Set directly after Barthez Battalions lost their round of the Championships.

Mathilda stared at the plastic floor in front of her without seeing it. The noise of the bustling airport washed over her, forming a constant background thrum to the grief swirling inside her head.

"Tilly? Tilly!" Mathilda blushed furiously as she blinked and focused on Miguel's concerned sapphire blue eyes. "You okay?" he asked gently. She forced a smile.

"I'm okay, don't worry about me." Miguel nodded distractedly and looked away, searching for the time of their aeroplane flight. A dark hand rested on her arm and Mathilda blinked up at Aaron.

"You can't be okay, Tils," he chided. "No one's expecting you to be okay. You've just lost your bit-beast. You're allowed to not be ok." She smiled shakily, tears welling up involuntarily.

"Thanks, Aaron." she whispered. Claude punched Aaron playfully on the arm.

"Yes, ol' chocolate drop's always right, huh?" Aaron grinned, the racist slur sliding off him as Claude had intended. He whacked the white-skinned boy back.

"Dead right, you albino!" he shot back jokingly. Claude gasped in mock-outrage.

"I'm not an albino!"

"Fine then, sun-bleached zombie, that better?" The two boys continued to tease and insult each other until Miguel snapped at them to stop it; he was trying to concentrate. They sniggered and saluted mockingly, but went quiet. Mathilda sat on the hard, narrow bench and stared back at the floor, fighting to keep the tears inside her.

Three hours later, the last, frayed strand of Miguel's temper snapped and he stormed up to a staff member demanding why their flight was still delayed. He was told in fractured, indistinct English that flight 104 to Italy would be delayed for another two days. He returned to his team muttering angrily, a vein visibly pulsing in his forehead.

"Stupid Egyptian aeroplanes!" he yelled suddenly, before launching into a tirade of foul Spanish. Claude cursed under his breath and started trying to calm the enraged Spaniard down, to little success. A derisive laugh stopped all four of them in their tracks.

"And people say I have anger issues?" The three boys swung around to glare at the speaker, a lean, redheaded seventeen year-old who returned their glares with one of his own. "What? Truth hurts?" he smirked. Aaron's dark eyes flashed black with irritation and his cracked his knuckles menacingly.

"No, but something else might…" he muttered threateningly.

"Johnny, what have you got yourself into this time?" a somewhat condescending voice demanded with a weary sigh. The redheaded boy's expression turned sullen, like a child caught being naughty by its parents and Mathilda couldn't resist a faint giggle. He glared at her, seemingly noticing her for the first time. She shrank back, wary. Quickly, she looked at the owner of the voice that had stopped Johnny in his tracks.

A man stared back at her and the rest of her team, his gaze steady and not unfriendly. His hair was vivid purple and gelled back into almost a helmet shape, a comic contrast to his pale face and hooked nose. Next to him stood a flamboyantly dressed blond-haired boy who looked about seventeen or eighteen and was surveying her and her alone with the greatest of interest. She blushed violently and lowered her gaze.

The man and Miguel both opened their mouths to speak at the same time. After much polite gesturing, Miguel continued.

"You're that team we beat in the European tournament, aren't you?" he asked, with a hint of aggression in his usually calm voice.

"Oh wow, give the kid a medal, and I'll tell him where to shov-" The blond-haired boy clapped a hand over Johnny's mouth and smiled widely at Miguel.

"Sorry about him." Miguel shrugged stiffly.

"So, what do you want?" he demanded. A purple eyebrow rose and the man's face took on an expression of faint incredulity.

"Want? We simply came over here to prevent an embarrassing ruckus in a public place. Johnny is so hot-headed." He sighed and shook his head. There was a cry of pain from the blond, and Johnny was audible again.

"Why are you being so nice to them, Robert? They're nothing more than slimy little cheats!"

"We're not any more!" Mathilda retorted with a flash of temper. She shrank back as everyone turned to stare at her. "We're not!" she repeated bravely, biting fiercely on her lower lip to stop tears of pure embarrassment from forcing their way out. Johnny looked uncomfortable and shuffled his feet.

"Well, you were!" he continued hotly at last. "We would have got so much farther then you lot did!" The atmosphere, which had been gradually cooling, heated up again and both Aaron and Miguel took a step forward, their fists clenched.

"Is that you shooting your mouth off again, Johnny?" A newcomer appeared. Now that she knew vaguely who they all were, Mathilda found herself recognising this one from the aforementioned European tournament. He - she was pretty sure they were a he - was very slight of build, with bright green hair cut in a style not unlike her own. His dress code seemed to involve a lot of blue, and a lot of ribbons.

"Are you a girl or a fag?" Aaron sneered, his coal-black eyes flashing brightly. Mathilda rolled her eyes in disbelief at how stupid Aaron was when his temper was roused.

"We're a bit new to each other to be asking personal questions, aren't we?" asked the newcomer with no sign of feeling offended. "For what it's worth, I'm definitely not a girl. Now then, it looks like Johnny's managed to get everyone off on the wrong foot. Again. So, a fresh start! I'm Oliver, this is Enrique, the flirt-addict," he indicated the blond-haired boy, who waved and winked at Mathilda. She let out an annoyed, embarrassed sigh as she felt her face heat up yet again, "That's Robert, and of course, Johnny makes his own introductions." Aaron and Enrique sniggered in unison and shot each other surprised looks.

"What are you all doing here?" Robert asked.

"Delayed flight. By two stinking days!" Mathilda looked worriedly up at her once-again fuming leader. Why was he so short-tempered all of a sudden?

"Where were you going?" Enrique inquired.

"Italy." Enrique's face lit up.

"Oh, L'Italia, ti amo…" he sang.

"You're Italian?" Aaron grinned. "Cool." Enrique nodded.

"Yup. A proud citizen of Italy, that's me! If you really want to get back there as quickly as your friend's temper suggests, I could help…" He trailed off, a wicked glint in his blue eyes.

"How?" Claude asked, puzzled. Enrique smirked.

"Let's say I have my own way of avoiding Customs!"

"Why would you want to avoid Customs?" Mathilda asked curiously. Robert gave a disapproving sigh.

"Ignore him. His grandfather had dealings with the Mafia at one point, and he likes to think it gives him status." Enrique scowled and glared at the man, who smiled thinly.

"Shut up, Robert!"

Mathilda giggled and blushed for what felt like the hundredth time.

"Stupid face…" she mumbled, biting her lip as she saw Johnny giving her an odd look.

"So, what's this plan for getting us out of here as soon as possible?" Aaron asked, only partly joking. Enrique's grin spread and became decidedly self-satisfied.

"My baby!" he declared, clutching at his heart and spinning around dramatically. Mathilda let out a peal of laughter.

"In other words, he has a private jet that he treasures more than anything and everything except that two-headed lizard bit-beast of his." Johnny translated, sticking out a foot and almost tripping Enrique up. The two elder teenagers glared hotly at one another and for a few seconds it almost looked as though they were going to fight.

"Cool it, you two!" Oliver laughed. "Robert, I think it's about time you took control?" With a nod, Robert began to shepherd the seven teens away. The former Barthez Battalions watched in bemusement as they were led to the most enormous plane that any of them had ever seen before.

"Wow…" Mathilda breathed. Next to her, Johnny snorted.

"It's not that impressive," he muttered.

"I suppose you're used to it, huh?" Mathilda asked shyly. Johnny's chest swelled instantly.

"Yeah, course. Mine's even better!" he declared proudly.

"Of course it is, Johnny, of course it is." Enrique said patronisingly. "You do realise that they don't have big enough green spaces in Glasgow for a jewel like this? Where do you store it? In your bloated ego?"

"Shut it, Enrique!"

"And this is only a jet, if you somehow got hold of my blimp - ha! There isn't anywhere flat enough in the whole of your cold, rainy country!" Mathilda laughed softly at the two boys' constant bickering as they headed toward the gigantic plane. She became aware of someone else walking next to her, turned, and smiled up into Claude's gentle face.

"Hey, Matti." He smiled at her and nodded toward the sleek jet that loomed closer with every step they took. "Quite a monster, that!"

"Yep, it's massive!" she agreed. Claude shot a look over his shoulder and frowned. "What is it?" she asked, instantly worried.

"Probably nothing, Matti. It's just… has Miguel been acting a bit strange today, or is it just me?" Mathilda shook her head.

"No, I noticed too. He's really snappy, isn't he?" Claude nodded. "What do you think's up with him?" The silver-haired boy shrugged one shoulder.

"Your guess is as good as mine. Angry at himself for being the reason we lost? Worried in case Barthez decides he isn't finished with us?"

"Ooh, we're at the plane!" Mathilda squeaked.

She stared up … and up. "Wow…"

"Amazing," Claude approved.

"You like?" Enrique inquired happily, looking over his shoulder at the four awe-struck bladers.

"Yeah, do we ever!" Aaron enthused. A sour look flashed over Johnny's face, unnoticed by anyone except Mathilda. Puzzled, she stared at him, trying to figure why he was suddenly in such a foul mood. He caught her eye.

"What are you looking at?" he muttered venomously, just loud enough for her to hear. A spark of anger rose inside her.

"I'm not sure. What am I looking at?" she retorted. Taken aback, he stared blankly at her for a few seconds, then a smile spread across his face and he nodded approvingly.

"You've got spunk." he said loudly, turning and beginning to ascend the stairs into the aeroplane. Blushing furiously under the bemused stares of the six males around her, she followed Johnny up.

"Miguel!" Aaron's cry of alarm ripped through the air and Mathilda spun around. Miguel was down on his knees, both hands pressed to his face as if he was trying to stop his skull from splitting open. In two leaping steps she was back on the ground and dashing over to her leader. Mumbling apologies as she pushed Robert and Claude out of the way, she knelt down next to Miguel.

"Miguel? What's wrong?" she whispered uncertainly. Miguel remained silent, clearly in too much pain to talk. Mathilda's head whipped to one side as she felt someone place a hand on her arm and move her away slightly.

"Excuse me, miss." Robert said courteously. He motioned Oliver forwards. The slender young man knelt down and began talking softly to Miguel. Eventually, the blond blader recovered to spit out a single word.

"Headache." Instantly, Robert snapped into action. After ascertaining that Miguel was incapable of moving, let alone walking, he reached into the pocket of his trousers and produced a mobile phone. Flipping it open, he pressed a single button and proceeded to have a low, intense conversation with whoever had answered in what sounded to Mathilda's inexperienced ears like complete gobbledegook, but Claude informed her in a whisper that it was German. Finishing with a barked command, Robert closed the phone and slipped it back in his pocket.

"Enrique, how fast can that monstrosity go?" he demanded.

"Max speed 700 miles per hour, but it can only do about 650 without blowing the engine up." Enrique answered laconically. Robert nodded in approval.

"Is Miguel going to be okay?" Mathilda burst out at last, voicing the thoughts that she knew were buzzing around in her team mates' heads as well. Robert gave her a small smile.

"He should be fine. It seems to be merely a severe stress headache." Everyone relaxed fractionally. Mathilda crouched down next to her team captain and pulled him into a gentle hug.

They all filed onto the plane, having waited ten minutes for Miguel to recover enough to be able to walk. Mathilda walked in front of him, turning around every few seconds to check and ask him how he felt, while Oliver walked behind, a supporting hand on his back.

Mathilda sat down, instantly pressing her nose to the window and letting out a soft sigh of amazement.

"We're so high up…" she whispered. Claude and Aaron, sitting behind her, nodded slowly, both equally glued to the window. Mathilda's head spun around as she felt somebody sit in the seat next to her. Johnny stared back at her, uncertainty hidden under a thin layer of bravado.

"Can I sit here?" he asked at last, breaking their locked stares. Mathilda blushed furiously.

"Okay," she murmured.

"Fasten your seatbelts, take-off is in two minutes." Mathilda quickly fastened her seatbelt, and cast a curious look at Johnny, who hadn't done as commanded.

"Shouldn't you put your seatbelt on?" she asked timidly. He shrugged, smirking.

"No point until it's actually taken off."

Two minutes later, over the intercom:

"Jonathon Donald McGregor, kindly put your seatbelt on." Colouring as Mathilda giggled softly, Johnny fastened the seatbelt with a little more force then was necessary.

The plane started its slow rumble down the runway.

This is a very old file - I think it's about two years old, actually, so if there's a slight difference to my normal quality that explains it. I just found it again and remembered the plot. It shouldn't be a long fic; I've already thought out most of it!

Review?