I am glutton for punishment and am writing this A/U story. This is based on something I doing in my writing class so updates should be pretty quick. Hope you enjoy and give me lots of feedback.

All rights and characters belong to the powers that be at Once Upon a Time. I'm just borrowing them to play a little game.

Emma Swan's thumbs drummed out a beat on her steering wheel as she moved to the beat of the music on the stereo of the yellow Volkswagen, her son, Henry, trying to make himself invisible lest any of his friends see him the carpool line. He was at that age when mom's picking you up from school seemed overly hovering and even more childish than most middle school children wanted from their parents. Maybe because it was one of the few areas where her son truly blushed from the attention, Emma kept dropping him off and picking him up every day.

"I could take the bus," he reminded as he did often. "There's one that comes by the house…"

"But this is our special time," she said, a saccharine sweetness mocking his dour expression. "Mommy and son bonding time."

"Mom!" he said through his clenched teeth. "Not now."

The line lurched forward enough that she was able to navigate them on the road and point the car in the direction of her office at the Storybrooke Sheriff Station and Jail. She threw her hand up in a wave to David Nolan, who was directing traffic that afternoon, a duty that was shared by both of them as the town's two most prominent law enforcement officers.

"What has you in such a mood?" she asked, turning down the classic rock station that she preferred. "Did something happen at school?"

"Service learning," he declared, as though those two words explained it all. All of the sixth, seventh, and eighth graders in Storybrooke were required to do weekly community service projects that would then be incorporated into the curriculum. In English class they were required to keep a journal of their experiences, for example.

"And?" she asked, expectantly, knowing he had been dreading the assignment. "What did you get?"

"Assistant soccer coach for the youth teams," he said with an exaggerated groan. "They don't even have coaches yet so until they find someone I have to lead a bunch of four, five, and six year olds through running and passing drills."

Emma's attention was pulled by a minivan that pulled out in front of her, causing her to let out a string of expletives that made her son giggle uncontrollably. "I'll pay the jar when we get home," she promised. "That doesn't sound so bad. How many kids can there be anyway?"

"Two teams' worth," Henry moaned. "Guess who got the other team?"

She knew what was coming, only one person could make her son's frustration level surge to that level – Paige. Waiting for it, she took a sip of her bottled water and watched his face contort into a snarl.

"Paige," he said, his voice dripping with animosity.

"She's with the other team?" Emma asked. "That won't be so bad."

The rest of the five minute drive was filled with explanations from her son of why it was just that bad. Her son had known Paige since he was first starting kindergarten. The blonde haired little girl had been the golden child of every class they shared, always punctual, right, and confident whether it was math or recess or anything in between. Lately their relationship had been worse since she had gone to a dance with Nicholas Zimmer.

***AAA***

Killian Jones and Robin Locksley stood with their heads bowed slightly and their kindest and most contrite expressions on their faces. The courtroom was filled with others who had been arrested that month on everything from minor traffic offenses to other petty crimes that were way too minor for actual court cases.

"Regina's going to kill me for this," Robin told his friend under his breath. "I don't think she's going to let us see each other again."

"We've got nothing to worry about, mate," Killian answered. "Judge Cleary is a push over. He's hard of hearing and hates to waste his time. We'll get a slap on the wrist and that'll be that."

"What if it's not Judge Cleary?" Robin asked, worriedly lacing his fingers together. "What if the judge calls the mayor? My wife is the mayor. She won't stand for any of our shenanigans. She might even divorce me."

Killian bit back a laugh and waited for the judge to enter the makeshift court room that served as city council chambers, a storm shelter, and the senior citizen game room when court was not in session. However, instead of the kindly old man with attention deficit disorder, there appeared a middle aged woman with a severe bob haircut shuffling through a stack of papers on her table.

Being in court was not an unusual circumstance for the two, who had become well acquainted with the small town legal system of Storybrooke, Maine. But never had they appeared before anyone but Judge Cleary. Still Killian knew the drill and had a few public drunkenness charges, both dropped now, but it seemed this time his luck may have run out.

"Mr. Jones," the woman said, her voice as severe and cold as the blunt cut of her hair. "Do you care to explain yourself?"

His automatic answer was no, as who really wanted to explain why they had gotten so drunk that they decided to break into a library to settle a bet with a friend. However, he straightened himself up to standing and locked his gaze on the steely eyed woman. It was worth a shot, he thought, immediately flashing his best and most contrite smile. "Well, love, I'd be remiss to do so without first welcoming you. I don't believe I've seen you here before."

The woman was not amused, slamming her hand down on the table instead of a gavel. "Judge Cleary has taken a leave of absence, Mr. Jones. While you may not know me, I do know you. I've been acquainted with both your reputation and your record for some time. So let's dispense with the niceties and get on with this hearing. I suspect that you plan to speak for both yourself and Mr. Locksley?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, dropping the charming and flirtatious tone and smile from view. "My friend and I here had been celebrating another World Cup victory at the Rabbit Hole and got into a bit of row over the scoring record of one of the teams. Being inebriated as we were, we were unable to restrain ourselves from settling the issue and proceeded to the library to find the article in question that would resolve this deliberation. The library had just closed and we were unable to contain our voracious appetite for knowledge so we forced our way into the building."

The judge looked over the rim of her half glasses at the two, Robin nodding in agreement of his friend's assessment of the activities.

"So you are admitting to public drunkenness, breaking and entering, and destruction of public property?" the woman asked pointedly.

The two men eyed the floor as the words washed over them, realizing that this time was not going to be as easy as before to push their way out of the charges and celebrate with a beer and a laugh about how they had dodged another bullet.

"You are hereby sentenced to community service," the woman said to them. "You two seem to like soccer so much that I think I've got a special assignment just for you. Welcome to the world of youth soccer, gentlemen. You two are the coaches of the red team and the blue team four to six year olds. I do hope you have a winning season."

***AAA***

Emma nosed her car into the parking lot of the Storybrooke Parks and Recreation Center and found one of the few remaining spots not bulging with a minivan. Henry barely waited till she'd stopped before throwing open his door and tumbling out, dragging his sports bag behind him.

"Hey! Watch the door!" Emma called to him as she climbed out of the driver's seat.

"What?"

"You're smashing it into that…minivan thing there." She smiled to ease the pinch of annoyance she felt tugging at her lips.

"Oh, sorry," Henry called over his shoulder as he bolted out to the field to join the team. This was certainly a change from a few days ago when he had whined through a dinner or two over his bad luck in having to help assist a coachless team. He was now bounding with energy and ready to show both the coach and the young players just how much he knew about the game. Emma was pretty sure it had to do with the fact that Paige had asked to talk to him twice at lunch to ask about a few of the rules and even offered to have him over to her dad's house to watch Youtube videos of some of the most famous games.

Emma sighed and watched him cavort across the parking lot, all elbows and coltish legs. A little more every day, he reminded her of his father, Neal. It had been just two years this month since his father had been killed in an accident. While she and Neal had long before ended their relationship, she did miss him and certainly missed the other parent for Henry.

Now, more than ever. Neal would know how to talk to him about girls and sports and all that boy stuff that was coming down the pike like an ominous hormonal storm brewing out of control. But he was gone, and she was here.

Gazing out over the field she couldn't help but expect a scene from Norman Rockwell, but what she saw had gone somehow seriously wrong. Old Norm would have rolled over in his grave to see such a scene.

Just ahead of them was Killian Jones, a man Emma knew by reputation if not through his frequent run-ins with the law. He too was shifting his gaze over his team, sizing them up as he mentally made notes.

For the highlights there was skinny Amelia who walked everywhere on her toes, ballerina style, Jimmy, the hyperactive boy who was now busily climbing the chain-link fence. Caitlyn was a plump, fair-haired little baby with a fear of balls. There were twin boys, Claude and Jean-Paul who spoke only French, and only to each other. Then there was Katie, her nose permanently buried in a book, and last, but certainly not least, a dark haired little boy who Killian knew was his friend's son – Roland Locksley. The league had put in a rule that no children should be on a team their parents' coached.

The kids were bad enough, but their parents were treating this as if it was a garden party. Regina Mills-Locksley was sitting primly on the bottom of the bleachers with a phone in one hand and the other writing furiously on a notepad. There was a very pregnant Belle Gold, Katie's mother, who had her own book she was reading while she ate pickles from a jar the size of his head. He did not recognize the others, but they were clearly going to be a problem. One mother chased Jimmy with a handkerchief to blow his nose and then there was the father of Amelia who snapped photos of every balletic move the girl made. Milk of Magnesia on the rocks was rapidly becoming his drink of choice.

Killian fished a pair of sunglasses from his pocket to shield his eyes from the stunning glory of this perfect day. The parents were arriving in hoards and climbing into the stands. He signalled the team to join him on their side of the field and hoped a little athletic discipline would help the situation. He was not an optimistic man.

"…and so," Killian told the rag tag crew, exhausted from trying to capture and keep the kids' limited attention spans, "If we are ever to win a game, you lads and lasses will have to work as you've never worked before. I'm going to be drilling you till you drop."

Out of the corner of his eye, he sensed a woman edging his way, and he frowned. Not that he minded a beautiful blonde approaching, mind you, but clearly by that parental purse to her lips he could tell that she was here to interfere. There was nothing Killian hated more than interfering soccer league parents. He'd ignore her. That usually worked.

"Uh, excuse me."

When he turned around to give her the curt send-off, he drew up short and promptly forgot what he was about to say. Wow. The blonde woman looked familiar and he realized why – this was Sheriff Swan. He'd been locked in her handcuffs a few times and received more than a few speeding tickets in her perfect penmanship. He didn't recall seeing her at the first practice, but that was because she was the mother of his assistant – Hank or Henry or something or other. Whoever she was he watched her full lips purse and the twinkle in her bright eyes that spelled trouble.

Killian cleared his throat and gripped his clipboard in an effort to look the part of a professional soccer coach. "Hello."

"Hi. I just heard what you said about running the kids until they drop, and I don't think that is such a good idea."

Suddenly, Killian didn't care that this woman had legs seemed longer than a mile or that she probably had the most enchanting body he'd ever seen under the sweater that clung to her curves perfectly. "And why not?" he asked, reigning in his temper.

"Because about half of your team has asthma. I have seen two of them in the hospital with it just this past month."

"So? Exercise has been known to help make asthma better," he argued.

"Maybe. But I don't want you…" she drew air quotes "…'drilling them till they drop' today."

Killian screwed his face into an irritated wad. Lowering his voice he gripped Emma by the arm and moved her from the curious ears of the children. "If they are such delicate creatures that they can't even play the game, what the hell are they doing out here on my team, love?"

Emma lowered her voice to a menacing whisper and growled back, "I'll thank you not to me love."

Killian snorted inelegantly. He'd had it with these overbearing parents and guardians. Did they want a coach or not? Community service requirement or not, he was sick to death of their whining. "Look, love, I've had a little experience with sports, okay? I promise they'll live to see the end of the day. So why don't you just go back to your seat and let me handle the kids. I don't need a bunch of uptight mother hens hovering over the chicks."

Emma gasped and stared agog. "Why, I'll have you know that I am not an idiot when it comes to children or sports…And I told you to stop referring to me as love. It's demeaning."

"Listen, love, I've got a job to do here, and I don't intend to take a lot of bollocks from the parents. Starting with you. Do I make myself clear?"