(A/N) Hey all, time for the latest update in Grifball: Running Rampant! Before we begin, another quick reminder that applications for Agent Texas in Phase Two: Betrayal are still open, and also that the award nominations are still up, so you can still vote on them! If you're interested, you know where to find us! Anyway, enjoy! :)

Chapter Thirty-Four - Hot-Headed Believer

Jackson Rothe

Written by Lili-Hunter

"Conventional people are roused to fury by departure from convention, largely because they regard such departure as a criticism of themselves." – Bertrand Russell

Tires squealed as a certain Rampancy Hybrid stamped his foot on their brakes. Jackson's car jerked to a stop, and would have thrown him violently against the steering wheel, if not for the fact that he was already half out of his seat. He only just remembered to throw the gear stick into the correct position before he slammed the driver's door shut, and turned to storm up the apartment building's steps.

He couldn't think, could hardly breathe. A tight, hot sphere had settled in his windpipe, choking off all his oxygen and streaking his vision with crimson – or was that just anger blurring his vision?

Jackson didn't know. He couldn't tell the difference anymore.

But the fact remained that Jackson was absolutely livid. His body shook with flaming fury, his fists clenched just through the effort of keeping it all contained. His world was falling apart – hell, it had been for some time. Ever since those damn girls had arrived at Rampancy's training center, Jackson's foundations had been slowly, but meticulously, taken away from him. And don't dare think for even a second that he hadn't noticed the connection.

First, his team had been taken away from him – Caleb, Anthony, and Brian. They may have been a little thickskulled, but at least they respected him. Jackson had always been able to rely on them. They'd trusted and listened to him, and in return, he'd done the same for them. That had resulted in one of the best and most efficient line-ups that Rampancy had ever seen, and Jackson still felt a smug thrill of pride whenever he thought about last year's season. But they'd let him down, screwing up so close to the beginning of the next season. That had been bitter to swallow, but at least Jackson had known that some fresh blood, as well as the remaining 'veterans' – Will, Alex, and himself – might give them the boost they needed to actually win the Grand Finals this season. But, no. Instead of three new men brimming with raw potential, Jackson had found himself staring down at three weak, untried, and just generally disappointing girls. Reality had shattered his shiny, gold-cup dreams, and its names were Kiara, Ellen, and Arika. And don't even get him started on Sophie and Jamie – that was just like rubbing salt into his wounds. Jason, at least, had been a small blessing – but even he couldn't make up for the potential loss of five over-powered guys.

Next was Coach, because Ryan Anderson could barely hold his gaze anymore, not without disappointment welling in his dark green eyes. Communication between a team's coach and captain was key, but their loud and angry shouting matches just wasn't going to cut it.

And so it was that Rampancy's fate had fallen on the backs of the last remaining veterans. Alex, Will, and of course, himself. Jackson had known that it would be difficult, but he'd held stubbornly onto the hope that victory could still be theirs, even with a girl on the field. But even that hadn't lasted long – Alex had threatened to leave almost immediately. And, sure, Jackson had grown enough that he was able to admit that most of that had been his fault. Hey, at least he'd stood up and he'd fucking dealt with it.

Jackson hadn't – or at least, he'd tried not to – let it get in the way of the game. Rampancy came first, and everything else – his relationships, his friends, his family, and himself – came second. That was the way that it had always been, and Jackson didn't see a single problem with it.

But obviously, a very specific someone didn't agree with him. And that someone had abruptly decided to pack up his bags and just. Fucking. Leave. Without warning, without explanation – without even saying goodbye to the few people who'd had his back ever since the first time that he had shown up on Rampancy's doorstep. Jackson, to be frank, had taken the news badly; been thrown for a loop for a while. He'd never expected this - why should he have? But honestly, Jackson was already screwed up enough that his reaction now was no surprise.

After all, Jackson was optimistic when it came to his and Alex's situation – he knew that, eventually, he'd have his friend back. For now, though, their relationship was still tense, dancing on the edge of a knife. And though the captain had high hopes for their newest male recruit, the fact remained that Jason was still new. Fresh, sure, but relatively untried. Jackson couldn't rely on him, not yet.

But, as far as Jackson was concerned, that all would have been fucking fine – at least he'd had Will at his side. Right?

Wrong.

Will Weissman, second Rampancy Runner, was leaving. Leaving Rampancy, leaving the team – leaving Jackson to struggle alone under the ever-increasing weight of a team that barely wanted him there in the first place.

Jackson was good. He was damn good, and he knew it. But the truth couldn't be ignored, not even by him. Jackson Rothe, Hybrid and captain, just could not single-handedly carry his team to season victory.

And he hated them for it.

One of Will's neighbours, a little old man, was just exiting the building as Jackson approached. The wrinkled guy shuffled through the door, his red cardigan flapping around his waist as the wind played with its hem. And – was that – oh, for fuck's sake, it was. Clearly, the universe had a sick interest in continually pissing Jackson off, because the guy turned around – and embroidered clearly across his shoulder blades in a stupid-looking, loopy font, was 'Maverick'. The same damn team that Will was transferring to.

Jackson's teeth clenched, pain spiking into his gums from the sheer force he put into it. But he ignored it, knowing that the little bit of suffering was undoubtedly better than the words that he wanted to spit at the old man. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and Jackson wouldn't have been entirely surprised if his jaw had shattered then and there.

Even so, the Hybrid picked up his pace, the pound of each boot into the concrete just a little faster than before. The old guy was an asshole just for wearing that dumb shirt in Jackson's sight, but he was also a swiftly disappearing opportunity to get inside the apartment building. Somehow, Jackson just didn't think that Will would be willing to buzz him in.

His hand slammed into the crack between doorframe and door just in time. Below his arm, the old man jumped in surprise – maybe he was deaf, or something, and hadn't seen him coming. Hell if Jackson knew. Not that he cared, either. Without looking, Jackson stepped back, yanking the heavy, metal door open. He didn't speak – didn't trust himself to, and frankly, he didn't think he could talk past the coiled, choking rage in his throat. The captain shoved past the old, wrinkly resident, and chose to ignore the small squeak as the senior was shoved roughly into the wall.

Will lived by himself, on the second highest floor. Too impatient to wait for the lift, Jackson grabbed the door handle leading to the stairs and stepped free of the red-carpeted hall, the soft light giving way to the harsh fluorescents hidden in the stairwell. He threw himself up them, barely noticing the burn in his legs as he ascended – thank God for Anderson's brutal training regime.

As Jackson stepped on to the correct landing, his pocket buzzed. It threw his concentration for a second, and the captain almost physically stumbled. But the surprise lasted only a moment, and he quickly ripped his phone free. He glanced down at the screen, shoving into the hallway without looking. It was Coach. Probably calling to make sure that Jackson wasn't about to do... well, exactly what he was about to do. He stared at it for a moment, and then silenced the damn thing before slipping it back into his pocket.

Will's apartment door was on the opposite end of the hall. Jackson strode towards it, his determined anger doubling with every stride. The hall's red carpet and red walls blurred around him, almost mockingly. He'd never given much thought to it before – what significance had the colour held? – but now, it was like he was seeing it in a different light.

Rampancy played in blue. Maverick, on the other hand, played in goddamn red.

The door shuddered under his fist, a numbed pain knocking on his knuckles. He didn't have to wait long. There was the slow scrape as the person inside undid the locks, and then the wooden door was swung wide open. Will stood in the breach, his shoulders curled forward. His brown hair was even more sticky-uppy than usual, no doubt because he'd been running his hands through it. But his hazel eyes were guarded as he stared up at Jackson.

"Hey," he said simply.

'Hey'? 'Hey'? The response threw him for a second. He'd been expecting immediate defensiveness, or aggression. Hell, he hadn't expected Will to open the damn door at all. But even so, Jackson had not driven all the way there like a bat out of hell for a stupid 'hey'. He had not stormed out of the Rampancy's stupid training facilities for a 'hey' – he was not risking another bloody row with Coach Anderson for a 'hey'.

Will Weissman was not fucking leaving Rampancy with a goddamn 'hey'. So Jackson responded, in his mind, the only appropriate way that he could.

He stepped forward, shoving at Will's shoulders. The Runner stumbled backwards. "What the hell, Will!" Jackson roared, his chest puffing out in anger. He did it again, forcing Will to retreat further into his apartment. "You're leaving Rampancy? For Maverick?! Goddamn it, man, are you insane?!"

"Look, Jackson, I was gonna tell you-"

"The hell you were!" Jackson snapped. He stabbed at Will's chest with his index finger, fury snarling in his chest. "You were gonna leave us without saying anything, to anyone! You fucking coward!"

For a brief moment, Jackson's anger burned in Will's eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, and Jackson was almost, almost, distracted by its disappearance. What, Will had decided that he wasn't even worth fighting with, anymore? The thought stung.

"I told Arika," the ex-Rampancy Runner corrected, though it seemed to Jackson like a sullen and petulant protest than anything else.

His instinctive response should have been to reel backwards, take a step away so that he could re-evaluate his opponent. But Jackson didn't do that. He stomped forward, looming over Will as an unshakable, unmovable menace. "Oh, you told Arika?" he echoed rigidly, his voice shaking with the strength of his responding fury. He hated the way that Will said her name – as though it in itself was a justification; that Jackson didn't have the right, because Will had already told Arika. As though she were superior to him. "I don't fucking care if you told her, Will! She's not. Your. Captain! Damn it, Will – I should have been the first person you told! I'm your captain!"

The harsh words faded away into silence. Will said nothing, staring at his feet. Jackson waited for a reply, breathing harshly through his nose. The effort it was taking to keep from grabbing Will's shoulders and physically shaking some sense in to him seemed almost Herculean.

Eventually, right before he cracked, Will spoke. His voice was low, the words forcing themselves from his tongue. "Not anymore."

"What?" The two words hurt like a physical blow.

"I said, not anymore." Will looked up again, and Jackson caught a look at his face. He didn't look angry – far from it. He just looked resigned, weary. "You're not my captain, Jackson."

And that was just it, wasn't it? The crux of the matter. Jackson wasn't Will's captain, because Will wasn't a part of Rampancy anymore. He couldn't boss him around anymore, couldn't pull rank like he'd gotten into the habit of doing. Will was free.

"So that's it." Jackson's voice was deceptively flat, struggling to remain calm. Only then did he take a step back, looking his old friend up and down. He didn't bother to hide the disgust in his eyes, though his words remained emotionless. "You're leaving."

"Yeah, I-"

But Jackson wasn't finished. He fixed Will with a glare so cold that the latter's mouth snapped shut, so quickly that he'd probably bitten his tongue. "You're leaving," he began slowly, enunciating carefully. "Leaving Rampancy, the only team that actually gave you a chance? We gave you a shot to the top level, Will! If it weren't for us, you wouldn't even be here!" Jackson abandoned the attempt at trying to remain calm. His voice rose steadily, until he was yelling again. "You're really going to betray us, leave us, just like that? Goddamn it, Will, but don't you have any fucking sense of loyalty?!"

"That's not what this is about, and you know it!" Apparently, the Runner had reached his breaking point. He drew himself to his full height, shoving back at Jackson for the first time in, well, ever. Indignant fury blazed in his eyes, but Jackson interrupted again.

"Then what is it about? And don't tell me you just wanted a bigger paycheck, Will, because if you do I swear I'll-"

"Do what, Jackson?" Will snapped. But he didn't wait for him to answer, instead choosing to bulldoze over whatever he might have said. "And fine, you know what? That was a part of it. You think I enjoyed being stuck on the sidelines, always being behind Alex? At Maverick, I'll be first Runner."

"Fine," Jackson snapped back. "Forgive me for thinking that you were in this game for something other than the money."

"I am, Jackson!" Will's passionate anger returned, like a bushfire fueled by sudden gales. "And that's exactly what you don't understand! I'm leaving because you're ruining the game for me!"

Of all the things that Will had said, that shocked Jackson into silence. His mouth opened, then closed, like a fish gasping for air.

Will cast him a look that was anything but pitying. "I've tried, okay? I know that I'm only in the big leagues because of Rampancy, alright? I know, and I'll always be grateful for that. But that loyalty can only go so far."

It was the final sentence that suddenly freed Jackson from his stunned silence. "'Can only go so far'? What does that even mean?! Damn it, Will-"

"It means, Jackson, that you're forcing me to do this! You think I want to leave Rampancy?"

"Then stay!" the captain roared back, furiously indignant at the obviousness of the answer.

"I can't!" Will snapped back, equally as fierce. Jackson opened his mouth as if to interrupt, but a sharp gesture from his former teammate cut him off. "I can't stay because of you, Jackson. I didn't want to say it, but it looks like you're not listening to anyone else." The captain glared down at the Runner, but Will blazed onwards, each word spitting with uncharacteristic venom. "You're poisoning the team, Jackson! I don't know how in hell Rampancy's made it this far, because you've been kicking and screaming the whole way. Rampancy's not going to make it this year, Jackson. And it'll be because of you."

Jackson's hands curled into fists, and he had to cross them over his chest to keep from lashing out. But Will's warning – though it seemed more like a threat – had grabbed his attention better than anything else could have. "How?" he growled. And then, almost as an afterthought: "You're wrong."

"You even have to ask?" Will looked almost disgusted, electing to ignore the second sentence for the moment. That in itself spoke volumes about just what he thought of Jackson's denial. He paused for a moment, and then threw his hands in the air when Jackson didn't respond. "The girls, Jackson! I'm talking about them! If you don't respect them as players, how can they respect you as a captain? Your team is falling apart, and you can't even see it!"

Jackson had to resist the urge to throttle his old friend. "I'm trying!" he yelled. "I'm giving them more time on the field – I've stopped putting in transfer requests – I'm not yelling at them anymore – I-I'm-" Jackson broke off, suddenly distracted by the condemnation in Will's eyes. But never let it be said that Jackson Rothe didn't finish what he started. Jackson took a deep breath, and repeated himself, as calmly as he could. "I'm trying."

Slowly, Will shook his head. The former look in his eyes was gone, replaced by one of such disappointment that Jackson almost recoiled. He'd never seen someone look at him with such despondent acceptance, and decided instantly that he never wanted to see it again. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Will spoke. "You shouldn't have to try," he began slowly, his voice low. Jackson swallowed, the reflex almost painful. "It should just be effortless."

"Will… You know that I can't do that." Jackson was proud of the way that his voice remained steady, strong in his conviction. He might have relaxed recently in his treatment of the girls, but the knowledge that they weren't, and could never be, good enough always held him back from making that final step of acceptance. Call him stubborn, but Jackson was still bitter over the potential loss of the five strong, capable males that could have been his teammates. The ratio of men to women in Rampancy was steadily declining in his favour, and the simple fact only made him angrier.

"My God," Will began, seeming to lose all hope for his former captain, "but you have no idea what you're doing to the team, do you?"

Jackson didn't answer.

"Fine. We're done here." His jaw clenched, and Will stepped to the side. His arm lifted, index finger pointing unerringly at the open door. Dimly, Jackson realized that anyone on Will's floor – let alone the entire building – would probably have heard the entirety of their argument. Will looked at him, his eyes empty. "Go, Jackson. Just… just go."

For a moment, Jackson was tempted to stay. To turn back and continue their fight until Will broke down and submitted to his logic, unpacking his bags and returning to Rampancy the next day. But something, some tiny thread of his conscious, warned him that it wasn't a good idea. Normally, Jackson would have ignored it… but his instincts were telling him that whatever hold he'd had over Will when he'd first walked in, it was gone now. He'd only pushed the Runner further away – possibly ensuring the fact that he wouldn't return.

Jackson swallowed, and turned neatly on his heel. Without saying another word to the other man, the captain strode out the door and was gone.