This one's for Eva, who's been here since before the beginning.

And for Kraney, who will not swim in her bath tub.

And for you. :)

She's a Liability

Running Scared

Watching Nathan carted off on a stretcher seemed to pull the plug on my adrenaline. I could feel it glugging out of me, seeping out through my toes as I descended slowly to earth. It lay in puddles around my feet when I finally made contact with the ground. My legs fell limp without the support of a broom. My shoulders were doused in flames. I silently began packing up my things, avoiding looking at the scoreboard or any of my teammates. I also didn't look up to watch that dumbass wave the snitch around.

No one said anything. We didn't have to.

We'd lost. What else was there to say? There were no words that felt right.

Donning my bag with a grimace, I jerked a nod at Selman and Fleal. I wanted to go home. I wanted to forget. I wanted to wake up and find it was all a dream. Fleal nodded back in a way that said it was alright for me to leave. I took him up on it. "Well done today, Kate," Selman murmured as I passed him. He placed a hand on my shoulder. I nodded to the ground. He let me go. I began the slog back to the tunnel and off the field. I could have apperated. But I didn't.

My footsteps echoed thunderously off the walls. I found a rhythm in the one-two beat, in the shuffling and pain of my muscles. God, I hurt. And we lost. That hurt even more. I took the stairs instead of the lift, knowing full well it'd burn. I began kicking the steps with each movement of my legs. Kick. Kick. Kick. I left a trail of water behind me, dripping from my soaked robes. I didn't bloody care.

The press was too busy interviewing darling Dirk, so I didn't have to dodge them. I just walked sullenly back to the locker room. When I reached it, Josclind was there. She said nothing, but offered me a somewhat comrade-like nod. We were together in this. Then she just disapperated with a snap. Alone, I set my bag down on the bench. Well, "set" is a nice way of putting it. I more chucked it in the general direction of the bench. It clattered to the floor. I didn't bloody care. I stripped my robes off and hurled them too.

I couldn't go back out there and see my parents. Mum would be falsely cheery, and Dad would be glum. I couldn't see Jet Freaking Orlow. I couldn't look at Peter or any of the other reserve team members. I ground the heels of my hands into my eyes, until stars erupted in the darkness. Then I dragged myself to the shower and turned it on full blast, stepping in still half-clothed. The heat burnt and stung and I gasped, drawing back with a curse. Then I pitched my clothes and dove right in. Pain was good. This I could control.

It took me nearly half an hour with soap and boiling hot water before I was ready to leave. I didn't want to. But I shut the water off anyway. I stood, dripping for a moment after the stream had gone. The last of my strength drained away with the water. Exhausted, I put on clean, soft sweats. I felt like shit. Shit in a deep dark hole. And then it occurred to me.

I groaned. Oliver.

I knew right where he would be. I aimed a kick at my bag. Then I huffed back out into the rain. Oliver Bloody Wood couldn't berate himself for losing a game inside, you know, like a normal person. No, he just has to be out in the sheets of rain crashing down. You, know, like the idiot he is. The loss wasn't even his fault.

Oh, but just you wait. In his mind, it will be.

The water was pouring in sideways, thanks to the gusting wind that had done their damnedest to throw up off course during the match. It was a steely, cold rain for April, and stung like ice on my skin. I rubbed my arms, which were prickling uncomfortably, as I stomped through the puddles to find that stupid bastard. And find him I did, predictably standing slumped at the foot of the goal posts. Rain ricocheted off his down trodden shoulders, but he didn't move. Damn. He was in a bad state- I could tell even then. I splashed out to him, through the flooded field, with every intent to drag him inside, maybe even comfort his sorry ass and curse him for being stupid later. The water seeped into my sneakers with a squelch and numbed my toes.

"Wood," I called quietly. If he registered my presence at all, he didn't acknowledge it. I placed a hand on his shoulder, and was horrified to find goosebumps were erupting all over him, and he was shivering slightly. Otherwise, he didn't stir. The wind carried my voice away. I cleared my throat and tried again, shaking his shoulder this time. "Wood!"

He turned to face me, and looked a right mess. The water dripped from the hair plastered to his forehead and ran down in streams, soaking his features, which, to put it lightly, were dark. I blinked. He gave me a look that seemed to take all the energy he had left. I thought I detected a slight blue tinge to his lips. His jaw ground constantly, and he turned away again, shrugging my hand off.

"You've got to come inside," I told him in the same half yell, gesturing hopelessly at the distant lights. He ignored me, resuming his staring contest with the ground. I put a hand to his arm and grasped it, as if to usher him inside. "Come on, Wood," I pleaded, giving his arm a little tug. His robes were sopping wet and heavy, more like rags against his skin than clothes. "Please?" He unwound himself from my grip, and his gaze shifted to the scoreboard, still glowing.

"We lost," he said in a hollow voice. "We lost," he repeated, a little softer. "Lost, and I could have stopped it." He shook his head with such disgust. "If I'd saved a few more we'd have won." His voice was empty, and he spat the words like blood. I shifted so I was in front of him, putting my face between him and the patch of ground he was staring at. He closed his eyes.

"It's not your fault," I told him firmly." I could have scored more." I swallowed the realization. "I could have-"

"You couldn't see, Katie," he reminded me dully, opening his eyes. "And you still scored six goals." He smiled weakly. "You were brilliant." The smile didn't quite meet his eyes, and faded quickly. "I let in six." He sighed. "So I pretty much cancelled you out." I tried to get him to meet my eyes. He wouldn't. They grazed sadly over my face.

"Don't be stupid. No one could see." He still wouldn't look at me, and his shoulders were still slumped. "Bloody hell, Wood, the sky was falling in! It's not your god damn fault, stop acting like it. They just got lucky." I tugged his arm again, and was met with neither resistance nor compliance. He was tired of fighting. Neutralized. "Look at me," I commanded. He didn't. I knew he wouldn't. I continued anyway."It's just a game, Oliver." He scoffed.

"Just a game," he repeated. He was looking me full in the face now. He snorted with derision. "It's never just been a goddamn game, Katie." He rolled his eyes. "Don't you get that?"

"It's one game, Oliver. Not exactly the end of the world."

And all of a sudden, he was hot-as-hell-angry-pissed-furious. I wouldn't have been surprised if he blew shit up with his eyes. He seemed to grow a few inches taller in front of me. I quailed slightly, but didn't step back. I planted my feet. The rain pelted down. He exploded.

"No, it's not," he shouted, spluttering. "It's not just a fucking game, don't you get it?"

I'd never heard him use that word before. Ever.

"I screw up, and there's a million more where I come from." He was tall and big and mad. And very much in my face. But at least there was something there. His eyes, dead in their sockets, were worse than anything. "Then what, Katie?" he yelled, flailing his arms. "Then what've I got left?" He sucked breath in, nose flared. I sensed it was a question he didn't want answered. He was going to answer it for me.

"Nothing!" He spat. "No job, no girlfriend, no life!" I closed my eyes and let his words wash over me. "I've given up everything for this. I screw up, and it's over. I've got nothing." I opened my eyes and saw the dark hollows beneath his eyes. I saw the absolute belief. He believed he was a failure.

"Well, I'm here, aren't I?" I found myself saying quietly. "You've got me." I meant it.

"Yeah, well," he growled, turning on his heel and stalking off. "I'm done."

He disregarded me. I felt a hot, angry flame lick up my insides as I watched him storm off. I wanted him to care that I was out there, freezing my ass off in the rain. I wanted him to care that I existed.

I realized I wanted him to care about a lot of things.

I scooped up a handful of mud and chucked it as hard as I could at his retreating head. "Damnit, Wood!" I shrieked. "You're not a failure!" The mud slid down his neck and he stopped short. Then he whirled around, pissed as hell.

"What the hell was that for?" he bellowed back, suddenly only a foot from my face. "What the-"

"That was for being stupid," I shouted back, flouting his shouts with my own. I picked up another handful of the stuff. I threw it into his chest. "And that's for being a prick," Another glob. I smashed it into his shoulder. "And that's because I believe in you, dipshit!" I snarled. He was face to face with me. "Which is more than you ever gave yourself," I hissed.

"You don't-" he was bashing himself, working himself into frenzy. He wouldn't stop, couldn't stop. I shouted back, my face inches from his, both of us bellowing words into each other's lungs, until neither one of us could hear the other. So I did the only thing I could to shut him the hell up.

I kissed him.

Yeah, that's right, I kissed Oliver Wood. I kissed the shit out of him.

Anyone got a problem with that?

I reached across the space separating us, the few feet of air and angry words, and roughly grabbed him, crashing my mouth into his. I breathed in his words, and he froze, then, as I knew he would. Water dripped from his face to mine, and he held stock still as my fingers ground into the mud I'd thrown at him. I had mere seconds before he exploded, I knew it. His lips moved beneath mine, and I disconnected. I didn't look at him. I just turned and ran.

I turned and ran as hard and as fast as I could.

He didn't follow.

But sometimes, even when nothing's chasing you, you just can't run fast enough.

A/N- Firstly, I know this is short. Deal with it. Or Katie will roundhouse kick you too. She's in a bit of a mood.

Secondly, I adore you. So many of you offered to send me freezer pops. You're lovely.

Thirdly, I made an error in the last chapter in regards to the quidditch score. Thank you to the readers who caught it. The correct score pre-snitch should have been 190-70. Post snitch would be 190-220.