AN: sorry for the long, long delay, guys. College is wildly busy. (And I, true to form, got really sick, which - trust me - in college, just sucks. You still go to class, you still do everything you have to do, you just do it while feeling like crap.) ANYWHO you've got a nice long chapter here to make up for that AND another one almost finished, so that'll go up within the week. Love you guys!

Chapter Thirteen
Sitting, Waiting, Wishing I
I can't always be waiting, waiting on you...

"Okay, how is it that I've suffered through this boot camp of your's for three weeks and all I've lost is five pounds? That's just not fair, Oliver."

Even to my ears, my voice was irritatingly whiny and girly. But still, five pounds! For all the pain I'd suffered through? Really? I shrugged my shirt back on, putting the scale away with unnecessary force.

"You're putting on muscle weight." Oliver answered vaguely, his voice drifting in through the closed door, growing louder as he walked closer. "I was thinking something simple tonight – maybe just soup and sandwiches?" There was a knock.

"I'm decent." I grumbled, retying my sweatpants.

"I'm beat," he said, opening the door. He'd just changed into his oldest, rattiest pair of pajamas and his hair still stood on end from the violent towling boys do after showers. (Really, what is that? Am I the only person that thinks that would be painful?) I bit my lip, fighting the urge to reach out and starting playing with his hair. I'm a sucker for bedhead.

"Maybe I'll just have salad. Or, I don't know. Nasty, cardboard-y flax bars," I sighed and started out the door, not looking forward to rummaging through the kitchen.

Oliver caught me around the waist. "You should eat some proper food. You've got a big day tomorrow. And you don't need to lose weight, Katie. You're normally not so… girly. I really am not getting the obsession."

I let myself be pulled into his side, yawning massively. "I'm girly! Just not bitchy! I am allowed to whine about my weight. You just have to deal with it. Besides, I'm still not in fighting shape. I can always lose weight. Anyways, it's just practice. It's not like a game or something. They've seen me fly drills before. It's not that big a deal."

"You're getting there. And it's kinda major. It's your first practice as an official chaser. Coach is sure to throw something at you."
"Mehhh." I moaned into his ribs, leaning all of my weight against his solid bulk. "I'm too tireeeed." I nuzzled my face further into his side, breathing in his soapy smell.

"Ah, ah – bruise-" he shifted uncomfortably, pushing my shoulders off of his side. "Sorry. Bloody bludgers-" I stumbled sideways, jerking upright before he could catch me. He stared at my surprised face, guilt radiating off of him. Oliver had never pushed me away before. Never. A sudden awkwardness fell on us.

"No, no – sorry. Sorry about your bruise." I pointlessly straightened my shirt, desperate to do something with my hands. "I – we should make dinner."

I pushed past him, wincing. Sometimes I forgot that, despite our closeness and our cuddliness, Oliver wasn't my boyfriend. He was just a friend. He wasn't obligated to care for me, or let me collapse on him when I was tired. He was my teammate and my trainer. And my flatmate. Personal pillow wasn't one of his many titles.

"Tomato? Or chicken noodle?" I plunked both cans down on the counter.

"Katie-" he followed me into the room, speaking slowly.

"I'm partial to tomato soup and grilled cheese, personally, but I can always do chicken noodle."

"Katie, I-"

"I'm cooking for tonight. You do too much. Besides," I grinned. "I can manage canned soup."

"Katie, can I just-"

"It's just dinner! I can make food for my big brother, right?" I looked up at him, smiling wider. He'd paused, his eyes fixed on mine, his mouth mid-speech. I frowned. I'd missed something. "I… Oliver? Was there… something else?"

"I…" he had some strange, strangled look that I couldn't comprehend. "No. Tomato soup sounds good – but you can't make grilled cheese. You'll light it on fire again."

And he smiled his brilliant smile and headed to get bread, like nothing strange had happened at all.

xoxox

"Rise and shine, kid!"

"Ugh, Oliver. It's too earlyyyy." I rolled over, moaning into my pillowcase.

"No, it's just on time. Now get up." he scooped me up, blanket and all and hefted me effortlessly. "And you think you need to lose weight," he mumbled as I flailed at the sudden lack of bed.

"Putmedown! Ah! Oliver! PUT ME DOWN!"

Oliver considered my struggling form. He shrugged. "As you wish," and dumped me unceremoniously on the floor.

"Ow! OW!" my arse hurt. "You suck, Oliver Wood."

I peered out from my cave of blankets. He'd laughed at my discomfort, and then crossed to my mess of a closet. "Best get moving, Bell. Before I start throwing trainers at you again."

I winced. More pain. Didn't need that, today. Oliver grinned, holding up one shoe threateningly. I jumped to my feet, mutteringly bitterly under my breath as I headed to the bathroom.

"I'm going, I'm going. Bloody haggis-eating, tartan-loving, bagpipe-blowing..."

"Oi! Are you insulting my heritage?"

But I'd already closed the door in his kilt-wearing face.

Mad Scot.

xoxox

The locker room was a little tense. I was more nervous than I'd expected to be, a nasty little knot of anxiety growing in my chest.

"Hey guys! What's up? Who's feeling super awake and super pumped? I'm super awake and superMMMFFWH-"

Oliver had clapped a hand over my mouth.

"She's a nervous babbler," he said conversationally to a shocked-looking Tom. "She won't stop unless she's forced. C'mon, no, Katie…." And he steered me forcibly towards the girl's lockers. "Go… go freak out Charlotte or something. Whatever calms your nerves. And get changed!"

"I don't freak out Charlotte!" I yelled over my shoulder. "Oh, hey Charlie. Ooh. Sorry about your foot." I jumped off of Charlotte's foot as she winced, backing slowly away.

"No worries Katie. No- no. Don't try to fix it. It's okay. I've got it."

This team. So self-sufficient. I love it.

On that note…

I glanced around the room, eyeing my tempermental locker warily.

"Who wants to unlock Katie's locker for her? Anyone?"

xoxox

Hannah was sweet enough to unlock my locker, ("Katie. It doesn't even need a combo. You just-" she slammed her hand into the metal. I flinched. "Punch it.") and I was now sitting uncomfortably on the main locker room bench, awaiting Coach with mounting anxiety.

"Oliver, why can't I breathe? It feels like my stomach is crawling up my throat. Is that a thing? Can that happen to normal people?"

"You are not a normal person, Katie," Oliver retorted, tying his boots.

"No, no that's true." I mused, unconsciously unbraiding and rebraiding my hair.

"Katie. Katie. Katie." He closed a hand over mine. "Leave your hair alone. You're making me nervous."

"Oh." I refastened my hair-tie, grimacing. My hands immediately felt awkward sitting still in my lap.

He watched me. "Don't do it."

"Don't do what?"

"You're eyeing your bootlaces. They're fine. They're tied. Leave them alone."

"Oh." My hands had already been creeping towards them. I hadn't even realized.

"You'll be fine," he said, roughly. "What happened to the bravado of yesterday?"

"Yesterday my stomach wasn't trying to throttle me."

He grinned and ruffled my hair.

The door banged open. I jumped, wild-eyed.

Coach Bard with all his geniality and his unthreatening red beard suddenly looked like my absolute worst nightmare. Dear lord.

Oliver's hand closed over mine and squeezed. "Breathe," he whispered, breath close to my ear.

I squeezed his hand back, taking long steadying breaths.

Thank you.

xoxox

Most of my panic, it turned out, was unnecessary. Coach Bard briefly welcomed me to the first practice, and then launched into a long-winded and complex theoretical lecture.

He even had charmed diagrams that wiggled and rolled around the board. It took me a moment to realize that he was actually going to go through every play for every single team we were playing in the next two months. Dear lord.

Oliver kept his fingers twined with mine the whole time, a solid, reassuring bulk at my shoulder.

I leaned against him, mind drifting away from Coach's monotonous words. Last night had been weird. There had definitely been something I'd missed. But what? Normally, I'd just ask Oliver, but for some reason that felt like a bad idea. I just couldn't put my finger on it. Maybe… maybe. I blinked. Maybe he knew I liked him. Maybe he'd been about to say something about it, and had stopped because he knew how awkward it'd make everything.

Oh god.

What was I going to do? Was he just trying to pretend everything was normal, hoping I'd get over it? But we'd already proven that if there's one thing I'm terrible at, it's getting over Oliver. Like, I am undisputedly the worst at that particular task. Really, truly terrible.
Crap.

"Bell! Wood!"

I jerked up, starting wildly. Oh, shit.

"I'm sorry if I'm interrupting your cozy little nap," Coach continued, crossly.

I whipped my hand out of Oliver's, feeling my face redden.

My first day. Of all days, my first one.

He caught the movement, and I knew, with a sinking feeling, that he wasn't going to let handholding slide. Bard's eyes darted between our faces for a moment, calculating.

"Wood, over there." He pointed to where the beaters were sitting. Oliver raised his eyebrows.

"What are we, first years?" he asked, insolently. I bit back a gasp. I'd never, never imagined Oliver would talk back to Bard.

Bard clearly hadn't been expecting that from Oliver, either. He blinked, before composing himself.

"If you act like a child, I'll treat you like one. Move." Oliver stood, without looking at me and strode across the room, anger in each movement.

Bard watched him go. "This brings me to another point." He turned to the room, grim determination on his face. "Inter-team dating."

I felt the blood drain from my face.

Oh, no. God no. Please don't.

"Coach-" I started.

He steamrollered over me. "I am just not having it. Not when it interferes with practices and complicates team unity. Not having it!"

"Coach, I-"

"I understand this can be a problem to some, but if Wood and Bell would have just disclosed it to me, we might have-"

He did not just – no no no no.

I tried to interrupt again, but someone beat me to it.

"Coach, we aren't dating!"

Oliver's voice was so cold, I almost didn't recognize it. I stared at him. There was something disproportionately angry in his face. He caught my eyes, something passing over his face, before looking away sharply, determinedly.

Oh.

Bard looked nonplussed.

"What?"

"We're not dating. We never have been, and we never will be. She's like my little sister." Oliver glared at Bard, a cold glint in his eyes.

Oh. Suddenly, I felt my throat tighten in a totally different way.

No. No no no. I am not going to cry. You will not cry here, Katie Bell. You will not. No, no no.

If I could have just vanished, I would have. Anything to not have everyone suddenly awkwardly avoiding my eyes. Most of all, worst of all, Oliver.

Oh. My. God.

"Oh. Well then." Bard looked around shiftily. "Let's get back to the Wigtown Wanderers…"

I snuck a glance at Oliver, who'd crossed his arms and was gazing at the floor, a strange expression on his face.

I wrapped my fingers around eachother, my hands suddenly feeling very cold and alone.

DRAMAAAAA

Sitting, Waiting, Wishing - Jack Johnson