Earlier that day Marcus had been at practice. Today happened to be a Falmouth practice, which under normal circumstances might have been less horrid than a National practice. Of course, this wasn't a normal circumstance and Marcus was pretty sure he was surrounded by talentless morons. After Katie's accident, it seemed everyone was a little on edge. Sometimes they all forgot that they weren't invincible. Even Clint had been off for a little while. Thank Merlin, he'd gotten over whatever his problem had been because he was about ready to throttle someone if they pulled back on a hit or a swing of a beater's bat. This was quidditch. Yes, you could get hurt, but if you couldn't handle that get the fuck off the pitch and make room for someone who can.
When Katie had arrived, however, Marcus was already home. Having decided he'd had quite enough of the entire team, he'd grabbed his bag and left the locker room with the intent to shower when he'd gotten home. If he had to listen to one more grown man cry about having to work a little harder he was going to lose it. As Katie made herself comfortable on the sofa, Marcus was already twenty minutes into his shower. Unlike Clint, who took longer than a bloody woman in the shower, Marcus was already past his usual time. After washing, he simply stood beneath the spray of warm water, going over the practice in his head. If this was how they were all going to play both Falmouth and England were royally fucked ... which, as Captain, would be his fault.
"Great fucking joy," he muttered, finally flicking off the water. Stepping out of the shower, not caring about the water he dripped on the floor as the house elves would clean it when he was done, he moved from the en-suite to grab a towel from his room. Drying off quickly, he pulled on a pair of black sweat pants and tossed the towel into the hamper. Middle of the winter or not, his place was warm. He kept it at an even temperature even when he wasn't there. Hitting the stairs, he had every intention of grabbing a beer from the fridge and going over some plays for the next days' practice with the national team.
As she tended to do, Katie Bell sitting on his bloody couch put wrench in his plans. "You remembered how to let yourself in, I see," he commented, eying her for a moment before continuing on to the kitchen. He may not be able to go over plays but he could still have a damn beer. "To what do I owe the break and enter?" he asked, moving to lean against the door frame leading back into the living room.