Blood, Sweat and Tears Part 75
Shaking his head in amusement, Tim commented, "It's been quite the year for you and your team. And congratulations, again, on making it this far. It's quite the testament of the work that you have been putting in with your young players."
With a wide smile, Zechs nodded, "Thank you. I can't take the full credit, however. I have an excellent coaching staff that assists me. And really, the hard work falls on the team. They're the ones that have to make things happen on the field."
Never one who was comfortable with interviews, the head coach ignored the fact that there were cameras on him. He stomached the necessary evil to, hopefully, earn more support for his athletes. Every little bit of motivation they could get the better.
Adam folded his arms and smirked, "Most people had given both you and the Catalonias a lot of criticism when you assembled a team consisting of young men right out of high school or early college. I believe it's safe to say now that you knew more than most did when you assembled your Wolverines."
Shrugging, Zechs replied, "Well, the fact that they're so young means they have more to prove. So they are hungrier than most professional players that have a few more years on them. These last few seasons that I've worked with them, they have been waiting for the right opportunity to show what they're made of and I am thrilled they have been able to shine the way they have this season."
His smile growing, he added, "Noin and I consider those boys like our own, and we couldn't be prouder of them right now. But, that would be no different if they ended their year in first or last place."
Tim grinned, "Well, anyone that knows you would never question that. It's pretty clear by watching you on the sidelines just how much you respect and care for your players." Shifting in his seat, he also changed the gears of the conversation. "Now, everyone has been taking note to how the addition of Duo Maxwell has boosted the morale and skills of the whole team. Seeing that for yourself, would you agree - as most do - that Alex Denton was the weak link in your team?"
Cringing a bit, the coach answered, "Saying that Alex was the 'weak link' of the team is harsh. He did give everything that he had when he was with us. Sometimes it takes a drastic change to make one person, or a whole team, to see what they're really made of."
Zechs held a hand up in gesture and stated, "Look at Denton now. He's playing better than he ever had. Going from one of the lowest ranked running backs to the second best in the whole league is no small feat. Clearly, he just needed the right circumstances to come along so that he could excel."
In conclusion, he shook his head, "No, I do not believe that Alex was the weakest link."
A bit surprised by such a nice commentary, Adam tilted his head and inquired, "Very nice words to be said of a person who clearly has a great detestation for you, Ms. Catalonia and the Wolverines as a whole."
Frowning deeply at that, Zechs sighed, "I can't say that I blame him for feeling let down by being traded. That does not make his anger towards us any less painful to deal with."
He shook his head again as he said sincerely, "Alex was a good kid. I just hope that he understands that his trade was not out of any malice, or even anything that we wanted to see happen. It's a real shame how things have turned out for all of us where that is concerned."
Once more, the reporters looked surprised and impressed by their guest's remarks. To break away from the somber topic, Tim decided to switch the gears once more. "Well, with this weekend's game against New York coming up, what do you think your chances will be to win? No one knows your team better than you, after all," he smirked with a raised eyebrow.
The head coach just snickered, "Actually your guess is as good as mine. Every playoff game from here on out will be more and more difficult.
"New York has had a great year. They're strong and well conditioned to last through a whole game without tiring, so they'll be a real challenge. It should be a real exciting game."
Adam smiled, "No argument there." Extending a hand, he said kindly, "Zechs, we thank you very much for taking the time out of your busy schedule to sit and talk with us. And the best of luck to you and the Wolverines this weekend."
Firmly shaking each reporter's hand, Zechs nodded, "Thank you." The video camera lights went out as someone in the back of the studio gave the 'And cut! That's a wrap.' Sighing in relief that his ordeal was over, the head coach remove the microphone attached to his red suit tie and rose to his feet.
Tim and Adam both looked around to be sure that no one on the staff was near enough to listen before they lean towards the coach. "Off the record," the former whispered, "We're not allowed to say that we have any favorites, but we're both pulling for you guys. It's about time we saw some fresh faces get a shot at the championship for a change." His counterpart nodded enthusiastically, a wide smile on his face.
Blinking in surprise, Zechs grinned, "Well I appreciate that. And your secret's safe with me." That said, another round of handshakes was exchanged and the lot went their separate ways. On his way out towards the parking lot, the tall blonde shook his head and chuckled, "I suppose that wasn't nearly as bad as I thought that would be."
* * * * * *
Later that evening...
A television turned off in a lavish San Francisco apartment. Staring at the blank screen for a long moment, Alex contemplated everything that he had heard. All this time, he had thought that his former coach considered him a weak link just as everyone else did. What his former coach had to say about him nearly knocked the wind from his lungs.
Zechs didn't think he was a weak link. And he actually still liked him... even after all of the trouble and grief that he had been causing the Wolverine organization.
What was more, his old coach was complimenting him for how far he had come since being traded away. Alex never received so much praise for his accomplishments from his own father.
Nothing was ever good enough for his father. Second-best was nothing. Yet here was a man that the running back had wronged in many ways and he was actually... proud of him.
It was a wonder of wonders.
Slowly, a thought crept in that made his eyes narrow and his fists clench at his sides. Of course Zechs would say those things. He didn't want to come across as anything but caring and respectful of his players.
Apparently those feelings were only extended to the athletes that were good enough for such affections. Only those that won games for him earned the right to remain in his good graces.
Bastard. Fuck him. Fuck all of them. They could rot in hell.
"He was your partner..." Maxwell's voice taunted once again.
With a loud cry of rage, Alex gripped the edge of his flat panel television and hurled it to the hard-floored ground. Pieces of glass and plastic shattered and flew into the air. His shoed feet crunching over the shards as he headed to the large windows of the living room, the running back ran a hand through his damp hair.
Beside himself, he silently wondered why and when the hell his world started falling apart. He had been happy. Once. It seemed so long ago that he forced himself to think past the haze in his mind to recall what that time had been like.
How was it that he was so much more at peace with everything when he was at the bottom of the pack when it came to the running back standings for the league? While his father certainly had not been thrilled with him then, Alex was happy. He had Mueller and a team of people that he considered family.
During those days, he considered Zechs more a father than his own old man. Instead of constantly reminding him how he was not good enough, the head coach encouraged and understood him. Then, there were his friends on the team that he could always turn to when he needed them.
Those days were long gone now. Alex had been cast aside, revealing just how like his father Zechs actually was in the end. Mueller was gone. That, above everything else, was still the hardest thing to cope with.
But... then there were also so many things going right in his life now. He was nearly at the top of the standings. His team was in great position to take the championship. He was in better physical condition than he ever had been.
In answer to that, the other little voice whispered, "But are you really happy?"
Growling deeply, Alex turned from the window and stalked back towards the door while grabbing his coat. A determined look on his face, he stepped out into the hall and slammed the door closed behind him.
No more voices. He couldn't take it anymore. Whatever it took, he had to convince Treize and Professor O to give him more drugs.
* * * * * *
That same evening, Heero and Duo had just curled up on the couch in the living room after another long practice. With everyone else asleep, the couple had only the light in the room coming from the television for a comfortable glow.
Sighing in content, the running back lay his braided head on a strong shoulder and closed his eyes. "Whenever this post-season ends for us," he began, "I am not doing a damn bit of working out for weeks."
Gently kissing the exposed temple at his side, the quarterback chuckled deeply, "That makes two of us." Resting his head back on the cushion behind him, he commented, "That interview with Zechs went well. Now that the media frenzy that Alex started up has blown over, we should be in the clear of any more trouble."
On the flat-panel screen, the female journalist's eyes widened on a page handed to her in mid-broadcast. "This just in," she frowned to the camera. "We have just learned that Jerry Bridges, of the Miami Torrent, died of a heart attack tonight at the age of twenty-nine."
Instantly sitting up, Heero and Duo gaped at the screen with wide eyes. "Holy shit," the American athlete breathed. "We only played against him and Miami a few weeks ago. Jerry was in top form. How the hell did this happen?"
Shaking his head, all the team captain could manage was to shake his head with a quiet, "I don't know."
* * * * * *
Treize was in the middle of his night cup of tea when he saw the same newscast. All but knocking the chair that he had been sitting on down when he quickly rose to his feet, he removed his cell phone and called Professor O.
Without a 'hello' or a greeting of the like, the therapist answered on the first ring. "I just saw the report. I'm looking into it now. We always knew that there was a chance of something like this happening."
"Yes, well, I want to be contact as soon as you have any confirmation that this is what he think it is," the head coach demanded quietly. Knowing that his wife was sleeping upstairs, he was still not about to take any risks in being overheard. Quickly, he headed to the back enclosed patio just to be safe.
Running a hand through his hair, Treize stated in little more than a whisper, "It's not unheard of for an athlete to have a sudden, tragic death like this. It is, however, a great concern knowing that Miami is a well-known user of the same steroid we're distributing. Jerry was as big a user as most of my players."
He could almost hear the professor nodding on the other line. "I am well aware, Treize," he reassured. "As soon as I have confirmation to whether or not the drugs contributed to this, you will be the first to know." After a slight hesitation, he informed, "We have another problem. I just sent Alex away after her came here to demand we increase his dosage again."
"Damn it," Treize hissed. "One obstacle at a time. I'll handle him once we know for certain what is going on here. Until then, I want you working around the clock to come to a clear conclusion on whether Bridges' death was an act of God or something else."
O answered, "Of course. I should have that conclusion in a matter of hours."
Slowly taking a deep breath, the head coach nodded, "All right." Closing the flip to his cell phone to end the call, he turned sharply for the door to find his wife standing there in her lilac, silk nightgown.
Frozen in place with wide eyes, Treize sputtered, "S-Sylvia. What are you still doing up, darling? How long have you been standing there?"
A confused expression on her face, the young woman replied, "I just saw the news report that you were watching down here up in our room before I dozed off. I came to tell you about it." Looking to the cell phone in her husband's hand, she frowned, "Who would you be calling this late at night?"
Swallowing roughly, the coach shook his head and forced a sad smile. "I was just making plans with your father to extend our sympathy to Bridges' family with a bouquet and other offerings. It would only be right to see to such a thing as son as possible, considering such a shock and loss this must be for them."
Taken aback by that, Sylvia blinked in surprise. "Yes, of course. It's a terrible tragedy," she nodded with a hand over her heart. Biting her lip, she suggested, "You should come to bed, dear. It's getting late."
Kissing her forehead, Treize grinned, "You're right. Come." Offering his arm for her to loop her own in, he led the way to through the house towards their bedroom.
Her head lowered, Sylvia covered the look of concern in her eyes. Treize apparently did not know that her father had every phone that he owned off after ten o'clock so that he could sleep peacefully.
It was after eleven.
* * * * * *
Pacing back and forth in the owner's office the following morning, Treize and Noventa waited anxiously for word from Professor O. When the tall, bald man entered the opened room, the head coach asked, "What have you found?"
The deep frown that he earned in response was not very reassuring. O took a deep breath before saying, "I've run a battery of tests, most based off the blood pressure and blood sample that I took from Alex when he visited last night. Unfortunately, it would appear that the Tinopin is what caused Bridges' heart attack."
Noventa's hands clenched into fists at his sides as he snapped, "Goddamn it." Turning to the therapist, he glared, "I thought there were no side effects to the drug."
Without balking at the glare, Professor O replied, "There are no short term effects. Remember how new Tinopin is. There was no way of knowing the long term effects that it would have on a person's body since it hasn't been around that long. In Miami's case, the owner and coach there are lucky that medical examiners have no way of tracing the Tinopin to know that it was what caused Bridges' death."
Both Treize and Noventa breathed a sigh of relief at that. If that was true, then there would not be a witch hunt throughout the league to find who else was using the steroid. Those other teams that were also utilizing the drug certainly were not about to come forward.
Raising a hand, the therapist continued, "What's more, while there are early signs of heart strain from the tests I have run, every athlete is different. There is no way to be certain that it will lead to the same result for everyone.
"Bridges was just a case of the right problems adding up to his end. However, it is not possible to know just what the right mix of troubles would need to be in place for another heart attack to occur."
Treize ran a hand over his jaw and thought aloud, "Some of our players have been using the Tinopin for over four years without issue. We did not sell our knowledge of it to Miami until two years ago. Perhaps this case was just a fluke."
His eyes widening, Professor O looked from one face to the other. "What would you have me do, then? Continue to administer a drug that we do not have all of facts on based just because this last scare may be a 'fluke'?"
Smirking, Noventa shrugged, "Why not? Most of the athletes receiving the steroid would rather take the risk to their health rather than lose their edge in their performance. You'll just have to keep monitoring them for anything that might cause alarm. We've already come too far to fall back now."
Professor O remained quiet for a time. What did it matter to him, anyway? In the end, he was being paid handsomely for his work either way. The fact that the Cougars had been using the drug longer than any other team that paid for the right to share in it did back the idea that perhaps Bridges was just an unfortunate accident.
"Very well, then," the therapist agreed, bowing his head. That said, he turned on his heels and headed for the door.
Alone in the office once more, Treize turned to his father-in-law and smirked, "Well, you know what they say. It's nothing personal."
Chuckling, Noventa nodded and finished the statement. "Just business."
TBC...
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