Who: Cormac and Oliver What: Oliver is being a good friend When: June 24th, late evening, several hours after the match ended Where: Cormac’s room/Hallway outside of Cormac’s room Warnings | Status: Language | Incomplete
Despite popular belief and how he acted on occasion, Cormac McLaggen wasn’t always a bad loser. In fact, on most occasion his sportsmanship after a match was fine, win or lose. It was usually just his actions on the pitch that tended to raise as many eyebrows as it did questions. He was a beast, he knew it, and he tried to embrace it. But for once that’s not what was really bothering him. He’d lost. Again. And that was really bothering him. He wasn’t stupid enough to think that he could win all the time. That was just statistically impossible (Or so he’d always told himself at any rate). And he could handle losing. What was really bothering him was that he’d come so close every single time and yet failed to cross the finish line. Second, third, and fourth. He was starting to suspect that God was teasing him for shits and giggles. Or trying to teach him a lesson in humility, more likely. On the other hand, he couldn’t help but think that couldn’t have been it either since he wasn’t alone in these endeavors. It wasn’t all on him. Even if right now it felt like it. Despite having one of the best games he’d had in a long time, he still felt like he hadn’t done enough. He wasn’t good enough. He hadn’t represented the colors on his back well enough to deserve wearing them in the first place. And it was painful, like little knives being driven into his chest again and again.
He dreaded reading the papers after this. Already in his mind them questioning the decision to start himself alongside Callen and not his brother. Cormac scowled as he tossed the cap of a new whiskey bottle towards the rubbish bin, thinking there would be no need to put the cap back on. He took a strong drink from it and let it all sink into him for a moment, trying to focus on the feeling his favorite whiskey was giving him right now, and not the doubt that was trying to consume his mind. Ryan. Right. His perfect older brother. The one who’d started out in fucking law enforcement and ended up a professional beater. Of course these nameless reporters would call into question who should have been starting. Cormac was. He knew he was good, but in his head, Ryan had always been the golden child since the jump. No matter what he did, there always seemed to be some kind of reminder that he wasn’t his brother. Which is probably why he’d spent a good part of his life trying to outdo him. And then there was his younger sister. He loved Iris, he really did, but she was the little princess and couldn't do any wrong. His best friend and his girlfriend were back-to-back champions. And then there was Cormac. The problem child. The one with the anger issues. The one who always fell a little short. The one who always seemed to be in trouble. The only time he really didn’t feel like such a failure was when he was hanging out with his Uncle. And even that it was mostly due to his uncle not saying a whole lot of anything. Which is the way Cormac had always liked it. But still, his Uncle and his father had been war heros. They’d done things with their lives that mattered, or were impressive. What did Cormac have?
In his eyes, it was pretty much the participants ribbon. And he’d probably never really reach more than that. He didn’t really let a lot of people in on the whole inadequacy issues that he’d had storming about his head. Instead he’d always put them to better use, train harder, work harder, be better than the guy standing next to you through dedication and doing everything you can, learn from your mistakes. All that bull shit that was on motivational posters. Right now none of it seemed to matter. Instead, he focused on how quickly he could get through this bottle so he didn’t have to feel anything.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he started drinking, and he wasn’t even sure he’d heard the knock on the door at all. Instead, he just continued to sit on the ground his back against his bed trying not to feel like a complete waste. He heard it the second time though, and promptly threw his jersey at the door in a wadded ball. He’d taken it off a while ago, he’d left the stadium still in uniform and left halfway through the press conference, not being able to take the dumb questions he was being asked. Bailey was going to kill him, but he didn’t care. “Piss off.” he grumbled just wanting to be left alone to drown his thoughts, as he drank a little more.
He couldn't quite hear what was coming from the other side of the door, but he knew that voice nonetheless, so he got up and staggered over to the door, not opening it. “Yer wastin’ yer time, Oliver.” he grumbled as he put his back against the wall and slid down to a sitting position stretching out his long legs and taking a long drink from the whiskey bottle, letting the smooth burning sensation travel all the way down to his stomach. He sat there quietly staring at the label of the bottle, only half aware of how much of it he’d really consumed at this point, or how much he would after this point. It didn’t really matter to him. He just wanted to stop feeling feelings for a while. And this seemed like the best solution.
****
Oliver never thought he would have found a connection with the guy he was not a fan of for so long. It was hard for him, he knew, to try and level with Mac on the ideals of losing. While he was knocked out of the running in the first match in the World Cup, but he also won the last two championships in the B&I League. Still, he knew his best mate was taking it harsh. He had done his time, and given the teammates their space. He knew that Mac wanted to be alone, and instead tried to get some assistance in calming down Bailey, who was not happy about the fact that he blew off all of the post-game questions and headed back to his room. But hours had passed, and Oliver was now past the okay time for Cormac being alone. He told Summer he needed to go to see how Mac was holding up. The angel of a woman he was dating understood and he was off to stand outside Cormac’s door and listen.
It broke his heart to sit there and try to find clues as to what he was doing. Probably drinking. He sighed and tried to look back at everything. He never really cared to make note of Cormac until this year. He was always just that player Alicia was dating and he never got along with. But he was always part of the second or third best squad. he was always trailing just behind so that he couldn’t make it. He had his brother on the same team as him all the time, even though he knew that Ryan didn’t start as a quidditch player. And he knew there was a lot more to his hatred of losing and dedication than just a competitive nature. Well, he didn’t, but considering how alike they were on everything else, Oliver assumed that was going to be yet another thing they shared. After a few minutes, he finally knocked on the door. The lack of response made Oliver wonder if he had drunk himself to sleep and he needed to break down the door, but just in case, he knocked again. This time, there was a response in true Mac style of being told to fuck off, and something hitting the door. Oliver sighed and looked down at the ground for a second.
“Not sure I want to do that,” Oliver replied in a worried tone. Then Oliver waited again. He could hear his rather large friend shifting around in a room probably designed too small for him. He wished he could say there was some form of surprise when the door didn’t open, but really that would have been a lie at this point. Instead, he continued to stare at the ground in front of the floor. He only looked up when it came to the comment back said, and it followed by the sound of Mac leaning against the wall. Better than he figured the response would be. Perhaps it was really yet another sign of how much he had grown to be more than just a friend in the past few months between them. Instead of leaving like Cormac claimed to want him to do, Oliver ran his hands through his hair and sat heavily enough for Mac to have heard him.
“You’re never a waste of my time,” he replied finally. Oliver let silence settle. He had gone to be there with Cormac tonight, and if it was going to be through a bloody door because Mac’s pride wouldn’t allow his best mate… hell his brother in to see him? Then Oliver would sit on that other side of the door with him.
***************
There had always been that darker side to Cormac. That angry, brooding, could and probably would put someone in a hospital if he tried hard enough. Which, given his size, wasn’t that unlikely in the realm of possibilities. It honestly made him wonder why the hell people put up with him the in the first place. He knew that he was fucked up. He did, and most of the time he didn’t bother to hide it. Cormac was who he was, and he wasn’t going to try to be anyone else. If you liked it, fantastic, if you didn’t, you could bugger off. And for the most part it had worked well for him. For better or for worse people always knew where they stood with him. And as an added bonus, it kept him from getting close to too many people so when he inevitably let them down, it would hurt less. Now this was a lie, and he knew it. But it made it easier for him to justify not letting a majority of people in. Actually, the number of people he actually let it he didn’t even need one hand for, no more than a few fingers. And he liked it that way most days. Cormac took care of Cormac and fuck anyone who tried to tell him how to do it.
Besides right now, he wasn’t sure how to take care of himself just because of the sheer number of emotions coursing through him right now. He was angry and frustrated, he’d come so close and yet again, he just fell a little short. He hadn't been good enough. He’d really let himself to start to hope that maybe, just maybe, he’d come out on the winning end this time. He could even settle for third this time, but they hadn't. And considering who they lost to, it was like salt in the wound on top of it. He was ashamed that he was acting like this, that there couldn’t just let it go and be normal. He was exhausted because he’d put everything he had into this, worked so hard, and just wanted to hide away and not talk to anyone for a long time. Give his pride a chance to heal. Which, unfortunately, took a lot longer to heal than normal people’s. If it was up to him, he wouldn’t have talked to anyone until they left Italy to go back home. He didn’t want to party, he didn’t want to celebrate. He didn’t want anyone to tell him he was being stupid and acting like a baby. That alone would hurt the most, sending him into a guilt spiral that would probably just end up doing more damage than not. Cormac was hurt, and he felt like he was allowed to be, but at the same time he didn’t know how to deal with it. Hell, all he wanted to sit here and drink and make all the pain go away.
But that didn’t seem to be an option at the moment. Instead, his best mate was on the other side of the door probably wanting Mac to let him in. But Mac wasn’t sure he could face Oliver, or anyone at this point, so he just simply didn’t open the door. Part of him was glad that Oliver wasn’t listening to him, but the other part just didn’t want to face him. Another person he’s letting down with his behavior. He sat there in silence for a long time, drinking, resting his head against the door. Half wondering if this had been a full bottle or not when he’d opened it. He honestly couldn’t remember at this point. If it had been, he thought he should have been drunker than he felt. Maybe it hadn’t been. Fuck if he knew at this point. All he knew was that his head was starting to swim and that had to be a good sign that the emotions would start to drown. Or he hoped at any rate. At this point he had no concept of time, as he thunked his head softly against the door. “What’s the point of havin’ the biggest shoulders if you canna carry all of it?” he said really unsure if he’d said that out loud or not. He cleared his head throat a little bit, pushing down things that he just didn’t want to let out. Cormac Aiden McLaggen did not cry. Ever. Period. End of story. No, he drank. Like a man. And he downed a little bit more to try and keep everything at bay.