Modern day A/U Downton story.

While working on my other two stories, Last Year of Innocence and The Rightful Heir, I thought that I would share this little story that's been hanging out on my hard drive for almost a year now. It's a modern day Mary/Matthew story set at Cornell University where Matthew is a student. Robert is the head coach of Cornell's hockey team. I've taken some liberties with ages and with Olympic history, so please don't try to match the events in this story to actual historical Olympic athletes and events. My knowledge of hockey it a bit limited, so please forgive any accidental mistakes on terms and expressions. On those notes, I'm not a native English speaker and this story has not been betaed. I've done my best to catch any spelling and/or grammar mistakes.

Enjoy!

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Chapter 1 – The Tryouts

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Fifteen year old Mary Crawley glanced up at the large clock on the wall across from where she was standing. She had ten minutes. Letting out a sigh she carefully stepped onto the rubber mat leading to the rink.

"What do you mean we can't go on the ice?"

Matthew glared at his friend William who just shrugged.

"That's what coach said. We're to wait a bit. Someone girl is booked."

Matthew looked up from tying his skates. "What? Who?" William shrugged. Matthew got up and stepped closer to the opening to the ice. "Some ice princess, I bet," he muttered loudly.

"I can assure you that I'm no princess," a chilly voice said behind him.

Matthew turned around, almost tripping over his skates. "What? Who the…"

Her eyes narrowed dangerously and he closed his mouth. Without another word, she dropped her hoodie on the bench and removed the protective covers on her skates. Matthew jus stared at her. A moment later, she stepped onto the ice and music started playing. He followed her graceful figure as she glided across the ice to the music.

"So you've met her then?"

Matthew jumped at the question posed in a distinctly Irish brogue followed by a chuckle assaulted his ears.

"Who is she?"

"You don't know?" Tom Branson's eyes widened as they looked at each other.

"I've never met her in my life."

"That's Mary Crawley."

Matthew's eyes grew large and he turned his eyes back onto the ice. She was coming towards them as she prepared for a jump which she executed perfectly. He groaned and sat down on the bench, his hockey gear creaking and protesting. Resting his head in his hands he saw his whole future go down the drain.

"I'm screwed."

Tom pounded Matthew's back in an attempt to show his sympathy. "Perhaps she won't mention you to her da?"

"Why wouldn't she?" Matthew muttered darkly. "I'm sure she's a daddy's girl."

"As a matter of fact I am."

Matthew felt like crying. Wincing he looked up out of the corner of his eye. Yep, she was standing there in all her graceful glory. Her long dark hair in a thick braid rested against her lavender colored outfit, and her slender legs in tan tights appeared to go on forever. His head snapped up when he realized that he was checking her out.

"Are you done?" The iciness was back in her voice.

"I'm so sorry…"

The glare she gave him could have made grown men cry. Matthew just found himself frozen in place.

"Mary?"

"Coming, Elsie."

The Scottish voice behind him brought Matthew out of his frozen state. A middle aged woman was coming towards them.

"The car is here, Mary. We better hurry." She draped a coat over Mary's shoulders before grabbing Mary's hoodie. "You know how your father detests this thing."

Mary rolled her eyes. "Yes Elsie."

Matthew realized by how the woman was helping Mary that she must be her coach.

"None of that, my dear," Elsie said with a chuckle. She pulled Mary's braid free and tucked the coat tighter around her charge. "You did well."

"Thank you."

Matthew just stared at them, hoping that perhaps if he stayed quiet that they might forget about him. Luck was unfortunately not on his side this afternoon. As Mary turned to leave, she looked over her shoulder at him.

"The ice is yours. I would suggest making the best out of it. My father is a very good judge of both character and skill."

Matthew just gaped, not sure what to say. A moment later she was gone. As her words sank in, he realized the insult in them and he started fuming, muttering curses under his breath.

"He's here."

Matthew did no need to ask William who 'he' was. There was only one person William could be referring to, Robert Crawley, head hockey coach at Cornell University, and the person holding Matthew's future in his hands on this damnable day.

"Get your sorry asses on the ice – now!"

Coach's order made all the boys snap on their helmets and one by one they entered the ice, wearing their game jerseys. Matthew's had his number twelve and Crawley on the back of it, something which he now realized that Mary ice princess Crawley must have noticed. With a last groan at the unfortunate incident, he pushed all thoughts of her out of his head. Now was not the time for distraction. It was time to focus. Time to play hockey like he had never played before.

~ ~ ~ o ~ ~ ~

Robert Crawley leaned against the Plexiglas wall behind him. He and Bates were in the visiting team's box, watching yet another round of eager high school seniors show off their skills on the ice in hopes of a scholarship to Cornell. This was the fourth school in as many days and Robert longed to be back home. He missed his wife and his team, and perhaps most of all, his dog.

"That Branson boy has potential," Bates said in a low voice next to him.

"Hmm?" Robert shook his head to clear his thoughts. After all he had a job to do.

"Number eight, Thomas Branson. Irish exchange student." Bates picked up his file with the players' bios and application summaries. "Interest in political science."

"Put him down as a maybe." He watched for a moment as the players passed and parried, now and then bouncing off the sides quite loudly. "Who's their lead goal player?"

"A Matthew Crawley."

"Crawley?" Robert looked straight at Bates for the first time, waiting for the assistant coach to explain the coincidence with the name.

"Yes, Crawley."

"Are we related?" He waved towards the folder on Bates' lap. "Anything in there say something?"

Bates shook his head. "Nothing more than that he's English. From Manchester."

"Manchester?" Robert exclaimed, rolling his eyes. "Then I highly doubt that we're related. None of the Crawleys on my side would ever settle in Manchester."

"His father was a doctor…"

"Was?" Robert instantly turned serious. "His father's dead?" Bates nodded. Robert let out a heavy sigh and ran his hand over his head. "Poor lad."

The two recruiters followed Matthew's number twelve as he moved across the ice, carefully and strategically passing to his team mates before eventually scoring a goal. Bates looked at Robert and he shrugged.

"The boy's got potential."

~ ~ ~ o ~ ~ ~

Mary leaned back in her seat in the warm car. Elsie had finally stopped fussing over her and Mary, now dressed in warm cover-ups and Uggs, had curled up for the ride back to the hotel. As she fished out her phone from her pocket, she texted her best friend Anna, not caring that it was almost midnight and a school night in England. That obnoxious hockey player still had her riled up. Who the hell did he think he was? She huffed when Anna texted back laughing at Mary having been called an ice princess.

"Is everything all right, dear?"

"Yes, Elsie," Mary said politely. Of all the adults in her life, Elsie Hughes was probably the one Mary held in the highest regard, with only one exception.

When Elsie had first become Mary's coach, she had put down a series of very strict rules for the at the time twelve year old girl. Set bedtimes, regular and healthy meals, and no boys and parties. Mary had protested profusely, calling Elsie an old cow who knew nothing. She had even fired Elsie, something she was quite aware that she had no real power to do, but it still felt good to say the words. Eventually Mary had conceded, and slowly a bond had started to establish itself between the two. The real truth was that Mary would never have made it to the World Juniors without Elsie's strict coaching and creative mind. And now she was so close to the Europeans that she could taste it. Mary wanted a gold, and she wanted it badly. Perhaps she would even make it to the Olympics someday. Following in her father's footsteps, even if it was not hockey, was something she had aspired to since she was very young.

Mary knew that her father loved her, but she also knew that he lived and breathed hockey. She had never had any interest in the game, but she had loved skating ever since her father taught her at the tender age of two.

~ ~ ~ o ~ ~ ~

Matthew flopped down on his bed, letting out a loud groan. He had pushed himself harder than usual today and he could tell that he would pay for it tomorrow. Running his fingers through his still damp hair, pushing it out of his eyes, he re-played the game in his head.

"Oi, Crawley, you awake, mate?"

"Shut it, Tom. I'm knackerd."

Tom chuckled and sat down on his bed across from Matthew's, resting his arms on his knees as he looked at his roommate.

"You did well."

"What does it matter?"

"Pitty party of one. Crawley, party of one!" Tom laughed and shook his head.

Matthew tossed his pillow at Tom who caught it with ease. Annoyed at not even being able to hit his annoying best friend with a pillow, Matthew continued sulking.

"I was rude to his daughter, Tom." Matthew shot Tom a quick glance before letting out another groan, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Once she tells him, I'm dead."

"Perhaps she won't."

"Of course she will," Matthew snapped.

"I don't know, but let's say that she will," Tom said with a shrug. "I don't think that he will be swayed by that."

"You know what he looks for in his players, Tom," Matthew said with a tired sigh. "He wants respect, politeness and smarts. Just being able to play hockey is not enough."

"You did great today, mate." Tom grinned and tossed the pillow back at Matthew. "At least you didn't go arse over tit on the ice."

"Tom!"

"Though I think you did look at her tits." Tom laughed harder at Matthew's blushing face. "I know you did. So did she."

"That's all I needed," Matthew groaned and flopped down on the bed again. "I'm double dead. I not only insulted his daughter, I also checked her out."

"Cheer up, mate. What girl will willingly tell her da that a good looking bloke checked her out?"

"I don't think she thinks very highly of me at the moment. She'd probably call me a creep."

"You're eighteen, mate, and she's fifteen I think. That hardly makes you a creep."

"She's fifteen?" Matthew opened one eye and looked suspiciously at Tom. He nodded. "Shit! I thought she was older."

"She's not a child, Matty."

"Don't call me that. You know I hate it when you do. And yes, fifteen is a child."

"Did she look and sound like a child to you?"

Matthew made a face. In fact, Mary had sounded much older. "No, but it doesn't matter. She's fifteen. End of story."

"With boobs."

"Shut it!"

Matthew groaned and pulled the duvet over his head. "Go torture someone else, you daft bugger."

"Couldn't hear ya' there, Matty boy," Tom said cheerfully. "Sweet dreams, lover boy. Hope you dream about your ice princess."

Some very colorful cursing, barely muffled by the duvet, was Matthew's only answer.

~ ~ ~ o ~ ~ ~

Robert stared at the papers spread out on the coffee table in front of him. Young and hopeful faces smiled up at him from the boys' applications. None of them seemed familiar since he had only seen them in their hockey gear, all covered from head to toe. Across from him, Bates shifted in his chair. It was two in the morning and they still had to make their selection for tomorrow's interviews.

"The Mason boy is in," Robert said and moved William's page to the 'to be interviewed' pile.

"Agreed." Bates looked up as Robert cursed, having dropped some mustard on a page when picking up his sandwich. "Who's that? I'd say that one's selected too. By fate."

Robert rolled his eyes as he finished chewing. Putting down his sandwich, he picked up the page, wiping off the mustard in the process.

"Matthew Crawley."

"See? Fate, I tell you."

"Law and real estate," Robert read as he skimmed through Matthew's application. "Alright, let's give him a shot."

"What about the Irish boy?"

"The one who's on a full scholarship right now?"

"Yes."

Robert carefully read through Tom Branson's file. "Interest in politics, debate team… defended Sin Fein?!" He looked up, staring at Bates. "Are you out of your mind? The lad is borderline a terrorist!"

"Of course not," Bates said and rolled his eyes. "It was a debate topic, nothing more."

"Are you sure about that? With his interest in politics and plan to pick political science as a major, he might be."

"What about when Sybil poured paint over Lady Flintshire's fur coat last Christmas, screaming about animal rights and calling Susan a murderer? Does that make her a terrorist?"

Robert smiled, remembering his ten year old daughter's passionate defense of animal rights and how she had argued with Susan.

"She's nine, Bates." He made a face. "I remember the incident costing me a fair chunk of money to get that damn fur coat properly cleaned."

"Maybe you should let Sybil interview this Branson fellow?"

"Perhaps I should, but unfortunately, as you very well know, Sybil is in England."

"So, is Branson in or not?"

Robert sighed and handed the page to Bates. "You decide."

To be continued…