It all kind of happens in slow motion.
One second, Emma hears the crack of the bat and the requisite roar of the crowd, and the next her eyes have widened to a size most scientists would likely advise against. Because, standing at home plate, that same home plate multiple baseball players are sprinting toward, is her kid. More or less waiting to be run over. That is, of course, until Killian Jones.
âââ
Word Count: 4.1K
Rating: Flufffy fluff fluff of the fluffiest variety
AN: Writing has been something of a legitimate challenge for me in the last few weeks, but earlier this week @ohmightydevviepuu sent a link to this tweet, tagged me, and said what I basically took as an unspoken prompt. Like, youâre going to send me video of a bat boy getting scooped up at home by a player in the middle of the game and then think I wonât write about it? Not possible. Even with the aforementioned writing challenges. Nothing stands a chance against my love of baseball. Hereâs hoping the Yankees turn it around in the second half. Neither Aaron Judge or I deserve the season weâve had so far.
âââ
Biologically speaking, Emma Swan is perfectly aware that the current positioning of her heart is more or less impossible.Â
Stuck somewhere between the back of her throat and the pit of her stomach, it makes her all too aware of the now-empty chasm in her chest, stretching out toward her arms and threatening the structural integrity of her lungs, neither of which appear all that intent on working properly. Oxygen is a luxury not currently afforded to her capillaries. Instead, nerves mix with anxiety and the telltale flush of adrenaline that probably also makes her look relatively crazy because her pupils are definitely dilated and she does not know nearly enough about science to be making any of these claims.Â
Whatever, really.Â
It feels like that ooze from that movie. FernGully, Emma thinks. With the fairies. She thinks they were fairies. Sheâs not entirely certain they were fairies.Â
And the ooze was definitely oil, obviously. There was a message involved in that movie. Not one that she appreciated when she was seven and Tim Curryâs animated-oil voice sort of freaked her out. But, like, she gets it now. The environment, and everything. With or without fairies. With Robin Williams, though.Â
Sheâs positive about that, at least.Â
Robin Williams was definitely in that movie.Â
Less positive about the ability of her heart to actually split itself in half, as it seems wont to do at the moment. So, as to make it easier when it inevitably soars out of her mouth and falls onto the scuffed-up clubhouse floor beneath her feet. Naturally, this will happen simultaneously. For maximum effect.Â
Much like the fireworks currently exploding over the left-field bleachers.Â
Sheâs not sure if fireworks do explode, actually. That seems dangerous. Likely to lead to injuries and sounds that donât resemble the oohs and ahhs a ballpark generally inspires. Explode probably isnât the right word. Maybe something more likeâŚdetonate.Â
No, thatâs worse. Way worse. Sheâs got to learn more words. Find a thesaurus or a dictionary orâa fireworks expert would be ideal, honestly.
Someone who could give her a detailed description of the inner-workings of a Yankee Stadium pyrotechnics display on a Tuesday in July, enough words that Emmaâs mind would still for a few moments, allowing her to catch her breath and reestablish a consistent heart rate, and both of those problems could also likely be solved by sitting down, but the chair to her left looks a little wobbly, and her legs appear to have minds of their own because science is rather quickly becoming a lie andâ
âIs he alright?â
She spins. Nearly falls over. Her knees are also awfully wobbly, thatâs why.Â
Despite all of that, and the overall circumference of her pupils, the voice doesnât retreat. Doesnât even flinch. Shows absolutely no signs of imminent stumbling. And thatâs probably because the voice is a man, one who is in possession of world-class instinctual reactions, and his hair is still damp from his post-game shower and it absolutely makes her something of an atrocious mother to acknowledge that last thing as quickly as she does.Â
His shirt sleeves are noticeably sticking to his biceps, so that helps too.Â
Opening her mouth, Emma is going to say words that are both vaguely intelligent and passably accurate, absolving this Major League Baseball player of any of the guilt he so obviously feels. Which is just patently stupid, really. None of this was his fault. None of it was anyoneâs fault, really.Â
Except maybe the idiot who left his bat at that particular angle across home plate, but Emmaâs an adrenaline expert these days and walk-offs are understandably exciting. First walk-offs more so.Â
Sheâs happy for Scarlet, really.Â
They won the game.Â
Everything is fine. Great, even. She nearly jumps twenty-six feet in the air at the next boom of fireworks.Â
The pinch between the Major League Baseball playerâs eyebrows getsâ
Pinchier.Â
The little roll of skin draws Emmaâs attention, effectively robbing her of the ability to respond like an almost-sane person, but sheâs also still trying to rationalize why she can remember the words to several FernGully songs while also being unable to recall what flavor PopTart she had for breakfast earlier this week and she figures watching her kid nearly get run over by professional athletes approximately forty-two minutes before gives her a fairly reasonable excuse.Â
For opening and closing her mouth no less than eight consecutive times.Â
Like a goddamn fish. There were no fish in FernGully. Least not so far as she remembers.Â
Itâs entirely possible she squeaks on attempt number five.Â
The Major League Baseball playerâs eyebrows do not move. Itâs equal parts frustrating and incredible to behold.Â
âI should probably thank you, right?â Emma asks, not quite regretting the words immediately, but itâs awfully close. That gets her some movement. Of the eyebrow variety. One eyebrow, specifically. Arching up, it somehow still manages to pull her attention directly toward eyes that should be the star of their own marketing campaign. Not quite Yankee blue, but distractingly blue, and it takes everything in her not to huff as dramatically as she wants to. Once the athletic trainer is done with Henry, Emma is going to make him examine her lungs. Rationality rules the day.Â
Major League Baseball player shakes his head. Itâs dumb to call him that. She knows his name. Knows at least some of his history. Is still staring obnoxiously at his freakishly attractive face.Â
Freakishly is kind of mean, too. As far as descriptions go.Â
âUnnecessary,â he says, an undercurrent of worry still clear in the letters. Ducking his head, he takes a cautious step forward, almost as if heâs wary of what Emma will do, and she supposes thatâs fair. What with the impressive vertical sheâs in possession of these days. âAnyone would do that.â
âIâm not sure they could, actually.â
At some point in this otherwise shitty experience of a night, Emma is vaguely confident something will go the way she wants it to. Aside from winning. Sheâs glad they won. Seriously.Â
âNo?â
âNo,â she echoes, and itâs not like she can feel him. A few feet of space separates them, so whatever heat appears to be wafting off the Major League Baseball player in front of her, with his damp hair, and stupid, stupid, stupid eyes is as impossible as any of the various impossibilities currently taking place within her person.Â
And yet.Â
He sticks his hand out.Â
Itâs disarmingly earnest.Â
âKillian Jones,â he says, confidence replacing the nerves, and Emma begins to see why there are so many stories. And Twitter threads. Regarding his face and the potential for that face to date a variety of other attractive faces across at least four of the five boroughs. Somehow Emma doesnât think Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, is schlepping out to Staten Island for a date.Â
Nor does she believe that Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, has ever once let the word schlep pass through his conscious mind.Â
She takes his hand.Â
It isâ
Surprisingly warm. And...not quite soft, thatâd be impossible with the job he performs almost nightly. But the calluses on the pads of his fingers arenât as rough as Emma expects, which also suggests sheâs managed to ponder the overall texture of Killian Jonesâs fingers in the last twelve point six seconds, and thatâs not entirely true. What is true is that Ruby thinks Killian Jones is real good-looking and has determined that the phrase quite a catch is the pinnacle of humor, so, sure, Emma has possibly considered the possibility of paths crossing and intersecting, and her hand looks minuscule wrapped up in his. So, thatâs something to think about later.Â
Their arms move. Bob up and down as society dictates they should, and heâs smiling at her, and sheâs trying not to look like a serial killer, straining to hear the voices behind the door, and it does not work.Â
âWhy do you think people are so consistently fascinated by fireworks?â
If heâs surprised by her absolutely inane question, he doesnât show it. Thatâs points. For what, Emma hasnât totally decided yet, but itâs something, and itâs probably good, and theyâre going to play that clip on loop for weeks. Longer, probably.Â
Every goddamn day if the Yankees make the postseason.Â
When the Yankees make the postseason.Â
Her dad wouldnât appreciate the buffer. Leaves room for loss, and that is not the Nolan way. Not when there are championships to win, and this was supposed to be the best possible time. Smack dab in the middle of the season, with the All-Star break looming, Henry would get to suit up as batboy for one game that didnât mean much and wouldnât draw too strong of a spotlight, no murmurs about nepotism by internet trolls who couldnât possibly define the word with any sort of accuracy, but also like to shout about canceling and culture with an almost alarming sense of self-righteousness, so, of course, the whole thing was now blowing up in their face.Â
Much like the goddamn fireworks.Â
It wasnât Will Scarletâs fault.Â
Wasnât Henryâs fault, either.Â
His job was to get the bats out of the field of play. Doing it while the field of play was still active was a mistake any kid could have made. Just so happens that itâs Emmaâs kid, and the grandkid of the Yankeesâ hitting coach, and that means something to the New York media and the New York fans, and if Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman with an arm that can make cross-field throws with ease, wasnât also so quick-thinking and sure-footed, scooping Henry up as he crossed home plate and avoiding the ensuing swarm of players at home plate, all intent on celebrating Will Scarletâs first-ever career walk-off, Emma can only imagine what would have happened.Â
Trampled. Stepped on. Broken bones. Concussions.Â
Theyâre checking Henry for a concussion now. He absolutely does not have a concussion. He was laughing while he was carried off the field. Like he hit the walk-off.Â
Front office is absolutely petrified sheâs going to sue them.Â
The thought hadnât even once crossed Emmaâs mind. Plus, sheâs sort of busy. Holding Killian Jonesâs hand. His stupid, warm hand.Â
âBright colors,â he says, responding to a question Emmaâs nearly forgotten about. Jumping is more challenging when his fingers tighten ever so slightly. âFlash, boom. Taps into baser instincts, I think.â
âYou think peopleâs base instinct is to enjoy explosions.â
âPhrasing that as a statement makes me think you donât agree with me.â
âYou didnât want me to thank you,â Emma points out.
âWell, no,â he says, and the precise way his eyes drop does something specific to all of her instincts. Leaves her flush with a heat that reminds her of Fourth of July sparklers rather than any sort of massive explosion, and thatâs not bad, per se, although itâs admittedly a little surprising. As is the slight uptick of precisely one side of his mouth. It takes her a moment to realize heâs smirking at her. And another for her subconscious to admit that itâs working as intended. Her shoulders drop half an inch. While Emma pulls her hand back to her side. âThanking me suggests I did anything to warrant the thanks.â
âBig words.â
âFor a dumb athlete, you mean.â
âThat wasnât a question, either.â
âNo,â Killian repeats, âit wasnât.â
âIâd really like to thank you. IâDad told him when to come out of the dugout, so he definitely knew the rules, but I think he was super worried about you tripping over the bat.â
The smirk becomes a full-blown smile. Which is no less than forty-seven thousand times more powerful. Equivalent to staring directly into a solar eclipse or gazing upon the dark side of the moon, and Emma should at least do some research before coming up with these internal examples. Basic Google searches would provide her with the necessary information.Â
âThatâs more or less what he told me, yeah.â
Emmaâs nose creases. âTalked your ear off after your daring rescue, huh?â
âKeep complimenting me like this, and my ego wonât know what to do with it.â
She hopes sheâs not blushing as much as it feels like she is. The state of Killianâs eyebrows and the precise curl of his lips make that seem unlikely. âYour reflexes are unparalleled.â
âSomething about big bucks and why I get paid them.â
âOh,â Emma laughs, unable to stop herself, and she doesnât remember deciding to stop pacing, only that her knees appreciate it once she has, âyou think youâre real funny, donât you?â
âI think Iâm moderately funny, not the hero youâre suggesting I amââ
âOh, I never used the word hero.â
ââAnd you never actually told me your name.â
âBecause you donât know who I am.â
Itâs not a question, either. Neither one of them mention that.Â
âI do,â Killian concedes, âHenry was also fairly quick to mention exactly who he was and where his mother was sitting.â Emmaâs nose is going to freeze in this position. âBut I gave you my name, which makes it only fair that weâre all square and whatnot.â
âWhatnot, huh?â
âYup.â
He pops his lips on the letter. Which is also unfair. In, like, the grand scheme of the world. The black ooze that is not actually oil when used in this particular metaphor recedes. Leaves Emma with a chest cavity that is partially full of butterfly wings and the growing sense of anticipation that isnât quite as nerve-wracking as it should be. Like sheâs about to step into the batterâs box with two outs and runners in scoring position. Sheâs totally going to hit against the shift. Fluttering her fingers at her side, Emma doesnât lift her hand. It doesnât matter.Â
Killianâs eyes drop. To the movement. And her. And part of her shies away from that because part of her has spent a lifetime tucked into a shadow that didnât belong to her and doesnât belong to Henry, but now thereâs some joke about Peter Pan to be made because they live in an internet-age and Killian Jones has a very good face. So. Viral video, enter stage right. Starring Henry Swan, Killian Jones, and the inevitably uneven pitter-patter of Emmaâs traitorous heart.Â
âEmma Swan.â
âI think you should sit down.â
âWhy is that, exactly?â
âIâm worried about your legs.â
Whatever noise she makes canât quite be classified as a scoff. It hurts her throat too much. And itâs not a laugh, either. Even as the butterflies threaten to rise up in mutiny of Emmaâs more rational feelings, and she gets the distinct impression that Killian is reading her mind. Trying very hard, at least.Â
âSounds like a line.â
âMight be a line,â he admits, which draws another wholly inhuman sound out of Emmaâs barely-functioning lungs.Â
âDid he kick you on the lift?â
Killian hums. âYouâd kick too if you were just hauled off your feet, so I understand the reaction. What Iâm more worried about is the inevitable bruise on my foot from the bat landing there.â
âAh shit, really?â
âIâve had worse.â
âBut not in 4K video that people will play on loop for the rest of the news cycle. If not longer.â
Narrowing his eyes, Killian doesnât immediately respond. Mind reading requires a modicum of focus, Emma assumes. Instead, he rests a hand on her shoulder, directing her toward the chair and ignoring the soft crack her left knee as it bends. âThatâs what youâre worried about.â
âStop sounding so confident.â
âI can only sound how I am, Swan.â
âOh, Iâm not sure weâve reached nickname status yet,â she mumbles, pushing down the soft rush of metaphorical insects doing their beset to soar out of her barely-parted lips. âBut, yeah, IâI mean, donât get me wrong, I was totally terrified in the moment.â
âUnderstandable. Grown men barrelling down the third-base line at your kid are a lot to take in.â
She snorts. Itâs not cute. Not dignified. Killian smirks. âShould you be concerned that the Scarlet was making such solid headway behind you? Are you exceedingly slow?â
âI am league average.â
âHow fast can you get out of the box to first?â
âIâve never timed it.â
âLiar, liar.â
âPlease donât make a crack about my pants,â Killian says, âI wonât be able to cope.â
âOh God, you think youâre charming, too.â
âIâve had no complaints.â
âTo your face, at least.â
Throwing his head back, the laugh that erupts out of him is not of volcano proportions. Of which there was also one in FernGully if Emmaâs memory is to be trusted. An arm circles his middle, stretching muscle and ensuring that Emma notices just how corded that same muscle is, the slight bend of his wrist leaving her off-kilter. When he meets her gaze, she swears his eyes are brighter. âYeah, yeah, thatâs true,â Killian concedes, âno one has flat out told me I was lacking charm to my face.â
âThis thanking you thing is going great.â
âAnd I continue to not need thanks. Why are you worried about the video getting out there? Filmed in 4K like you suggest, at least weâll all look great. Sharp pixels and whatnot.â
âWhat do you know about pixels?â
âYou basically heard the extent just now.â
Sheâs getting better at laughing. The ooze has almost all but disappeared, Emma twirling a strand of hair around fingers that are intent on moving, and itâs an old habit. One Killianâs gaze catches on. Immediately. Quickly. Seriously, Emma needs a thesaurus. âBaseballâs always been my dad,â she says. âAnd thatâsâwell, weâve lived this game, me and my mom, weekend series and West Coast swings, waiting up for him to get home because the flight got delayed, but Henryâs just a kid, getting thrown into this world because of his last name and who his family is? That sucks. Nothing was supposed to happen tonight.â
âNothing did happen.â
âBecause of you.â
âIâd like to believe Scarlet, ridiculously fast as he might be, would not run over a small child,â Killian says. âAnd, uh, for the record and all that, I got a bad jump off first because I didnât know if they were going to catch it in left. No one wants to get caught on the base paths.â
âYeah, thatâd be embarrassing.â
He must hear the hitch in her voice because the next thing Emma realizes, her fingers are twisted back up in Killianâs, and sheâs warm and falling and flying, and itâs good and weird, and the door swings open.Â
They both jump.
So, thatâs something.Â
Rushing out quickly enough that he nearly trips over his own feet, Henryâs head leads the way and finds Emmaâs stomach, a tangle of limbs, and overly-excited words, all of which rival the now-finished fireworks display in volume.Â
It takes Henry about five and a half run-on sentences to notice Killian standing there.Â
His eyes widen. His mouth drops. Killian grins. Emma tries very hard not to die. It only sort of works.Â
She blames the faulty body parts sheâs in possession of.Â
âKillian,â Henry exclaims, clamoring back to his feet and nearly falling again in the process. Hands that belong to both Emma and Killian dart out, steadying Henry while their eyes meet over the top of his head. Killian winks. He tries. Itâs more like a blink than anything. âHi, hi! You did so good tonight! And we won, and I got to go on the field andâand, it was so,â Henry heaves a deep breath, âwe were so good.â
Collective pronouns do something to Emmaâs entire state of being.Â
Flips it on an axis she hadnât been aware previously existed until it almost feels as if this was the path theyâd been directing themselves toward from the start. Her eyes flit toward Killian. Who is already watching her.Â
âWe did,â he nods, âmaybe next time, though, you wait one extra second to grab Scarletâs bat, ok?â
Seeing her own nose scrunch reflected back on her kid is not the worst thing thatâs ever happened to Emma. The vibrating phone in her back pocket, might be.Â
Itâs one-hundred percent, Ruby.Â
âThatâs what grandpa said too,â Henry grumbles, digging a toe of the cleats Emmaâs mother bought him last week into the ground, âbut I wanted to make sure you didnât fall.â
Definitely dying, then. A systematic shut down of all necessary internal organs. Itâs not as bad as Emma would have expected.Â
Neither one of Killianâs knees crack when he bends. That seems heavy-handed.Â
âAnd I donât want you to fall either,â he says, âso we agree, right here, right now, not to let the other one fall, huh?â
Emma holds her breath. Ignores the pinch in her lungs and the clearly unstable nature of both her mind and her heart, digging her nails into her palms. To ensure she isnât tempted to haul Henry back toward her. Or push that one strand of hair away from Killianâs forehead.Â
Henry nods. âDeal.â
They hook their pinkies together.Â
Itâs adorable and as endearingly charming as everything else Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, has done since he walked into that hallway. Less so when her dad emerges from the office, the athletic trainer on his heels to not-so-quietly inform Killian that he canât just blow off post-game like that, and the second wink is as bad as the first.Â
She does her very best to memorize the movement.Â
And the joy on Henryâs face the next morning when a box arrives on their doorstep, a genuine, game-worn Killian Jones jersey inside. She doesnât notice the note at first, tucked between the cardboard and the tissue paper someone must have bought for him. He canât have bought that tissue paper himself. He justâitâs unfathomable.Â
Emma knows he bought the tissue paper himself.Â
As clearly as she knows that those numbers in that particular order will lead to Killian Jones answering his phone and that her voice likely wonât shake when she replies to the question written in surprisingly loopy script. Which is why, Emma will argue, she does reply. In the affirmative. To several questions over the course of the remaining season, and they donât star in any more viral videos, but there are a few pictures once they clinch the division.Â
Drops of champagne cling to the tips of Emmaâs eyelashes and the ends of Killianâs hair, hands on her waist that blaze a quick path up her back and around her middle, and she has to tilt her head up to get the right angles. Of lips. While they kiss in the middle of the clubhouse, the hat someone forced onto Emmaâs head falling and itâs impossible to hear over the sound of celebratory fireworks, but she can somehow still hear Henryâs laugh ringing out from the general area near Scarletâs locker, and his jersey collection is growing at an impressive rate.Â
No one can withstand the overall cuteness of him.Â
Emma included. Emma, especially.Â
Sometimes she worries sheâs so happy sheâll burst, unable to contain the sort of emotion her body is still acclimating itself to. But then she realizes just how dumb that is and happiness cannot possibly be quantified, and her head is buzzing enough from champagne that she nearly misses Killian when he says, âpeople love the bright spots, Swan.â
Itâs not the most romantic thing heâs told her. Doesnât crack the top five, quite frankly. She swoons all the same. With her kid laughing and her team winning and thatâs about all the sentiment sheâs willing to acknowledge before her tongue is in Killianâs mouth. He groans. She grins.Â
And heâd been right about the video. It wasnât the embarrassment Emma worried it could be. Was mostly relegated to the corners of the internet set aside for formerly popular content as soon as the season ended, spoken about only in fond recollection as the other seasons went on and the wins kept coming and all three of them stand on a parade float with the World Series trophy a few dozen feet away, several Novembers after that first game.Â
Itâs a Thursday afternoon, then.Â
And yet Emma never entirely forgets. What the video meant and what it did and sheâs not remotely surprised when it finds its way back to the forefront of the sports zeitgeist on a Wednesday in July. Most mentions come with similar taglines and messages. Something about feeling our age and wanna feel old because that bot boy, David Nolanâs grandson, Killian Jonesâs stepson, heâs getting drafted now.Â
Got drafted, technically.Â
Third round, video of the soon-to-be third baseman for the San Diego Padres makes the internet circuits and garners plenty of interest. Itâs not the most exciting video, though. Henry just hugs his family. Who hug tightly back.Â
What is more exciting is the box that arrives on Emma and Killianâs doorstep. With a note that eventually earns a frame next to the last one and a wholly official, game-worn jersey that has a noticeable streak of dirt across the left sleeve. From sliding head-first into home plate. Â
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Fat Freezing Bournemouth.
Fat Freezing & Coolsculpting In Cambridge & Suffolk.
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Everything You Require To Find Out About Cryolipolysis (fat Freezing) Therapy Of The Chin.
What Occurs If I Put On Weight After Coolsculpting?
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Every Little Thing You Need To Learn About Cryolipolysis (fat Freezing) Treatment Of The Chin.
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Fat ices up at a greater temperature level than water, so there's no hiding from the fact that whichever area you're targeting with the treatment, it's mosting likely to feel a little cold. " You wont really see or feel fat in the bathroom bowl. Although it's irreversible there is no damage to the surrounding tissues". " Although it's permanent there is no damage to the bordering skin, it's simply a means of speeding up what is an all-natural procedure. You can likewise request an appointment using video clip or personally making use of the Demand an Assessment button listed below. An individualised costing will be given at the preliminary appointment. You can eat and drink as generally before, throughout and also complying with the treatment. At first during the vacuum process clients will experience a sharp tug and also pressure.
This aspects consist of swelling painful bruising, pain tingling restricted wheelchair and allergy. The toughest outcomes show up on customers with a BMI of 30 or below. For more information on the benefits of CoolSculpting ÂŽ or to schedule an examination, telephone call.
New Harvard study fights fat with salty, icy injections - New Atlas
New Harvard study fights fat with salty, icy injections.
Posted: Wed, 15 Jan 2020 08:00:00 GMT [source]
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