The Education of Oliver Wood

Old Dog, Old Tricks

Oliver brought the glass to his lips, sitting in the silent flat, where he had been ever since Weathers suspended him. He knew that it had been stupid of him to go after Carpenter, but he couldn't help it. Where Emmie was involved, he would always lose some amount of control. And the git had deserved it.

"Bloody, sodding prat," he muttered to himself, swaying slightly.

Just thinking about Carpenter's smug grin made Oliver's blood boil as his free hand clenched into a fist. He knew in a heartbeat that he'd do it again. Even sober. Even if Weathers had threatened to kick him off the team. Well, no, Weathers had done that. Which is why he shouldn't be drinking right now, sitting alone and fuming about Carpenter, lest he go out and find him for another pummeling. He had been suspended as well, but only for three days. Not the rest of the week as Oliver had.

There was a knock at the door. Oliver swiveled his head around to look at it, hearing another knock, this one less tentative than the first. He sighed and stood, putting the glass down on the table and preparing himself. It was likely Griffiths coming to ream him out. While he knew that he deserved it, she hadn't been there. Heard the things Carpenter said. Or maybe it was Percy, though he had made it clear how disgusted he was last night when he dropped him off at home.

"What is it-"

Oliver froze after he pulled the door open, staring down at Emmie. She shifted on her feet, a worried look on her face.

"Can I... can I come in?" she asked softly.

He nodded wordlessly and stepped back, letting her into the flat. He was glad that he had kept it mostly clean, though his eyes immediately fell on the empty bottle of firewhiskey on the table next to a second that was about half gone and his glass. After shutting the door, he quickly walked over and picked them up, embarrassed that she would see them.

When he returned to the living room after putting the bottles in the kitchen, Emmie was glancing around, her arms wrapped around herself. She stopped when she saw the photograph of him and Ryan on the wall and then looked over at him. Oliver was struggling to keep from swaying as he stood a few feet away, not wanting her to smell the alcohol on his breath.

"What happened?" she asked simply, her brow furrowed.

Her sharp green eyes were already taking in the healing cuts and scrapes on his face and his bruised knuckles.

"Just... a misunderstandin' between teammates," Oliver said, tearing his eyes from hers.

"I ken it was about more than that, Oliver," she said sternly.

"Then why are ye askin'?" he asked, his voice a bit harsher than he intended.

"Because I want to hear it from ye," she said, taking a step towards him, speaking a bit louder. She stared at him a few moments and when he didn't speak, she groaned in frustration. "Ye've got to stop doing this."

"Doin' what?" he asked defensively, looking up at her as he frowned.

No, this is not how he wanted this conversation to go. He wasn't angry with her. Emmie did nothing wrong. But Oliver couldn't help as images of her and Adrian flew through his mind. He blamed it on the firewhiskey.

"This," she said, motioning towards the glass on the table. "Ye need to start dealin' with things rather than, than drinkin' them away. Or punchin' them away. The Oliver I know dinnae do things like that." She moved a few steps closer. "Ye need to start talkin' about this."

"Like anyone would listen," he muttered. Emmie frowned, hearing him.

"We would if ye'd let us," she retorted, the worry quickly leaving her eyes as anger replaced it. "Ye keep this up and ye'll find yerself completely alone, Oliver."