Author's Note: A big thanks goes out to RattleCat for helping me draft up this chapter. Also for inspiring me about James' motives.

Review Replies:

Rattlecat: Hope you like this chappie! I was inspired!

Kristen: Just wait til you read this one.

Winged Werefox: I love your version of Satin. Did you do that with a computer? Very nice! And I get inspired by music a lot. I listened to a lot of My Chemical Romance in this chapter. As far as fitting pieces together, think about it like this. There's one big problem your character needs to solve. The story is about that problem (Wilt telling Satin how he feels) and smaller problems and realizations come to the character as well (the Cracker's issue, the conversation with Frankie). Then you tie it up at the end or leave it with loose ends to aggravate people. (smiles) That's how I see it.

Kia1334: I'll see about that jumbled-ness. Sometimes I post without going over how it looks with the editor thingy. And yes, James is back . . . With a VENGENCE! P.S. I hate those stupid "something at changed your life" things too. I don't have anything to write about. XD

AJ Wonkette: Check out who's POV is used in this one. And thank you!

Fattyaddy-99: Will a fight break out? We'll see.

FairWinds: Thank you very much for your kind review, it is one of the things that inspired me to get back to this story and get it back up on the first page of the listings. Thank you!

Cheeseisawesome: Think that's a cliffhanger? Just wait til you get to this one.

Chapter 16: Making the Cut

James smiled at his one-time friend, things had come full circle. The last time he'd seen him had been when he was twelve and had finally made the cut for the team. Wilt had cheered him on, coached him, gone to all of his games . . . Even when he'd lost. It was rather pathetic really, Wilt had almost acted like a soccer mom.

It had been his father's idea that he adopt him in the first place.

"My boy, you need a real athlete to train you! Someone who loves the game . . ."

James remembered loving it once . . . Feeling a soaring leap of heart whenever the ball made it through the hoop. The glorious ache in his muscles as he pounded down the court. Watching the greats play over and over to learn their moves and tricks . . .

He didn't know when he lost it . . . Or why . . . Maybe it was all the years of his father screaming obscenities at the coach when he didn't get put in, maybe it was the endless drills and training sessions his father had put him through, or maybe it was the humiliation of being told he just wasn't good enough to make the cut four years in a row. All he knew was that one day the game hadn't been fun anymore . . . It had become a job, a test, a trial, a competition.

Wilt had been his closest friend, the only person that understood how he'd felt about the game. When he'd played with Wilt he'd remembered how it felt . . . But it was a hollow feeling, a jealous feeling. Wilt threw himself into the game with pure joy and it made James resentful that he could no longer have that luxury. He had been a wonderful friend though, the one person he ever felt he could admit his worries to. The only one who'd ever bothered to listen when he said he'd had enough.

And then he'd left.

Oh yes, he had told him to leave but had Wilt questioned him? Once. That was all. He didn't even put up a fight. Didn't argue. Just left. Turned and gone. He didn't even try to stay.

And it was with these thoughts in his heart that he spoke, "Yes. I have."

Wilt's eye stared into his curiously, a glimmer of sadness in their depths. James gloated inside, maybe now his once friend would know the sadness he had known. Maybe he would learn what it was to fail . . .

All his youth spent on a dream. A dream that he could never achieve. After tearing a muscle in his leg early in college he'd been kicked off the team, a has been, a wash out, forgotten. His father had been ashamed, turned his back on him, refused to help him with his college funding. He'd been on his own ever since. It had taken him months to finally scrounge enough money to get his own apartment. He worked at a Seven Eleven in town and spent the rest of his time running a gang of street friends who seemed to reflect his anger perfectly. Each one had been abandoned or had left of their own will for various reasons. All wore their rage like a cloak and carried it like a sword. They weren't his friends they were his gang.

Mire, James's second in command, spoke in his soft reedy voice, "You know him, James?"

James shot a sharp glance at Mire, the backstabbing muscled thought was constantly vying for a chance to be the leader.

"Would I be talkin' to him if I didn't?" James snapped with a snarl of satisfaction as Mire recoiled slightly. They knew their place and those that didn't . . . well, they weren't trouble for very long.

"So, Red? You didn't answer my question." James continued, his eyes wandering over the tall wiry frame the towered before him. So thin, so light.

He would break easily . . .

"I'm sorry." Wilt stammered, "I came to help my friend."

He wrapped an arm around the other friend beside him and James took a second to notice her. She was also frail, fragile, a waif of a creature wrapped in a long blue poncho. A sneer cross his face at the sight of her. Pampered, pleasant, sweet . . . she wouldn't last long either.

"How are you doing?" Wilt asked, genuinely cheerful, "Long time no see."

James snorted, "Indeed. Too long of a time."

Wilt blinked, "I'm sorry, you seem upset."

Laughter barked from James's throat, a harsh grating noise . . .

The other friends backed up instinctively, laughter from James was a warning sign.

He strode forward and looked up into his once-friend's eye, "Really? Do I?" he cracked his neck loudly, "Maybe that's because my life is a living hell."

Wilt blinked in shock and pulled Satin a little closer, "What? I'm sorry."

"You heard me." The tone was dangerous, "A. Living. Hell."

"James . . ." Wilt choked on the emotion, "What happened to you? Last I heard you were on the basketball team in college."

James paused . . . Wilt knew about him? He'd watched him? Why hadn't he come back? Why couldn't he see how much he'd needed him?

"What happened to me? Let's just say I didn't make the cut." he slipped his hands into his pockets an innocent and deadly gesture.

The knife was in his hand before Wilt could reply. At some unseen signal from James the others surged forward, grabbing at him, clawing, reaching. Satin was torn from his grasp and he heard her cry out. His legs went down beneath him. He felt the others pull back letting James through. James eyes were hard and cruel as they stared down into his own.

"But you will."

The pain came swift and sharp into his chest. It stole his breath and for a second it seemed to recede, disappear. The sensation of a foreign object in his body was strange. The metal was cool but quickly warming to his body temperature. Before he could get used to the feeling the weapon was wrenched out of him sending a bolt of pain through his body. A scream resounded and Wilt realized it was his own. Then he heard Satin cry out followed by a dull thud of something connecting solidly with a body.

Spurred on by the sound he shoved at James as he lifted his arm to thrust the knife into Wilt a second time.

James wasn't expecting the force of the push. He rolled off, knocking Mire to the ground. That freak! He pushed himself up only to see that the red friend had managed to rise as well and was pushing his way to the girl. So . . . She was something to Wilt . . .

The tide of friends parted for James, who was at girl's side in an instant. He flashed the blade at her, a wicked grin on his face. The perfect revenge. He'd lost what he'd loved most and so must Wilt.

Satin trembled in her attacker's grasp, she'd knocked two down with her backpack before they'd subdued her. She sported a shiner, she knew, from a well thrown punch to the face. Wilt was striding towards her, she could see his legs but her view was obscured by the leering face of the man, James. He held up a switchblade, turning it this way and that before her eyes, "Aren't you a pretty thing? Maybe too pretty . . . Maybe I should make you match your boyfriend over there."

Satin's good eye widened as he drew the blade tenderly along her cheek, light enough to tickle the fur. Shivering, she tried to pull away but someone held her head. The nick of the blade stung as James cut into her face.

"Leave her alone!" James was thrust away by a long red hand.

She could feel the blood on her face, warm and wet with her tears. Someone grabbed Wilt's legs, she could see him topple. They were going to die . . .

Then headlights rounded the corner.