Chaos ficlet: For Love of the Game (crack!)

Title: For Love of the Game.

Disclaimer: I do not own Chaos.

A/N: More random crack for a day without much to post. This probably doesn't even make sense but yeah. That's what happens in my brain sometimes. Unbeta'ed again.

Warning: Crack. And I may or may not have sort of shipped Billy with a basketball.

Summary: Rick has to wake Billy up.



It's a basketball.

Rick stares in shock at the motel room bed. He and Billy are supposed to meet their asset this morning and Rick's been pestering him to get out of bed all morning but Billy's not in the bed. Instead of Billy, there's a basketball.

He stares, not sure what to do.

Casey comes in from the other room. "You two coming?"

Rick picks up the ball, fingers the word Spalding across its orange surface, and holds it up.

"We really don't have time for games," Casey says condescendingly.

Michael peeks in. "We ready?"

"Martinez wants to play basketball," Casey says, disappearing again.

Michael scrunches his nose. "You don't have the height for it," he recommends. "Try baseball. Where's Billy?"

Rick is glowering. "I don't know," he spouts in frustration. "When I looked in his bed, I found this basketball."

"Are you sure you looked hard enough?" Michael asks. "Billy does have strange sleeping habits."

"I think I'd know the difference between Billy and a basketball," Rick retorts.

Suddenly, there's a groan. From the mess of blankets on the floor, something moves. Rick's half inclined to go for his gun, but he's still holding the dumb basketball.

Then the blankets shift again and a foot appears. Something flops and there's an oaf when Billy's head appears.

"See," Michael says and ducks out again.

His eyes are bleary and he has the worst case of bed head Rick's ever seen. He smacks his lips and blinks, looking up at Rick critically. "I know we're quite close as a team, and I do admit to being rather fond of you, but is there a reason you're in my bedroom while I am somewhat scantily clad?" he asks.

Rick stares.

Billy's eyes light on the ball. "You found my ball!" he says, sounding genuinely pleased.

Rick has a lot of questions. Why is there a basketball in Billy's bed? Why is Billy on the floor? Why didn't he wake up the fifteen times Rick came into check on him? Why does no one think this is weird but him?

But he knows without asking that the answers will never do it justice. Any of it.

Rick sighs, shaking his head. "We're supposed to leave now."

Billy sits up with effort. His sleep clothes are rumpled and he kicks the blankets farther across the floor. "Then you should stop stealing my basketball and let me prepare for the day's many impending adventures."

Rick throws the ball at him and shakes his head.

Billy smirks, catching it easily. "Ah, how I've missed you!" he says, tossing it and catching it with undue affection.

And Rick walks away, thinking that maybe Michael's right: baseball would be a better game for him. Less stressful than the spy game at any rate.

(But probably a lot less fun.)