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wellhellotragic · 6 years ago

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Oh Captain, My Captain (1/2)

So I was going though my google docs and found this little ditty from the first time Colin played in a charity soccer match.... It’s just been sitting in my docs for over a year now unpublished

Six weeks had passed since Emma’s name had been thrown into list of mandatory volunteers to play a charity game for the local soccer club. In an effort to boost rating for the aging show, Regina, the producer, had contacted the head of the club, pitching the idea. Their team would be composed of veteran crew members from “Enchanted,” a fairy tale show based on Disney characters, as well as some of the professional team players. Regina had also struck a deal with Robin, the producer of “The Jolly Roger.” It was a show that also filmed in Vancouver, and played on a rival network on the same night and time slot. Every Sunday night, the two shows battled for viewership numbers, and each week, Emma’s show was coming up shorter and shorter.

It wasn’t uncommon for a show of it’s age. After six years many of the actors had declined to renew their contracts, and a slew of new kids were coming in. Twitter had been up in arms about how the show should have ended its run during the last season, and if anything, this next season was nothing more than a money milking spin off. Fans were still kind during the conventions, but there was an current of resentment and nervousness running just below the surface.

The Jolly Roger, or the Rolly Joger as Emma and David had dubbed it during a drunk night of binging so they could make fun of it, had only been on the air for two years. It had actually been one of the first shows announced for a season pickup, much to the chagrin of everyone on Enchanted, who weren’t notified until right before the network upfronts. It was pandering, plain and simple. Real pirates had scurvy and potbellies, waxed mustaches and bad perms. Their teeth were black and rotted. They didn’t look like fucking Killian Jones, with blue eyes that launched into your very soul, or raven hair that rivaled a Greek God. No, the show was crap, and so was Jones’ portrayal of Captain Hook.

She hated that man with the very essence of her being. True, she’d never met him personally, but she’d heard things, sometimes in vivid detail. He’d managed to romance more than any man’s fair share of the extras that bounced from show to show in the city, and had even caused a skirmish or two on set when two of his conquests had found out about each other.

Luckily she’d been able to avoid him during the past two weeks of practices and scrimmages. His team practiced earlier in the mornings than hers, and she’d hid out in the team’s clubhouse until she saw him leave the field for the parking lot. David hadn’t shared her proclivity for hiding and had actually talk to the man on their second practice. Somehow the interaction had led to some friendly trash talking and before she knew it, Regina had them all filming mini spots to release as promotion for the game. Everyone seemed to be taking the entire thing in stride, and it irked Emma. Didn’t they understand that they were the enemy?!

The line was drawn when the other show’s cast members starting responding. Or more specifically, when Killian Jones responded to her. Ruby had Killian’s retort pulled up, playing it for David and Henry 2.0, as he’d been lovingly dubbed. Emma had walked onto set far too early that morning after a late night of filming, and she heard a voice ask him who he thought his biggest competition was. She’d hardly registered any of it, still severely under caffeinated, until she heard a lilting voice say her name, forcing her to look at Ruby’s cell phone.

“Uh, I’d hafta say Emma Swan. She seems like a pretty feisty lass, and I’m quite eager to see if I can score on her, or even if she might be able to perform a header.”

The most infuriating part had been the way his eyebrows wiggled as he said it. No, the most infuriating part was that it was now out there, on repeat. It was war.

Over the next three weeks, Emma gave her everything to practice. There was such an intensity to her resolve that she’d started staying late, practicing one-on-one with Graham Humbert, the star of the Whitecaps Soccer Team. He taught her how to read the other players’ looks so she’d know the plays they were about to make, and before long she and Graham had their own silent conversations, making them an unstoppable force.

When Emma arrived at the stadium the morning of the match, it was near chaos. Fans were lining the entrance trying to get autographs and pictures with all of the actors and team players. She signed a few pictures, but when she really started looking around, she noticed that most of the fans were younger women, all decked out in t-shirts donning Killian’s name on them. Some of the shirts even had a ‘C’ for captain slapped on the sleeve. She’d had to stop herself from rolling her eyes as she heard the screams and cheering pick up.

She looked back to find the man of the hour approaching the crowd with a sharpie marker already in his hand. She tried to duck out, but between the crowds and security, she was boxed in, and Killian stood between her and the entrance. She motioned to move past him, but as she did he caught her arm and leaned into her.

“Emma Swan. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

There was something in his facial expression that set her on edge, cocky bravado that he probably used when speaking to every woman. She gave him a forced smile, but when he winked at her, she’d had enough and pushed past him, making sure that her shoulder caught him on the way.

“Ah, a preview of what’s to come? Oh, Emma,” he shouted, causing her to stop and turn around to face him. “Don’t be afraid to, ya know, really get into it.”

His eyebrows wiggled again, the way they had in the video, and Emma had to force herself not to punch him. Instead, she made her way into the stadium, where David and Graham were waiting for her. Together the three of them headed for the locker room. Normally, it was one large open area, but as the charity match was co-ed, a curtain had been drawn down the middle to grant privacy.

They changed quickly, only taking time to put on their pads once they had regrouped on the sidelines. After the rest of the team and actors had joined them, Graham called out the roster, telling each person who their equivalent position on the opposing team was. As team captain, Graham was matched up with Keith Nottingham, David with Mary Margaret, a pint sized woman who played a tavern owner on Killian’s show. The rest of the list went on, but Emma zoned out until she heard her own name called, followed by the last person in the world she wanted to be attached to for the rest of the day. Killian Jones.

She pleaded with Graham to change the lineup, but he told her that it wasn’t his decision and that his hands were tied. Apparently Regina had made the suggestion that the two leads should be teamed up knowing that it would gather more attention. Internally cursing herself, she took the field for the first play. She had Graham had devised a plan. It was simple really. She was to going to start, play the first half, and be done until the last fifteen minutes of the game - just enough playtime to appease Regina - , but it seemed Killian had other ideas as he refused to be taken out of the game, which meant that Emma was stuck in as well.

She was in shape - at least in good enough shape for all of the physical stuff she needed to do for filming - but soccer was a whole different beast. The running never ended, and by half time, Emma was certain that her lungs were going to explode. It didn’t help that Killian had spent most of the time throwing out innuendoes like the goalie threw out blocks.

Graham had run as much interference as possible for her, but Killian had been unphased, all too happy to being playing the game with men he’d come to idolize. He was in his element, and if Emma hadn’t been too keen on hating him, she might have found it endearing how he blushed when receiving a compliment from one of the professional players. She might have noticed how nimble he was as he slid to kick the ball, or how glorious his bum was as he stretched out on the sidelines. But she didn’t notice any of that. Definitely not.

What she did notice was the very naked fan that had leapt out onto the field running straight for the penalty area near the end of the second half. Killian on the other hand, had only had eyes for the ball, as the man that would eventually become dubbed as the ‘Whitecap Wanker’ (pun intended) nearly collided with him, in what surely would have been an ankle-breaking incident. Without thinking, Emma bolted for Killian, wrapped her arms around him, and pushed him backwards to save him. They both tumbled to the ground, causing Killian to land squarely on top of her.

The wind had been knocked out of her, she was sure of it. That had to have been the reason she was breathless. It certainly couldn’t have had anything to do with him lying across her, or the way his blue eyes bored into her soul. The way those same eyes briefly fell to her lips before snapping back up to her own eyes.

The moment was ruined though when Will Scarlet sauntered over, reminding them that this was a family friendly charity match and they should go get a room. Something shifted and the blue of Killian’s eyes darkened just a bit as he stood and offered his hand out the help her up. She took it reluctantly, but once she was up, instead of releasing her, he pulled her further forward, so that her chest was pressed into his. His lips brushed the shell of her ear.

“It’s about bloody time, but I can think of much more pleasurable things to do with a woman on her back.”

She hoped he didn’t notice the small shiver that ran up her spine.

“I was just trying to keep you from getting slapped in the face with streaker junk.”

“Well, that’s a plausible excuse for grabbing me, but next time don’t stand on ceremony.”

She pushed back, schooling her face into something closer to determination.

“Trust me, Jones, you have a better shot of scoring a goal than you have scoring with me.”

They had been so enraptured with each other that they hadn’t even noticed that the game had started back up. Not until Emma heard Graham calling her name and she saw the ball whizzing straight at her. Taking a moment to look back as Killian, she noticed he was still transfixed on her. His jaw nearly pulsated.

Graham called her again and she snapped out of the bubble she and Killian had created for themselves. Stepping around him Emma found the ball and kicked it with all of her might. It flew through the air and sailed straight into the net. The game-winning goal.

The celebration had been lively. Her team had been ecstatic about her goal in the last three seconds. The team popped champagne and danced around her, chanting their captain’s name. Eventually the party dispersed and Emma was left alone in the locker room with Graham, who was smiling at her sweetly.

“You were marvelous out there, Emma.”

She felt the blush crawling up her neck.

“Thanks, but I think the credit really goes to you and all of that extra practice time you put in with me.”

He took a step forward.

“Trust me, it was my pleasure. Spending time with you wasn’t exactly a hardship.”

She had to overt her eyes. He was dancing around dangerous territory. Emma didn’t date, plain and simple. She’d been screwed over often enough to realize that relationships just weren't worth the pain they inevitably brought.

“Graham-”

“Wait. Emma, I’ve really enjoyed these last few weeks with you, and to be honest, I’m not really ready for it all to end. Would it be too forward of me to ask you out to dinner?”

She took a deep breath, trying to stifle the panic she felt clawing it’s way out of her. He really was a sweet guy, and she didn’t want to hurt him, but it was too much.

“Graham.” His face fell, already knowing what she was going to say. “My schedule is so erratic right now, and filming just started a few weeks ago.”

“It’s okay, Emma. I understand.” He clasped her hand squeezed it. “But you have my number if you change your mind.”

She nodded and he released her hands before turning away, pausing only long enough to grab his bag, before exiting the locker room. The breath that she’d been holding slipped out and she finally let herself relax. Every muscle in her body had been so tense that now her legs felt they might buckle under her, and the champagne had left a sticky residue on her jersey and skin.

All she could think about was how much she wanted a hot shower. Looking around, noticing the empty locker room, she considered her options. Ya, she could wait until she got home, but that was thirty minutes away in traffic, or, she could sneak into on of the empty stalls in the locker room. Everyone was gone, and she’d just be in and out. Taking one more look, calling out to ensure that she was in fact alone, Emma headed through the rows of now empty cubicles that had housed uniforms earlier that day. The shower wasn’t anything like she had expected. In high school, there had been separate stalls, blocked off by curtains to protect everyone's modesty. In college, she’d avoided sports all together, so she’d never had to worry about it.

Standing in the Whitecaps shower though, there were no barriers. Just one large room with rows of shower heads peeking out from the wall. It was almost enough to make her change her mind, but the thought of getting in her car with her sticky clothes gave her the push to stay. After all, everyone had already left.

Finding an available clothing hook on the opposite side of the room, Emma slowly began to peel her jersey off. The dried up sweat and alcohol had stiffened it, causing it to stick as she tried to pulled it over her ponytail. It took a fair bit of fighting to dislodge herself from the offending garment, and she nearly gave up, but when a voice called out, the shock had her wrenching it off to cover her front side.

“Oh, love. There’s no need to stop on my account.”

“Shit!”

Of course it was him.

“Well, Swan. You bested me.”

“Like there was ever a question.”

“Don’t be so dismissive Swan. I can count the number of people who’ve beat me on one hand.”

He held up his right hand, flourishing it for effect. She should have been pissed that he was there. She was pissed, but she was also thinking about how his long fingers would feel inside her. Something about their match, their constant drive for dominance over each other on the field had awoken something in her.

Fuck. She wanted him.

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