AN: So this is a world cup soccer (football) and Star Trek 2009 crossover. Don't know how that happened, but I think it's spdfg's fault. She writes amazing soccer fic.

Warnings for SLASH of the K/S variety (mild and non explicit), and for violence and swearing. There will be angst, possibly melodrama. You've been warned. Also, much fluffier than my normal. Hope you like.

I'm thinking this will be about three or four parts long. And it'll be up quick, cause it's writing itself.

This is in honor of world cup and spdfg, who inspired me to write star trek/soccer fic, which I have apparently been desperately craving. Who knew? There will be more author notes at the end.

With sincere and incredible thanks to 1lostone, who has been kind enough to deal with my crap and beta this for me.

Spock watched the captain nervously. The man was pacing in a way that Spock did not like. Kirk seldom, if ever, displayed any visible sign of nerves. He was always keyed up and excited, bubbly and bouncing before a match. He was never...like this. Spock was willing to grant that this was Kirk's first world cup, and he was playing this first, opening match as captain, a feat heretofore unheard of in soccer history.

Kirk was also the youngest captain, ever, to wear the hallowed blue and gold. They were playing in gold today. It suited Kirk. Everyone enjoyed seeing Kirk in blue, reflecting at length on the almost supernatural color of his eyes. But for some reason Spock felt that Kirk just looked...right in gold.

As though Kirk had felt his eyes, he looked up from his restless pacing. "Alright, Spock?"

"Yes, Captain, I was merely observing your behavior. You are not normally prone to nerves."

Kirk's reply was distracted, weary. "It's Jim, Spock, call me Jim. We've been through this."

Spock nodded and could not help but notice that Kirk did not answer his question as he resumed his pacing.

Kirk stopped his walk to look at Spock. "It's just...these guys are the last team my dad played against."

And there. That answered it for Spock. He reached out a tentative hand and placed it on Kirk's shoulder. Kirk simply nodded at him.

Theirs was an unlikely friendship. Kirk was a striker. It suited his temperament. He thrived on energy and daring, on impulse and sheer audacity. Spock was not like Kirk. Spock's world was that of a goalie, carefully constructed of walls of defense and logical play, all focused in math, dependent on an incredible knowledge of angle and trajectory.

They had, at first, come together mostly out of necessity. It hadn't been an auspicious start between them. Actually they'd hated each other. They had first met on opposing sides of a club match where Kirk had scored on and fouled Spock in a very controversial way, and then had gone on to win the win the match for his team despite being injured himself. Spock had argued the goal, and had disliked Kirk's exuberant showboating, while Kirk had despised the arrogance of the ice cold goalie.

But come together, they had. At some point after having been picked to play for their national side, they had come to a truce. And if it was not an epic friendship, well, perhaps, it had not been meant to be.

But hours of daily practice far from home can change a man's opinion of his colleagues, and so had it been with Spock. Kirk was a gorgeous golden ball of energy and daring. He gave everything of himself to every practice, retaining nothing for himself. And while Spock would, perhaps, have chosen a different tactic, he could not help but be impressed by the other man's commitment. Neither could Spock deny the other man's brilliance. Kirk saw opportunities where others did not, saw holes in defenses where others saw walls. But Spock often wondered if, some of the times that Kirk scored, whether he did so because the others could not take their eyes off him long enough to watch the direction of the ball. And everything Kirk did, he did with a brilliant, beaming smile on his face.

Almost everyone thought they knew him. The bright beaming smile and energy and the endless reveling. Yes, everyone thought they knew Jim Kirk. And yet, he was different from what the world knew of the famous footballer. He was quieter, somehow, in person. Reserved. And while he was unfailingly generous to everyone, and gave extensively of himself, he gave almost nothing of his past. None of the team even seemed to know when or how he'd been scouted. Kirk's father had been a footballer too, but he had been killed during the final match of the world cup, twenty-six years earlier, just after kicking the game winning goal; George Kirk had been kicked in the chest by an opposing player. The other fellow, Nero, had been red carded off the field and suspended from several games of FIFA play. But the damage had been done. The senior Kirk had never gotten up from that hit. Ironically, that had been the day of Jim's birth. Jim's mother had been unable to watch the match as she was giving birth to him. It was something Kirk never spoke about, mysteriously turning deaf and leaving the room if the question of his father or his family's footballing legacy ever came up.

So while everyone knew about his father, no one knew anything else about his family, other than the fact that no one ever came to watch him play. Spock didn't know if Jim even had any family. The man was often alone. Kirk had brought dates to watch his games, had brought hundreds of them, in fact, if not more, but never the same one twice. Spock had often wondered if the other man was lonely. When Kirk was alone and out of uniform, he often seemed smaller, somehow more vulnerable and infinitely more breakable than he ever seemed on the pitch.

It was with that in mind that one afternoon Spock had found himself inviting his former nemesis to tea. Kirk had raised an eyebrow at him and then accepted. Spock thought privately that there may have been something more genuine about the gentle upward quirk of Kirk's lips than there ever was in his cart-wheeling goal celebrations.

Spock had nodded his acknowledgment of Kirk's acceptance and the two of them went out for hot beverages. Kirk changed his tea to coffee, while the goalie had tea. There was a chess board set up amongst the chairs at the tiny coffee house, and the two had discovered an instant mutual connection. Kirk had, much to Spock's surprise, thoroughly trounced the goal keeper in their game. A most unexpected outcome. But to soften the blow, Kirk admitted to having not meant to foul Spock in their first meeting, and though Spock still had his doubts about this, Spock had accepted the apology.

For some reason, Kirk seemed to find solace in his company, though Spock could not say why. Spock had been raised as though he was minor royalty (which in fact, he was) by his father (grand-nephew to the queen) who was actually their county's ambassador to the United Nations, and therefore very concerned with propriety. While Spock had had no doubt of his parents' love, the they had often been awkward about expressing it. Spock considered himself shy, and socially awkward. He was reserved in every way, a direct foil to Kirk's bright exuberance. But Kirk didn't seem to mind. They talked as though they were old friends.

A month later, the two of them were nearly inseparable, and rarely seen out of each other's company. It had been the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Spock's hand on his shoulder had done little toward calming Kirk's jangling nerves. Spock could see that. The other man was anxious to play, Spock could see that. Kirk always did better when he could run. They made the trek up from the locker rooms to the field in relative silence, Kirk never lifting his head from his feet. Spock could tell that the captain's actions were worrying to the rest of their team. Spock was Kirk's second, and took over the captaincy whenever Kirk was too injured to complete the game. That happened with surprising frequency.

Spock followed closely behind his younger captain, always slightly to the left and never more than step behind. He walked so closely that his chest often bumped into Kirk's shoulder blade. But neither of them minded. In fact, it happened with such surprising frequency that Spock thought Kirk may have ceased to notice it all together. It was no different on this walk.

Kirk's lack of ebullience had been noted by every member of the team, a great many of whom were sending uncomfortable glances in Spock's direction. Sulu and Chekov, their midfielders, were looking decidedly rattled. It was not a morning upon which any of them wished to open a game at anything less than one hundred percent.

Spock placed his hand back on the man's shoulder, and whispered, "Jim. Look to your team."

Kirk looked in surprise at the anxious faces around him and offered them a beaming a smile. "Sorry, guys, somewhere else."

Chekov beamed at Kirk then. The little Russian was the youngest player on the team, and he worshiped Kirk. "Is all right."

Sulu tossed them a fond exasperated look, saying "Don't go too far, Cap, we'll need you on THIS field today, not off in outer space again, or wherever else it is you go when you zone out." And with that he crashed his shoulder into Kirk's, who was then knocked back into Spock.

Spock steadied him and set him carefully back on his feet. But Kirk was already smiling. He shook his head and joked playfully. "Geez, Hikaru. I get no respect. Really, I should never have saved your life."

Kirk had dived in front of an onrushing car and dragged Sulu out of the way, and had nearly been hit himself. Kirk had absolutely no regard for his own physical safety. It was a source of much consternation to their management as well as the rest of the team. But that incident had been just after their first game together, and it had thoroughly cemented the friendship between the two young men.

Sulu smirked back at Kirk. "Yeah, pretty stupid of you. You could have saved the life of some other midfielder, you know, one who actually respects you."

Kirk laughed. "Yeah, coulda, woulda, shoulda. But I saved your sorry ass, and now I'll never be rid of you."

Spock had always envied Kirk this. This strange ability to lighten the mood with teasing words. Spock had never had it, never even understood it. But he knew that Kirk had it, and he envied his friend's ability.

Sulu's expression took on a more thoughtful note, and he bit his lip and looked down, shyly looking back up at Kirk. "Thanks."

Kirk nodded. "It was life worth saving, Sulu. Plus, I mean, your legs are lethal, man. If I hadn't a saved you, I'd just have to find some other midfielder to play on my team, and you know how much I hate interviewing people."

And Sulu laughed at him. And this time, the smile reached Kirk's eyes.

They are today playing only one striker: Kirk. Spock understood the necessity of playing a defensive game today, but he found himself wishing his friend would not be so exposed. Kirk always took a number of fouls as he blindly threw himself into the fray. Spock admired his captain's style of a play, but sincerely wished the man would take fewer risks. For he was smaller in size than most and often went down harder than anyone expected. He was exquisitely formed, there was no denying that. His musculature was optimal But compared to most people, most fans, even, he was ...average sized. Kirk was a full head shorter than anyone else on the team. Upon meeting him most everyone said that they thought he'd be taller. Chekov and Sulu often joked that they must have expected the size of his character because on the field, Kirk was larger than life. He was just...better than anyone else. And then there were his exuberant victory celebrations. Everything he did, he did with a brilliant, beaming smile on his face. And no one could look away from him, Spock included.

Spock had lately begun to have doubts about these feelings that he was having for the other man. He doubted that what he truly wanted from Kirk was the platonic friendship they had been enjoying for the last year. But Spock was not certain of himself or of these new feelings, and his normal reserve led him away from the possibility of mentioning his thoughts to Kirk. He could not risk the other man's friendship.

Christopher Pike, their coach, seemed to noticed Spock's distraction and jogged over. "You all right, Spock?"

"Affirmative." Spock's response was characteristically terse. But Pike would have expected that, as Pike knew Spock very well. Pike had been a long friend of Spock's family, and life-long footballer. He had actually played on that world championship team with George Kirk, though he had only been a rookie at the time. But his subsequent fame meant that he had been a frequent guest at Spock's home. So he knew Spock well. It was he who had first encouraged Spock to play professionally. And though Spock's father had initially disapproved, Spock's mother had supported him fully, as she always did, and argued to his father that it would be illogical for Spock to waste the gifts he had been given. As was typical in their household, her arguments prevailed upon her husband and he had surrendered gracefully.

Pike eyed him, and said, "Just make sure you concentrate. Focus. These guys are gonna be rough."

Pike would know. He had playing this team when he received a debilitating injury that had forced him off the field and onto the sidelines. Spock sometimes wondered if it pained Pike to watch his team play when he could not, but if it did, Pike never showed it.

Pike looked him over again. "Spock, they're playing Nero in today."

Spock looked up sharply. "Indeed."

"Yeah." Pike nodded.

Nero had been responsible for both George Kirk's and Pike's injuries. He also had quite a vendetta against Spock and his family. After the injury to Christopher Pike, Spock had spoken to his father about Nero's repeated brutality, and the rumors of his possible ties to terrorism. Sarek, as the UN ambassador, looked into those concerns, and had in turn, spoken to the head of FIFA, and Nero had been banned from the sport for several years. For some reason, Nero blamed Spock for this and not his father. He had been very vocal and disparaging in the press about how Spock and his family ruined Nero's career and destroyed his family (Nero's wife had left him over the affair). As far as Spock knew, this was the first game in which Nero would be participating for nearly a decade.

Spock nodded. "I will take appropriate precautions."

Pike cuffed him over the shoulder. "Good man."

"Sir, I would recommend you inform both the captain and the defenders as well." Pike rolled his eyes at Spock's affected formality, but did not comment on it.

"Yeah, I'll go tell Jimmy now."

Spock watched the coach walk to where the captain was seated, stretching out in the grass. Pike offered Kirk a hand and the younger man took it, standing up. Pike placed his hands on the other man's shoulders. Whatever Pike said, it drained all the color from Kirk's face. Pike moved his hands from Kirk's shoulders to the sides of his face, and whispered something else.

Kirk nodded stoically, and something intangible came back to him then, and he straightened his shoulders and raised his head. He nodded once more, this time meeting Pike's eyes. Pike smiled and cuffed him round the back of his head. And then Pike moved off, presumably to warn the team's remaining players.

Kirk shut his eyes, obviously steadying himself, and then opened them again, and looked around. His eyes met Spock's and he jogged over to where Spock was inspecting his goal.

"Hey, Spock."

Spock nodded. "Jim. I presume Mr. Pike has informed you of our opponent?"

Kirk jumped around, fidgeting and running in place. "Yeah."

The two men were quiet for a moment before Spock reached out a hand to Kirk's shoulder. The motion stilled Kirk and he actually stopped moving to look into Spock's eyes, placing his own hand over Spock's.

Spock drew in a deep breath, and said, "Jim, I would ask that you exercise extreme caution today."

Jim nodded. "I'll try, Spock, but I really want to beat these guys."

"I know, captain, but ..." Spock could not, should not continue to speak.

This time, Jim reached for Spock's shoulder. "What is it, Spock?"

"I dislike seeing you injured, Jim." Spock turned away from his friend.

Jim's voice took a teasing quality. "Aw, Spock, didn't know you cared."

Spock still did not turn back to Jim. He spoke quietly, eyes on the pitch. "It compromises me." Something in Spock's voice broke as he said it.

"Hey," Kirk's hand was on his arm, pulling him back. "Hey, Spock. Spock, it's okay. It's going to be okay. I'll be careful, I promise."

Spock nodded, not looking at Kirk, who by now was holding both his arms.

"Hey Spock, look at me." Spock reluctantly looked up. "It's okay. Okay? Hey, let's go out to dinner tonight. Just you and me."

Spock nodded. "We often partake in a meal after matches, Jim."

"Yeah, but this is different. There's...something I want to talk to you about." Kirk looked uncharacteristically hesitant, as though he were asking something against his better judgment.

Spock nodded, "I will meet you for dinner, Jim."

For some reason that simple response caused a reaction in Kirk that Spock would not have previously anticipated. A smile like a breaking sunrise burst through the previously stormy features of Kirk's face. "Yeah?"

Spock was left momentarily breathless. "Yes, Jim." He gave the other man a small indulgent smile.

And Spock was surprised to find that Kirk's smile could, in fact grow wider. "Great." And then Jim let him go, to do a cartwheel and a flip, one of Jim's customary goal scoring celebrations.

Spock watched him go, wondering what he had said to cheer the captain up so greatly.

Thirty minutes later, Spock had little reason to smile. It was a horrifically dirty game. The first foul had occurred less than one minute into the forty-five minute period. And then it got worse from there. Either side had yet to score a goal. The only bright spot was that Kirk had only been fouled once. And though the team captain was walking with an obvious limp, he was still on his on feet.

A few moments before, Spock had deflected one of Nero's goal attempts and Nero had been supremely angry about it. He got right into Spock's face and whispered, "I will make your world collapse around you. You are going to lose everything."

Spock had blanched at the comment, and the referee had separated them. Kirk met his eyes across the field, cocked his head, and waved. Spock nodded to him and Kirk looked reassured that Nero had caused no harm to his friend.

But the incident must have left some sort of mark on Kirk, because with ten minutes left to go in the first half, Kirk managed a steal and ran the ball to the other team's goal, burying the ball in the net with a back-flipping kick, drawling first blood. Kirk's celebration was buoyant, and the team quickly buried him under a mountain of joyous exhalations. Spock, at the other end of the pitch, dropped to his knees and raised his fist in quiet joy.

But then Kirk was up and out from the huddle quickly, sprinting the length of the field to hug Spock. Spock, who had once withdrawn from this kind of contact, accepted the whirling, golden, tornado of energy into his arms with practiced ease, marveling at the perfect fit of Kirk's head beneath his chin.

"I did it, Spock." And Spock felt Kirk's smile against his neck, and pulled the striker a little tighter.

"Yes, captain. You did." Spock whispered the words fondly against his captain's golden head.

Kirk was filthy; they both were, covered in dirt and sweat from running for nearly an hour, but Spock did not care at all.

As they resumed playing, Spock could see the anger in the other team. If it was possible the game got even more nasty. Less than two minutes after Kirk's goal, Spock himself was fouled, this time by Ayel, a nasty piece of work that played forward for Nero's team. It was a bad foul, a late hit to the back of Spock's left knee, but somehow the goalie had held onto the ball. Ayel received a yellow card, and Spock's team would get a free kick.

Spock rolled to his feet, panting, attempting to seek out his friend's bright face, to alleviate Kirk's worries. But Spock couldn't see Kirk. Spock started frantically scanning the pitch.

His heart stopped in his chest.

Kirk was laying sprawled in the grass. Facedown. Unmoving. Looking eerily reminiscent of his father all those years ago.

Nero was right.

Spock's world collapsed around him.

Please review. I like reviews.

Yeah, sorry, I'm not dead. I'm moving. And I work two jobs and its just hard to find the time to post. There's more info on the profile, but thanks for putting up with me.

EDIT. So...I broke my hand, and updates will be sporadic. Also for some reason, keeps telling me that this story only has one chapter. Not true. I put the second one up two days ago. Don't know what to tell you guys.