Chapter Text
Andrew was hauling his second basket of produce of the day to the house as Neil slipped through the sliding glass door to greet him. Andrew figured he was after more tomatoes, eager to perfect his pasta sauce recipe so they could can it in time for the holidays, when he seemed to realize that the basket Andrew carried, like the last one he’d brought to the porch, was mostly filled with zucchini.
Neil let out a strangled sound from the back of his throat, strange enough that Andrew was certain that he didn’t even know he’d made it.
“More zucchini?” Neil bent to inspect the contents, successfully digging out a few prized tomatoes.
“There’s more.” Andrew said, watching Neil’s eyebrows twist momentarily in distress, “We can’t waste them.”
“I know.” Neil said, and when Andrew returned his gaze to his face, it was to an expression of resigned understanding. Because they both remembered what it was like to be hungry. They both remembered when the garden they tended now was nothing more than a fever dream of lonely boys trapped in horrible places.
Andrew swallowed down the twist in his chest that once would have triggered a snappish reply to drown the feeling of being known and instead met Neil’s eyes steadily and pushed the basket towards him.
“Give them to Neighbor.” Andrew suggested.
“We’ve given her like 20 pounds of zucchini.” Neil said, but Andrew shrugged and with a put upon sigh, Neil hefted the basket to his hip. “Fine.”
----
Later that night, during a dinner of zucchini noodles with fresh marinara and garlic bread, Neil seemed to break.
“Oh my God, Andrew. I can’t eat anymore fucking zucchini.” With a voice that could only be described as a whine. Across the table, Andrew went perfectly still, fork still suspended halfway to his mouth. Neil froze in response, reviewing the past few minutes of conversation when Andrew said softly, with feeling;
“God fucking dammit , Walker.”
“What? Renee?” Neil asked. Andrew put down his fork, pushed away his plate and pulled out his phone.
“Hello, Andrew.” Renee said over the speaker, voice clear and calm as always. Andrew threw the phone on to the center of the table in disgust.
“Fuck you, Walker.” Andrew snarled and after a moment of almost palpably confused silence, Renee began to laugh.
“How is the harvest?” She asked and Neil finally began to understand. “I did tell you I'd get you back for the closet.”
“What have you done?” Neil asked and after greeting him as well and as her chuckles died down, Neil heard Allison's voice in the background.
“My plan has come to fruition , if you will.” Renee replied, voice somewhat muffled as she must have turned her head away from the speaker.
“The zucchini!?” Neil shouted, “That was you?!”
“Of course,” Renee said, and he could hear the smile, “It was nothing to plant a few more seeds when you all weren't looking.”
“Renee, you don't understand, there's so much fucking zucchini, the neighbors aren't taking it anymore! It's just piling up!” Neil said, leaning over the table as if Renee could see him over the phone. “We've been eating zucchini with every fucking meal for weeks! Weeks!”
“I swore to Andrew that I'd get him back for locking Allison and I in the equipment closet,” Renee said and he could clearly hear Allison cackling in the background, “I'm sorry you were caught in the crossfire.”
“That was over five fucking years ago.” Andrew said.
“You're not the only one with a good memory, Andrew.” She replied.
----
“I'm serious! Who the fuck keeps putting goddamn zucchini in here?”
Neil stared dispassionately at the zucchini sitting in his locker. There was at least two pounds there, enough that only one had slipped from the locker when he'd opened it. A different story, he noted, than the others got. Their lockers were filled with enough zucchini that when opened, the offending vegetables cascaded to the ground, piling at the feet of their teammates.
Beside him, Andrew calmly picked up the zucchini that fell from his locker and put it back inside, reaching around it for the rest of his gear, just as he had last week, and the week before for that. As if he wasn't the one coming in every few nights to put them there.
“I swear to God when I find out who's fucking doing this, I'm going to fucking kick your ass.” Thompson, their short tempered rookie backliner snarled from his corner of room, eyeing them all for some unknown sign of guilt. Neil had to bite back the smile that threatened to split his face, tickled as always, when Thompson's outbursts echoed Seth's.
Neil wanted to feel bad about finding humor there, but being murdered didn't make anyone any less of an asshole.
“You got something to say, Josten?” Thompson snarled. Andrew turned to face Neil, his back to Thompson and lifted a single eyebrow, his face otherwise calm.
You just can't help yourself. The eyebrow accused, and Neil raised a single shoulder.
You love it.
“ Actually-” Neil began, eyes still locked on Andrew, but their Captain, 5’5’’ inches of fury and loud as a person twice her size cut him off with a squawk.
“Is that volunteers for extra laps I hear? The whole team wants extra laps?” Gabriella snapped, stomping her foot against their wooden benches for extra emphasis.
“No, captain.” Thompson replied immediately, fearful as always of extra cardio. Neil knew that was why Gabriella had used that particular threat, as she knew that Neil routinely outpaced and outran his teammates. This time, he couldn't contain his smirk, even as he saw Thompson's face crumble into a scowl.
Later, Andrew would remember looking over his shoulder at the murderous look Thompson was throwing Neil and realize he should have taken care of the problem then.
Later, as Thompson checked Neil hard enough during their warm ups that he was thrown off his feet and through the air, Andrew knew exactly what he was going to do next. But first he had to show Thompson, in the only language the boy seemed to know, exactly what happened when someone touched his things.
(Much later, he’d also reflect on how the rest of the team had moved out out his way as he’d thundered out of goal, and how he’d heard more than one person muttering “He fucked up now.”)
Later, Gabriella would use his “rare” display of violence as an example of how the Riptides protect their own, “And if you can't get with the program, Thompson, I'll shove your contract so far up your ass my wedding ring will tickle your fucking tounge!”
(“Gabby, no! What the fuck, babe, we've talked about this!” Her wife, their defensive dealer cried, “ Less specifics! Use less specifics! Christ Almighty.”)
----
“Andrew… what are you going to do with all of this?” Neil asked two weeks later. He idly tapped one of the baskets by the door, frowning at the sheer volume of zucchini resting there. The pile wobbled dangerously, startling the cats that had followed him into the room to sniff at it, but remained upright.
“You'll see,” Andrew said, looking up at Neil over the top of his reading glasses. He eyed the yellowed bruise alongside Neil’s face and pointedly turned a page in his novel. And although his expression was even, his eyes were bright with mischief. Which, honestly, Neil thought later, should have been a sign.
----
Three days later, at the first game of the finals, Neil opened the locker room door to the sound of shrill, furious screaming.
For a moment, his heart stuttered within his chest, fear ricocheting along his nerve endings. But that was before a 7 inch long zucchini rocketed past his face and directly into Thompson's. Followed by another and then another, revealing Gabriella pelting Thompson with an armful of zucchini as she stomped across the room towards him. “You little fucking shit! So many fucking laps! You think you're funny? I've been eating fucking znoodles for weeks , damn you!”
“What the fuck?” Neil blinked, and from the other side of the lounge Andrew lifted both eyebrows.
“Turns out it was Thompson all along.” Nyugen, their second striker said, arms folded across his chest. “He even filled the guest lockers! But he fucked up this time and forgot to put any in his own. He should have just said he planted too many, it's a rookie mistake.”
“I hear they're prolific.” Neil said, raising his voice over Gabriella’s increasingly bizarre threats.
“One plant usually produces more than a family could want. They can grow up to something like two inches every other day.” Nyugen shrugged then turned back towards his locker, picking up the pile of zucchini at its base. Beyond him, Neil could see assorted heads poking out from the men’s changing room, answering the question of where the rest of the team was hiding.
Andrew easily dodged under the hail of vegetables to stand next to Neil, surveying the chaos he'd sown with a nearly bored expression. But he couldn't help the subtle lift at the corner of his mouth, which may have well as been a cackle.
“Satisfied?” Neil asked quietly, “I think you may have squashed his rebellious streak.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“I dunno, maybe he could have grown on me.”
”I'll kill you.”
“Ooh, I felt that one from my head tomatoes.”
“Who the fuck taught you puns. Nicky? I'll kill him too.”
“I don't want any collateral cabbage.”
“Neil Abram Minyard-Josten, I will-”
“Andrew, Andrew. Don't kale my vibe.”