One Shots with Chris Evans

Shiloh - part 2

*Forgot to mention in part 1, but this is an AU.

  Chris POV

  As agitated as I am about being stuck in traffic, I'm finding myself amused at the attitude of the woman that's kicking her car and groaning at the sky. The cute little scrubs she wears brings a smile to my face as well. Still too far away to tell what is actually on them, but they're bright and colorful. Must be a nurse. Maybe even pediatric nurse. 

  My phone rings, making me turn the radio down. I answer it, noticing it's my coach, while Dodger pops his head out the side of the car. 

  "Hey Coach!"

  "Evans! Where are you? You're suppose to be on the ice in an hour," he scolds. I can see his brow knitted together, sweat gathering on his bald head despite the cold from the rink, and his lips smacking from probably his fifth piece of gum since he woke up. 

  "Accident on the 40."

  "What are you doing on the 40? You don't live off 40," he reminds me aggressively.

  I adjust my cap, looking in the rearview once more as I see the random woman give a thumbs up to the car behind her. "Had to take Dodge to the vet. We're on our way."

  "We?"

  I sigh in annoyance. "If you want me there on time, then it's a we situation, sir. Dodger can hang with Billy in the office."

  "I swear, Evans. If you weren't the star of this team-"

  "I know, Coach. You'd bench me quick. You remind me of that multiple times a week."

  "Well, don't forget it." And a hang up. 

  Cranking the radio as loud as possible if only for the chance to clear my brain and prep my adrenaline to skate. Some would say it doesn't make a whole hell of a lot of sense, flood your brain with more commotion in order to silence out others. But it works for me and my sport. And a little Pink Floyd while stuck in traffic is icing on the cake.  

  "Come on, Bubby. Get back in," I nudge Dodger's back end as he whines, his head angled towards the back of the line of cars. I realize the only way he's going to sit back is if I roll the window up. With the car in park I lean over, reaching for the knob and start rolling it up before leaning my head back on my seat. 

  My eyes barely close before I hear a tapping against the window above Dodger's head. Leaning up again, I reroll the window down. "Can I help you?" I ask, noticing the bright pink and green scrubs that now reveal funny little frogs all over them. 

  The woman leans down, giving me an up close look at her features. I'd already noticed the deep red hair, but here I sit amazed at the intoxicating bright green eyes. She looks at me a bit strangely, her eyes blinking rapidly. Dodger barks right in her ear, making her finally speak. "Nice car. Cute dog. Good music."

  My  hand reaches up to fix the cap on my head, "Thanks," I answer slowly, watching her closely.

  She floors me even more as she mutters out a quick "Have a good day," before returning towards her own vehicle. I watch her through the rearview once more, seeing her slump down a bit further into the driver's seat. Dodger circles around the seat for a moment before finally laying back down once his window is rolled back up. 

  A short twenty minute nap later I realize traffic is finally starting to move, making me flick my blinker on. Traffic isn't really letting me over, so I decide to throw caution to the wind and do something completely out of the ordinary as I see the red head pausing to let me over. I jot a couple numbers down on a piece of paper, laughing to myself as I notice she's honking more aggressively, even tossing her hands in the air towards me. I decide to honk my horn back at her and wave her forward.

  She moves up next to me slowly, traffic not yet picking up, giving me plenty of opportunity to hold the paper with my cell number up against the window. She turns towards me, giving the smallest nod of thanks, but then she flinches as she notices either my paper or my own shy grin over an action that I've never been bold enough to do something so crazy.

  The woman looks panicked as she looks around her car, the speed of traffic beginning to speed up. I watch as she appears to curse herself before moving with the flow of traffic again, her hands hitting her steering wheel. 

  "So much for that," I drop the paper to the floor board as Dodger whines up at me. "Don't give me that look."

  "Come on, Evans!"

  "Put the biscuit in the basket!"

  "Somebody get the ref some glasses!"

  The crowd is lit tonight as we have just three minutes left in the final period. A glance around the ice at my teammates tells me that no one wants this to go into overtime. They're ready to get out of here and celebrate a win. And by the crowd's yelling, and the looks on the other guys faces, it looks like it's up to me. 

  The puck drops and immediately gets knocked across the ice towards me. With a swift maneuver behind our goalie, Silas, I give my teammates a moment to get in formation. A swift pass off to Landon gives me room to get further down the ice, but not before a jackass from the other team holds out a stick, causing me to trip. Even amidst yelling from my bench, both coaches and players, along with the crowd, the ref doesn't call a penalty. Just as well, I think to myself as I get back up on my feet. The bench is calling for me to change the line, but I wave it off, heading straight for 24 that knocked me flat. 

  Lucky for me he's just gotten the puck and is stuck against the boards.

  I may or may not have built up a bit more speed on my trek towards him, landing a nice check with him between the boards and I. He flounders on his feet a bit, just enough for me to kick the puck back before I'm pushing backwards off the wall, slapping the puck towards the goal.  Landon gives it a nudge in the right direction and the light behind the goalie flashes red, signaling the score becoming 4-3. 

  And the buzzer sounds, ending the game. 

  Being that we have home ice advantage, our team files out to the middle of the rink in celebration. Lot's of slaps on the shoulders and against our helmets are shared before we're holding our sticks up in appreciation for our fans. 

  I notice I'm being waved over by our announcer, ready to do an endgame interview. I slow my skates down and glide over towards him as the camera slips in front of my face, tossing my image up on the screen above center ice. 

  "I'm here with Captain Chris Evans. Chris that was some game tonight. Tell me, what were some of the hiccups the team felt as the night wore on."

  I adjust the helmet on my head and sniff. "Well, ya know, the guys had to work around some cheap shots and a lot of missed calls."

  "That was quite a cheap shot 24 gave you with that tripping. Was that assist a way of getting back at him."

  I can't help but chuckle. "Nah, that was the nice check into the boards." I shake his hand and skate towards our entryway, only to see a flash of green jersey coming barreling towards me.  The crowd that's left in the stands yell out in surprise as my body hits the ice hard, a grizzly looking face grinning over me. 

  "Cheap shot, Evans!" he yells as his fist latches onto my jaw. Just as my hands grip the shoulders of his jersey to roll over on top of him, a ref is pulling him off of me. 

I sit up, spitting blood out onto the ice, along with a tooth.

Guess I know how I'm spending the rest of my evening.