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welllpthisishappening · 7 years

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Tripping Over the Blue Line (20/45)

It’s a transition. That’s what Emma’s calling it. She’s transitioning from one team to another, from one coast to another and she’s definitely not worried. Nope. She’s fine. Really. She’s promised Mary Margaret ten times already. So she got fired. Whatever. She’s fine, ready to settle into life with the New York Rangers. She’s got a job to do. And she doesn’t care about Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers. At all.

He’s done. One more season and he’s a free agent and he’s out. It’s win or nothing for Killian. He’s going to win a Stanley Cup and then he’s going to stop being the face of the franchise and he’s going to go play for some other garbage team where his name won’t be used as puns in New York Post headlines. That’s the plan. And Emma Swan, director of New York Rangers community relations isn’t going to change that. At all.

They are both horrible liars.

Rating: Mature Content Warnings: Swearing, eventual hockey-type violence AN: Some tried and true favorites here. Sarcastic Will, all-knowing Ariel and overstepping Liam Jones. Honestly, the response to this story blows my mind and you guys are all incredible. My constant thanks to @laurnorder, @distant-rose & @beautiful-swan for just existing. Also living it up on Ao3, FF.net & tag’ed up on Tumblr.

“God how do you even stand this?”

Killian glanced up at Will, smile tugging on the corners of his mouth as he tried to take the question seriously. He couldn’t.

Five years and two appointments a week and they’d all chastised him for whining when it came to sitting on a table in Ariel’s office and now Will was complaining even more.

“Scarlet, I swear, if you don’t shut up, I’m going to break your other leg,” Ariel threatened, glaring at him from the opposite end of the treadmill he was barely walking on. Will made a face, grumbling even more as Ariel tapped her fingers on the mile-marker. “You could not possibly be going any slower.” “I am injured.” “In several different places it would appear.” Killian barked out a laugh, drawing Ariel’s ire for himself and he quickly held up his almost-fist, as if that somehow made him the more worthy PT patient.

“I hate both of you,” Ariel huffed.

Killian held his hands in the air, not even bothering to actually sit up – he’d collapsed on the table in the back corner of the office as soon as he’d walked in, still sore after morning skate and sprints and Arthur screaming at the fourth line for its plus-minus rating the night before.

Back to backs were the actual worst.

“The feeling is mutual,” Will grumbled. They were going to have to do something about that eventually – he kept grumbling and dishing out insults and the only person he didn’t seem to decidedly hate was Belle.

They’d taken him to a Philadelphia hospital after it had happened and Victor was certain the break was clean. It wasn’t. It wasn’t even broken – a fractured fibula and, apparently, that was worse and even just hearing the diagnosis was enough to make Killian’s jaw clench.

Injuries were always a possibility, a likelihood even, in a sport that included blades and ice and he’d never really been one to get squeamish. That was, however, until he’d heard the crack and it had taken an entire lifetime for Will to get up.

It felt a little bit like déjà vu.

He’d texted Ariel without really thinking about the consequences or how late it was or what would happen if he actually just showed up in front of Mary Margaret’s door. He didn’t care. He’d wanted to call her on Thanksgiving and he wanted to see her after it took Will an eternity to get off the ice.

He asked and Ariel made sure to add in several I knew it’s before finally giving up an intersection and an apartment number. She, thankfully, hadn’t lorded her knowledge over him publicly yet, but Killian was starting to get the distinct impression that it didn’t really matter. They were absolutely horrible at under the radar.

Scarlet was probably the only one who didn’t realize now.

They’d called up a defenseman the next day – Lance Chevalier who was a walking clichés of eh’s and had probably been a mountie in another life or something. He got to the Garden in just enough time to let the daily’s get their “hero” headlines in on the backpage before the game against Arizona.

The backpages the next day were less kind. And getting progressively worse.

Two and a half weeks after, as The Post so eloquently put it, “the crack heard ‘round the city,” the Rangers were in some kind of pre-holiday slump.

They’d lost five in a row and had fallen out of first place and while Bobby Flay appeared more than ready to get on the ice for the charity game, getting the kids waivers was proving to be some sort of insurmountable task.

And if Ariel was going to kill Will for complaining about PT every other day, then Emma might actually strangle Aurora for every e-mail and bump in the metaphorical road of relating to the community.

He had no idea there could possibly be that much paperwork in the entire world.

Killian’s phone buzzed, nearly falling off the table he was still laying on top of and Ariel shot him a glare. “There are rules in here, Jones,” she said, practically growling out the words. “That’s supposed to be on silent.”

They needed to get out of this slump. Everyone was on some sort of metaphorical edge, liable to actually kill one another sooner rather than later. Arthur was absolutely going to kill them if they let up another power play goal.

“What does it matter if it’s on or not, A,” Will mumbled, glaring at Killian as well and he wasn’t sure when he became the enemy in this tiny little office. “It’s not like he’d answer his phone anyway. You know Anna’s started texting me asking why Cap has sucked so much on the PK over the last few weeks.” Ariel actually smiled, nearly spitting out the water she was drinking and Killian sat up at that. “Hey, come on,” he sighed, grabbing his somehow still-ringing phone before it could crash on the floor. “Not all of that is my fault. This new guy is garbage.”

Will hummed in agreement – he couldn’t argue that, even if he was trying to make Killian feel bad for the absolutely ridiculous number of power play goals they’d given up in the last two and a half weeks. It was a lot and Lance might have been good in the AHL, but he couldn’t seem to find his bearings on Garden ice.

Or off Garden ice.

Arthur was going to kill them.

His phone stopped ringing and Ariel muttered something about the rules again before it started again – vibrating in Killian’s hand as he finally glanced down at the screen.

Liam. Facetiming. In the middle of the afternoon. Which meant no El and no twins and that meant he wanted to talk. God.

Killian swiped his thumb across the screen and found himself face-to-face with a visibly frustrated brother who, it appeared, had not stopped frowning in the last two and a half weeks. “Your face is going to get stuck like that,” Killian said, tapping on the screen and the tiny indent between Liam’s eyebrows.

“Your PK sucks.” “Well that’s blunt.” “And true.” “It’s totally true, Cap,” Will added, leaning over the front of the treadmill to grab one of his crutches. He hobbled towards the table, ignoring Ariel’s objections, and knocked Killian’s outstretched leg.

“Is that Scarlet?” Liam asked, glancing to the side of the screen as if he’d be able to see out the edge of the phone. “Nah,” Killian muttered, twisting over the side of the table and turning his phone towards Will. “Just some asshole critiquing the team he can’t play for because he doesn’t know how to skate. It’s not like he’s offering any constructive criticism for the new guy either.” “Is that we’re calling him? The new guy?” Killian shrugged. “He’ll go back down once Scarlet remembers how to skate.” “Can you stop saying that?” Will asked sharply, hitting Killian with the bottom of his crutch again. “I know how to skate. I just didn’t have the right angle and…” “Sure, sure,” Liam interrupted and the frown was, finally, gone as he smiled knowingly at both of them. “You ok though? Honestly?” “Is that concern I hear, Jones?” “Maybe I’m just bored.” Killian bit the inside of his lip and did his best not to actually look as guilty as he felt – far too certain they’d all be able to see it and then, of course, try to help. It didn’t really matter. Ariel absolutely noticed, one eyebrow raised with her arms crossed lightly over her chest as she leaned against the back of her chair.

It had been getting better – the guilt and the remorse and they’d been winning so there really wasn’t any time to feel anything except good about the entire idea of hockey.

And, his mind added quickly, he was happy in a way that Killian couldn’t remember being happy in years, phone filled with visual proof of that particular emotion – text messages and pictures and that one voicemail he couldn’t bring himself to actually delete, promises that the PK will get better and the new guy totally sucks and you should just come up here when you get back to the Garden. David bought a brand-new box of Pop-Tarts.

He’d gone uptown and Emma smiled when she opened the door and they’d stopped even trying to be anything except together when they were around Mary Margaret and David. She’d let him into that little corner of her life, walls not quite as high as they’d been. They were still there, but there might have been a catapult involved now and something about his heart and her heart and it didn’t make a ton of sense, but Killian couldn’t bring himself to delete the voicemail either.

He was happy and he actually hadn’t felt guilty until that moment, the way Liam’s face shifted – as if he couldn’t quite mask the truth entirely. Will even noticed something, eyebrows pulled down low as he grabbed the phone out of Killian’s hand and stared intently at the screen.

Once they’d let him out of the hospital and he’d come to terms with the idea of never playing hockey again, Liam didn’t waste much time – he went back to school and got a degree in business and hung it on the wall next to Elsa’s eighty-two degrees and two seasons later he was working for the league.

He wasn’t quite equipped to sit behind a desk for the rest of his life however, and when they moved to Colorado, he started scouting for the Av’s, taking up permanent residence at college hockey games throughout the season.

It was good. He liked it. He never really complained. And he couldn’t quite mask the lie that he was, decidedly, bored.

Killian took a deep breath, glancing quickly at Ariel, whose sympathetic gaze didn’t do much to pull him out of his quick return to self-pity, as if Liam’s potential boredom or frustration at watching the game instead of actually playing it was his fault. It absolutely was.

“You got a game this weekend?” he asked, avoiding the idea of feelings as quickly as possible.

“Three,” Liam answered and Will let out a low whistle. “Tournament at the Pepsi while the Av’s are out of town. That’s not why I called though.” “You mean to tell me you didn’t just call to insult our PK?”

“I can’t just call to talk?” Liam asked. “And the PK really is awful. What is it, four goals now?”

“Five.” “Five is bad.” “And that’s his professional opinion,” Will added. “Go ahead, tell Cap, Jones. This new guy. From a scout, how bad is he?” Liam rolled his eyes, but he was almost smiling now and they were, apparently, going to have this conversation whether Killian wanted to or not. “His reflexes are too slow. I don’t know how Arthur can bring himself to put him out there. He must despise him.” “He was supposed to be good,” Killian argued. “He had ridiculous numbers with the ‘Pack. He’s just...”

“Old?” Will supplied and Killian sighed dramatically. “What? He is. That’s why Arthur sent him back down at the beginning of the season.” “That’s because you had two functioning legs at the beginning of the season. And Arthur doesn’t like him because they were on the same team in Columbus and Chevalier didn’t pass to him in the postseason and they lost in the first round and it’s been this huge thing ever since.”

“How dramatic,” Liam muttered, drawing a scoff out of Will. “Well, he’s terrible at PK and no wonder you guys are slumping, it’s almost painful to watch.” “Thanks for that vote of confidence.” Liam made a face, as far away from apologetic as it was possible to be. “Don’t blame the messenger. I’m just giving you my professional opinion.” “Not that I’m not super interested in your professional opinion, Liam,” Ariel said, pushing her way underneath Killian’s arm to fit into the frame of the phone screen. “But there’s kind of a schedule here and you’re kind of wrecking it.” “Hey, A,” Liam laughed, voice practically dripping with sarcasm. “It’s super nice to see you too. Happy holidays. You going to come downtown for Christmas again or should we just not invite you to our family event every year?” “That’s just rude.” “Well I don’t want to mess up your schedule.” Ariel stuck out her tongue, shaking her head for good measure. “No wonder your brother is the way he is, he learned it all from you. And no, I’m not coming downtown to your family event because we only get two days off and Eric and I are going to Nantucket to visit his parents.” “Sounds thrilling,” Will muttered, widening his eyes at Liam who couldn’t quite make his laugh sound like a convincing cough quickly enough.

“You guys are the worst,” Ariel hissed. “Whatever, I don’t care about the schedule. You guys are going to lose tonight anyway.” “Jeez, Red,” Killian said, twisting his eyebrows as she hopped back off the table. “That’s kind of harsh, don’t you think?” “And probably true,” Liam added.

Killian opened his mouth to argue – not quite certain what he would argue since it was probably true. A five-game skid and a shitty penalty kill and, of course, the Kings were on their East Coast swing on the second game of a back to back.

They were totally going to lose.

He tried to find something to feel even remotely positive about before having to go back to the ice for walkthroughs, but there was a knock on the door before he could. Killian glanced up to see Emma leaning against the doorframe, a pair of sticks in her hand and a pen stuck in her hair and a clipboard of papers stuck underneath one arm.

He heard Liam laugh on the other end of the call – certain his face did that thing whenever he saw Emma – and Ariel smiled knowingly at him when he pushed the phone into Will’s hands. Killian heard Liam ask who’s that, but he didn’t turn back, just stepped towards Emma before he could consider anything that even remotely sounded like under the radar.

“Hey,” Emma said, glancing around the room. “I know you’ve got a schedule up here, A, but if these guys could pause for two seconds to sign these,” she held up the sticks in her hand, eyes finally landing on Killian, “that would be awesome.” “Sure,” Ariel answered. “Liam totally screwed up the schedule anyway. There’s no point in even trying to get Scarlet back on that treadmill now.” “You need to relax, A,” Liam shouted, somehow able to hear Ariel’s insults from the other side of the country and a slightly shoddy Facetime connection.

“Is that Liam?” Emma asked, pointing at the phone and Killian nodded as his brother once again demanded to know who had just shown up in the conversation.

“He’s very bored,” Killian explained. “He doesn’t have a game today and the only thing he wants to talk about is how shitty our PK is.” “It is pretty bad,” she agreed, smile tugging on the corners of her mouth as she rested the sticks against the wall behind her. “I mean what’s it now? Seven goals?” She was teasing him – eyes bright and mouth slightly twisted and that was hardly fair. “Five, Swan. Only five.” “Shouldn’t you know that off the top of your head?” Will asked, holding the phone up so Liam could see the entire room again.

“Did you?” “I’m not PR.” “Community,” Emma said, pointing towards herself and Liam choked on the air in his living room.

“You’re community relations?” Liam asked, eyes darting between Emma and Killian.

She nodded and waved her hand slightly and Killian had to resist the very real urge to sling his arm around her shoulders. “Emma,” she said. “I’m Emma.” “It’s nice to meet you,” Liam said. “Officially. You were at the ritual, weren’t you?”

“It weirds me out that you call it that, but yeah, I was.” “What are the sticks for?”

Emma blinked once, seemingly a bit surprised at the sudden shift in conversation. “Casino Night. I need signatures.” “Casino Night already?” Will whined, his grip on the phone loosening just a bit as he rolled his whole body forward. “I thought we were all focused on the charity game.” “We are,” Emma sighed. “If I can get waivers for the kids, but that’s a whole different story. And Casino Night’s before the charity game. We’re trying to promo the game at Casino Night. Plus, I still need stuff to auction off. C’mon Scarlet it won’t kill you to sign this stick.” “But I’m injured.” “And if you don’t sign this stick I will break several other bones in your body.” Killian laughed and even Liam sounded amused as Will held his hand out, waiting for the marker and the stick and it took less than five seconds for him to get his signature on the blade. “See,” Emma muttered. “Painless.” “It better go for the most money.” “Your desire to help others consistently astounds me Scarlet.” “You going to make Cap sign too?” “I brought two sticks didn’t I?” Emma asked, nodding towards the other one still leaning against the wall. Killian moved around her, grabbing the stick and making sure to brush his fingers across her back where no one – even his brother on a phone screen – would be able to see. She shifted slightly and shot him a look over her shoulder, but he just smiled in response and Emma rolled her eyes as he signed his name on the stick.

“What’s going on with the waivers, Swan?” Killian asked, handing her back the team-provided marker.

She rolled her eyes again, but it was more in frustration than some sort of undercover brand of flirting. “There are, apparently, twenty different reasons why we can’t let the kids on the ice or let the season tickets on the ice, which was the major thing I’d been planning to auction off at Casino Night. Aurora said something about how we’d be paying medical bills for the rest of our lives if a kid got hurt or a season ticket got hurt, so now I’ve got to come up with a whole new plan of attack on that one.” “You’re attacking kids, Emma?” Will laughed and Killian glared at him.

“And you’re not getting out on the ice either,” she said, ignoring Will’s question completely. Emma waved her hand when Will’s mouth dropped open. “That’s not my call. That’s totally Arthur, but I agree with him. If you really go six to eight, you’ll only be back for a few weeks during the game. He’s not going to let you risk that.” Will sighed, but there wasn’t any point in arguing if Arthur had already decided. “I know you wanted to get out there,” Emma continued. “Eh, mostly just to hit Phillip the Rookie.” “And because you’re a giant pushover for kids. It’s ok, your secret’s safe with me.” Killian hadn’t stopped looking at her – eyes following her whenever she moved and he could, somehow, feel Liam’s gaze from the phone, understanding etched into that same space between his eyebrows now.

“Anyway,” Emma continued, shifting the clipboard from under her arm as she pulled the pen out of her hair and crossed out one of the items on the list Killian knew she’d made. “I’ve basically resigned myself to the idea of actually threatening Aurora if I have to and locking myself up over the two days we actually get off for Christmas to try and figure out how this is all going to play out. It’ll at least be quiet then.” “What?” Killian asked before he could stop himself, only vaguely aware that there were still other people in the room.

“Reese’s and David are going to Maine to visit her dad. They go every Christmas.” “So you’ll be by yourself?”

“Unless you count stacks of paper as company,” Emma shrugged. “I don’t.” Liam coughed pointedly and Will pushed the phone into Killian’s hand immediately. “You should come downtown,” Liam said.

Killian squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t understand,” Emma said.

“No one should be by themselves on Christmas. Or any holiday for that matter. I’m surprised Killian didn’t ask you.” Emma didn’t move. She didn’t even look like she was breathing, clipboard back underneath her arm and shoulders straight as the sticks still leaning against the wall.

He was going to kill Liam.

And then maybe El – who clearly couldn’t keep her mouth shut.

Or maybe he was just painfully obvious.

He was probably just painfully obvious.

“I’ll think about it,” Emma said, smile just a bit strained when she looked back at Liam. Her phone started ringing before Liam could do anymore damage and she glanced at Killian again, a quick I’ll see you later lingering in the air before she practically sprinted out the door.

The walls were back and Killian found himself on the outside looking in once again.

They gave up another power play goal.

Arthur broke another whiteboard.

And the losing skid stood at six games now, a decidedly depressing number that would probably be featured heavily in the New York tabloids the next morning.

In any normal situation on any normal team that wasn’t facing a several-decades long championship drought, it would have been far too early to consider playoff standings or playoff possibilities or anything outside of the annual holiday dinner at Eric’s they were all expected to attend later that night.

But this was New York and they hadn’t won a Cup in years and a six-game skid meant they’d fallen out of a Wild Card spot in the middle of December.

The entire team was on edge, frustrations running high and no one really wanted to go to this holiday dinner at Eric’s – far too aware of the team-mandated cameras that would be there as well, requiring to look as if any of them were even remotely pleased that they’d given up yet another power play goal.

“You probably shouldn’t kill Liam right away,” Ariel said, sinking down onto the chair next to Killian and grabbing an onion ring off his plate. He grumbled in response and she laughed softly. “You sound like Rol.” “He doesn’t have to worry about overstepping older brothers.” Ariel hummed in agreement, picking apart the onion ring in her hand until she’d built a small mountain of crumbs on the counter in front of her. “His intentions were good, for whatever that’s worth.” “Not much.” “You’re a very stubborn man, you know that?” “I’m aware.” She groaned, rolling her head back and forth and grabbing another onion ring. “Get your own,” Killian muttered.

“It’s more fun when I can just steal from you though.” Killian rolled his eyes, but he pushed the plate closer to Ariel and she practically beamed at him. “Everyone totally knows, you know,” she muttered. “You guys are terrible at pretending like you’re not constantly trying to make sure you don’t just start tearing each other’s clothes off.” “Those double negatives, Red.” “Please,” Ariel scoffed. “You totally kept up. Anyway, I know Emma already told Mary Margaret and I know you went over there after Scarlet got hurt, so you’re acting like a couple around her friends. How come that’s not a two-way street?”

“You know if I didn’t know you any better,” Killian said slowly, “I would think that you’re trying to protect me or something.” “Or something.” He sighed softly, glancing around the restaurant and it was packed – players and front office and significant others and Emma still wasn’t there. There’d been no post-game texts, not even a vaguely sarcastic comment on the state of their woefully bad penalty kill, but he’d scored and Killian had hoped to find at least something on his phone when he opened his locker.

There wasn’t anything.

And if he were being completely honest with himself, he wasn’t mad at Liam for asking Emma to the Vankalds for Christmas because, if he were being completely honest with himself, he wanted to ask Emma to the Vankalds for Christmas. But he’d only just managed to tear down a few feet of the retaining wall she had built around her and she’d finally explained why her shoulders tensed and her jaw locked whenever he talked about his family and the last thing he wanted to do was throw any of that back in her face.

Even if he wanted her to come to the Vankalds for Christmas.

Badly.

More than anything.

“I’m fine, Red,” Killian promised, but his voice was tense at best and shaking at worst. She absolutely didn’t believe him.

“When are you going to tell her?” “Tell who what exactly?” “Killian.” “Ariel.” Her eyes widened slightly and, well, that had been a mistake. He never called her by her actual name. Ever. In fact, Killian wasn’t entirely certain he ever had.

They needed to break out of this slump.

He was losing his mind.

“Do you love her?” Ariel asked, not even bothering to mince words now that they’d very obviously jumped over some metaphorical line. Probably the crease. They were probably in the crease because technically you weren’t ever supposed to be in the crease and you’d get two minutes for hitting the goalie and Killian had lost track of the metaphor.

He didn’t want to have this conversation.

Ariel, however, was determined. “I asked you a question, Cap,” she continued. “Yes,” Killian answered quickly and the word wasn’t quite as hard to say as he’d expected it would be.

“Obviously. You should probably tell her that. And then tell her that you wanted to ask her to Christmas at the brownstone, but your brother is an idiot and it’s a trait that runs in the family so when you guys get married and have eighteen kids, she’ll be ready for it.” He couldn’t stop the laughter, despite his best efforts, the tension that had seemingly taken up residence between his shoulder blades evaporating quickly as he knocked Ariel’s hand away from the onion ring plate. “Eighteen kids is a lot, Red.” “Are you actually telling me you don’t want eighteen kids with Emma Swan?” “Ariel,” Killian snapped again, glancing around the restaurant to see if anyone had actually heard. No one even glanced in their direction.

She waved her hand through the air and rolled her eyes again. “Everyone knows already,” she said again, enunciating every letter as if Killian missed it the first time already. “Where is she anyway?” “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to her since Liam invited her to Christmas.” “You’re an idiot.” “A very pointed opinion.” “And an accurate one. Now come on, tell me the truth, how come you guys aren’t in this corner, foreheads touching and being so painfully adorable everyone wants to throw up?” “That’s a lovely image you’ve painted there, Red.” “The truth, Killian.” “It’s complicated.” “So make it uncomplicated.”

Killian stared at Ariel and she didn’t blink, certain, it seemed, that it was simply that easy. It wasn’t. It was messy and they’d lost to the Kings that night and they hadn’t sent any front office with the team, but Killian hadn’t actually asked, just let Emma walk out of Ariel’s office because he was positive anything more was pushing.

He didn’t say any of that. He didn’t have a chance.

It felt a bit like going backwards.

“Hey, Cap,” Lance said, approaching them like he wasn’t absolutely terrible at clearing the puck out of the zone or completely interrupting. “Where’s your girlfriend?”

Killian sighed and Ariel nearly collapsed on the counter, body shaking with the force of her laughter. “I don’t have a girlfriend,” he said, dimly aware of Robin rolling his eyes as he eavesdropped on the conversation from the other end of the bar.

“Oh, really?” “I think I’d know.” “It’s just...I saw you talking to that blonde lady...what’s her name?” “Emma,” Ariel answered, laughter still clinging to her voice. “Her name is Emma.” “Yeah, yeah, that’s right. She talked to me about maybe signing something today so they could auction it for Casino Night. Anyway, I saw you guys talking a couple of days ago and I could have sworn I saw…” “No,” Killian interrupted. “You didn’t.” He did. They’d been talking about Aurora’s latest e-mail about getting kids on the ice for the game and getting Henry back to practice before the holidays and it wasn’t really anything – Emma pressed up on tiptoes to kiss him before she went back to her office and he went to practice. It was normal.

Or it would have been normal for some kind of normal couple.

“An idiot,” Ariel repeated, but her voice was softer as her hand fell on top of his. “Come on Lance, let’s go talk to Locksley about...something else.”

Killian’s phone lit up, hitting against the onion ring plate as it vibrated on the counter. Both of their heads snapped towards the sound and he actually groaned when he saw Liam’s name on the screen, what appeared to be several paragraphs of text message in front of him.

“Don’t yell too loudly,” Ariel muttered, leaning forward to kiss side of Killian’s head as she pushed off the stool. “It is a team-sponsored event.” Killian shook his head, but smiled when he answered his phone and that seemed like a step in the right direction.

“Ok, don’t kill me,” Liam started, getting the words out before Killian could even actually say anything. “And don’t blame El because she didn’t tell me either.” “I know she didn’t,” Killian muttered. “Who did?” “Locksley.” “Jeez.” “Don’t kill him either. He heard you ask A for an address and you need to learn how to text for information if you’re going to try and have some sort of secret relationship.” “It’s not a secret. At least not really.” “Then how come you didn’t invite her downtown?” “Not all of us just conveniently start dating people who already lived in the same house as us,” Killian muttered. “Some of us actually go at normal speed for normal relationships.” Liam grumbled. Elsa’s voice in the background was barely audible as she shouted to leave him alone and Killian ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah, but that’s not really your M.O. isn’t it?” Liam asked knowingly. “Come on little brother, I saw your face as soon as she walked into the room. Tell her you want her to come downtown.”

“Younger brother.” “I honestly thought you would have asked her.” “You should probably ask her,” Elsa shouted and Killian sighed again. “Why are you two so intent on this? It’s not like I’m bringing people to Christmas regularly.” “Yeah, well,” Liam mumbled and Killian got the distinct impression they weren’t telling him something again.

“That’s not even remotely close to an answer.” There was a noise on the other end of the phone and it was obvious it was changing hands. “Ask her KJ,” Elsa said, a note of command in her voice that Killian hadn’t heard in years. He blinked once, mouth going dry at the tone.

“Ok,” Killian answered instinctively. “Listen, I got to go, alright? Say hi to the twins for me.”

“They think your PK sucks.” “I highly doubt they actually said that.” “The sentiment was the same.” “Sure,” he laughed.

“Ask her.” “I’ve got to go, El.” She hummed in response and Killian pushed his phone back into his pocket almost as soon as he heard the click on the other end, not even bothering to say anything to anyone as he walked out of the restaurant.

An hour – and one trip three blocks farther uptown, with Mary Margaret’s promise that she didn’t know where Emma was ringing in his ears – later, Killian was in the back seat of a cab, phone in front of him and fingers flying over the screen.

Ariel was right. He was an idiot. And he should have gone after her the minute she’d walked out of the office that afternoon or never even gone to the restaurant in the first place or asked her to come to the brownstone for Christmas like some sort of normal couple, because there weren't many things he wanted more than to be just some sort of normal couple.

That wouldn’t work when his face was on the side of the Garden and Emma still couldn’t get answers out of Aurora about why it was so difficult to organize waivers and she must have had the entire roster signing merch before they got on the ice that afternoon.

The cab came to a stop in front of his building and Killian handed a wad of cash to the driver, just nodding when he realized he’d just driven the captain of the New York Rangers twenty blocks downtown.

Regina hated when he took cabs – claimed it was dangerous for people to know where he was living and how he was living and Killian absolutely did not care. He didn’t have time to call a towncar or call Regina to call a towncar and everyone probably knew already, but until Emma actually said she didn’t mind everyone knowing already, he wasn’t going to do anything that jeopardized under the radar.

Killian climbed out of the car, nodding again when the driver actually started chanting let’s go Rangers before adding in a quick, but fix that PK, huh and he barely even glanced up from his phone when he walked into the building.

He’d texted twelve times and if he didn’t feel like a teenager before, he certainly felt like one now, each message getting progressively more and more desperate.

Just at least let me know where you are because Mary Margaret was worried. She only just convinced David not to send out an APB on you.

Killian hit send, hitting the elevator button with a bit more force than absolutely necessary and trying to figure out how one set of shoulders could possibly hold that much tension. They needed to win a fucking game.

“Mr. Jones?”

He spun on the spot, glancing in the direction of the night guard who nodded towards a mess of blonde hair, sitting in the corner of the lobby with a small frown on her face and a recently-texted phone in her hand. Killian nearly tripped over his feet when he moved, never quite as good on actual floor as he was on the ice, and Emma smiled at him when his sneakers landed in front of her.

“Mary Margaret knows I’m here,” Emma said softly. “I texted her half an hour ago. And your penalty kill totally sucks.”

Killian scoffed, running his hand through his hair. “I refuse to accept complete responsibility for the state of our penalty kill. It’s that new guy.” “He’s horrible. Wasn’t he supposed to be good? I thought there was a headline about him being good.” “You can’t believe everything on the backpage, Swan.” “Ah, well, good to know since Rubes was going crazy about the state of backpages tonight.” “Was she?” Emma hummed in agreement, tugging on the end of her hair and Killian suddenly realized – she was nervous. He should have noticed before, but he’d been too focused on trying to keep his breathing level when he realized she’d shown up in his apartment building.

She was sitting on the floor in his apartment building.

“She was definitely going crazy,” Emma continued, voice picking up just a bit as she started wrapping her finger around her finger. “Some guy from The Post wanted a one on one with you, you know. She told him to fuck off.” “I’ll have to thank her tomorrow.” “I’m sure she’ll appreciate that while she’s ripping The Post in half with her bare hands.” He smiled, but Emma kept staring at her shoes and she’d let go of her hair, toying with her phone instead, twisting it in her hands as she took a deep breath. “Mary Margaret didn’t know where you were before,” Killian muttered, rocking back on his heels as he pushed his hands in his pockets.

“What?”

“She didn’t know where you were before,” he repeated. “At least that’s not what she told me.” “When did you talk to Reese’s?” “When I went to her apartment.” Emma’s eyes widened and she shifted slightly, hair falling in her eyes as she shook her head. “You went to Reese’s apartment? Again?” “You didn’t answer your phone,” Killian shrugged.

“And you just...you went up there?” “Is that surprising?” She shook her head again, tongue darting out across her lips and Killian could hear her take a deep breath as she stood up. His hands moved before he could consider the implications of it, fingers gripping her hips just a bit tighter than necessary. “No,” Emma whispered. “It’s not. I should have figured.” “You can do that, you know. Figure. Or plan. Whatever word you want really.”

Emma let out a shaky laugh, head brushing against the front of his league-mandated button-up shirt. “I told you I’m not big on sentiment.” “Not sentiment, Swan, just a fact.”

“I was about to answer you, you know,” she said. “I was trying to time it better. I figured you’d still be at Eric’s and you could come here and it’d be this vaguely sweeping romantic thing.” “Vaguely sweeping?” “Anything more seems to decidedly fall in the realm of sentiment.” “A work in progress, love,” Killian laughed, arms wrapped all the way around her now until they were practically rocking back and forth in the corner of his building’s lobby. “And I left Eric’s fairly quickly after I realized you weren’t answering my text messages asking when you were going to get to Eric’s.”

“I really did have work stuff. They’ve got a whole group coming next week for homestand and we’ve got to set that up, plus Mer and I were organizing signed merch for hours this afternoon. I barely even saw any of the game.” “Just enough to know the PK sucked.” “I literally only saw them score that power play goal in the second. Someone should tell Arthur that whiteboards don’t just grow on trees.” “I think the franchise can afford it.” She nodded again, tugging on the front of his shirt as she looked back up at him. “Yeah, that’s probably true.” Emma took another deep breath, setting her shoulders and staring at him like she’d been thinking something very particular for the last hour. “Everybody absolutely knows. About us. They all know. Aurora asked if I could get extra signed merch from you because we’re dating.” “The new guy asked if you were my girlfriend.”

The words were out of his mouth quickly and easily and Killian winced when he realized what he’d said – he didn’t expect Emma to laugh. “What did you say?” “What?” “What did you tell him? I mean we’ve never actually used the labels or anything, but…” It had been a strange day – Scarlet complaining in PT and Liam trying to play matchmaker over FaceTime and the shittiest penalty kill in the entire goddamn league – but that might have made it all worth it.

“We didn’t,” Killian agreed. “But I’ve kind of been thinking it.” “Good.” “Good?” “I mean I sat in your apartment building lobby for the last half hour, so I’ve kind of been thinking the same thing.” “Yeah?” Emma smiled at him and several of his internal organs did something absurd and they should probably leave this lobby at some point. “Did you miss the part where I sat on the floor for half an hour? I just...I think it’s ok.” “You’re going to have to be more specific, love.” “You’re really going to make me say it?” “And I’m going to enjoy it.” “We’re dating,” Emma sighed, rolling her eyes dramatically and his face was probably going to freeze that way. There were worse things. “And you’re my boyfriend and I’m your girlfriend and everybody absolutely knows already so we don’t really have to do anything differently, but, you know, maybe we can stand next to each other during post-game dinners or something.” “Stand next to each other?” Killian repeated, dragging his mouth against the side of her jaw until she jumped, breath catching audibly. “I like the sound of that.” “And maybe I’ll start answering text messages in a more timely fashion.” He nodded seriously, doing his best to keep things light and easy and not overwhelmingly sentimental. It was absolutely, overwhelmingly sentimental.

And Emma had come here.

That seemed to make them even.

At some point, Killian should probably tell her he loved her an absolutely ridiculous amount.

“You want to go upstairs?” he asked, hoping against something that his voice didn’t actually shake. It felt like a very important question.

“I already told Reese’s I wouldn’t be on the couch later.” He felt his eyebrows move quickly, smile tugging on his lips and Emma rolled her eyes, pushing her palm flat against the front of his shirt. “C’mon, Jones. Your bed is so much more comfortable than that couch.”

It was late.

And his legs were killing him and he was absolutely exhausted, but he couldn’t quite wipe the smile off his face either.

The bed was, absolutely, much more comfortable than the couch in Mary Margaret’s loft. It was even better with Emma curled against his side, head on his chest and hair threatening to land across his face and Killian couldn’t bring himself to even try and move it, far too content with the world – even with the shittiest penalty kill in the entire league.

“Was that a real invitation before?” Emma asked and he moved at that, body jerking back in surprise when her voice cut through the pitch black of his bedroom.

“I thought you were asleep.” “Nah, too wired thinking about signed merch and where we’re going to store all those sticks before Casino Night.” Killian laughed softly, kissing the top of her head and tugging her even tighter against his side. “Make Ruby let you use her office. Or ask Kristoff. He’s got all that space down there. He can store ‘em for a few months.” “Oh that’s a good idea actually. We could keep them there and maybe get an inventory done and…” “What were you talking about before, love?” Killian asked, smiling in spite of himself as soon as she started planning again.

Emma stopped talking immediately, body going stiff and her fingers tapped out a nervous rhythm against his skin. “I was just thinking...and wondering if, well, if Christmas was a real invitation or if that was just your brother was trying to do brother-type things.” “Of course it was a real invitation,” Killian said. “Why wouldn’t it be?” “Well, I did kind of run out of there.” “Why did you?”

She shrugged – an impressive feat considering was still laying on her side. “Same old, same old. An impressive amount of family and not wanting to overstep and we hadn’t actually used those vaguely high school labels before.”

Emma didn’t say anything else, but he could feel her take another deep breath, sighing softly when she exhaled again. And it felt like a very big moment for a pitch-black room at some indeterminate time in the middle of the night, but that also seemed to be them and there was a them, now with high school labels. Killian shifted on his side, narrowing his eyes slightly so he could see her – lip pulled tightly in between her teeth, staring at the tiny bit of mattress that somehow still seemed to exist in between them.

He pulled his hand up, fingers working their way into her hair and behind her ear, wrapping around the back of her neck until Emma dragged her eyes back up. “Would you like to come to Christmas, Swan?” Killian asked softly. “It’ll be big and overwhelming and El and Banana make this disgusting bread pudding that everyone pretends to enjoy and Mrs. Vankald will probably speak only in clichés and Mr. Vankald will want to talk hockey all day, but I’d like you to be there.” Emma blinked, twisting her mouth and nodding quickly, cheek brushing across the pillow it had landed on when Killian moved. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I’d like that.” “You’ve got to pretend to like the bread pudding, you understand?” “I can do that.” “I’ve got no doubt.” Maybe he’d tell her he loved her at Christmas. After the bread pudding and before the gifts and Mrs. Vankald singing and Mr. Vankald challenging him and Liam to air hockey in the basement. Or maybe he’d wait until they were back here, in this far too comfortable bed when they were by themselves and Emma was pressed up against his side again.

It didn’t really matter.

The only thing he knew was that Emma Swan, his girlfriend, might actually be the best thing that had ever happened to him.

#cs ff #captain swan ff #ouat ff #cs #csbb #blue line #ariel just spitting straight truth here #hey have i told you guys i love ariel??#i love ariel

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