Title: Smile: Humble Me

Author: Arithion

Disclaimer: If they were mine, the series wouldn't just be implied shonen-ai in certain bits… trust me... not mine
Rating: PG13
Genre: Angstish, bit of drama… um… yeah

Pairing: TezxFuji …

Chapter: 35/45
Summary: What's behind a smile…?

Warnings: Tezuka's Hyotei match. Um yeah…Angsting, insight yada yada yada

Note: Please note, this fic has been finished for a long time, I just keep forgetting to upload it here as well as well as my LJ =x I do want to thank everyone who's reading and reviewing this – it's nice to know it still hits a spot even after so long

Smile: Humble Me

It was always a little difficult to come down from, that burning sensation within, the pure need to prove a point. Fuji found it a little tiresome sometimes, and so, although he saw Tezuka go out onto the court, he wasn't really aware of anything else. Instead, he chose to stand a little aside from the others, focus his eyes on his best friends movements, and try and regain his own equilibrium.

Not even Hyotei's cheering broke through his state of mind. It wasn't a matter of dealing with how he'd played, or the frame of mind he'd been in when he played; it was simply a matter of pushing it to the back so that he didn't have to deal with it. Call it denial, call it avoidance, but it was the easiest and most efficient way for him to deal with a part of himself Fuji wasn't all too fond of.

Although he did notice the almost friendly way in which Tezuka and Atobe greeted each other at the net, all it did was bring a vague frown to Fuji's face. His thoughts would need another couple of minutes to organise themselves. He wasn't aware of speaking at all, and would later not remember if he did.

"You play well, with that arm of yours."

It wasn't until Atobe pointed out that Fuji really snapped out of it. He didn't even realise at first that he was holding his own left elbow, almost as if in sympathy, nor did he realise immediately that Yuuta had come to stand next to him.

"That left arm of yours… it's hurting, isn't it? Right, Tezuka?"

Those words, Fuji didn't like those words, because it brought back to mind something he'd been ignoring since the first match of the day ended. He barely spared a thought for Oishi's careless outburst. It wouldn't matter how much was given away, because Atobe would find out soon enough, still, even those few points…

He vaguely heard the words his teammates were speaking, and instead tried to concentrate his attention on the court. Yet, that wouldn't work either. Those words swum around in his head, instances, conversations, and above all, the reading his sister had done for him.

"Yet, at the same time, there is something you will greatly regret having said"

Could he have seeded doubt in Tezuka's own mind? Was it Fuji's fault that Tezuka was perhaps not as strong as he would normally be? Fuji could see it, there was a challenge in the way Tezuka held his shoulders, there was that determination, yet underneath it all, there was also something akin to need; the need to prove himself to himself. It was unlikely anyone else would notice, but Fuji saw it so easily, he could almost feel it.

He smiled a little as he realised what Tezuka was doing, but it was almost a sad smile. That Tezuka should use his zone so early in what promised to be a trying match, meant that he wasn't as comfortable as usual with the way he was playing. It made Fuji almost wish that he didn't know Tezuka that well, because it would spare him from knowing, but it also made him glad that at least one person there would know how the other boy was feeling. It just wasn't good to shoulder so much on your own, and Fuji knew the captain did it far too much.

But when he saw the drop shot, Tezuka's drop shot, and heard those words, Fuji knew it was far more serious than he'd originally thought.

"Don't hold back, Atobe. Come at me with everything."

Those words, and the breaking of Atobe's first serve, showed Fuji just how serious Tezuka was. He knew without a doubt that Tezuka was pushing himself, pushing just to see how far his limit was. It made Fuji shiver, and wish he hadn't let his sister read the cards.

He watched, he saw, and he wished he hadn't. There was a desperation to the way Tezuka held himself, an undefinable need to simply know if he could cut it in a real match. For that reason alone, he needed to draw out the set with Atobe, and draw it out long. If he couldn't play a long match, there was no future for him; there would be nothing after the nationals, if indeed they made it that far.

Fuji knew the reasons, he could hear them as surely as if Tezuka had whispered them to him himself. Yet, he couldn't help wanting it to be otherwise. Watching the game, he could see the steely determination grow until there was nothing that would stop Tezuka from finishing this in his way, on his terms, simply because that was who Tezuka was. The cost didn't matter, there was more at stake, more than most people would realise.

The score hit 3:2 in Tezuka's favour and Fuji closed his eyes properly, just for a brief moment, just because he couldn't watch that expression without getting angry. It was that same stubborn look Tezuka got when trying to prove a point, when hiding the strain the burden of responsibilities left him with.

Seeing Tezuka and Echizen sitting side by side, brought a small smile to Fuji's lips. They really were far too alike, in far too many ways. But the distraction only lasted for a moment. There was something not right; almost wrong about the way Atobe had been playing. It wasn't that he was holding back, no, Tezuka was making him run, and was definitely providing a challenge. There was just something that he wasn't revealing, a strength Atobe had yet to use, almost like a last resort. There just had to be, because what he was showing just wasn't enough to deserve the reputation the Hyotei captain had.

A lob didn't bode well for anyone on the receiving end of the ensuing smash, yet as Fuji watched, he realised there wasn't going to be a smash. Atobe had more in mind, something far worse, he was going to take Tezuka up on the challenge and draw the match out as long as possible. If Fuji was right, Atobe's aim was to put as much strain on Tezuka's arm as possible, to break him.

"This match is going to be bad…"

He only realised he spoke out loud when Inui answered, yet he didn't dignify a response. Fuji's eyes didn't leave the court, his mind didn't stop turning, and when he heard Atobe's snide remark, he literally hated for a moment.

"Your elbow has completely healed, right, Tezuka?"

Fuji knew, he saw, and he didn't want to believe as the racket clattered to the ground. It wasn't Tezuka's elbow, it was his shoulder, and he couldn't stop himself from muttering the other boy's name, it was almost reflex. "Tezuka…"

Corners were no longer being aimed for. The match was going to be long, not simply because the level of tennis on the court allowed Atobe to draw it out, but because that was what Atobe was aiming for. Fuji could see it in his eyes, could feel it in the tension that drifted off the court like a signal. This was going to be bad, and there wasn't a thing Fuji could do to stop it.

"Atobe is making the match long on purpose."

"Eh, Atobe is making the match long on purpose? Why is he doing that?"

"He wants to destroy Tezuka's arm in the match."

It was an instant Fuji had never thought he would encounter, an instant in which he actually wished he could give into that darker side of himself and allow himself to crush a person. Because right then, he thought Atobe deserved it. It was irritating, that the others were talking while Fuji was trying to concentrate on the match, and his words cut in, answering what he considered to be an unnecessary question.

"You're taking Atobe too lightly. Like Tezuka, he is also at a national level."

Now, if they'd just leave him alone to watch, to observe, and to wish he could change what he knew was going to happen. It was as if all of Atobe's focus was on drawing out the match. It was strategically almost brilliant, and yet downright cruel, which Fuji found perversely funny. Little by little though, he could see the tension in Tezuka's posture increase, and little by little Fuji saw the tiny lines of concentration increase. He wanted to yell out that they should stop; yet he knew it was something Tezuka would never do.

"This… is…"

"Yuuta, this is what a serious match means…"

And, oh, how Fuji hated it. He hated that Tezuka was doing this, deliberately forcing himself to the edge, pushing himself to see just where the limit was. Didn't he understand that determination and tenacity were not the answer to everything? Couldn't he see what he would do to his dream if this continued?

Or maybe, just maybe he needed to know whether or not it was just a dream. Maybe he needed to know whether or not what he was focusing his future on was possible. With an injured arm that couldn't withstand a prolonged match, there was no future in tennis. Slowly Fuji accepted the realisation, and hated reality all the more for what it was forcing Tezuka to risk.

But now, now he understood, even though he didn't want to, even though he wished he could be angry. It was Tezuka's choice, and Fuji knew his friend well enough to know that once his mind was set, nothing would change it.

The strain on his shoulder aside, Fuji still managed to smile at the 6:5 score, yet he knew it was far from over. There could be a whole world of difference in one game, in one point, and he didn't like the feeling he had. Some people might dismiss such a feeling, yet Fuji couldn't bring himself to be that naive. And Tezuka's words, only just audible where Fuji was standing, sealed that foreboding feeling.

"Now, lets play without regrets."

The prodigy listened to the others talk, he listened to them decide that it all rested on determination from now on, and he was glad they couldn't see what he could. Still, he needed to say it.

To tell the truth, the one who wanted this to happen from the beginning is that over-confident Atobe, but…"

"But?"

"He is the captain of Hyotei after all. He's definitely going to have his comeback somehow. The result of the game is still unclear."

And how he hated the way his words rang so true, hated the sound of the ball as Tezuka prepared to serve, and hated the fact that the inevitable would happen anyway. He found himself feeling selfish, not wanting to watch anymore, yet, he knew Tezuka was aware he was there. While the older boy might not have looked at him once, Fuji wouldn't leave as long as he thought Tezuka might gain some sort of strength from his presence there. Even if in drawing on that strength the other boy managed to continue to play, continue to fight, Fuji felt he owed him that much at least.

Fuji almost cringed, seeing the way Tezuka's shoulder tensed, the slight pain lines others might mistake for a frown of concentration. Precision that he shouldn't have had cost the captain dearly, and yet he refused to bow down to the obvious pain he was in. It made Fuji almost feel humble at the dedication that required. Well, dedication or stupidity, Fuji wasn't yet quite certain.

"Tezuka is challenging his opponent…"

Yet something else Fuji didn't like about the match. Atobe returned whatever Tezuka hit at him, and Fuji wished he knew what Tezuka would do in response. It was hard to judge, he'd never thought his friend would be so…almost reckless simply to prove something to himself, about himself. Challenge after challenge, Tezuka had to know what he was doing.

In the next second it was obvious he did. Despite the obvious discomfort, Tezuka managed to control the game, to utilise the specialties he controlled so well. Fuji would have laughed at what tenacity could accomplish, was he not certain that even it wouldn't be enough in the long run.

"Awesome"

"That's right. His abilities have surpassed all others…"

But it wasn't going to help if his body couldn't keep up with those abilities. Just one more point, yet Fuji held his breath. If Tezuka got this point, his sister would be wrong, and Fuji would gladly tell her so. Yet, Yumiko was rarely wrong.

So Fuji made himself watch as Tezuka threw the ball up for the next serve, made himself watch as Tezuka's face flickered in shock for that brief moment, and forced himself to watch as his best friend's racket fell out of his hand and he dropped himself to his knees. The scene was surreal, taking a moment to sink in as Tezuka's opposite hand clutched his injured shoulder.

Reflex took over, and not just Fuji, every single one of them. They jumped to the court, despite knowing they shouldn't, simply because their leader was hurt.

"Don't come! Turn back. The match hasn't ended yet."

There was pain in Tezuka's voice, masked, but still there. It made Fuji want to reach out and shake him, telling him to stop the foolishness and just let it rest. At the same time he just wanted to hold Tezuka and never let him go, to reassure him that everything would be fine, even though they both knew it wasn't going to be. Back on the sidelines, Fuji couldn't tear his eyes away from the best friend who had become so much more. He did the only thing he could do, and wasn't satisfied in the least with what it was.

"Tezuka! It'd be dangerous if you keep on playing!"

"Also with your arm's condition, the probability of you winning against Atobe is exceptionally low."

Fuji almost kicked himself. Inui's reasoning was so much more plausible than his own. He was letting his personal feelings get in the way, and that just wasn't going to help. When Oishi ran out to try and prevent the inevitable, Fuji could have hugged him too. Knowing the action to be futile didn't change that fact.

Tezuka's determination hadn't waned, not even in the slightest. Fuji knew it was because that was all that was holding Tezuka together right then. Taka-san's reappearance almost brought a smile to Tezuka's lips, and for that Fuji would always be thankful. The captain smiled far too little.

"Taka-san."

The swing of the match was gone, needing to be started again from scratch. It was going to hurt Tezuka, almost more than the injury would. The beginning of the tiebreaker proved Fuji's point, although he wished it hadn't. Not for the first time, he forced himself to watch the match.

He could almost feel the pain, with every shot, with every movement, with every point; he could almost hear the muscles in Tezuka's shoulder protest.

"It's rather painful to go through, right, Tezuka? Even though he doesn't show it in his expressions, he's standing there suffering the pain"

Purely rhetorical, yet Fuji needed to speak, need to say something, in order to remind himself to breathe. He needed to make the others realise that that face didn't mean that everything was okay. Painful, no regrets…and yet… that damn reading. It wouldn't get out of Fuji's mind, it wouldn't leave him alone.

"Yet, at the same time, there is something you will greatly regret having said"

Slowly Fuji understood more than he had at first, and he didn't like the thought. He cast his mind back to the conversation they'd had that afternoon, to the argument, to the words he'd spoken, to the request he'd made, and he blanched.

So this time Fuji humoured the taller boy. "The guy who beat Yuuta…Jirou, right?" It was a rhetorical question and they both knew it. Smile fixed perfectly in place, Fuji spoke, his voice the congenial tone he always used at school. "If possible, I want to play him."

Whenever Fuji had wanted to play a specific player, he'd requested it of Tezuka. Always, ever since the beginning. It was just the way things worked. He asked, and he received. Tezuka pulled whatever strings he needed to; to make sure Fuji played whom he wanted to, if he made a request.

Suddenly Fuji knew what the reading had meant. It wasn't the fact that he'd mentioned the arm that Fuji would regret; it was the fact that he'd asked to play Jirou. Instead of thinking about Tezuka, and using what influence he had with the captain to try and arrange for Fuji to play Atobe, he'd asked to play Jirou.

While Fuji was fully aware that he may very well have not been permitted to play first singles, either through Tezuka's own stubborn pride, or else Ryuzaki-sensais's insistence, he regretted not having attempted it. He knew what would happen if the arm wasn't fully healed, yet all he'd thought of was his brother and himself. He'd been selfish, yet again, and if he hadn't been, even though the odds weren't favourable, the match as it was, might not have happened.

It didn't matter that common sense tried to tell him that Tezuka had wanted to test his own endurance. The rest of the tiebreak passed in a blur, and Fuji began to feel numb. He wondered if he would ever feel the passion Tezuka did for tennis, if he could ever feel the pure determination without needing an almost vindictive reason to. He felt jealous and proud, confused and guilty. Guilty for not at least having tried. It wasn't a feeling Fuji liked.

"Tezuka…Tezuka shouldn't be able to lift his left shoulder anymore, but…"

Fuji decided it wasn't just pure determination. Frustration came over him and he insisted, if only to himself, that Tezuka was being an idiot, he had to be, because it just didn't make sense anymore. A long match was obviously detrimental, he'd proven this. Yet, he was being stubborn, thickheaded, will power the only thing keeping him on the court. He was proving something to himself that not even Fuji could fathom, as much as he might want to.

The net, the rebound, the silence before the score was announced. Fuji thought his heart had stopped, or was it time itself? The moment froze, Tezuka's face showing a sadness Fuji had never seen before, a sadness he never wanted to see again, a sadness he might have prevented.

The cheers fell deaf on his ears, because all he could do was watch Tezuka. For the first time since they began their journey, Fuji encountered a pothole he just wasn't sure how to fill.

~~*~~

Matches are done with! Finally! Other Mind Ten takes place during this chapter.