A/N: I know it has been a while since I last updated, but here is an extra long chapter to make up for it. Please, please, please, review!
I liked to thank Scorp for her brainstorming and editing help! This chapter is dedicated to you, darling - Kazu.
It's one fourteen to one twenty-three, Marv, with Team USA back in the lead. Japan's been better than expected; they've really given us a run for our money."
"And 'The Shark' goes up for a slam dunk. Man, that's a thing of beauty, but wait, it appears that on his way down 'The Shark' collided with 'Pretty Boy' and now the two of them are all mixed up with two of the Japanese players."
"Yes, sir, Marv, in that tangle of limbs it's hard to see who's who, but it looks like they're getting themselves figured out."
"Now that the dust is settled, it's Murasakibara, with his trademark ponytail, and Aomine."
"Look, Marv, Akashi and Midorima are helping to sort out the players and get them back on their feet. That's the Olympics Spirit for ya!"
"And with that Team USA calls a time-out. During this break, we'll be joined by Japanese pop sensation, Ryōta Kise, whose new movie will open in New York on Friday…"
POV Midorima's
By the time Akira is dressed in her tiny replica of my Knicks uniform and her hair is braided to her exacting standards, we are only fifteen minutes off schedule. I have to spring the news to Seijūrō and Furihata; I have allotted another fifteen minutes for protests, and so if they acquiesce immediately, we'll be back on schedule for the train. It is on days like these that I wish I still had Oha Asa's guidance, but if I return to it once, I know I will become a full-blown junky again. I will not do that to Kazu or Akira.
I throw on a pair of loose shorts and a tank top. My sneakers are in the closet by the front door. If Kazu has noticed that I only wear certain colored sneakers to certain events in my life, he has wisely chosen to ignore the fact.
When I get down the stairs, I am greeted by a strangely domestic sight that doesn't include any of the members of the Midorima family. Furihata is in the kitchen, washing the breakfast dishes. Seijūrō lounges on the couch, evidently free from pain, reading a book which he balances in one hand, while Neko-chan sleeps on his chest. He stops petting her only for the few seconds it takes to turn the pages, but I can see her tail lash every time he does.
"What size shorts do you wear, Kōki?" Kazu yells from inside the bathroom off the kitchen where the washer and dryer reside.
"Shorts?" Furihata asks. "American or Japanese?"
"Either one," Kazu calls back. Akira is 'helping' her daddy with the task and her giggles waft out to us along with the smell of dryer sheets.
"Twenty-eight in American, I think, although I might have put on some weight with all the good food in New York. How will I ever live without a slice of pizza from Di Fara?"
"We'll overnight you a pie for your birthday," I say.
During this entire exchange, Seijūrō ignores us in favor of Neko-chan and the book he is reading.
"Get changed, Seijūrō, or we will be late."
"Late for what?" he asks, looking over the edge of the book, one shapely red eyebrow arched.
"Our monthly basketball game."
"Monthly? Is this like the Point Guard Poker Players who neither play poker or basketball during their meetings? Or will actual sports be played?"
"No, this is an actual game. You'll enjoy the challenge. Don't wear your uniform, just your warm-up clothing."
"I'm not allowed to be a Clipper at your game?"
"It would perhaps be unwise," I say. Seijūrō stares at me, waiting for some sort of clarification. "Just get dressed; you too Furihata. We are one man short for a full team, so we'll need you too."
"Kazunari will play, I assume. Who is the fifth?" Seijūrō asks as he lifts the dozing cat from his chest and lays her gently on the couch. She curls up, snubbing us completely.
"Quentin, our neighbor across the hallway and the newest Small Forward on the Knicks."
"Wouldn't it be better if you found someone other than me to play, then?" Furihata stammers from the kitchen, back pedaling while holding up yellow-gloved hands. "Three Point Guards on one team… that would be a clusterfuck." That word is one that has no translation in Japanese and somehow it is more perfect because of that.
"What does cluster –," Akira begins to ask.
"That is an adult word," I tell her.
"Adult word! Eww, Koki is a bad boy," she taunts and then skips off to play with Neko-chan. The cat wisely runs up the stairs, our little girl rushing after.
"Don't' run on the stairs," Kazu warns her, but she isn't listening. He sighs. "The purpose of the game isn't to win, Furihata, it is to –"
"If not to win, what is the purpose?" Seijūrō interrupts.
"Did you learn nothing from Kuroko's lessons?" I ask. "Don't ruin this, Seijūrō . The children have been looking forward to this for weeks, ever since I told them you were coming. Get dressed, both of you, we are behind schedule."
"Children?" Furihata asks, peeling off the gloves and taking the clothes Kazu had for him.
"If they have been looking forward to this for weeks, why schedule this for my last day here?" Seijūrō asks.
"It is the normal day for our game; quasi-celebrities shouldn't ruin that," I say.
Seijūrō waits as if there should be more to that statement. When I make no more, he smiles: "We are quasi-celebrities?"
He looks at Kazu, who shrugs in a 'what can I do' gesture that I saw too often from my husband. Then Kazu turns to me and grins.
"I told you he'd ask. Koki, would you like compression shorts as well? I have white and black," Kazu offers.
"Um, no, this will do nicely. You know I haven't played since high school, right?" he asks.
"Don't worry about it," Kazu assures him, slapping Furihata on the shoulder, "but bring your checkbook, or better yet, Akashi's. You're going to need it."
POV Akashi
So, this is what expectation looks like in Shintarō's mind. This explains much, Akashi thought as he entered the PS 33 gymnasium. Instead of shouting, adoring crowds and reporters, Akashi was meet with reproachful, quiet, and suspicious glances. Children scattered around the room as the door opened, and disappeared like cockroaches.
A group of men whose ages ranged from twenty-somethings to senior citizens were tossing a basketball at the hoop with very little effort and with zero accuracy. Laughing, a larger man with gap-toothed smile and a walrus mustache, missed another shot and then noticed the newcomers.
"Shintarō, we're ready when you are!"
"Give us some time to warm-up, Gary." Gary nodded and went back to playing around with the other guys.
"Yes, Shintarō," Akashi drawled. "I can see how much the children were looking forward to this."
Ignoring him, Midorima strode over to a group of children who had remerged from underneath the bleachers.
"Are these men our opponents? I don't understand what's going on?" Akashi asked Kazunari. If someone breaks a hip, I will not be held responsible. The cat would have been more competition.
"It's… complicated."
"Good morning, children," Midorima said in a quiet voice, while pushing his glasses up his nose with taped fingers. "I've brought some friends to play with us today. Some of you may know Seijūrō Akashi from the Clippers, but he and I went to middle school together. You can trust him, and our other friend, Furihata. If you're very good, Akashi has promised to sign autographs after the game."
The children relaxed, just a little, but their eyes bounced warily between the adults standing before them.
"We're going to prepare now; we'll talk afterward," Midorima said, before joining the others at the bench.
"His English is getting better, don't you think?" Quentin asked.
Midorima blushed a little, as Kazunari smirked. Akira began bucking on her daddy's hip; putting her down, she scrambled over to join some of the sullen children gathered together on the third row of bleachers.
Midorima tightened his shoelaces and then began to unwrap the tape from his left hand.
"Shinta rō, you'll have to explain this. I'm very confused," Akashi said, still dressed in his jacket and standing in front of rest of his ad hoc team as they prepared to play. "Are we seriously going to play men who are twice our age?"
"Every Knick is required to support a charity," Midorima told him as he discarded the last of the tape. "Given Kazu's history, the most natural choice from the approved list was Guardian Ad Litem."
"I'm not familiar with the organization," Akashi said. He stripped out of his jacket and tucked his shirt into his shorts.
"They advocate for abused children. I know it seems… preposterous, but the children are excited to see you're here, you'll have to trust me on that." Midorima stood.
"Furihata, will you help me bring out the ball carts?"
"Sure," Furihata said, glad to finally have something to do.
"I'm gonna do sprints with the kids," Quentin said and then jogged over to the bleachers.
Akashi surveyed the room. A boy of maybe twelve or thirteen years old, sat by himself on the bleacher, the bright whites of his eyes were the only part of him visible as he sat camouflaged in the shadows, an open comic book covered his lower face.
"That's Willie," Kazunari told him. Following Akashi's eyes – and train of thought – was nothing for his Hawk Eye. "Both his parents are dead. He's a foster child who lives with some distant relative. He's emotionally disturbed, but if you talk to him about Godzilla or anything manga/anime-related, he'll open up to you in an instant. He's a total Otaku."
"I wish you or Shintarō had warned me. I don't deal well with other people's pain; empathy, sympathy don't come naturally to me."
Fuck, fuck, fuck, Akashi thought and instead of frowning, Akashi's face went completely blank, his red eye losing some of its focus. As Midorima's spouse, Kazunari was intimately familiar with coping mechanisms; he'd seen and heard it enough times to recognize pain in someone else, even without knowing that person very well. It was a skill that served him well as a teacher.
"Shin-chan picked this group because of me, you know? He knew me for two years, dated me for six months even, before I confided that my father was an alcoholic who beat the shit out of me and that my mother was a deadbeat who just didn't care about anyone other than herself. Did you know that's why I moved in with the Midorima family when I was seventeen?"
With the ball cart now on the court, Midorima called a little girl dressed in an old, ragged Knicks shirt to his side. He got down on his knees and showed her how to hold the ball.
"No, Shintarō is obsessive when it comes to keeping secrets. I knew, of course, that you lived with him, but I assumed it was more of a sexual thing."
"Ha! As if his parents would condone that," Kazunari laughed. "But you're right, he's kept your secrets, Akashi. I don't know what you've been through or what made you like you were in high school, but I'm glad you've changed. So, be strong for the kids today, that's my motto. We can always have a good cry when we get home."
"I sent flowers to his funeral…" Akashi answered. "I wouldn't have, had I been aware of your father's proclivities."
"They were very pretty and I appreciated the gesture. We took them to a retirement home after the funeral so that they could be enjoyed. Make the best of a bad situation, right?"
"Are you always this positive?" Akashi asked.
"Not always; I cried so badly when you and Razukan beat us our first year that I couldn't even console Shin-chan."
"But you got over that the next year, when you were the victor."
"I sure did," Kazunari smirked. "Now, about the rules of the game…, I'm sorry to say, Akashi, but you can only play with your non-dominate hand and your dominate needs to be kept in your pocket at all times. Every point you miss will cost you a hundred dollars."
Akashi lay on the hard court floor, with three children draped over him. They'd done their best, but the Guardian's team had come out on top. Furihata was busy settling up their debts, but as he'd collapsed to the floor and been mobbed by children, he'd never felt so satisfied in his entire life.
"It's not over yet, Seijūrō, now it's time to show off a little," Midorima said, as he offered his hand to Akashi.
"Oh?" Akashi guided Willie off his shoulder and gently displaced the other kids. Then he sat up. "What would you like to see?"
"How about a slam dunk?" Willie asked.
"He can't do a slam dunk," accused one of the smaller kids. "He's not even six foot. There's no way he could do it."
"Kōki, would you mind setting me up?" Akashi asked, as his gold eye flashed.
"Um, ah, I'm not really sure if I…," Furihata mumbled, stepping away from that familiar gleam.
"I got your back," Kazunari said. "Let's show them that short guys can jump."
The room fell silent as Akashi and Kazunari took the court. Akashi dribbled upcourt and passed to Kazunari who set up the Alley Oop liked he'd played with Akashi every day. Akashi flew through the air and slammed the ball into the hoop. He hung from the backboard for two counts of his heart beat and then landed on the floor with perfect poise and grace.
The kids went crazy, jumping and fist bumping until suddenly someone began chanting.
"Do it! Do it! Do it!" the children chanted. Midorima shook his head and took his place on the free throw line and looked at the basket on the far side of the court. He lowered his center of gravity and bent his knees.
"What's wrong with him?" Akashi asked. "His form is all wrong."
"No, this is new, Akashi, something he hasn't shown anyone but these kids."
Midorima lowered the ball, and turned his left hand palm in. He took a deep breath and toss the ball over his left shoulder. He didn't turn to watch the unusual flight path, he just pushed his glasses up his nose and believed that the shot would not fail.
The ball hit the center of the square on the backboard and dropped onto the rim, where it circled three-point line before tumbling into the hoop. The children screamed in joy, Akashi's jaw fell open and Kazunari smirked.
2nd A/N: If you don't get the Point Guard Poker Player reference, I suggest you read Gentlemen, Place Your Bets!