[Fic] Those First Times... (1/?) (Ole Gunnar Solskjaer / Paul Scholes)
Title : Those First Times... (1/?) - Chapter 1. Meeting
Author : hiro_chan
Pairing : Ole Gunnar Solskjaer/Paul Scholes
Rating : G for this chapter
Disclaimer : totally not real.
Author's Notes:
1. For trishkiss_x, sorry it takes so long, and sorry in advance that the updates between chapters might take a bit time, but hope you'll enjoy it anyway :). Do nag me for updates if I takes too damn long :p.
2. I've rarely written multichaptered fics before, because I never can finish it properly. This one's basically a chains of drabbles about the relationship between Ole and Paul, starting from when they first met in 96. It won't be more than 10 chapters though... at least I don't think so :p.
3. Not much is happening in first chapter, but hopefully it won't turn you off :).
01. Meeting
(Time line : July 1996 - Ole's first season in United)
It was a classic, really. Ole couldn't think of any other way to describe it. The Gaffer was showing him the training ground at the Cliff, and they stopped at the far side of the pitch where the first team players were practising. It was his first day in the training with Manchester United, and the mid July summer sky was nice and bright which he took as a good omen for his Manchester United days to come.
The Gaffer was telling him the who and hows, the dos and don'ts of the training pitch rules, and he was being so attentive that it absolutely took him by surprised when a ball hit him on the head, hard. It was so unexpected that it knocked him down to the soft grass below, making him disoriented for a few moments.
“SCHOLESY!!!” he heard the Gaffer bellowed out to the pitch, one hand outstretched to him which he quite gratefully took. He should be annoyed, perhaps, and he would be, if he wasn't more interested with the fact that the ball which was kicked from quite some distance away (and he knew that because they were quite a safe distance away from the hustle and bustle of the pitch) still have quite some power behind it.
A youngster with a small build jogged towards them at the Gaffer's roar. “Yes, Gaffer?” the youngster asked, his tone curious as if he had no idea why he was called.
The older man sighed. “Don't 'yes, Gaffer' me. How many times have I told you to mind your control? I swear, boy, sooner or later, that shot of yours will cause some casualties if it keeps flying all over the place.”
“Sorry, Gaffer,” came the reply, but Ole just couldn't see a sorry expression on his face at all, nor could he hear it. It was a sorry like the one a child would say when got caught with his hand in the cookie jar but without a doubt knew that after this, and after so many sorry's later, his hand would always be taking cookies from the jar.
“Say it to Ole here,” the Gaffer nodded his head at the newcomer. “He's the one got knocked by your shot.”
A frown. “Oh, it's not you?” There was something like a disappointment in his voice and Ole's brows raised at that, but he caught the look of barely contained mischief in the other boy's eyes, and judging by the way the Gaffer took it in his stride, Ole concluded that this scene happened quite often.
The redhead (that was what Ole noticed first about the boy - his short hair, slightly curly in some places, was so, so red under the bright July sun) turned to him then (and then there were more things that Ole noted - like how pale his skin was and the way he looked like he still had baby fats clinging stubbornly to him in some places, especially on his cheeks). “Sorry, mate,” he said easily, offering his hand for a handshake and as before, it was without any trace of regret at all.
Ole couldn't help but smile. “It's fine,” he replied good-naturedly, taking the offer and shook the offered hand.
Ole watched as the smaller boy turned to look back at the Gaffer, as if waiting for further cue to what he should do next. The Gaffer nodded his head to the training pitch. “Go back to the pitch,” he said and the boy gave them a light, barely-there smile ( “later on, then” ) and turned to jog back to the pitch.
Ole noticed the fond, fatherly stare that the Gaffer had as he watched the redhead retreating. Looked like what he heard was true, Alex Ferguson was close with his players, especially the youngsters.
“That's Scholesy,” the Gaffer said as he turned back to him. “Small built but with one hell of a shot. Oh, and be careful of his tackles too,” he added, almost in amusement. “He comes from our own academy, local lad. Well, besides him, there's also the Neville brothers - you should ask them their father's name - who play in defence - Gary, dark hair with non stop serious expression is the older one, Phil the younger, and then there's also --- “
And the Gaffer went on, rattling off names of the lads who were around Ole's age (“you'll get along well with them” - as if Ole was a little boy just about to enter kindergarten), names that he'd probably won't remember properly until at least a few days (he snickered, though, as the Gaffer mentioned a lad called Butt - his heart went out for him).
But he knew he'd remember one name and one face well. Because that first impression - well, that wasn't something he'd forget quickly.
-***-
Notes (again):
1. Inspired by the bits from an old article (which I can't find at the moment), where SAF said that in training, scholes' shots are like missiles, "and one of these days, one of them will whack me in the head and kills me." (lol, oh SAF XDXD). "One of them whizzed past me and then I'd bellow out, 'SCHOLESY!!!'. 'What?' he'd ask, looking like an angel." (not exact quote word for word, but to that extent anyway) I love that quote. I don't know why, it stuck with me eversince I read it :).
2. In case any of you don't know (though I doubt it), The Cliff is Manchester United training ground before they move to Carrington, and the Nevilles' dad's called Neville Neville (I wonder whether people made fun of it when he was little...).
Author : hiro_chan
Pairing : Ole Gunnar Solskjaer/Paul Scholes
Rating : G for this chapter
Disclaimer : totally not real.
Author's Notes:
1. For trishkiss_x, sorry it takes so long, and sorry in advance that the updates between chapters might take a bit time, but hope you'll enjoy it anyway :). Do nag me for updates if I takes too damn long :p.
2. I've rarely written multichaptered fics before, because I never can finish it properly. This one's basically a chains of drabbles about the relationship between Ole and Paul, starting from when they first met in 96. It won't be more than 10 chapters though... at least I don't think so :p.
3. Not much is happening in first chapter, but hopefully it won't turn you off :).
01. Meeting
(Time line : July 1996 - Ole's first season in United)
It was a classic, really. Ole couldn't think of any other way to describe it. The Gaffer was showing him the training ground at the Cliff, and they stopped at the far side of the pitch where the first team players were practising. It was his first day in the training with Manchester United, and the mid July summer sky was nice and bright which he took as a good omen for his Manchester United days to come.
The Gaffer was telling him the who and hows, the dos and don'ts of the training pitch rules, and he was being so attentive that it absolutely took him by surprised when a ball hit him on the head, hard. It was so unexpected that it knocked him down to the soft grass below, making him disoriented for a few moments.
“SCHOLESY!!!” he heard the Gaffer bellowed out to the pitch, one hand outstretched to him which he quite gratefully took. He should be annoyed, perhaps, and he would be, if he wasn't more interested with the fact that the ball which was kicked from quite some distance away (and he knew that because they were quite a safe distance away from the hustle and bustle of the pitch) still have quite some power behind it.
A youngster with a small build jogged towards them at the Gaffer's roar. “Yes, Gaffer?” the youngster asked, his tone curious as if he had no idea why he was called.
The older man sighed. “Don't 'yes, Gaffer' me. How many times have I told you to mind your control? I swear, boy, sooner or later, that shot of yours will cause some casualties if it keeps flying all over the place.”
“Sorry, Gaffer,” came the reply, but Ole just couldn't see a sorry expression on his face at all, nor could he hear it. It was a sorry like the one a child would say when got caught with his hand in the cookie jar but without a doubt knew that after this, and after so many sorry's later, his hand would always be taking cookies from the jar.
“Say it to Ole here,” the Gaffer nodded his head at the newcomer. “He's the one got knocked by your shot.”
A frown. “Oh, it's not you?” There was something like a disappointment in his voice and Ole's brows raised at that, but he caught the look of barely contained mischief in the other boy's eyes, and judging by the way the Gaffer took it in his stride, Ole concluded that this scene happened quite often.
The redhead (that was what Ole noticed first about the boy - his short hair, slightly curly in some places, was so, so red under the bright July sun) turned to him then (and then there were more things that Ole noted - like how pale his skin was and the way he looked like he still had baby fats clinging stubbornly to him in some places, especially on his cheeks). “Sorry, mate,” he said easily, offering his hand for a handshake and as before, it was without any trace of regret at all.
Ole couldn't help but smile. “It's fine,” he replied good-naturedly, taking the offer and shook the offered hand.
Ole watched as the smaller boy turned to look back at the Gaffer, as if waiting for further cue to what he should do next. The Gaffer nodded his head to the training pitch. “Go back to the pitch,” he said and the boy gave them a light, barely-there smile ( “later on, then” ) and turned to jog back to the pitch.
Ole noticed the fond, fatherly stare that the Gaffer had as he watched the redhead retreating. Looked like what he heard was true, Alex Ferguson was close with his players, especially the youngsters.
“That's Scholesy,” the Gaffer said as he turned back to him. “Small built but with one hell of a shot. Oh, and be careful of his tackles too,” he added, almost in amusement. “He comes from our own academy, local lad. Well, besides him, there's also the Neville brothers - you should ask them their father's name - who play in defence - Gary, dark hair with non stop serious expression is the older one, Phil the younger, and then there's also --- “
And the Gaffer went on, rattling off names of the lads who were around Ole's age (“you'll get along well with them” - as if Ole was a little boy just about to enter kindergarten), names that he'd probably won't remember properly until at least a few days (he snickered, though, as the Gaffer mentioned a lad called Butt - his heart went out for him).
But he knew he'd remember one name and one face well. Because that first impression - well, that wasn't something he'd forget quickly.
-***-
Notes (again):
1. Inspired by the bits from an old article (which I can't find at the moment), where SAF said that in training, scholes' shots are like missiles, "and one of these days, one of them will whack me in the head and kills me." (lol, oh SAF XDXD). "One of them whizzed past me and then I'd bellow out, 'SCHOLESY!!!'. 'What?' he'd ask, looking like an angel." (not exact quote word for word, but to that extent anyway) I love that quote. I don't know why, it stuck with me eversince I read it :).
2. In case any of you don't know (though I doubt it), The Cliff is Manchester United training ground before they move to Carrington, and the Nevilles' dad's called Neville Neville (I wonder whether people made fun of it when he was little...).