About five minutes into the game, I remember, as always, that I actually hate rugby.

Seriously! When I want to get jumped on, have my face shoved into the ground, and be forced to eat mud, grass and bugs, ending up bruised and battered, I just hang out with my buddies. They are experts at it, and it usually involves some good snacks and stuff to drink that is not my own blood.

I swear, put a couple of seeds in my mouth, and I'll sprout a friggin' garden; I have that much dirt in there. The inside of my lip is busted because when I wipe the back of my hand over my lips to clear it of plant life and dirt, it comes back streaked with red. That is going to sting later.

I'm marked. St Albany's team has painted a big fat bullseye on my back. It is not the first time, and it also won't be the last time. They want me out of the game and, if they can have their way, out of the season. Is it worth it? Hell no! Am I going to give up? Hell no! Why not? I'm an idiot, and I don't like being bullied.

I've lost count of the number of times this match I've been encouraged by a gang of Neanderthals to become one with nature while they hang out on my body and step on my head.

Barn, Burlap and a couple of other guys are trying to run interference and save me, but they cannot do that and still be where they need to be. The ref is either blind, or he swallowed his whistle and is waiting for a fart strong enough to blow it, and Burlap is starting to get mad. I don't want him to get mad, he might say or do something to get himself suspended from playing, and he is the only voice of reason on our team, which is why he is the captain.

He is the most chilled, level-headed guy I know, fiery hair and all. He likes making dry jokes that often sail right over people's heads, and he can relax, reading a book, while we (his friends) play action Snakes-and-Ladders all over and around him.

Action Snakes-and-Ladders is awesome, by the way. It's like regular Snakes-and-Ladders, except the world is our board, and we are the snakes... and the ladders... and the game piece tokens, and there are dice involved, and then... we... uhm... No, I'm not sure what we do... the game makes no sense. Nevermind. My point is, Burlap can chill right through that kind of chaos. He was born to be the dad of many toddlers.

The only time I ever see him get riled up is when something bad is happening to someone he cares about, and then he gets worked up to homicide levels.

The way the game is going, I might actually break some bones today, and I really don't want to break any bones! I want to go on a date with Kira... soon... and I want all my bones with me on that date... intact and functioning. I wonder if she is enjoying seeing me take a beating. She always says she wants to tie me down and beat me with a bat. She has a lot of violence in her for such a dainty little thing. According to Deli, I'm the only thing in this world that inspires violence in Kicks.

I take that as a compliment.

I'm being tackled and ploughed whether I have the ball or not, but it's kinda working to our advantage. All I have to do is hang onto the ball long enough to draw all the burly guys to me like friggin' flies to a cow patty and then toss the ball to someone like Jet, who is clear and free and as fast as... well, a friggin' jet, hence the nickname.

We have three tries already, and Lurch has converted all three of them. St A has two, but neither was converted because their goal kicker is feeling the humidity a bit too much, and it is putting him off his game. I wish it would put these aggressive bulls sitting on me off theirs too.

I'm once again dragging myself off the ground, scouring around to make sure there aren't any body parts left behind that I need to reattach when I'm suddenly hit by a truck with enough force to make my breath burst from my lungs in a loud rush of air. Nausea slams into my gut where the boy's shoulder rammed into me. The guys and I are always hitting each other in the stomach to strengthen our muscles and macho shit like that, but I was not prepared for this blow at an angle I couldn't even defend myself again.

My legs fold like wet spaghetti, and I topple over, once again getting a mouth full of mud and grass, and now I'm struggling to get air into my lungs. The whistle is still not getting blown in answer to this attack that broke several rules. I doubt that anybody realised that it was no accident. It wasn't, because Burlap is next to me, coaxing me into a more or less upright position to have me seated with my head between my knees and though my vision is somewhat grey and fuzzy around the edges while I gasp and strain to get some air, I can still see Marshall Gibbs less than a few steps away, smirking with satisfaction.

When I finally feel whispers of air entering my lungs, I get to my feet, leaning on Burlap for support and finally, the whistle is shrieking, but it is just to announce halftime.

"Are you okay, Ethe?" Burlap wants to know, his eyes flashing daggers at Marshall, and I can tell that he wants to go have a "talk" with the guy.

"No, I'm not," I gasp. I am, but I want Burlap to stay with me and not go near Gibbs. I can see that he is barely keeping it together; if he tries to talk to Marshall now and the guy pulls the usual cocky shit he does when he's surrounded by teammates, and we have something to lose, Burlap is going to kill him and then he'll be arrested!

I don't want my buddy to be arrested. Not only will it ruin his life, but I'll have to visit him in Silverview prison, where I'll be trying to talk to him through a glass window while he ignores me, reading a friggin' big fat book with a complicated title and indexes and glossaries and bibliographies and stuff.

I'll miss Burlap when he is in jail. He won't miss me because he'll have his damned book...

Man, I would kill or die for some water right now. Barn, Jet, Lurch and a few other teammates are having a friendly chat with Marshall, and if this were a TV show and all their swear words were censored with bleeps, they'd be talking in Morse code. I need to get this situation defused, or all our best players are going to get into a brawl and be banned from playing for a few matches.

Man, sometimes I just want to convert a try using Gibbs as the ball. The guy has a habit of rubbing me the wrong way every chance he gets, both on the field and off it. I'm glad he lives in Silverview and not Egret's Rest; if we lived in the same town, there'd always be blood running down the streets, and I'd be so busy getting the bastard off my back I wouldn't have time to hang out with my friends... with my girlfriend. 

He backs off fast when we're one-on-one and usually waits until he has a couple of guys from his school with him before he starts picking a fight. How the hell does his teammates stand him? Most of them are pretty okay.

Burlap is alternating between slapping my back and rubbing it while I'm standing bent over with my hands on my knees. It helps, but the slaps are beginning to sting a little. I don't think he realises that he's starting to take his anger out on me.

I rub a hand over my hot face, clearing more tufts of grass and smears of mud off my skin. I can breathe again and should be able to make it to the bleachers and my sports bag, where I have some water. Over there, they'll also be handing out ice to suck on.

"Are... you... okay?"

An opened bottle of water suddenly appears in front of my face like a gift from Heaven, and I swear I just heard the voice of an angel... an extremely unfit one... Surprised, I straighten up to see Kira standing there with flushed cheeks, puffing air as if she, too, got tumbled by a dude with more muscles than brains. She looks hot... in more ways than one... and suddenly, I am no longer in hell.

Grinning happily, I take the offered bottle and pour water into my mouth, using it to rinse and spit away the grit and blood and other shit until I can finally take a couple of clean sips.

"I'm fine, thanks," I smile, no longer hot, hurt, fed-up, angry or any of the less-than-fun things I'd been feeling until I saw her. I pass the bottle to Burlap so he can experience some of the same bliss, but I doubt that the water will have the same effect on him. He rinses his mouth and takes a couple of sips, but he still looks like he's auditioning for the role of a deranged killer in the next slasher movie.

"Aren't you going to drink any?" Kira asks me, and she looks really worried. Seeing her eyes, large and bright with concern, I remember waking up in the hospital after I got knocked out during a rugby match last year. I had an injured shoulder and a concussion. My parents and Uncle Joe were gathered around some scans, discussing my case (it was really not that bad) with the doctor and Kicks and Delia were on either side of my bed, each holding a hand, their eyes red and swollen. Burlap was sitting next to Kira... yes, reading a book, but he jumped to his feet, the book slipping onto the floor with a loud thud when he realised that I was awake.

I later learned that Lurch, Barn and Jet were there too; they were only allowed in my room for short periods of time because they were Lurch, Barn and Jet... and it was a hospital room... Waking up to my best buddy, my sister and Kicks, looking the way they did, I freaked out, thinking something bad happened to someone we knew...

She has that same upset look on her face now, and I realise that I must really look like a wreck!

"I had a sip or two," I calmly tell her, demonstrating how completely fine I am. "Can't drink a lot while I'm playing; it will make me nauseous."

"Bend over," she orders, and though it's a little bit random, I obediently do as I'm told, wondering if she is going to inspect my head for injuries - I do have a small lump from yesterday – but then, without warning, I'm suddenly drowning. Kicks has another bottle with her, and she is hell-bent on emptying it on my head in a deluge. Gasping and spluttering, once again fighting for air, I grab the bottle and stand up straight again.

"Why are you trying to drown me?' I gasp, my hair and face streaming with rivulets of water. Actually, it feels pretty good, but some warning would've been great.

"Dell said to pour some over your head," she blinks at me with large, startled eyes. She clearly didn't mean any harm.

"Thank you," I laugh, shaking my head, causing droplets to spray over her. She is making sounds of protest, but she's not getting out of the way; perhaps she also needs some water poured on her.

"Next time, try a drizzle instead of a flood," I suggest and am about to pour some on her too (just a drizzle) when I hear Burlap's angry voice behind me and realise that I've lost track of him while I was playing waterboarding with Kira.

"First, you went for David twice, and these last three attacks on Ethan were bloody dangerous! Play the game, Marshall, or get off the f#cking field!"

"Didn't hear the ref blowing for it... so... prove it." Yes, that is the classic Marshall attitude. Man, I want to punch that guy so bad, but I really need to get the situation cooled down fast. "If the ref didn't see it, it didn't happen. Besides, was an accident; Fletcher is so f#cking slow..."

I give the water to Barn to share with the others and take one or two long, steadying breaths to get my breathing back to normal before I turn around to intervene when my words die in my throat and my brain suffers a complete meltdown. A little spitfire has entered the fray, and I am suddenly at a loss for words, frantically searching for instructions on what to do to save Kira from getting crushed in the brawl that is threatening to burst out.

"Excuse me," she says in an extremely polite, uppity voice I seldom hear coming from her, and she looks so small and vulnerable, standing in front of Marshall, looking up into his face that my heart skips several tense beats.

"I'll excuse you all night long if you want," he grins, looking her up and down, his eyes lingering on Kira's pretty legs. My hands ball into fists, and my vision turns white. It is not a good sign because now it is no longer Burlap in danger of making his debut in the world of murder and mayhem; it is me.

"The way you treat the other players is really rude and bullish, you know?" Kira says, sounding like a Sunday School teacher reprimanding a child. Seeing her looking up at him, with her hands on her hips, all indignant and authoritative, like Aisaka Taiga in Toradora, about to go ballistic on his ass, makes my anger melt on a wave of pure devotion.

I love this girl!

"I don't know much about rugby, but even I can tell that it's against the rules to do what you did to my boyfriend! You are being even more of a caveman than the average rugby player."

"Hey!" my friends are all protesting, and Kira is making large eyes at them, giggling nervously, but all I heard was the word "boyfriend," Kira called me her boyfriend! I'm feeling warm all over for completely different reasons now. The tackles, the sun, and the exertion are faint memories. I am Kira Croft's boyfriend! I think I might be grinning like an idiot right now.

"I don't mean any of you, of course..." she says to our guys, and I know she's lying; she's always calling me and my friends cavemen.

"Is that right, and what are you going to do about it, Little One? Take me around the corner and teach me some... manners?" Marshall scoffs, and I'm back, landing on Earth in a cloud of dust and anger. I can see my pulse flash blackly in my eyes. I'm going to rip this guy's head off and spit in his lungs!

"No, I'm going to take you around the corner and fudge you up if you so much as touch Ethan again," Kira snaps, and just like that, the anger is knocked out of me again, and I'm once more unable to hear or see anything except Kira defending me to a guy three times her size. 

Wait! She's going to what?!

"Fudge me up? Did you hear that, Guys? The little girl is going to fudge me up," Marshall is laughing now, and so are his friends and the anger is back, bubbling in my blood. My friends are amused too, but they are mostly angry, and I can tell that every single one of them is calculating the cost of ramming their fists down Marshall's throat.

I need to get Kicks away from us because it is about to turn ugly, and I don't want her to get hurt. It doesn't matter how good it feels to hear her stand up for me; she needs to get out of here now. I can fight my own battles.

"Is that like a kinky food play you-"

I wrap my fingers around Kira's arm and pull her behind me so that I'm now the one standing face to face with Marshall, happy to see him swallow the rest of his sentence and visibly pale. His eyes are nervously darting around, making sure his teammates are still close by now that I have my wind back and am ready to kick his ass home.

"We're on the field now, Gibbs," I tell him, trying to sound unaffected, but there's a pulse beating in my head, and I'm using its rhythm as a chant to tell myself to calm down. "But we're not going to be on the field all day... If you want to make this personal, I'm in."

"Maybe I would rather go get personal with your little girl," Marshall says, but he's not sounding all that convincing, and I take a threatening step towards him, enjoying the way his eyes widen and his Adam's apple bobs with fright. Friggin' coward!

"Ethan!" Burlap warns, putting a hand on my shoulder. Seeing me get angry and all up in Marshall's face worked like a bucket of water dousing the fire of his own anger because he doesn't want me to get into trouble any more than I'd wanted him to. "He is trying to goad you, don't let him."

I can feel Kira clutching at my rugby jersey as she tries to peek around me, and I'm glad that Gibbs is starting to back off, not nearly as cocky and brave as he'd been a minute ago. I need him to get lost and fast. I don't want this to spiral into a real fight and have Kira caught in the middle of it.

What the hell is the ref doing? Why isn't he coming over to break this up?

"It's okay, Burlap," I snort. "I was just going to give the guy some tips on which parts to cover when he pisses Kicks off. I have looooads of experience in doing that."

I really do! Twelve years worth of experience. Kira tends just to hit me wherever she can reach... and she's rather short... and it's effective, so... She should really think about our future children when she gets mad at me. She could aim at my knees, I am not half as fond of them as I am of all the other stuff she's always injuring.

"Come on," I've had enough of this cocky bastard and putting my arm around Kira's shoulders, I turn away, dismissing Marshall and his teammates, who look relieved as I guide my girlfriend away from the opposition. "Fudge him up?" I tease her, laughing at the memory. "Does that mean you're going to make fudge?"

Kira makes the best fudge. It kinda looks like random clots of hard, sandy mud, but it tastes like love. Rich and full, but not too sweet. Every now and then, when she's feeling generous, she makes fudge and gives each of us a bottle filled with pieces. Mine and her dad's bottles are a bit bigger than my parents' and Deli's because our addiction is worse. We haven't had fudge for a while.

"You wish," she scoffs, but I can feel her trembling under my arm; even her voice is a little shaky. She is really upset about what just happened. I hold onto her a little tighter and steer her past where the referee is in a fight of his own with several spectators and our coach shouting at him... and is that my dad?! I thought he wasn't going to be able to make the match today!

"I do," I chuckle, giving Kira a speculative side glance. "Say, I thought you liked seeing me get my ass handed to me."

"Only when I'm the one handing it to you," hearing her say that and seeing her blush when I laugh are causing my heart to leap in my chest, and I pull her closer against my side while we walk the last few steps.

"Wait! Why is everybody coming back onto the field? Aren't we done? Didn't we win? Isn't this over yet?!" the girl sounds ready to run away, screaming or falling down on the ground to throw a tantrum like a two-year-old. I vote for that second option; in this outfit, it will be adorable...

"It was halftime," Barn informs her, and she audibly groans, sagging against me.

"Is... Is that guy going to try to hurt you again?" she asks when the others leave us to take their places - Burlap to report to our coach and the referee - and I linger by her side a little longer.

"Nah," I chuckle. "You scared him."

"Shut up," she huffs, and after giving me a side hug, she runs off the field, leaving me to grin like the happy bastard I am as I, too, casually take my place on the field.

"Ethan!"

I turn to find my dad waving me over, and since the whistle hasn't blown to start us off yet and the coaches are still arguing with the referee, I join him at the side of the field.

"Won't you sit this half out?" he asks, resting a hand on my shoulder, and I think he is serious, but I just blink at him, confused by the suggestion. "They've been pretty rough on you; maybe you should-."

"I'm okay, Dad," I assure him. "I'm not gonna let them drive me off."

"Ethan," he clearly didn't like my answer, but I'm not going to budge, and he knows that. 

"If I run away and hide on the bleachers, they'll go for someone else, and if they succeed once, they'll try it every match."

My dad bites his lip, trying not to have another of our fun arguments right now, in public. I follow his glance towards the ref and am as pleased as he is to see the man call over Marshal and a couple of other players to show them the yellow card. They are suspended from playing for 10 minutes. He also tells them that one more offence will result in red cards.

When given a red card, the player has to leave the field immediately and cannot return to the match. He can also not be substituted, and their team will be down in numbers for the rest of the game. Finally, the guy is doing his job. Things should be a lot better this half, and I think it is that which finally causes my dad to relax a fraction.

"Okay, just remember that there are 15 players in your team, Buddy. Let the other 14 take some of the heat off you. Nothing is worth your health and safety. Please remember that. Play the game, support your mates, but take care of yourself too."

"Okay, Dad," I smile, touched by his obvious concern, and satisfied that I'll try not to die (I can't, I'm going mud skipping with Kira tomorrow); he allows me to jog back onto the field for some more fun becoming one with nature by sheer force.

♂♀