Series: Beyblade
Genre: General
Author: Aethyrial Flame
Summary: It is something strange between them, and he knows not neither that which she wants nor needs; and it perplexes him, for she wants for none of those.
Disclaimer: I don't own beyblade or it associated characters and trademarks, but I do own the original characters and settings in this one-shot (collection).
This is a little piece about everyone's favourite blonde haired, blue eyed American- Max. I hate the way everyone writes him as a sugar-hyped bimbo, because that's nothing like him. Everyone forgets that our maxy-boy is a master defensive strategist, and seems to spend half the year in America with his top-researcher momma, and the rest with his hobby-shop owning dad.
That matures a person, and I don't think he's as stupid as most people portray him…
Chapter Three: Tiptoe to the Bedroom
"Oooh I so do not want to eat more- and I refuse!"
The blonde arches an eyebrow at her sudden refusal, and she gives an embarrassed, sheepish shrug.
"Butt-monkey,"
She grumbles, idly nibbling on a piece of toast. To her left, her cousin is cackling as he eagerly slathers tomato sauce over everything, and the butler standing near the door looks about ready to faint because of this.
"Kaaaiii, Rei- do I really have to eat stuff like you pigs?"
"You ate just as much,"
He murmurs, blue eyes flashing with mischief, and she struggles to keep a straight face, pinching his thigh. The thump of his knee against the table is lost buy the arrival of the aristocrats, and when the bragging is done and challenges have been made, he finds that she is gone.
It doesn't matter, though; he's used to it. He'll get his revenge later…
---
She's kicking washing down the hallways. He pauses, task at hand momentarily forgotten, in order to watch her. Maybe it's the surroundings; arching ceilings lost to the early morning gloom, cold marble floors, and aristocratic busts; but she seems strangely out of place.
Kick, slide, kick, slide…
A flash of red catches his eye. Previously, she seemed unaware of his presence, but he must have made some small sound, because she suddenly looks up. Something filters through her eyes, and then she traces where his are resting, and grins.
"Would you believe-" Kick, slide, tumble of black and green and racy red- "That Kai bought that for me on a bet?"
He leans back against a pillar, scratching at his neck, and shrugs.
"Not really,"
The blonde allows, and she grins again, sending the tumbled pile of washing a few metres in front of her with a hefty kick.
"Good. It was a lie,"
She adds, and he inclines his head, still watching the washing. After a few minutes she reaches him, and they walk side buy side as she heads for, he assumes, the laundry.
He is quiet now, letting his thoughts roam as they please, and it is a content sort of silence that fills the air between them. As they pass the occasional window, he notes that dawn is swiftly approaching, but soon any measure of time is taken from him, as they enter a cool, shadowed hallway.
"It wasn't all that bad. I mean, it was for mum, but he wasn't really much of a dad, so it didn't hurt so much."
Her voice startles him badly, though he is quick to hide it, and her sideways glance catches the flash of old pain in his eyes. He makes a noncommittal sound, and kicks her washing a little, vision glazed.
She shoots him a worried look, before sighing, and plunging ahead.
"Sometimes I just want to scream at them. I mean… we're all so screwed up, but, it's like… I don't know,"
Her voice has a helpless edge to it that catches and tears at him, and he begins to sort the dirty laundry into piles of white, colours and darks, movements rigid and automatic. Shooting him another look, she tugs at her lower lip with her teeth, and boots the shiny chrome washing machine.
"Stupid boys. Why does Tyson always get the glory? I could have taken on that Oliver guy, maybe even Enrique, too…"
Blue eyes lightening a little, he straightens and turns to face her.
"Oh really,"
He drawls, because he knows that his accent is stronger that way, and she giggles and swats him for it.
"Yes, really,"
She mimics, dumping a load of washing into the machine, back to him.
"Why is he so important?"
Silence swoops down, netting the words in their throats, and he freezes as the implications of her words reaches him. There is a little girl hurt to them, a naïve demand, and he can sense the flow of her thoughts, tiny grudges and hidden hurts so much like his own…
"Tyson is… Tyson, I guess."
His laughter is hollow and forced, and she suddenly turns and throws her arms around him.
"Don't do that, please,"
She begs into his collarbones, and his hands reflexively clasp her too him. Even though she is the elder of the two, he always feels like the older sibling, keeping a parental eye on her.
Sometimes he teases her, skilfully drawing the laughter from her voice until she descends into fits of giggles. But there is always a limit; she turns to the dark haired one, feeling some sort of connection there, and he is a temporary sort of comfort.
He's never held her like this, and the butterfly rush it gives him has his knees shaking.
Then she pulls back a little, and shoots him a glare, tapping the end of his nose.
"You grew."
Her tone is accusatory, and, off-balance, it takes him a moment to realise what she is getting at. The something strange in the air retreats, and he grins, resting his chin on the top of her head.
"I s'pose."
He murmurs, and then she is dancing away from him, skipping up the cold stone hallway.
---
"NO!"
She screams, and only their hands keep her in her seat, and she is fighting them, desperate to get to the cloud of billowing dust that hides her cousin.
"TYSON!"
The sound is raw and primal, and the dark haired boys holding her flinch and slacken their grip at the sound of it. Grim faced, the blonde pins her bodily to the floor, murmuring in her ears, a constant stream of sound.
"He'll be fine, relax and calm down I mean he's Tyson for Christs sake, just chill out, lay back, nothing bad is happening it'll all work out, he'll be fine…
Pride rears its ugly head as she slowly subsides, and the whispers in the stands die away to nothing as the smoke clears. Down on the floor, the two see nothing, but can hear the thunderous roar of a thousand throats swelling with screams of victory, and both dread the moment when they discern the truth.
But he's looking into her, eyes a fierce dark blue, wind lashed oceans, and she's drowning in them, so alone and frightened.
"I.."
Her voice trails off, weak and vulnerable, and he carefully pulls her up to her feet.
"Chill,"
He whispers back, and they turn as one to face the champion.