A Warm Voice - A MSD and Jassi Ficlet

A Warm Voice

A/N - Disclaimer - This is a fan fiction. A little tribute/my version of what may have happened to lead to or after these events. There will be some references to events which has happened but some will be entirely my head canon.

There is no intention to hurt or malign anybody. All members of ICT are most respected by me and this is just a fictional point of view. No incident have any resembled to what actually may have happened.

Matches and Incidents are in part completely of my imagination. Kindly do not take any part as the truth. Happy reading.

Do not hate me! I was just stuck at one point in my story "An Interlude to Sunset" and needed to scribble out this tiny little ficlet. (It is related to my story 'The Song is Ended, But the Melody linger on'. No real need to read that one.)

My mind works in weird ways.

After the World Cup 23 Finals, Jassi receives a phone call. Unexpected but welcome; the warm voice and his words were much treasured.

Main Characters - MSD and Jassi. (One Shot)

A Warm Voice

The night was singularly chilly. It was as if nature was commiserating with the grief that had laid its hold on a billion beating hearts.

No one had the heart to talk to the man who sat bundled into the corner of the room, quietly grieving, his eyes fixed resolutely on the iPad Screen. The others had dispersed long since; no one had the slightest inclination of watching the presentation ceremony, when their hearts were being torn into pieces.

But the man forced himself to watch every moment. He forced himself through the post match discussion, analysis and the Press Conference.

It was a good couple of hours or more before he fished out his forgotten phone from one of the drawers in the study table and found that it had just enough charge left for one call. The man swiped away the missed calls and the assembled messages and found the one number he wanted.

He had not expected the call to be received as speedily as it was, certainly not by the man who had picked it up and was slightly taken aback.

"Keep your voice down and don't call out my name." Regrouping himself, he delivered the instructions firmly.

"Ok sir." The reply came in a voice so lowered that MS Dhoni had to press his phone harder to his ear in order to hear it; he winced at the moniker.

"Not sir, Siraj!" He scolded. "Are you okay? Where is Jassi?"

"Ok sir. Jas Bhai is just giving some water to Ishaan. He is coming now; I will give him the phone." The voice was so painfully innocent that MS felt his mind and heart shutter in pain and disbelief.

"Ok, kiddo. Take care and do not dwell too much on the defeat."

"Haan ji, sir." A choked back sob before there was silence.

A moment or two and Jassi's familiar voice danced through the phone's speakers; familiar and yet unknown, as heavily tear-stained as it was.

"Mahi Bhai?"

The voice was fairly muted and yet MS repeated his instructions.

"Voice low, Jassi. Don't call out my name."

"Understood, Bhai." Jassi was never one to ask a lot of questions.

"Are you okay, kid?"

Ever since MS had seen that smile on the screen, that smile while comforting a distraught Siraj, he had ached to talk to this young child of his; one of his youngest.