A/N: I'm super excited for this story, and I hope y'all enjoy it as much as I have enjoyed planning and writing it. Huge shout out to allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 on tumblr, who made a dope header for this story, so y'all should go find in on tumblr so you can see that. Another giant thanks to you guys, the readers, for picking this story up, especially to those of you who choose to leave reviews, it's the fuel that feeds writers and keeps us going. I will be trying stick to a strict weekly update schedule, so you can expect a new chapter every Monday evening.
Killian was insanely nervous. More nervous than he had any reason to be, but it was senior night and the big rivalry game and he really didn't want to let the team down. He knew wasn't going to be starting the game – Graham was a senior after all - but Killian also knew that he would get plenty of playing time anyway, especially if Graham got into foul trouble the way he had been lately. Killian was only a sophomore but he had really come into his own as a shooting guard, with a .489 overall shooting average and a .518 from behind the arc. He was a rising star, with whispers of the Wooden Award floating here and there, in circles of people in the know. Killian tried not to pay much attention to such rumours as they only served to distract, but still, the could feel the pressure building. He made his way to the court for the final shoot around, just a few minutes before the anthem was sung and the lineups were announced.
Killian always felt slightly ill at ease when the anthem played, it just made him miss home and made him almost wish that he could have had all this back in England. Mostly he missed his brother. Staying in England wouldn't have helped that however, since Liam spent most of his days traveling the world with the Royal Navy. He kept promising to make it to one of Killian's games but his breaks hadn't aligned yet. Liam assured Killian that he watched every game on TV or listened on the wireless, but it wasn't the same, and the two brothers hadn't seen each other since Killian started school almost two years earlier. For some reason, as he listened to the anthem blaring on the court that night, Killian couldn't stop thinking about Liam.
Killian joined the rest of the team as they formed two lines, ready to introduce the starting five - #18 Will Scarlett from Detroit, Michigan, #30 Anton Maly from Mikulov, Czech Republic, #43 Victor Whale from De Soto, Texas, #8 Captain Graham Humbert from Waltham, Massachusetts, #12 Captain Phillip Fitzroy from Washington, D.C. As each of the starters was announced, they ran between the two lines, high fived the rest of the team, and chest bumped each other, smiles and excitement and blood pounding through their veins to the beat of the roaring crowd. Killian took his seat on the bench, knotting his fingers together as he prepared himself for tip off.
The game did not start off well. Anton got two quick fouls under the basket for not keeping his feet firmly planted, something the center had a problem with in general, as he generally felt far more inclined to go for the steal. It didn't help that the Tar Heels had a power forward who knew how to draw the foul like nobody else, and made sure he hit the basket every time to boot. By half, they were down fourteen points, and Killian had only played two minutes. Graham hadn't gotten in foul trouble, but he also wasn't playing his best, with only 6 points on the board. Still, Coach wanted to give him a chance, so Killian spent most of the first half sitting on the bench, watching in frustration. They all got a pretty stern talking to in the locker room at half, Coach's own frustration seething. Four-star freshman David Nolan sat with his head in his hands, and Killian thought the poor kid might burst into tears. He was such a nice guy, a bit naïve and innocent, and Killian had his doubts as to whether or not David was cut out for such a high profile position.
They began the second half with same starters, but it was only about two minutes before Coach got frustrated and told Killian to make his way to half to check in. Things lit up for Killian in the second half. Shot after shot when in, and he watched the numbers tick up next to his name – 3, 6, 22 points. He couldn't seem to miss, every time, just fake forward, step back, shot, basket. Anton pulled down a defensive rebound and Killian seemed to know it was going to happen, he was already countering on offense - he was miles ahead of his defender. Anton threw the ball up the court and Killian caught it with no problem, dribbled the last few feet, and then launched himself into the air. The ball sank through the basket, and Killian's hands closed around the rim, he could already hear the crowd reacting, roaring with excitement, and then…
Another body slammed into him, and he felt his own body flying past the basket, but his left hand was still holding on, and he could feel the tendons in his wrist tearing. As he let go and fell, his arms went out instinctively, and he felt another searing pain as he landed on his hands. He suspected that he would have heard the bones in his hands shattering had his own gut-wrenching scream not torn through the air and filled his ears instead. Pain was spreading from his hand but it was almost too much for him to process, all he could do was grit his teeth and try with all his might not to scream as he felt the vibrations of every footstep of the staff surrounding him. The team trainer gently tried to pry Killian's arm away from where he was cradling it to his chest. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Killian could hear a scuffle on the edge of the court, but he was beginning to feel faint and he couldn't concentrate on the sound.
"That is my brother, you incompetent ingrate!" a voice bellowed, and Killian's eyes found the man fighting to get past security. He had curly, sand-colored hair, and from Killian's vantage point, he looked an awful lot like Liam.
Liam's doppelganger pushed his way onto the court, shouldering through the security guards as if they concerned him about as much as a gnat, and knelt down next to Killian on the floor, taking his uninjured hand.
"Killian?" he said, trying to get Killian's eyes to focus on him.
"Brother?" Killian replied, but he felt hazy, the pain clouding his mind. "You can't be Liam, my brother is in Oman."
"Killian, it's me, I wanted to surprise you." His eyes widened; Killian was absolutely astonished that his brother could have made the effort to surprise him by coming to a game.
"You're here," Killian sighed, as if the idea of having Liam by his side alleviated some of the pain he was feeling.
Emma watched #5 fall to the floor and immediately knew something was wrong. It looked gruesome, and the way Jones was lying on the floor, it had to be serious. He just wasn't moving, he was lying completely still, as if all his muscles had clenched at once. Emma knew that feeling, she could remember it from when she broke her leg, it was what happened when you were in so much pain that you couldn't even fathom moving. One of the nursing interns in the hall looked up at the TV and shook her head.
"Poor kid," Mary Margaret sighed, her green eyes widening sadly.
"What do you mean?" Emma asked, turning to her friend. "It looks bad, but he'll recover, probably still go on to have a fantastic NBA career with a model trophy wife and everything." She sounded just a little too bitter and she knew it, her present relationship problems reflected all too clearly in her voice.
"Em," Mary Margaret answered, her tone somewhere in between scolding and pitying. "It looked pretty bad. If the tendons are severed severely enough or if there's nerve damage… basketball requires two hands, and if he doesn't make a complete recovery, his career will be over."
"It can't really be that bad, can it?" Emma asked, but her stomach knotted uncomfortably. She really needed to stop visiting Mary Margaret in the Emergency Room, she hated seeing the gruesome injuries, but she just needed a break from her lab sometimes. Her boss, Albert Spencer, was a complete jerk, and more often than not, Emma felt the need to duck out of the lab for a few minutes in order to maintain her cool.
"Hey Em, I don't mean to kick you out, but they just radioed that they're going to bring the guy over here, so unless you want to see a compound fracture, you've got about fifteen minutes to get back to your lab."
"Yeah, okay," Emma answered. "I'm just gonna steal some coffee from you guys first, and then I'll go back to gene splicing."
"Alright, sounds good," Mary Margaret replied distractedly, her fingers toying with the hem of her pink scrubs.
"You want me to bring you some back?" Emma offered, giving her friend a curious look.
"Uh, yes, thank you," she nodded. "Just half a cup, please."
By the time Emma came back with the coffee, the emergency room was bustling, nurses and doctors moving at top speed as they prepared for the imminent arrival of the school's star basketball player (well, one of them). When they wheeled him in (Emma had, of course, hung out just around the corner to see) Emma couldn't help but notice how blue his eyes were, and she wondered if the pain was accentuating it, like a fever, or if they always looked that way.
