Notes: Oh my gosh, sorry for the long wait! Hope you enjoy! Happy reading.

Vash is the team's other centre aside from Raivis. Coach Kirkland says he could probably be the best centre in Whitecats history if he could just stay out of the penalty box for more than five farking minutes at a time. He is pretty much the best centre on the team because he's got a lot of pent-up angry energy and he apparently knows how to use it to check people out of his fucking way.

The only bad thing? Yeah, Vash has this pretty wicked temper. Seriously, it's crazy the way Vash threatens to shoot people in the face. Or foot. Or whatever. And usually there's not really a good reason for it. It's the intimidation tactic that the team really cares about. It helps most of the time. Either way, Vash skates faster than anyone in the whole history of hockey. Maybe even Ever. Okay, maybe not. But, hey, he's still pretty damned close.

Other than the fact that Vash kicks ass at being a centre, he totally doesn't even feel bad about heckling the other teams' players. Refs and Coaches have also fallen victim to Vash's loose-canon insults. Plus, he doesn't ever feel bad about being an ass at away games because, seriously? The refs are super biased anyway. So, Vash heckles and yells and calls out every single player and then calls them everything he can think of.

It gets pretty intense during one game where Roderich somehow manages to get knocked down. And, really? Whose idea was it to knock down Roderich? As in Roderich, Vash's sort-of-not-really-but-yeah boyfriend? Yeah, him. He gets knocked down and Vash looks like he could bite the head off of a kitten. And eat it.

So, the next thing Vash does pretty much cements him in Whitecats Badass History. He hits the puck so hard it travels at about thirty miles per hour through the air. And hit's the other team's centre. Right in the middle of. His. Chest.

And everyone pretty much sees it happening in slow motion. The impact against the poor guy's chest is probably enough to leave a bruise. Or break his clavicle. No one really knows for sure but it's definitely one of the two. The other thing everyone is pretty sure about is that if Alfred ever decided to make their team career into an awesome movie or something, that would definitely be the slow-mo scene.

Katya has a really bad habit of doing stupid and totally bizarre stuff when she's upset. Or anxious. Which is pretty much all the time but. Whatever. Seriously, last time she was upset, she chopped off all her hair. Yeah, seriously. She wasn't even that upset.

Today she's upset and a little nervous because. Okay, she's had a crush on Matthew since the first game and she really, really likes him but. There's that thing in the way. That Ivan-Alfred-Maim-Dismember-Conquer-Kill thing in the way of her even thinking about anything else other than maybe getting Ivan some sort of help, maybe even mental counseling. Yeah, it's that bad. And, as if that wasn't bad enough, Matthew just happens to be the brother of Alfred, who Ivan just happens to want to hurt, which includes but is not limited to maiming, dismembering, conquering, and killing. She really doesn't want to upset Ivan with the final match of the tournament coming up. But. She really likes Matthew. She likes him a lot. And she needs to tell someone or she'll become a neurotic mess. She needs to tell Ivan. Or she'll explode.

Today's bizarre, stupid activity? Yeah, she's comfort shopping. For groceries. And she's got Ivan with her because she figures that he can't hurt her in a public place. He might damage some canned goods, though. They're standing in front of a canned food pyramid. Ivan is standing (lurking) next to her. One of the lights above them is flickering and Katya swears it stops when Ivan smiles up at it in that endearing empty way he has.

Drain-O. Katya needs to buy Drain-O. There's a huge chunk of Ivan's hair clogging the faucet in one of the bathroom sinks. It's been lodged in there since Last Tuesday when Ivan found a huge clot of his own hair, which included but wasn't limited to his chest hair, some hair from his head, some shaved-off facial hair and a chunk of hair that had been shaved off from somewhere that was. Definitely. Not. His. Face under Natalia's pillow and tied together with one of her ribbons. He tried to get rid of it by shoving it into the sink's faucet pipe.

Natalia? Well, she's very bizarre and confusing to most people, Ivan and Katya included. Seriously, Natalia is just so violent and weird that it's pretty amazing that she's managed to avoid being arrested for aggressive stalking.

Either way, Katya needs to buy Drain-O. And pickles. They also might need some cabbage. Katya doesn't really remember. Ivan looks (creepily stares) at her. Katya knows that he knows something is not quite right in Katyaland. It's odd how perceptive he is. Seriously, it can be spooky as hell sometimes.

Tilting his head to the side and looking crazy as fuck, Ivan asks, "What is wrong, sister?"

Katya knows she cannot lie to her brother. It would not be nice. He can also smell lies but that is beside the point.

"I believe, Vanya, th-that I may like Matthew." Katya responds (stammers).

Ivan just stares. And stares. And. Stares. And then? Then after that, Ivan smiles and Katya just knows he's picturing Alfred being impaled on a stick. Or being shot in the face. Or something just as terrible and painful as being shot in the face or impaled on a stick.

"This is good. I am glad that you have confided in me. You will speak with him about this, yes?" Ivan asks but sort of actually states, "and then I will speak with him." Katya isn't quite sure if that odd shadow around her brother's upper face has always been there. She thinks it hasn't but. Well. She's not quite sure.

She doesn't quite know what possesses her to say what she says next but she does it anyway, "Thank you, Vanya, for understanding."

A little ways down the aisle, some guy from the team they're playing on Friday slips. And sprains his wrist. Katya thinks it might have something to do with the way Ivan is creepily smiling and mumbling something to himself. She also figures it might be because of the puddle of pickle juice that was definitely not there before.

It's Tuesday. Their final game of the tournament is on Friday evening. But that's not important. Actually, it is probably the most important thing that has happened to Matthew ever. Ever. No, seriously, it's pretty important. But. Okay. It's Tuesday. And their final match is on Friday. Which is definitely not Tuesday.

Whatever.

It's Tuesday and right now Matthew is doing his homework. Yeah, which is a huge, behemoth, monstrous pile. Alfred is sitting with him in their basement because. Well. Dad is upstairs romancing Mr. Carriedo. Which is so. Totally. Gross. Alfred is doing his own homework. Okay, yeah, Alfred finished his homework ages ago and is now sitting on the couch, flipping through some teenybopper magazine and stuffing food into his face.

Seriously? Matthew is so close to being over this stupid Pre Calc assignment. He has been staring at the same stupid problem for about fifteen minutes, waiting for it to solve itself. It's definitely not solving itself any time soon. Whatever. Matthew gives up and starts packing his stuff into his backpack. He cannot think about school or numbers or square roots right now because there is a really annoying incessant buzzing going on in his ears. It actually sounds a bit like this:

friday.

Yeah, it sounds just like that.

Eventually, after Matthew has put his stuff in his backpack and forced his brother to relinquish a tiny space on the couch so he can sit down, Matthew asks, "Al. Uhm, are you nervous about something?"

Alfred looks up, radioactive bright orange cheese dust around his mouth and on his fingers and there's a bit on his glasses. And cocks his head to the side. Yeah, that makes Alfred look like a retarded puppy. Or something to that effect.

"Nah." Alfred nearly shouts, popping his neon orange fingertips into his mouth, "why are you saying that? What would make you say that? I'm not nervous!"

Alfred always. Always. Shouts when he's nervous. Always.

"Because. While I did my homework, you ate three bags of one-hundred calorie Cheez Crackers, two ice cream sandwiches, a bag of Funions, a bag of skittles, and a small order of fries. Now you're eating some sort of. . . Cheesy saw dust byproduct."

"Okay, fine! You freakin' caught me. But if I tell you, you can't laugh."

Because Matthew is a good brother, no matter how annoyed he gets with Alfred, he nods. Seriously, as much as Alfred can be total jerk, Matthew still feels that he can be the better person just by being the better brother. As in, not making fun of his sibling whenever he reveals extremely personal information. Because, seriously? Matthew never made fun of the fact that Alfred didn't stop sucking his thumb until he was fourteen. Yeah, he's serious about that one.

"Cross my heart." Matthew says and sits down next to his brother on the ugly brown couch. When is Dad going to get a new one because. Really? This couch is really, really. Really ugly. Like the kind of ugly that could kill kittens. Or something.

"I'm working on a top-secret plan to seduce Mr. K." Alfred says. And Matt? Well, he doesn't laugh which he supposes is a good thing but. Seriously? Mr. K? This is why Matthew keeps Alfred away from everything he considers sacred. Like moose. And macaroni and cheese—although for some reason Alfred gets into that no matter what Matthew does. This is why Matthew shouldn't have taken Alfred to any of his practices or his games. Alfred can not be in love with Coach Kirkland. It's. Just. Okay, it's just. Weird. Seriously, Mr. Kirkland is twice. His. Brother's Age. Twice. But—well. Matthew should have figured that this would have happened because Alfred? Yeah, Alfred is the reason that Matthew can't have nice things; Alfred will ruin them. God, it's not like he owns Coach Kirkland or anything but. Seriously?

Okay. For the first time Matthew felt like he was in the spotlight and. And. And. Okay. What does this even have to do with anything? If anything, he's not being the better brother and being the better person by being jealous. Yeah, okay it's natural and everything. No, seriously, it's natural because if you had to grow up with being pretty much invisible it would pretty much seem like a huge deal whenever you were getting some attention. But, whatever. Alfred sort of needs him right now. And even if Alfred is kind of a jerk, Matthew is still the better person. So, because he's the better brother-slash-person Matthew says,

"Oh. That's cool, eh. Why do you like him? You know he's a lot older than you right?"

Alfred makes a noise like a dying whale.

"I don't even know why I like him! He's got really, really, really bad teeth. Like, really bad! And. God, Mattie. He drinks tea."

"Again, Al. Why do you like him?" Matthew says and he can just picture his head on Molly Ringwald's body on the Sixteen Candles poster.

"I don't know! He's like he's some sort of robot and he's angry all the time. It's probably because he eats those rocks all the time—"

"Those are scones, Al," Gosh, it's kind of disconcerting how dumb his brother is sometimes. Although, Matthew can sort of see where Alfred got the idea that those were rocks. He's had one. It was sort of like. You know. Eating a rock.

"Right, scones. Whatever. Look, he's just angry. All. The Time. And. I don't know why I like him. It's probably his hair cut. That's the hair cut that all ugly British guys have, Matt. He's like Hugh Grant or something! I freaking hate Hugh Grant." Alfred says, tearing at his hair.

"He did really good in Nine Months though. Or whatever that movie was called."

"Whatever. Matthew."

"Yes?"

"I've fallen in love with a British Robot Douche."

"Yeah, well. I guess we're sort of in the same boat. Because I've fallen in love with the little sister of the KGB's best agent." Matthew say, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. His brother really knows how to give him a headache because. Seriously? His temples are just suddenly throbbing. Throbbing.

"Matt! Oh my god, why do you always have to make every single conversation about you? Seriously, Matt? Seriously? Oh my freakin'— you know what? Whatever. You're so selfish." And with that Alfred gets up and trudges up the stairs. Matthew just stares after him.

Okay, really? Not to be mean or anything but. Okay, Matthew really wants to kill Alfred sometimes. He just really wants to just. Just. Smother him with a pillow or something.

Notes: Hope you enjoyed! There should be one more chapter left after this one unless I can get myself to write more. We'll see what's up. Anyway, thank you for reading! Leave a review?