Fourth and Goal [Prologue, Connor/Cy]

[connormartin]

Connor Martin[/size]



The NFC Championship game. A packed home stadium and a team that seemed destined to take the whole fuckin' thing. A clash of the titans and every thing.... The players had been all over all the major network the entire week up to the game... and the atmosphere showed. Nothing like a cold night in New York City to make or break a man. The field was cold and hard... the wind was blowing... they even said that there would be snow... not that that mattered in the end. The entire city would be watching along with most of the nation.

Connor Martin grinned at the face of the man across from him. Just a thin strip of white dividing the green turf between them. He took a low breath and let the crowd die about him as they waited for the snap. It was an easy calm. This was his moment... it was his turn. The quarterback barked out his count, pointing out into the opposing team. Connor's breath lifted from his facemask and he looked towards the all pro cornerback he was facing. Then, at that spit second before the snap, he winked.

Three.... two.... one.....

Muscles bunched suddenly and the stillness of the field broke. The man across from him tried to jam him at the line and Conner threw a shoulder into his chest before spinning smoothly and breaking into open field. The air rushed around him as he sprinted down the sideline.

... Two... three... four... NOW

His head gave him the silent count before he broke inside and cut across the field. It was a thing of beauty that he looked up to. The ball spun under the flashing lights. As soon as Connor had made his break the QB had made the throw and the crowd had jumped to it's feet with a roar. His hands threw themselves outwards and there was another eruption as fingers closed around it. He brought it down and cradled it to his side.

A white jersey was in front of him and lowered for a hit. Connor let out a whoop and vaulted, his arm closing on the shoulder of the safety who flew by under him. Spikes met turf again and he felt an impact against him from the left. Arms wrapped about him and he turned, lifting. The body rolled up and over him, tossed to the side. Now it was all just open field....just him and the end zone. Lights flashed in front on him.

"He's at the FIFTEEN! THE TEN! THE FIVE!"

The oblong ball was firmly in the grip of his hand...that hand was attached to an outstretched arm. The crowd seemed to have gone deathly silent.... seventy thousand screaming voices... silenced was like a gunshot. His view was caged by the helmet and he took a raspy breath from behind the facemask. The burning sensation at his side seemed to fade for a moment as the revulsion washed over him. There was a tangle of limbs around him and he could remember being hit and his arm flying out as the time expired on the clock.

The ball rested just six inches from the goal line and a shadow fell across Connor. The referee pointed to the ball and then... with sweeping arms it was all over. He had failed... no Superbowl. The rest was a blur... no press conferences.. just him being helped to a locker room...the flash bulbs seemed dim and gone now.

[sciclops]

Cyrilla was seated, perched on the edge of a comfortable beige leather couch in the home of John and Dr. Lauren Sanders. John was the big football fan here, the over-sized high-def television dominated the wall of their small yet costly apartment despite Lauren's protests that it wasn't stylish and distracted from her display of abstract art. Commercials interrupted the game and she glanced at the canvasses on the wall at that thought; deciding they all looked the same, many aptly named...Untitled # something or another. On the refrigerator in the adjoining kitchen the in house blossoming 2 year old artist displayed her own masterpieces, some of which sparked more interest than the framed expenses here in the entertainment room.

The tiny space was packed with fans, but she had dibs on a prime seat, and glared at anyone who tried to butt in on her personal space. John appeared just as the game flashed back on the screen, handing her a scotch and soda with a smile and shaking his head at the clear space to her right. She shrugged, looking behind the couch at the mingling couples, a few singles conversed but there wasn't a one she wanted to waste time on. "Thanks for inviting me, you know I hate big crowds and it would have been lame to watch it alone at my place." Glancing down, she checked her phone for any messages, seeing none and looked back up to the screen.

People got quieter, as eyes turned to the big screen, waiting for the play to start. The room mimicked the 80,000 + crowd, Cy leaned forwards setting the drink down on the coffee table in anticipation of the outburst that would come with the big touchdown. A cheer as the ball was caught, the professional side of her winced at the hit, but the player kept running. Did his stride change after that? Eyes narrowed watching, knowing that player had at least a small injury earlier in the game but he seemed not to feel a thing. Everyone leaped up as the wide receiver neared the goal and BAM. A collective groan as he went down, several curses followed as the excitement went out of the room. People milled around, Cy watched the winning coach get interviewed, seeing in the background as the injured player was led from the field. Standing up, she shook hands with a few acquaintances and made her way to a backroom waiting for the inevitable phone call from Allison, one of the team's athletic trainers.

[connormartin]

Connor Martin[/size]



"Jesus Christ, Doc..." Connor closed one eye as the team doctor unwrapped the bandage that had been tightened up around one shoulder and down over his ribs. Some time in the second quarter of that last game, he had cracked a few ribs. There had been no way he was coming out, so Connor had made the executive decision to not tell anybody. That move had landed him with some serious pain after he had been pummeled at the goal line at the last play.
"Can I at least get dinner and a drink before I agree to a thorough probing?"" He flashed a shameless grin, letting it hide any more flashes of pain.

On the bright side, when the woman wasn't prodding or poking him, she wasn't a bad something to look at. The problem with that theory was that she was probably already pissed at him. He had to be cleared by her if he had any chance of making it to training camp and... against her clear orders... he had gone surfing on the north shore of Oahu the week before. Sadly enough, it hadn't been the surfing that made its mark, it was a clumsy waitress who had tripped and let her tray fall into him. Of course, the partying hadn't helped either.. but a few good beers could do wonders for your sensitivity to pain.

Connor let her lift his arm and didn't bother her work. He was sitting on a massage table that had been tucked away in some closet in his apartment. The place was way too expensive, but it put him in the middle of everything so he couldn't resist when it came up for sale. It was two stories high, but they were on the first.... across from a large flatscreen. It was the consummate bachelor pad... lots of black leather, electronics, and a mixture of sports equipment. Most notable was the surfboard that leaned in the corner. Better judgment would have told Connor to put it away, but nobody ever accused him of having either tact or judgment.

With his free arm he picked up the remote for his television and turned it on. His brow slid up immediately and he looked to the doctor and then back to the screen. Current events... yet another one of those things he never kept up with. However, the picture on the screen even captured his attention. There was a big banner across the bottom regarding an evacuation. Next to the door was a dufflebag. The team had chartered a helicopter to get them out of town. The screen zoomed out to show a map of the city. Over layered was a semi-transparent red map on which the words "NO FLY ZONE" was imposed in white block letters.

"Doc, I don't mean to burst any bubbles.. but I think our ride was just cancelled..." They were supposed to pick them both up from the roof of his building, but that was hours away at best... and the only reason why he was still in the city. The information in these reports were sketchy at best....but....

[sciclops]

Cy mumbled something under her breath not surprised that her orders weren't being taken seriously and it ticked her off royally. "Jesus is right, you look like someone tried to spear you the way this is healing. I guess its only going to be you and me knowing that you asked for it in that big game." If he thought no one noticed the early pile up that probably gave him the initial injury then he was wrong. In the end he was only hurting himself, but somehow she felt it reflected on her, since it was her job to tell them what to do to get back on the field. You never knew how management would look at it, but then again, they knew when they had a cocky bastard on their hands just as much as she did. The woman didn't even crack a smile at the attempt at flirtation, "You wait til you get an injury that requires a good probing, and you'll rethink that statement. Hold still. She stuck a finger in his ribs a little harder, getting a satisfying twitch from him as he continued to try and hide his pain behind smiles.

Her teeth clamped together as he turned the TV on essentially ignoring her now. Cyrilla's back was turned to the screen but at the look on the man's face she turned as he spoke. The message was clear on the screen needlessly amplified by Connor's announcement. "Well shit. I suppose we can just take a taxi out if we need to, right?"