be late."
-- -- --
"Hey Ma!" Bobby called from the comfort of the couch, the bag of Doritos from early resting on his lap, half empty now.
"Bobby, I didn't answer you when you were twelve and yelling like that, I'm certainly not going to do it now. If you want to talk to me, you can come here."
He contemplated his options for a moment, deciding his question wasn't worth the effort it would take for him to get up and walk to the kitchen.
"Never mind!"
He settled back into the cushions, staring blankly at the television, his attention remaining there until the slamming of the front door and a sweaty, gasping Jack entered the room.
"Hey princess," he smirked as Jack bent over, hand on his knees as he gasped.
"Shut up Bobby," he managed between gasps.
"You look like shit man, and you'd better not pass out cause there is no way in hell I'm giving you mouth to mouth."
"I just, uh, need to stop smoking." he ignored his brother's comment, standing up and moving to sit next to Bobby on the couch. Bobby had a different idea.
"Ah fuck!," he turned away from Jack, shielding the bag of Doritos from him. "No way man, you smell like balls. Seriously, take a shower, ugh!"
Jack's face fell into a scowl as he stared at Bobby.
"Good to see you too, brother."
He stood, moving towards the stairs, back rigid. Bobby rolled his eyes.
"You're such a girl Jack," he called to the retreating back, lowering his voice for the next words. "No wonder they let you on the soccer team."
-- -- --
And now, here is the host of Jeopardy!, ALEX TREBEK!
Bobby tossed the remote on the coffee table and sat back, crossing his arms.
"What a douche," he muttered at the TV.
Categories tonight include...Mammals, A White Category, 'F' in Geography...
"Sounds familiar," he scoffed.
Modes of Transport, Shots Heard Round the World, and Coming to a Clothes...
"Hey Jack, I'm gonna need your fashion expertise in here!" he called over his shoulder, wondering whether Jack was still pouting over their conversation earlier.
It makes sense that these proud & powerful mammals live in groups called prides.
"Lions."
What are lions, Alex.
That is correct...
"No fucking duh."
His "called shot" home run off Charlie Root in the 1932 World Series is baseball legend...
"Jackie Robinson"
Who is Babe Ruth?
Right again...
"Bullshit. Jack, get in here!"
He could tell his brother was coming by the sudden stop of plates and silverware knocking against each other.
"I'm trying to get the the table set for dinner Bobby, what do you want?" His tone was short as he stood next to the couch, hands on his hips.
"Calm down Jack holy shit, I just wanted to see if you wanted to watch Jeopardy with me and we could talk about this soccer thing."
"No, you just want to make fun of me because I'm playing soccer."
He turned, heading back for the kitchen.
"When's your first game, I wanna go!" he smiled, knowing the words would get a response.
"You're not going!"
"Come on Jack, I want to cheer on my little brother!"
"No, Bobby!"
He turned back to the television, there would be ample time to pick on Jack during supper.
This oxymoron...
"Hey look Jack, they're talking about men's soccer on TV!"
-- -- --
"I can't believe you're actually coming," Jack scowled from the passenger seat, arms folded across the yellow stitching of the letters on the navy blue jersey, Cass Tech.
"I wouldn't miss it for the world, Jackie" Bobby smiled, thoroughly enjoying himself. "I mean, who wouldn't want to spend a Saturday afternoon watching men's soccer."
Jack rolled his eyes, turning to stare at his brother.
"Will you do me a favor today Bobby?" he continued after cutting off a smart remark from Bobby about pretending to be Jack's boyfriend. "I'm seeing this girl, Jenna, and she's bringing her parents to the game today. Could you just not...embarrass me, or get in a fight or anything, please?"
"Huh. So that's why your playing soccer, to impress the folks?" he glanced sideways at a now scowling Jack.
"They don't like me very much, think I'm a fuck up, Jenna thought it would be a good idea." he shifted in the seat. "But I do like it, and the coach thinks I'm good. He says I'm fast and I have a good reaction time..."
"Because that would have nothing to do with those years of hockey or anything," he paused. "And you are a fuck up Jack, we all are, all four of us, and soccer's not going to change that."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence Bobby."
Anytime man, that's what I'm here for," he threw the car into park and turned the key, the engine dying. "We're here."
Jack turned away from him, pulling the handle and climbing out of the car, the sound of his cleats on the pavement announcing his departure. Bobby followed his lead, heading for the small set of bleachers on the sidelines, a handful of people already having chosen their seats on the cold metal benches as the teams did a group lap before gathering on the field to stretch. Included in the group was a girl he was quite confident was this Alex girl, between the way she was staring at Jack and the man and woman dressed in Chino's and Polo shirts who sat behind her, looking like they were ready to head to the country club for the afternoon. Bobby felt like he was going to vomit from just looking at them and he'd like nothing more than to walk over there and tell them just what he thought about their thinking Jack was a fuck up, but he knew it would upset Jack and then he'd have to deal with his brother's pouting and that just wasn't especially appealing.
He took a seat away from the rest of the crowd as the shrill sound of the referee's whistle started the game and blue and red jerseys began sweeping up and down the field fighting for the ball. This was going to be the dullest afternoon of his life, he could tell.
And when asked later he would never admit that just twenty minutes later he was clenching his fists and cursing under his breath as the two teams fought to pull ahead from their two point tie. He'd never admit to the surge of pride he felt when Jack ran into his own backfield, the coach screaming at him from the sidelines, to steal the ball from the other team. He'd never admit that he was leaning so far forward in his seat when Jack dribbled it up the field, strong legs pumping, that he almost fell off as he caught himself mid stand to cheer as his brother's assist became a goal.
What he would admit to was standing in his seat and slinging profanities when another player shoved Jack. And he would admit to cheering as his brother turned and caught the opposing member off guard with a right hook to the jaw. He'd admit to jumping off the bleachers as the two players tussled, ready to join in if his brother needed some help.
And he'd definitely admit to smiling and winking at Jenna and her parents as he walked by, their faces horrified as they led their daughter away from the field, away from her 'fuck up,' afraid someone would realize they were there cheering 'that one' on, the bad one.
He'd later admit that he hated them without meeting them and that Jack was too good for their Chino's and their Polo's and their daughter.
And he'd later take Jack out for his first drink, despite his age, to celebrate the first time he'd been dumped and thrown from the team on the same day, something Bobby had some experience with.
And later they would both go home, they'd settle back into their routines, living in the moment and wreaking havoc, as all good fuck ups do.
-- -- --
Ze End!
R&R please. Like it, hate it?
racquet.