~Emma Swan~
As the music swells, her green eyes narrows in concentration. She takes a deep breath, this is the big moment. The one she's never been able to stick. She starts sprinting before she loses the nerve, jumps, twists twice through the air, and somersaults forward once. Or she tries to. Before she finishes the somersault, her feet finds ground and slide out from under her. Her head slams against the floor. She's grateful for the mat, but it still hurts like hell. Her ears are ringing and her head is throbbing.
The melody finishes with a flourish. It taunts her. Because landing on your ass is not a flourish at all. It's a failure. It's like the songs that just die out towards the end. She stays on the ground, staring up at the gym lights. They flicker. She sighs, maybe her coach had been right. She really couldn't bounce back from that injury. Her legs lack the strength they used to possess, she couldn't get enough air time now to complete her sequences.
Her leg never fully healed after that accident. It is still weak, it buckles on occasion, and sometimes a crippling pain would cause her to fall on the ground, squeezing back tears of tortured agony. Her coach had finally told her to leave the class, saying that he would no longer teach her. That she should give up.
She couldn't though, this was what she spent her entire life training for. Every single day after school, from the time she was seven. So even though her head is pounding and her left leg is starting to prickle, she ignores the signs. She stands up and walks over to the CD player- she's not limping, of course she isn't, not limping at all- and hits rewind. Then play. She tries again.
~Killian Jones~
He hears the eerie music coming from behind one of the closed doors. It is beautiful and haunting. Inside the room, the lights are dim, there is a blue mat on the floor. A girl is leaping and bounding over the mattress, dainty and graceful. She is wearing a red sports bra paired with a pair of black shorts. She pirouettes, then goes straight into a forward layout. Her right foot steps forward as her spine curves over, followed by her left leg, then finally her head. Blonde hair is tied into a bun, stray strands escaping the hair tie, sticking to her flushed and sweaty face.
That's her all right. It's Emma Swan. She seems to be concentrating though, so he can't find it in himself to interrupt her. She's just like he remembered. She's older now and has lost that teenagery appearance, but her movement is the same. Killian recognizes her in the way she steps over the mat, the briefest hesitation before each run, and the way she bites at her lower lip upon completing each tumbling pass as if she were trying to keep back a triumphant smile.
He stays hidden in the shadows, watching silently, feeling almost as breathless as she looks. He has to resist gasping when she twists through the air and cheering when she sticks the landing. She seems to be doing great. Except on the last one. She doesn't get nearly as much air with this one as her previous tumbles (maybe it's just tiredness), but he has to resist rushing out when her head hits the ground with a sickening thud.
He knows that popping out of thin air will probably cause her to freak out, or get angry at him for spying on her. So he cranes his neck slightly, sighing in relief as she clambers back to her feet. His eyes narrow when she starts the music over again, surely she shouldn't be trying again this soon! She had to rest and take a break. Who was he to say anything though?
~Emma Swan~
She's about to go into the splits when she realizes she's no longer alone. She stops halfway down unintentionally, and wobbles as her balance goes completely awry. She falls on her side, managing to make it look slightly graceful. She doesn't flail her arms around, no sound of shock escapes her lips. She stands up and turns off the music. Then goes towards her bag at the edge of the mat. She tries not to limp, she really does. But it's so damn hard. She manages to make it, grabbing her water bottle, drinking deeply, draining half the bottle.
She puts her stuff away, grabbing her CD player and swinging the bag over her shoulders. It takes all her self control not to hobble past him, her teeth gritted. She bites her tongue to keep back a groan of pain. She could feel it starting. The beginnings of a full on attack. It starts in her thigh, a flame that will roll down her leg, eventually consuming all of her flesh. And then she won't be able to run or hide. Won't be able to keep the fact that she's actually broken from this stranger.
She feels a hand wrap around her wrist, "Wait. I need to talk to you." His ice blue eyes seem to pierce her soul.
She tugs desperately at her arm, trying to break free from both his grip and his gaze as she gasps out, "Not… not now. I have to go get ready. The competition is starting in a few hours. Relaxation exercises before I go on." Shit. She couldn't wait much longer. When he releases her, she tries her hardest not to hobble as she exits the room. Once she's sure he can no longer see her, she bolts. Half running half limping down the hallway and into a changing room.
~Killian Jones~
He feels this is as good of a time as any to tell her what he did to her. So his fingers find her wrist and he pleads, "Wait. I need to talk to you." It seems like she desires to get away from him with every fiber in her being. For a second, fear crashes over him. Maybe she knew who he was. What he did to her. She gives a reason for her hasty departure, but to him, it seems more like an excuse.
Her teeth are gritted, her hands clenched into fists. Almost like it's taking all of her self control not to punch him in the face. He wishes she just did it, just took a swing at his jaw with all the strength she could muster, then he wouldn't have to live with this guilt. Then he could just get it over with. Apologize. Beg for her forgiveness. Go home. That didn't happen, so he has to wait until the end of the competition, which was hours away. He sighed, this was going to be a long day.