For those of you who are like me and can never remember character names, Genda is the big, brawny Task Force captain with sideburns, and Orikuchi is the reporter lady who lends him a helicopter and whom he refers to as an "old friend from college". This little oneshot was born from that statement - and from the fact that I think Genda is exactly the type to play college football.

By the way, when I say "football" in this fic, I'm talking about American football, not the British term for soccer.

Disclaimer: I don't own Toshokan Sensou/Library War.

Touchdown

He jogged over to the bench with a heavy, slow lope that was lightened by the elation of a victory, exchanging a few slaps on the back and congratulations of "Nice game" with his team mates on the way. The players gathered together in a sweaty and smelly but satisfied huddle around their coach, who began to list the things they'd done well and the things they needed to improve on in his customary during-, pre- and post-game bellow.

Normally Genda Ryusuke was an attentive listener, more attentive than most people would have believed on first glance, but today he found his attention sidetracked by an unusual sight in the bleachers next to the field. What was the word they used for it? Oh, anomaly. That's right, it was an anomaly - or rather, she was an anomaly.

She happened to be a girl - obviously - and from what Genda could see, not a bad-looking one either. Granted, what he could see wasn't much, considering that he was watching her from a distance and she was currently bent over, occupied with something on her knees. But she had a trim, flat waistline that spoke of fitness, a quality which Genda prized highly, and he liked that boyishly short haircut of hers, the jagged bangs hanging down on either side of her forehead. The effect wasn't exactly feminine, not that Genda would know much about feminine, but he liked it.

"RYUSUKE! Are you LISTENING to me? The GAME might be over but the work ISN'T!"

He started only slightly, by now accustomed to this kind of intensity and volume from his instructor. "Sure, Coach," he responded with a grin, drawing a few good-natured guffaws from his fellows, although he actually hadn't been listening. The coach glared ferociously for a moment and moved on, concluding at long last a minute or so later with a strict reminder not to let the win "swell up your thick skulls, buckos".

Genda pried his helmet off in one yank, eliciting a faint squelching sound as it unglued itself from his perspiration-soaked scalp and sticky cheeks. He troubled himself only to run his knuckles once over his hair to smooth it down before asking without preamble, "Anyone know who that girl over there is?" It wasn't so rare to see girls at football matches, even lone girls, but this was one of the first of the season, way before playoffs, so it didn't attract much attention from anyone but the diehards.

A few players paused to glance up. There was a smattering of muttered replies in the negative before one spoke up, "That's that reporter girl. She writes articles for the college paper - haven't seen her around here before, though."

"What, Genda - you interested?" someone else chimed in teasingly.

Genda merely chuckled. "Guess I'll have to see about that." Without further warning, he discarded his helmet and climbed up the bleachers towards the stranger, his cleats clunking obnoxiously on the metal. The mystery reporter didn't look up - she was working diligently away on some piece of writing or another, scrawling steadily across the page that was propped on a clipboard in her lap.

He waited to speak until he was right in front of her, one rung below her on the bleachers, squaring his broad shoulders automatically the way he always did in preparation for an encounter. "Hey there, Miss Journalist," he greeted her in his customary rough yet friendly manner.

She looked up just long enough to give him a brief, pleasant smile and a quick sweep of her keen eyes, dark olive green mixed with brown. "Hello," she replied easily, and looked back down.

He raised his eyebrows at her air of polite indifference, but it took more than that to offend Genda Ryusuke. And it took much more than that to persuade him to give up. Unfazed, he inquired affably, "So what'd you think of the game?"

"Not bad." Her upwards glance at him lasted a bit longer this time. "I'm not a big football fan, but I enjoyed it."

"Just a fan waiting to happen, then," he jibed lightly, grinning.

Her head came up again at that, and he noticed that her eyes were startlingly large in comparison to her other narrower facial features - a delicate, upturned mouth, a small nose, thinly sculpted high-arch eyebrows. She had a determined, inquisitive look about her; good for a reporter, he supposed. "I don't think I enjoyed it quite that much," she parried smilingly, with no trace of ill humour. "Good performance, though," she added honestly, ungrudgingly.

A compliment never failed to please Genda when he knew it was well-earned. "Thanks."

She nodded in complacent acknowledgment, but before she could return to her work he rapidly interjected, "Are you, uh, covering the match?"

"As a matter of fact I am," she answered, with a kind of steely serenity that told him that she was calling the shots her way and didn't intend to take input from anyone else. He wasn't particularly bothered; it wasn't as if he was trying to tell her what to write.

She was looking at him again, but with closer scrutiny, her expression hard and observant. But then it softened, her eyes crinkling slightly, and without so much as a sigh she resigned herself to his presence, extending an open arm. "Actually, you happen to get a mention in my article," she told him, lips curling up in that dainty but challenging way. "Genda Ryusuke, isn't it? Take a look. I double-checked the spelling of your name with the coach, but a third opinion never hurts."

He took the proffered paper from her, offering half-jokingly, "Looking for an interview with a player?"

She looked amused at his lack of subtlety but shook her head, the round dots of her earrings glinting as they flew in and out of different angles of sunlight. He found it difficult to focus on the page he was holding, his eyes immediately seeking out his own name and only skimming the rest of the paragraph.

"It's nothing like that," she informed him. "Just a small piece on the finer points of the match and its result. I didn't even bring my camera."

He handed her mini-article back to her. "Looks A-okay to me," he approved, earning himself another small, entertained smile from her with his use of the corny, obsolete term. He followed up with the remark, "Nice cursive." It was excellent handwriting - clearly legible, neat but compact, not overly loopy.

"It's faster to write in cursive than to print," she explained as she put the tip of her pen back to the page and efficiently tacked on another sentence. "It's what I always do when I'm writing on the spot."

"Pretty impressive in my books," Genda said with a grin. "My cursive was so bad that by the fifth grade, all my teachers were begging me to print." Her eyes widened in incredulity and he shrugged impudently. "Of course, I planned it that way."

His efforts were rewarded by a laugh from her, short and quiet, but bright and much more mellow than the rest of her manner. His grin broadened - that made two victories today.

"Have you been sitting here the whole game just writing that?" he proceeded to ask, nodding to her paragraph.

"Well, I couldn't do much of the writing itself until the game itself was over for obvious reasons," she said, not seeming at all upset about the fact that two hours had given her only about a quarter of a page. "And evidently I had to be here watching the whole time. Besides, this is the required length, so writing any more would be counterproductive."

"Wow," he commented, somewhat genuinely surprised by her professional approach and dedication, "hard work."

"My battle is to record your battle," she stated simply, meeting his eyes evenly. "It's only reasonable that I should have to work to get my information if the information itself is produced through the work of others. Yours, for instance, and your team's."

Taken aback by the unexpected dab of philosophy, he just nodded, rubbing his chin thoughtfully with one dirty fist. He could feel the beginning prickles of stubble around his jaw. This conversation was turning out to have more to it than he had anticipated or even hoped, and he was about to take a seat next to the young reporter and lengthen it when she stood up abruptly, sticking her paper under the clasp of her clipboard and sliding her pen through the hole above it.

"That's finished," she said, sounding content, and she turned a full-blown smile on him now, showing the petite, pearly teeth behind her pale lips. "I enjoyed your company, Genda - even if it was slightly disruptive." She held out her hand, and he shook it without hesitation, squeezing it inside his own much bulkier one.

"The pleasure was all mine, uh..." Genda trailed off, somewhat flummoxed to discover that he didn't actually know what to call her. He chuckled awkwardly. "You know, I could have sworn I asked you your name at the beginning of this conversation."

She squeezed back, seeming amused and not in the least offended. "I can attest to the fact that you didn't. But if you had, I would have told you that I'm Orikuchi Maki."

"Nice to have met you, Orikuchi. You make a fine reporter."

She looked more quizzical than flattered. "I'm glad you think so after reading just one paragraph."

"I only really read my name," he admitted up-front, grinning ruefully. "But I was talking about your personality more than anything else. You seem like the type who wants to know what's going on and who's good at finding out."

"You may be right about that," she replied agreeably, composed but with a telltale twinkle in her dark, perceptive eyes. "Thank you."

Genda realized with a warm start that he was interested in her. Orikuchi Maki was an interesting young woman. So he took the plunge. "Tell you what. Give me five minutes to wrestle my body parts out of all this padding, and then I'll walk you to your next destination - or to dinner, whichever you prefer."

The twinkle had spread, lightening her eyes by a couple of shades. She mused for a moment, fighting a smile. "I'm a busy woman. Make that three minutes and you've got yourself a date."

Genda wondered idly if that should be "date" or "deal". Either way it was what he wanted, and maybe the former was even better. He certainly wasn't going to object.

He grinned confidently. "Done."

A/N: Obscenely short, and nearly all dialogue, but that's how people get to know each other, right?

You may have noticed me lifting a quote from the anime to put into Orikuchi's mouth: "Our battle is to record your battle." Except I changed it to "my". Hopefully she and Genda weren't too OOC.

This fic can be interpreted as either a prelude to romance or the beginning of a fruitful friendship, whichever you prefer. Personally I'm not exactly sure which one I was going for, so I'll be happy if either seem to fit. :)

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