The only two people at a bar rooting for the same football team.

A/N: This is almost a crack fic. Sorry, I am just having fun with this one and you can't stop me. They are both probably OOC too.

Also, for the purposes of this fic Killian Jones is British. Another note, I only had to google one thing to write this fic.

Under my skin

He checked the time on the massive screen as he grabbed his beer from the counter and signaled the bartender to point where he was headed. He made it right on time, and he could now sit down, relax with his pint and watch the game. He carefully chose his location and sit down with five minutes left to the game.

"HEY BUDY!" He heard a scream behind him and turned around to see a blonde scoffing at him. She was bloody gorgeous and any other day, he would be all over her, charming her with his accent and smooth words. But not today. Today was game day.

"I'm watching the game, lass." He replied frustrated before turning around and facing the screen again.

"SO AM I, YOU JERK!" Came the screech behind him and he almost spit his beer. He turned around again to find blondie giving him a murderous look.

"You like real football, darling? I would have never thought of it…" He said as he got up and moved in her direction, sitting next to her.

"What are you doing?!" She scoffed at him.

"Like I said, love, I am watching the game. Other than the seat you asked me to vacate so politely, this is the best spot to watch the screen. So I am staying here, enjoying my beer and the pizza that will come in a few minutes. If you are so intent in watching the game, my presence won't bother you…" He finished smirking and she scoffed at him.

"Fine. But you better not start with stupid comments during the game…" She threatened and he looked positively offended.

"And you should try not to drool over the players while I am focusing on the game. I know you probably watch this because you think liking football players is hipster than lusting over baseball players. But you'll see, lass…" He said as he pointed a finger at her. "This is a very important game. It's the final of the Champions League. Only the two best European teams have made it..."

"Are you giving a history lesson on the UEFA Champions League, now? Who the fuck do you think you are, you misogynist prick?" She spat at him. "You're probably one of those bloody idiots who think they know all about football just because they have followed a few games from Barcelona and you think Messi is the only good player that has ever existed."

He held a finger at her. "Point 1, darling, we invented the sport…" He smirked at her. "Point 2, what makes you think I root for Barcelona? You are the one that's probably going to squee every time Pique touches the damn ball."

"You might have invented the sport, mate; but you haven't done nothing else, to be honest. How many world cups do you have? One. Brazil, Germany, Italy, Argentina and Uruguay have won more times than you. Hell, you didn't even make it past the first round last year! And fuck Pique, not my type and not my team."

He looked impressed and she smirked defiantly at him, raising her eyebrow.

"Alright, first of all, we might only have one, you have none." He retorted. "Hell, until a few world cups ago you did not even know how to score." He looked at her curious. "And second and most importantly: are you cheering for Juventus?" He asked dumbfounded.

"OF COURSE!" She replied before her eyes went back to the screen. "Shit, it's starting!" She pointed at the screen and he turned around abruptly. At that moment, the bartender brought him his pizza. He looked at her and pointed at his pizza. "Serve yourself if you want some, lass."

She looked at the plain pizza, "No extra toppings?" She asked curiously.

"I wouldn't dream to taint the flavor by committing such crime." He replied grabbing a slice and she smiled in appreciation. "Good answer," She said as she grabbed a slice and took a small bite.

"How do you know so much about football?" He asked intrigued as his eyes focused on the players about to start the game.

"I grew up in the system, and I was sent to an Italian family when I was ten. Their last name was Cigno, which means swan in Italian," She explained, taking a sip of her beer. "My last name is Swan… They took it as a sign and adopted me after a month." She finished, and he turned around to see the flicker of emotion in her eyes.

"They sound like great people." He commented softly and she nodded. "That's where you took your liking to Juventus, too?"

"And a religious appreciation for plain pizza with no toppings." She confirmed as she focused on the game. "Ok, here he comes… Come on, Apache!" She screamed at the screen. "Come on, you can take them, boy, to your left, go to your left!" She said passionately and he tore his eyes away from the game to look at her, green eyes flashing with passion as she was almost sitting at the edge of her sit.

"Are you screaming directions to the screen, love?"

"What?!" She asked him as if it was the most normal thing in the world to do.

He shook his head sighing until another part of her sentence kicked in. "Hang on, I need you to answer one very important question for me." He paused for suspense. "Tevez or Messi?"

She looked positively offended. "Do you really have to ask? Tevez!"

"Marry me." He said suddenly.

"WHAT?" She almost chocked on her beer.

"You heard me, lass. You're beautiful, fierce, you like football and plain pizza; and on top of all of it you prefer Tevez over Messi?" He looked at her with adoring blue eyes, "You're perfect."

"I don't even know your name." She said nervously. "You don't know mine."

"Killian Jones, milady." He bowed his head at her.

"Emma Swan." She replied.

"Cigno, yes". He smirked at her and she smiled back, impressed that he'd been paying such close attention. He cocked an eyebrow at her and she rolled her eyes at him. "Shut up and watch the game."

/-/

After the game was over, he looked at her intently. "What do you say, love?"

"I'm not going to marry you…" She replied smirking.

"I know… but, the America Cup starts in a few days. Would you be interested in watching that one?" He asked.

"Oh god, you are going to cheer for Brazil, aren't you?" She accused him.

"Who would you expect me to root for?" He asked and she raised an eyebrow at him. He shook his head. "I cannot root for Argentina, love."

"Why not?" She asked.

"Three words for you: Hand of God." He retorted.

"It's been almost thirty years." She said. "Get over it."

"Deep wounds like that tend to linger, love." He replied. "Absolutely not." He ran his hand through his hair. "How about I root for Colombia? They have a very strong team, good midfield, a nice game."

She considered his words before extending her hand. "Ok, I accept. I can watch the games with you. Give me your phone." She said and he handed it to her. She quickly entered her number. "Text me and we'll work the details." His hand caught hers as she gave him back the phone and it lingered for a second. He smirked before putting his phone back in his pocket. "See you soon then, Emma."

She leaned in closer, her lips almost in his ear. "You do know that Colombia's coach is from Argentina, right?" She pulled away and gave him an intent look before turning around and waving a hand at him. "See you for the first game, Killian." She called as he stood there, dumbfounded and blessing his bloody luck.

(He married her a year later; and they bickered their entire lives over football, including coaching the league where the twins played.)