Caiti hadn't broken down and talked to Sean yet, mostly because she didn't know what to ask. She had read three of the thirty seven books in the past week, though, and was becoming increasingly frustrated that she was spending all of her time on herbology and transfiguration when what she was good at was making potions.
It was a relief, therefore, when Saturday afternoon rolled around, and Caiti had to pause her investigations to do something she knew how to do.
She made two different potions for Marlowe — one to help with the joint pain and one for the nausea — because if he was going to play, he needed to be able to eat something. Marlowe insisted he wasn't going to play. Eddie Walters was scheduled to come back to practice that day, and Marlowe was sure he'd be put in the following day. Even if Marlowe did play, if the match ran long, there was a chance he'd be taken out early so he could go home and take his potion. There was a cutoff he had discussed when he'd negotiated his contract, a time he wouldn't work later than on those days so he wasn't risking anyone's safety.
Caiti thought Marlowe would at least start the game though. Walters had been away all week recovering. How likely was it that they'd throw him in like that without time to get back in the swing of things?
Sure enough, when she showed up at his house on Sunday morning, Marlowe was looking particularly gray faced, and she just knew. "Caiti, I'm panicking," he said.
"They're putting you in?" she asked, taking a seat beside him at the kitchen table. He had his hands wrapped around a glass of water.
He nodded. "I feel like shit."
"Well, take these," Caiti said, passing two bottles over to him. "I have more, so if you want to take more later, if it starts to wear off... you can take it again every four hours."
Marlowe nodded again, but that was all.
"You're going to be fine," Caiti said, putting a hand on his knee. "You'll do great."
Marlowe uncapped one of the bottles. "How much do I take?" he asked.
Caiti got up to get him a glass. "About half a cup of each," she said. She poured him some and slid the cup over.
"Thanks," said Marlowe weakly. He drank both one after the other, and then he sat forward and put his head in his hands.
"I'm gonna fuck this up so bad."
"You're not," said Caiti. She scooted her chair a little closer and rubbed his back. "You're not."
"Look at my hands," he said, sitting up again. "They're shaking."
"Marlowe."
"And I've got an awful headache. I can't even see straight."
"Marlowe," Caiti said again.
"I can't do this. It was going to be bad enough just sitting there. And it's an away game, so there'll be an actual crowd."
"Marlowe, look at me."
Her voice came out more forcefully than she'd intended. He looked her straight in the eye.
"You're going to be fine," she said again. "You're a good player. They know what today is and they're still choosing you over anyone else. You can get through this."
Marlowe stared at her. She couldn't tell if he believed her or not.
"It's a couple of hours. That's all."
"Can you come to the game?" Marlowe asked.
Caiti felt a telltale prickle behind her eyes. She had been afraid he would ask her to come. "I can't," she said, forehead creasing. "I have to make four batches of the wolfsbane potion for tonight. Your match doesn't start until three."
"Right," said Marlowe. "It's okay. I get it."
"I'm sorry," Caiti said. "I wish I could be there."
Marlowe didn't say anything. She had never seen him so nervous to play quidditch in her life, not even before his first match back in the spring.
Caiti couldn't stop herself. The tears she had felt a moment ago started to well up in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said again.
"Don't."
Caiti sat there, blinking hard, not sure what else to say, until Marlowe sighed and turned to hug her. She thought at first that he was just trying to hide the fact that he was annoyed with her, but then he smoothed his hand over her hair and she knew he wasn't, really.
"You'll do great," she said, chin on his shoulder. "You'll be amazing. They wouldn't put you in if they didn't think you could handle it."
Marlowe just turned his head and kissed Caiti on the cheek, resting his face against her head for a moment before he pulled away from her.
"Thanks for bringing these," he said, nodding to the potions.
"Of course," she said softly.
—-
They were playing Pride of Portree today. Walters was there, but already, he'd gotten comfortable and Marlowe heard him talking to Benson about how the healers had cleared him to practice, but not play yet, which meant there was no getting out of whatever mess was about to happen.
He wished Caiti were able to be there if only because she would be the only one there Marlowe hadn't done his best to hide how ill he felt from. His parents and Elliot had managed to get tickets, but he almost wished they hadn't. He hadn't been one hundred percent honest with them this morning. He hadn't wanted his dad to see how awful he felt.
"How're you feeling?" McSorley asked, coming up beside Marlowe as they left the field after warm-up.
"I-" Marlowe began, but he didn't even know where to begin.
"You'll do great," McSorley said, and left it at that.
The crowd was starting to fill in now. They were too loud in his ears. His head pounded and he felt overwhelmed, overstimulated. His shoulder ached just from the few warmup swings he had taken. He just wanted to go home, lay in the dark and quiet, let Caiti take care of him.
But he was here and his team was counting on him and he knew Benson would be watching him carefully the entire match. Deep down, Marlowe really did want to do well. It was just hard to focus on that amidst everything else.
He sat down on the bench while he could, rested his head back against the wall behind him and breathed slowly and evenly.
Too soon, they were being hustled into order to head out onto the field and Marlowe felt like his head had been stuffed inside a balloon. He followed McSorley, gripping his broom tight, afraid he might drop it or trip over it, until they were all lined up at the center of the field, facing the opposing team. McSorley made eye contact with Marlowe, gave him a brief nod, and then looked forward again.
"Ladies and gentleman," called out the announcer. "We welcome you to this afternoon's match between the Chudley Cannons and your very own PRIDE. OF. PORTREE!!" The crowd roared. There were a few orange shirts and hats sprinkled throughout the crowd, but very few. Marlowe had never played an away game before.
"First up, give a warm welcome to our guests..." And at this, the announcer began calling out the names of each of his teammates on the field with him. Marlowe felt so shaky he almost missed it when they called his name, only managing to kick off the ground just in time not to appear awkward. He took a lap around the field coming back into position in the air beside McSorley who had been called just before him, and then watched as Aaron Sutton made the final lap for the Cannons. The seeker was always called last.
The announcer moved onto the home team, a process which took much longer as the players flew around multiple times working up the crowd before falling into their starting positions across from the Cannons. Marlowe tried to focus on the cool breeze on his face, which was about the only thing that felt good right now.
He wished they would hurry up and get started so he could get this over with, get home, and lie down. Silently, he willed Sutton to get the snitch fast. This was not a game he wanted drawn out.
Finally, the last player was in line, the cheers had died down, and the ref had the whistle poised and ready to go. Marlowe regripped his broom with one hand and his bat with the other. He needed to focus. He needed to push everything else aside, pretend he didn't know what was coming tonight, pretend his body didn't feel like it was falling apart, and just pay attention.
He could do this. It was a couple hours at most.
The whistle sounded and Marlowe shot off towards the opposing team's goals. McSorley usually played at their team's end of the field. Wind whistled in his ears.
Pride of Portree had gotten the quaffle first and already they were heading towards Marlowe's end of the goal. He glanced around for a bludger, but they were both on McSorley's end. He looked in Marlowe's direction, whacked one hard, and Marlowe leaned forward on his broom to meet it halfway, glancing over his shoulder as he did so. He cracked at the bludger, sending it careening toward the chaser currently in position, making them swerve, though they didn't drop the quaffle.
Marlowe rolled his protesting shoulder, traded his bat to the other arm, and shook his arm out. The chaser passed the quaffle and one of his own teammates intercepted, taking off in the other direction, which gave Marlowe a second to relax, though he didn't want to get too comfortable.
He scanned the field again. A bludger was whizzing around his end of the field now, unimpeded by players, and Marlowe kept his eye on it as it neared. He saw one of the other team's beaters doing the same across from him.
Down on the other end of the field, Damon Mackey had the quaffle under his arm and a Pride of Portree chaser like bookends on either side of him. Surely they were going to steal the moment he tried to made a pass at the goal.
But McSorley hit a bludger their way and Mackey, who was close to the rings now, made an odd underhand attempt at the goal before spiraling out of the way of the bludger.
The quaffle flew up higher than expected and one of the two chasers who'd been on his either side accidentally smacked into it as they veered away from the bludger themselves, sending it toppling past the keeper and into the goal.
A great groan rippled through the crowd.
Marlowe couldn't remember the last time they'd been the first to score a goal.
The chasers were on their way back now, and the bludger he'd been keeping an eye on was far closer to the other beater than it was to Marlowe. He saw the other one rolling through midair at centerfield and he took off for it, oncoming chasers and all. He heard the crack of a bat behind him as the other beater made contact with the bludger but that was fine.
Marlowe had a plan, albeit a stupid one that probably wouldn't work.
He hit the second bludger hard, not at any of the other players, but at the other bludger, before flying up high above everything, fingers crossed.
The two bludgers smacked into each other, just as he'd hoped, and rebounded, flying in opposite directions down the center of the play area and scattering the other players. Their play interrupted, it took the other team a moment to gather themselves and regroup.
Marlowe took a deep breath. For a moment, he'd forgotten to pay attention to his discomfort. He'd taken another dose of Caiti's potions just before the warm-up and they had to have been kicking in by now. If he zeroed in on the match, he could probably ignore everything else.
He could do this. He was a little more lethargic than usual, but he was managing okay. He could do this.
—-
The Cannons lost, but it was a much closer game than usual. Marlowe didn't know, really, how much help he'd been. The match had gone on over two hours and by the last quarter, his shoulders were hurting so bad he didn't feel like his swings had the power they usually did.
He was a little afraid of what Benson might say as he and the rest of the team filed into the locker rooms, but mostly he was just relieved to have made it through. Another half an hour or so of keeping up face and he could go wallow as much as he wanted.
In the locker room, he sat down immediately wincing a little when he tried to shrug off his quidditch robes and his sore shoulder smarted.
Now that he'd sat down, it caught up to him just how light-headed he really felt. He shook all over and he could only hope it wasn't as visible as he felt like it was. He could see his reflection in a mirror across the room and he looked white as a sheet.
Benson sat down on a bench across from him.
"Get yourself home," he said. "We'll talk on Tuesday."
And as much as Marlowe appreciated the invitation to leave as soon as possible, he didn't think he could handle waiting until Tuesday to hear if he'd done alright. That sort of suspense would be torment on a night like tonight where he would be lying awake for hours with nothing but his own thoughts to distract him.
This must have shown on his face, because one side of Benson's mouth quirked up. "You did good," he said quietly. "It wasn't the best I've seen out of you, but you hung in there."
"Thanks," said Marlowe weakly. He wanted to ask questions, but he didn't. He'd just have to suck it up until Tuesday and let 'you did good' be enough to appease his brain over the day off.
Thank god tomorrow was a day off. He'd never pushed himself so hard on a full moon day before. He was sure he'd be paying for it tomorrow.
He left as soon as he'd changed back into his own clothes and given his team robes back to be laundered. He'd told his family just to meet him back home and they were all waiting for him in the living room, but Marlowe wasn't in the mood to discuss it.
"Can we just talk about it tomorrow?" he asked. "I need to go lie down."
"I'm proud of you, Marlowe," his dad said anyway, and Elliot looked at him like there was a bunch he wanted to say, but he kept it to himself.
"Thanks," Marlowe said, and then he headed for his bedroom, his mum at his heels.
Marlowe lay down on the bed and she sat beside him and put her hand on his forehead, like she'd done when he was little and he'd had a fever.
"Can I get you anything?" she asked.
"Mm'mm," Marlowe mumbled. She smoothed back his hair. He shut his eyes.
"Well," she said. "As the resident quidditch expert, I think you should know you did a marvelous job. And if you need anything at all, you just let me know, alright?"
Marlowe nodded.
"Love you sweetheart," she said, leaning over him to kiss his forehead. "I bet Caiti will be here soon."
"Love you, too."
Then she left him alone and the quiet was possibly the best thing he'd ever experienced.
—-
Marlowe was asleep when Caiti got there, or at least, his mum was pretty sure he was asleep.
"How'd it go today?" Caiti asked, keeping her voice low.
"He did well, I thought," said his mum.
"He played just fine," his dad agreed.
"I just think it was tough on him. He's feeling pretty sorry for himself right now," Mrs. Finnegan continued, glancing down the hall to his room.
Caiti smiled a little, but only to hide how statements like this really made her feel.
"I guess I'll go give this to him," she said.
Down the hall, she turned the handle to Marlowe's room slowly. The lights were out, blinds down, and sure enough, he was asleep.
Caiti set the goblet with his potion down on the bedside table and then she put her hand on his shoulder.
"Marlowe," she said softly.
He stirred a little, but didn't open his eyes. Caiti smoothed her hand down his back. Even through his t-shirt, she could feel the heat radiating off him.
"Hi," he mumbled.
"You survived it," Caiti said. She sat on the edge of the bed next to him.
"Barely."
Caiti smiled a little.
"Well, I'm glad you squeaked by. I'd've been a little sad if you'd died and I wasn't even there to see your last efforts on the quidditch pitch."
Marlowe managed a smile, too.
"Just a little?"
"A minor inconvenience."
He started to sit up.
"I'm sorry about how I talked to you earlier," he said.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean you've made me three potions just today and I could've been a little more appreciative."
"You thanked me," Caiti said. "And I'd do it anyway. Coincidentally, I like making potions. Not sure if you knew that or not."
"I snapped at you."
"Hardly."
"And I shouldn't be using how I feel as an excuse because it isn't."
Caiti leaned forward and kissed him. "Well, it's forgiven," she said. "So don't worry about it."
Marlowe reached for the goblet, braced himself, and drank the potion.
Caiti passed him the glass of water beside it as soon as he'd set it down.
"Caiti," he said. "You are an angel."
Caiti's face softened. "I just wish you didn't have to feel like this," she said.
"Yeah, well," said Marlowe. He eased himself back down, scooting over to make room for Caiti. He had about twenty minutes before he needed to head outside. He patted the spot next to him. Caiti laid down, head propped up in her elbow. She drew a curving line up his sternum, along his collarbone, over his shoulder and around the back of his neck.
Marlowe shut his eyes.
Caiti kept this up for the next few minutes. His mum passed by his door at one point, a laundry basket in her arms, and then backtracked, standing against his doorframe, and Caiti looked at her. It looked like she might be about to cry.
But she just stood back upright and continued down the hall.
"I'd better go," Marlowe said eventually.
Caiti brushed her thumb over his lips and across his cheek. "Kay," she said.
Marlowe sat up, grimacing as he did so.
Caiti stood beside the bed while he sat there, apparently mentally preparing himself to get out of bed. Marlowe reached for her hands, pulled her towards him, and put his hand on her cheek when he kissed her.
"You'll come back tomorrow, right?"
She nodded.
—-
When Marlowe had gone outside, his mum stood beside Caiti in the living room.
"I just wanted to tell you thank you for caring about him the way you do," she said.
She reached out and tucked Caiti's hair behind her ear, like something her own mother would do.
"I really love him," Caiti said quietly, eyes out the window.
"I know you do," Mrs. Finnegan told her. "And it means a lot to see someone else really love him. Especially with everything he'd been through in the last year. He's my baby, you know?"
Caiti didn't know what to say, but Mrs. Finnegan didn't seem to require a response. She just added, "He really loves you, too."