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welllpthisishappening · 7 years ago

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Tripping Over the Blue Line (38/45)

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: I’d like to take this moment to apologize to all the sports teams I absolutely trash in this story. I have very strong feelings about my teams and even stronger feelings about not my teams and that’s probably obvious in every single word, but I care a lot about the New York Rangers. That being said, let’s trash on Pittsburgh some more. And have some in-game moments, which is always so much fun to write since that’s, you know, my job normally and I’m real proud of the actual game-play in this story. As always this is nothing if you guys don’t read it and even more nothing without @laurnorder, @beautiful-swan & @distant-rose (who is the real MVP and has listened to me this entire week during the week from absolute real-life hell). Also on Ao3, FF.net & tag’ed up on Tumblr.

“You have to get up,” Emma mumbled, kicking back slightly.

“Nope,” Killian argued. “I’m not going.” “You have to go. They’ll fine you otherwise. I can’t believe you guys didn’t leave yesterday, actually.” “Trying to get rid of me, Swan?”

His arm tightened around her waist and his bed really was way more comfortable than hers, but he had to leave early and she needed to stay in the city and there’d been some sort of unspoken agreement about coming back to her apartment this series.

It was definitely athletic-based superstition.

They won after Emma found him on 110th, a shutout on Garden ice and Killian had star’ed and Soyer got dropped down to the fourth line, only a few minutes and a handful of shifts. Roland was the first one to point it out, shouting about ice time and Killian scoring in back-to-back games as soon as they’d shown up at the restaurant after post.

So they just kept doing it.

And Killian’s bed was comfortable, but Emma would have been lying if she didn’t get some sort of something whenever she woke up next to him in her own space.

She was probably growing as a person or something.

“The opposite,” Emma mumbled, realizing rather belatedly she hadn’t actually answered the question. “Did we not prove that already?” They’d left the restaurant early – or earlier than they probably should have if they were still trying to do anything even remotely resembling under the radar. They weren’t. They’d made Page Six again that week.

Ruby tried to hide it. Elsa e-mailed her the link.

And it almost didn’t matter – Emma hadn’t checked any subReddit's in days – but it hadn’t been an easy series, losing the second game at the Garden and Arthur’s post-game presser afterwards had reached some kind of viral sensation status.

So as soon as they’d forced a Game Seven and they didn’t leave for Pittsburgh right away, there were a few glances and a few more hands lingering on her back and the curve of Emma’s neck and they left before finishing a full plate of onion rings.

“I’m not opposed to some sort of repeat performance,” Killian said and Emma swore she could feel every single letter.

That might have just been his hand.

“Some sort of repeat performance,” Emma repeated slowly, raising her eyebrows and that kind of smirk on his face should be illegal at whatever godforsaken time it was that morning. It was definitely early.

“Was that not what you were implying?” “You’re taking all the romance out of this.” The smirk got bigger. Ass. “Swan are you implying that you’re trying to woo me? I’ve got a game to focus on.” “Ah, well, that’s fine then,” she sighed and she couldn’t quite stop the yelp she let out when he grabbed her as soon as she tried to start moving. “Jeez, you’re going to break one of my bones.” He almost looked affronted, but the smirk was still there and still stupid and, well, she couldn’t really tease when neither one of them was actually wearing clothes.

“I would never let any of your bones break,” Killian said. She wasn’t quite prepared to dive into the deep end of serious, but his voice was even and intent and he didn’t blink when he stared at her, hand feeling unnaturally heavy on her hip.

“No?” Emma asked and he shook his head before the word was even out of her mouth.

“No,” he said again. God, his eyes were blue.

“That’s cheating,” she accused, twisting around so the sheets were wrapped around her and in between them and maybe they were going to break one ofhis bones because there was no way his wrist was actually supposed to bend like that.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Swan.”

“You’re doing that thing with your eyes.” “Looking at you?” “Yeah,” she mumbled and he was absolutely laughing at her, fingers still trailing over her hip. That was cheating too. “Exactly that.” “I could not look at you.” “That would mean you’d have to actually get out of this bed and get on a flight for Pittsburgh.”

“It barely counts as a flight. And they should have let you gone too.”

Emma scrunched her nose. She hadn’t travelled at all this series, some reason from Zelena that almost made sense about setting up fan events across the city and Rangerstown is in New York, Emma, that’s just the way it works and, well, it did almost make sense.

It didn’t make it any less frustrating to not be at games and she wished she’d been in Pittsburgh when they’d won Game Five if only to see the look on Soyer’s face when she walked through the hallways of the Paints.

“I’ve got that thing in Bryant Park tomorrow,” Emma said. They’d been over this, the plans and the blur of a few hours that had mostly just been signing forms and getting that band from opening night back and if it rained, Emma was going to lose her mind.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Killian sighed. She tried not to groan when he moved his hand, pulling it away from her hip to run over the front of his face. “I’d just rather you were there.” “You know that sounds decidedly clingy, Captain.”

Killian laughed, pulling the sheets away from her to tug Emma back up against his side. They probably should have put more clothes on at some point. The lack of any sort of cotton-based barrier made it very difficult to remember all the reasons he needed to get out of her bed.

“Yeah, it might be,” he agreed. “Or it could also be decidedly romantic.” “Which one do you think it is?” “Well, you’ve already accused me of cheating and staring and now clingy so I’m not sure we’re really moving in any sort of romantic-type direction.”

“I never once said staring ,” Emma argued, nearly jumping up when she moved to knock her knuckles against his chest. “I said you were looking at me.”

“And that’s cheating somehow?” Emma rolled her eyes as soon as he started smiling at her. “A distraction,” she muttered, pushing her fingers into his hair and she didn’t remember moving until she was practically on top of him, legs on either side of his hips.

“That word, Swan.” “Yeah, well this time it isn’t coming from the internet. And you are...” She waved her hand through the air, not entirely certain what she was trying to point out. It seemed kind of silly to actually say the words ridiculously good looking when she was practically straddling him.

“You ever going to finish that thought?” Killian asked, fingers tracing up her side until Emma’s breath caught in her throat and he lifted his eyebrows.

“Figure it out.” “I’d much rather hear you say it though.” “You’re very frustrating, you know that?” Killian hummed, lips pressed together like this was an even remotely serious conversation. “And apparently a distraction. Correct me if I’m wrong, love, but I don’t think you’re the one with a flight to catch.” “Just a million and two forms to sign,” she said and the words weren’t quite as even as his were. That was probably because he wasn’t trying to focus on letters and coherency with a hand in between his legs and Emma was having a hard time not simply collapsing on top of him. He’d planned on that – of course.

That smirk was stupid.

“Ah, you’ll figure it out, Swan,” Killian said and the idea of doubting him was as stupid as that smirk that wouldn’t leave his face. “You have all season.” “This is bigger than that, though. What if it rains?” “People will get rained on.” “They won’t like it.”

“They won’t care if we win.” Killian chuckled under his breath and she’d stopped even trying to sit up straight anymore, hand pressed flat on the tiny bit of mattress by his shoulder as she started trailing kisses along the curve of his jaw.

He stopped laughing almost immediately, shoulders rolling back into the pillows and maybe Emma was a distraction. “We don’t have time for this,” she whispered, but she’d closed her eyes when his hand moved again and she hadn’t actually stopped kissing him yet.

“I don’t care.” “You have to go win a game.” “You don’t know that’ll happen, love,” he said softly and Emma pulled her head up to meet his gaze. He looked as nervous as he sounded, that moment on a park bench uptown echoing in her memory and they had to win.

This had to work.

“Yes, I do,” Emma promised.

“That’s quite a lot of faith you’re putting in me, Swan,” Killian said. His voice kept shaking. He didn’t look away from her.

“I know. But there’s a reason for it.” “Yeah?” Emma nodded, thumb brushing across his face and he desperately needed to shave. He couldn’t shave. Bad luck and sports-based superstitions and it scratched against her cheek when he kissed her.

She liked it.

“Because this is going to work,” Emma continued, not entirely certain she was actually proving her point. Her mind was a convoluted mess of belief and certainty and she hadn’t been ready for any of it, hadn’t been entirely prepared to find Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers, sitting on a bench on 110th Street, but if anyone was going to believe in him then she was going to make sure it was her.

“You’re sure of that?” he asked skeptically.

“Yeah. I am.” “Why?” “Because I’m choosing to see the best in you,” Emma answered. “And that’s not the face of the franchise or even that enormous cardboard cutout they’re going to put in front of the fountain in Bryant Park. That’s everything else. That’s saving my events and Henry’s house and did you know you lift Roland up every single time you see him?” Killian quirked one eyebrow and his eyes flashed up towards her, something she could only define as want flickering in his gaze. “I hadn’t,” he said softly. “Just instinct. Or something.” “Exactly.”

He tugged her down back towards him, hand pushed into her hair and around the back of her head and it was slow and meaningful and he kissed her like they’d already won Game Seven. He kissed her like he believed her.

“Did you say something about a cardboard cutout,” Killian mumbled. She hadn’t moved yet, could feel his lips move against hers when he spoke and Ruby would probably notice the red on Emma’s cheeks from the playoff beard that afternoon.

Absolutely horrible at under the radar.

“I did,” Emma laughed. “They’re going to put them out so people can pose with them.” “Oh my God.” “It’s almost cute.” “What happens with them when you’re done with your event?” “Well, we’ll probably use them for the Cup Finals.”

“If.” “When.” Killian smiled at her, right hand toying with the ends of her hair while his left kept tracing up the line of her spine. “You could keep it here,” he suggested, widening his eyes when he moved again and Emma had to bite her lip so she didn’t actually groan at the feel of him against her.

They didn’t have time for this.

She didn’t care.

“Here?” Emma repeated and breathing was absolutely overrated, an unnecessary requirement that she couldn’t bring herself to be concerned with when Killian’s hips moved again.

“Well, where else would you put it? Insert something about how you can have me around all the time or whatever.” “Somehow, I don’t think that’s quite the same,” she stuttered. Her head bounced on one of the few pillows she’d actually bought in the last two months and Killian was, somehow, above her, hips still moving and hands still moving and Emma’s whole body felt like it was on pins and needles.

It kind of felt like waiting for Game Seven.

It was, easily, the dumbest, most sentimental thing she’d ever thought in her life.

“Ah, that’s true,” Killian continued, muttering the words into her ear before trailing his lips across her neck and the hollow between her collarbones and every inch of her was probably going to be red by the time this was over.

He hissed in his breath when she wrapped her hand around him and maybe they were on more even footing than Emma had originally thought. They were, after all, still decidedly undressed.

“What are the rules about trimming this?” she asked, tapping one finger against his jaw.

“You don’t like it?” Killian laughed. “It’s good luck.” “I didn’t say that. It’s just long. And scratchy.” He should probably smile like that all the time, Emma thought. Ah, that was the most sentimental thing she’d ever thought in her life.

She twisted her wrist and Killian squeezed his eyes closed, lips sinking into his lower lip and Emma felt something shoot through her that might have been want or need or maybe just a distinct amount of belief.

“You’re going to be late,” she mumbled.

“We’ve been over this. I don’t care.” Killian rolled his hips again – like that proved that – and muttered something about quick and it wasn’t exactly the most romantic thing he’d ever said, but it didn’t really matter. He groaned when his body met hers and Emma gripped his shoulders tightly, meeting him movement for movement and kiss for kiss and there wasn’t much finesse to any of it, but he kept mumbling words in her ears and her own name echoed in the room as soon as she shifted a very particular way.

And it was as fast as it had to be, and just a bit desperate, but so was a Game Seven, the inability to get out of that bed in the apartment she still couldn’t quite think of as hers without him there, but it still didn’t matter.

She closed her eyes again, the sound of his I love you, Swan lingering in the tiny bit of air between them and tried to remember every motivational-hope speech Mary Margaret had ever given, anything she’d ever believed in when she was a kid and getting shipped from house to house and state to state and she couldn’t.

She couldn’t remember believing in anything as much as this.

As much as him.

No, she corrected herself quickly, as much as them.

Sentimental fool.

“I love you too,” Emma whispered. “And I’m not bringing a cardboard cutout back here.” Killian laughed and the nerves weren’t quite as palpable anymore, eyes not leaving her face as he did his best not to crush her. “That’s fair.”

“I mean,” she continued, words falling out of her mouth without her explicit permission. “You’ll be here, right? That seems kind of better.” “Kind of?” “Well, I didn’t want to assume.” He bent his head and kissed her quickly, squeezing her hip. “I’ll be here, love.” “Good.” “We’re going to win,” he said and Emma wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince.

“I know you are. No jinx.” “No jinx,” Killian repeated, smile wide and eyes still on her face and she was probably blushing now in addition to whatever kind of red trail he’d left behind on her neck.

He blinked once and hooked one of his fingers through her laces, tugging lightly until she started to grumble about ripping them. “Although,” Killian added. “They are fairly well-rested now on the other side.” “Look who’s jinxing who now.” “I’m just saying. A five-game series in the west is a lot different than a seven-game series here in some sort of rivalry matchup.”

“Yeah, well that’s because LA doesn’t actually have any real rivals. Because they’re a dumb team in a dumb city with an ugly color scheme.”

Killian barked out a laugh and his lips ghosted over her temple as he kept his fingers trailing up her spine. “I don’t intend to let you down, Swan,” he said softly and Emma bit her tongue so she didn’t do something dumb like cry.

Or buy her own goddamn ticket to Pittsburgh.

“You won’t.”

The text message came four hours after he walked out her door and Mary Margaret asked why Emma was smiling like an idiot in the corner of her couch. She didn’t use those words. David did. Mary Margaret flicked her fingers on his shoulder.

Made it to Pittsburgh. No turbulence. Scarlet yelled anyway. I love you, Swan. Your place tomorrow night, win or lose.

It didn’t rain – which was good since they couldn’t actually bring tents into Bryant Park.

There were, however, a sea of fans and people and slightly confused tourists who couldn’t understand who these guys in uniform were.

“You’d think they’d never even heard of hockey before,” Emma grumbled, Merida on her heels with a clipboard and a schedule and they were both wearing headsets.

This event was questionably enormous.

She tried not to think of all the ways they’d have to, somehow, top this if they made it to the Finals. When. When they made it to the Finals.

“Well,” Merida reasoned and she was jogging now to try and keep up with Emma. “To be fair, some of them probably haven’t.”

“Yeah, but they’re not trying to bid on signed merch.” Merida shrugged. “They might.” “What time is it?” Emma asked, ignoring that particular brand of positivity completely. She didn’t have time to linger on the possibility of tourists bidding on a ridiculous amount of signed merch. That was another reason she was glad it didn’t rain. They didn’t have anything to cover the merch with.

God, this event was half a moment away from disaster.

“We’re fine, boss,” Merida promised, just barely avoiding Emma’s back when she stopped suddenly to find half of the cardboard cutouts knocked over in front of the fountain.

“God damnit,” she mumbled, grabbing the first one she could and putting it upright. “And that didn’t answer my question.” “We’ve got twenty minutes until puck drop.” “Ok,” Emma said, only turning around when a cardboard version of August Booth was standing back upright. “And the alums are here?” “Taking pictures with people who actually know what hockey is already.” “Good, that’s good.” “It’s going to be fine, boss.” “Sure it is,” Emma answered distractedly, spinning when she heard her name.

David was wearing a jersey and Mary Margaret actually had a hat on, the brim bent a little bit and her class had probably told her she had to wear it that way. Emma’s smile was instantaneous and Merida might have started to breathe a bit easier as soon as she stopped demanding updates on how much time they had left before puck drop.

“Hey,” Emma said, walking towards both of them. David looked like a kid in a candy store, eyes wide and mouth hanging open and he laughed loudly when he noticed the cardboard cutouts. “You guys made it.” “Emma, you sent a car,” Mary Margaret said reasonably.

She had. An appropriate use of team resources. She didn’t really care. She wanted her friends there if this didn’t go the way she wanted it to.

Mary Margaret totally knew. It was probably why she’d worn the hat – to distract her or something. David would have been too busy screaming at the TV.

Or the giant movie-type screen thing they rented. It wasn’t really a TV.

“Anyway,” David said pointedly, nodding towards the admittedly loud crowd that was already scouting seats in front of the screen. “This is going to be awesome. God, how many permits did you have to fill out to get that thing in here?” “More than I knew existed,” Emma admitted, throwing a grateful smile Merida’s direction. “Did you guys honestly bring chairs?”

“Where else would we sit? On the grass?”

“I don’t know. I figured a blanket.”

“We brought that too,” Mary Margaret said and Emma hadn’t noticed the folded up patchwork tucked underneath her arm. “You know, just in case you had two seconds to sit down.” “You were going to make me sit on the blanket while you guys got chairs?” Emma laughed. “I’m not actually your kid.” “We only had so many chairs, Emma,” David said quickly, brushing over whatever apology was on the tip of Mary Margaret’s tongue.

“I understand, Dad. Henry and Rol will probably want to sit on your blanket anyway.” “They’re here?” Emma nodded, eyes darting to the alumni booth around the corner to find Roland Locksley directing fans into single-file lines and photo ops with an ease that didn’t surprise her as much as it probably should have.

“There were apparently game-day rules I wasn’t aware of,” Emma explained. “Some kind of schedule that’s been set in stone since the dawn of time and they couldn’t go to Pittsburgh because it would jinx it. I don’t think Rol or Henry cared much. They were more than happy to just start running around the park as soon as they got here.” “Where’s Regina?” Mary Margaret asked, head on a swivel as she tried to find a well-tailored pantsuit or the tell-tale signs of heels clicking on sidewalk.

“Pacing somewhere,” Merida said. “Last I saw she was reading Post stories on her phone and creating some kind of ditch on 42nd Street.”

Mary Margaret clicked her tongue sympathetically, staring at Emma like she was knew she wanted to start pacing on 42nd Street as well.

She didn’t have time.

“Boss,” Merida continued sharply, tugging on her shirtsleeve. The cardboard cutouts had fallen down again. Or knocked down.

Emma groaned, head rolling back between her shoulders and the cardboard cutouts were more trouble than they were worth. “Maybe we should just take them down,” she suggested as a particularly enthusiastic fan kicked at Phillip’s cardboard counterpart. They were wearing a Pens jersey. “Oh my God,” she sighed.

“I got it,” David said before Emma could even think about moving. He was gone half a second later, yelling something she couldn’t quite understand and Mary Margaret looked torn between impressed and something that might have been proud.

The guy stopped kicking cardboard immediately, shoulders slumping and Emma’s jaw was practically on the concrete.

Ten minutes until puck drop.

David said something else and the guy nodded slowly, glancing down towards his shoes. He ran away – actually ran.

“Did you just flash your badge at that guy?” Emma asked when David came back, a self-satisfied smile on his face.

“Maybe.” “David. You didn’t have to do that. We’ve got security.” “From a park,” David scoffed.

“And some of the 17th precinct. We are not without protection, Detective.” “Your cardboard cutouts would beg to differ.”

Emma twisted her lips, but she couldn’t even start to feel frustrated, just a bit stunned that Detective David Nolan had actually flashed his badge at a Pens fan to stop beating up her outdoor decorations.

“Thank you,” she mumbled. Mary Margaret might have been crying. “I saved you a spot.” “Wait, what?” Her head snapped up at the genuine surprise in his voice and Mary Margaret was definitely crying, soft sniffles audible even over the already-chanting crowd packed into Bryant Park. “Well,” Emma started, shrugging like this wasn’t the big deal it absolutely was. “I wanted to make sure you could see the TV and we maybe, sort of, blocked off a spot. Over there.” Henry was jumping up and down, waving his hand in the air like they couldn’t see him – or hear him, shouting about David’s jersey. He wasn’t wearing a Jones jersey.

“Oh, Emma,” Mary Margaret said, nearly knocking her over with the force of her hug.

“This is not that big of a deal, Reese’s. We blocked off some grass.” “Did you put tape up?” David asked incredulously and they’d somehow become some kind of six-arm’ed hug monstrosity.

“We had to make sure you had space,” she mumbled. Her face was pressed up against Mary Margaret’s shoulder.

“Five minutes, boss,” Merida said.

Emma nodded again and David’s hand had worked its way around the back of her head as the three of them tried to pull themselves apart.

“Go get your space,” Emma said, nodding towards Henry and a patch of grass. Mary Margaret sniffled again and David squeezed her shoulder so tightly she was surprised his badge number didn’t just shift to dad automatically.

“We’ll find you for the third period?” he asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be mostly done by then.”

“Thanks, Em.”

She didn’t stop moving for the first two periods, she was certain. The Pens fans came back and they did actually have to move the cardboard cutouts because a whole horde of kids had started trying to actually play hockey with them.

There were giveaways organize during intermission and, at one point, the sound wasn’t perfectly matched up on screen and Emma was terrified the entire park was half a moment away from rioting.

Her feet were blistered – Emma was positive.

She didn’t stop moving.

She was pacing and they were losing. Or, at least, not winning. Tied. 1-1 game and they’d just dropped the puck in the third period and every single one of her muscles felt like it was tightening.

She couldn’t stop moving.

Emma tugged on the ends of her hair and if Regina had been walking some kind of ditch into 42nd Street, then she was practically digging out a trench in the middle of Bryant Park. She heard someone hit off the crossbar or maybe the post.

She didn’t look up. She didn’t stop moving. The crowd groaned. That didn’t help her figure out who was actually scoring the puck.

God.

“It wasn’t Killian,” David said, catching Emma around the wrist mid-pace.

“What?” Emma snapped and she still hadn’t looked at the screen. The crowd cheered. It wasn’t a goal. “Wait, what’s going on, why are you here?” “You didn’t show up for your spot on the blanket.” “I’ve been kind of busy.” “And visibly nervous.” “I’m not nervous.” “Emma,” David laughed, letting go of her wrist only to put both his hands on her shoulder and level her with a very specific type of stare.

“I’m sorry I missed curfew,” she muttered and she sounded every inch the teenager she was pretending she wasn’t.

“Come on, don’t be like that.” “Did you just leave Reese’s sitting by herself?” David scowled at her and the look was a bit of a glare now. “Of course not. I left her with Henry and Roland. They were far too busy yelling at the game to realize I’d even gotten up.” “Reese’s too?” Emma asked skeptically. “When did that happen?” “About the same time you guys clinched a playoff berth. She cheered when Scarlet fought Soyer in the second game of the series.” “That can’t possibly be true.” “Ask her yourself if you don’t believe me. Although,” David added, tapping on the curve of her shoulder, “that would mean you’d have to get closer to the screen and then, eventually, you might have to watch the game.” “I’ve watched the game.” “While you were pacing?” Emma grumbled and she couldn’t come up with an argument – called out in the middle of Bryant Park. The crowd made noise again and her head snapped up instinctively, eyes going wide and lip in between her teeth and they’d scored.

They were winning.

“Wait,” she said quickly, half shouting the word at the screen like that would, somehow, pull up a replay immediately. “What happened? Who scored?”

“Play the replay,” David shouted, glaring at the screen instead of Emma.

It worked for him.

It wasn’t Killian – at least the goal wasn’t – and for as many turnovers in the goddamn neutral zone as he’d had that season, he was also, apparently, very good at causing them. Soyer didn’t even seen him coming, skating across center ice and towards the boards and a loose puck and Killian didn’t slow down.

The headlines would probably read steamrolled the next morning.

Soyer looked like he flew before he landed on the ice and Killian barely even stopped skating long enough to get the puck on his stick, let alone worry about the Penguins player laying in front of him. He flicked his wrist and Robin was half a step ahead of the nearest player, just barely onsides as Booth trailed the play and worked his way in front of the net.

Booth scored.

And it sounded as if the entire city of Pittsburgh was jam-packed into that arena, all of them groaning collectively as soon as the goal light went off.

“Soyer won’t be able to skate for the rest of the night,” David laughed. He still had his hand on Emma’s shoulder.

“Good,” she said quickly and that only made him laugh more.

“Good pass too.” “He’s good at that.” “You read The Post today?” “I thought we came to some sort of understanding. We weren’t going to talk about media reports or speculation about what happens after anymore.” “No, no, I know,” David muttered. “But this might be a good thing.” Emma turned on him, eyebrows lifted and the questions written on her face. “The Hart rumors have started again,” he said.

She tried not to groan. It didn’t really work. She groaned and crossed her arms tightly over her chest and no wonder Killian was so nervous the day before, nothing about this stupid sport or its media reports could stay consistent.

“That flipped quickly didn’t it,” Emma hissed, falling into defensive immediately. David grinned at her. “Two weeks ago they were ready to run him out of town and the internet hated me. Now he’s on the fast track to the Hart.” “Well,” David shrugged, “he’s been on some kind of point streak now this series.”

Emma rolled her eyes, but it was true – seven games and points in six of them – and she’d been doing her best not to think about post-season awards when there was already so much riding on now, but that, apparently, was impossible.

“It’d probably help him sign somewhere if he did win,” David continued and Emma groaned again.

“You want to do this now? Right now? In the third period of an away Game Seven?” “Yeah, well, you don’t ever want to talk about it. Mary Margaret said you deflect every time she tries to bring it up.”

“That’s because she thinks I should have moved into Killian’s apartment.” David rolled his eyes and she was half a step away from pacing again. Ten minutes left in the period. A perfect time for some kind of life-changing conversation.

“She said Killian’s been spending a lot of time at your apartment,” David countered and she couldn’t figure out if he was actually arguing with her or just pointing out facts.

“Yeah, that’s true. How that’s any of your business is something else entirely.” “Don’t do that.” “What? What are you trying to ask? If he’ll move into my apartment if he doesn’t sign with the Rangers? Or if he’ll still spend time at my apartment if he signs somewhere else? I don’t know. I don’t. There is no answer. There’s only now and the next,” she glanced at the clock in the corner of the screen, “nine minutes and twelve seconds. Give or take.” David stared at her for a beat and Emma’s shoulders were heaving by the end of her mini speech. He smiled. “Good,” he said simply and tugged her flush against his chest, hand around the back of her head and it felt like he kissed her hair.

They watched the next nine minutes and twelve seconds of game-time together, David’s quiet presence by her side doing something to calm Emma’s nerves and she didn’t try to start pacing once. She stopped tapping her toe instead and he started laughing at her.

The Penguins pulled the goalie with two minutes on the clock and Emma wasn’t certain she breathed the entire time – Soyer coming onto the ice as the extra skater – and the puck was in the Pittsburgh zone for an eternity.

Emma moved behind David once they hit a minute, forehead pressed against his shoulder. He kept laughing at her.

“Em, you can’t hold my arm that tightly,” he muttered.

She hummed against his jacket, grip bordering somewhere close to vice-like as the crowd she couldn’t actually see started making noise.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Oh you want to know what’s going on now?” “Obviously. I just don’t want to watch it.”

David’s body shook against hers, but he silenced quickly when, presumably, something bad happened. “They need to get out of the zone,” he said, sounding like he was muttering the words more to himself than to Emma. “They’ve been in there forever. Scarlet can hardly skate.” “That’s because he’s only got one fully functioning leg.” “True,” David agreed. He winced and Emma could hear the blocked shot as easily as if she were in Pittsburgh and standing in between the benches.

“Who was that?” “Killian.” Emma sighed and David’s gasp was probably because of her hand on his arm and not anything that was going on in the game. “How much time?” she demanded. “Did they change yet?” “You know, you can watch the game, Em.” “David!” “Twenty-four seconds.”

There was a whistle on the ice and, she hoped, a faceoff, and that would, at least, get them off the ice and get a new shift on. She didn’t move away from David’s back.

“They won the faceoff,” he said, narrating whatever Emma refused to look at. “Out of the zone. Ah, shit, they iced it.” “See, good thing you came over here, Reese’s would have clicked her tongue if she heard you say shit.” “I can still revoke your maid of honor duties.” “Please,” Emma scoffed. “I might as well be your best man, too.” David didn’t argue and Emma smiled against his shoulder blade. “Time update, Nolan.” “Nineteen seconds.” “Fuck.” “Wash that mouth out with soap, young lady,” David laughed, prying her fingers off his bicep. “They won the faceoff. Oh, that’s smart.” “David, if we’re going to do this, you need to be more detailed. Time update, again.” “Twelve seconds. They’re just skating around at center ice. Jeez, that’s dangerous. They just passed it back in the zone.” He practically cackled, the noise attracting more than a few curious stares by the tourists who didn’t entirely understand what was going on. “Soyer missed the cut-off. He tried to lunge towards the puck and he didn’t get his stick down in time.” “You’re supposed to keep your stick on the ice,” Emma mumbled. “No matter what.” “Why do I feel like I said that?” “You did, that’s why. The first game we watched. Someone missed a pass and their stick wasn’t on the ice and you complained about it for the rest of the night. Reese’s had to tell you to stop talking about it.” David made a noise in the back of his throat and Emma couldn’t quite believe she remembered that. She was probably losing her mind. And this game had to almost be over.

The crowd started chanting – they’d reached ten seconds – and every single second was the longest second in her entire life.

“They’re back in the zone,” David murmured. “Five, four, three….”

“Two, one,” Emma finished.

The crowd exploded and Emma’s whole body sagged as David spun on her, hand around her waist and smile on his face as he tugged her up. “We won,” he shouted and all she could do was nod, a mess of emotions and belief and something, finally , going the way she wanted.

There were chants and cheers and Let’s go Rangers echoing across that tiny bit of grass in the middle of Manhattan.

Emma, finally, got her feet back on the ground and she stared at the screen, eyes tracing across it like she was willing it to show her what she wanted – he was leaning up against the boards, helmet off and that, that, was the smile she’d been waiting for, the one she’d seen in her apartment the morning before and, God, she was happy.

They’d won.

Killian didn’t touch the trophy during the post-game presentation, but the smile was still on his face when they made him pose for photos and Emma’s stomach might have flipped. She might have been the one crying now.

David didn’t say anything about that. She’d have to mention that in her maid of honor speech as well.

She nearly jumped when her phone started to ring and Emma shrugged when David glanced questioningly at the sound. Everyone she knew was in that park or on the ice in Pittsburgh.

“Hello?” she asked, not even bothering to glance down at the name on the screen.

“Emma?”

“Liam?” David’s eyes were almost dangerously wide and Emma shrugged again. “What? How did you get this number?” “Did they win?” “What?” “The guys. Did they win?”

“Yeah,” she answered automatically. “2-1. Wait, why weren’t you watching the game? Where are you?”

There was noise on the other end of the line and Emma pulled her phone away, eyebrows pulled low when she saw Elsa’s name on the screen. “Liam,” she continued. “Where are you? Is El ok?” “Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah,” he said quickly. “Tired, but ok.” It took two seconds for everything to click, Emma’s hand back on David’s arm – mostly so her knees wouldn’t give out. “Did you guys…” “Absurdly early this morning,” Liam interrupted and she could hear the smile in his voice. “She was...well, amazing, honestly. But there’s no 4G in this entire goddamn hospital and no NBC Sports and it’s the most ridiculous problem I’ve ever had, but…” “El wanted to know, didn’t she?” “Demanded more like it.” Emma’s jaw was going to crack, she was smiling so wide. Bryant Park might be her new favorite place in the entire city. “And Lizzie is ok? Isn’t it kind of early?” “Perfect, she’s perfect. Nearly six pounds, no hair to speak of. And only two weeks. That’s what the bed rest was supposed to prevent, but, Elsa’s Elsa and Lizzie, I guess, was just fairly determined to see a Cup run.” “They won,” Emma whispered, like she was giving up some sort of government secret.

“They did. How’d he do?” “Second assist on the game-winner and, from what I was told, some kind of game-clinching block in the zone.” “He lunged, Liam,” David shouted from a few feet away. “Jeff totally wouldn’t have made that stop. Saved the whole game.” “Relax, Detective,” Emma mumbled, but Liam was laughing on the other end and David’s enthusiasm was catching. “Although it was a good block.” “That’s not really his thing.” “He wanted to win.” Liam made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat and Emma was glad he didn’t start saying something absurdly sentimental – she was already far too emotional. “Thank you, Emma,” he said.

Well, there went sentiment.

Emma’s vision went misty and she blinked quickly so David wouldn’t see her actually crying over hockey in the middle of Bryant Park.

She absolutely wasn’t crying over hockey.

“Congratulations, Liam,” she muttered. “Send pictures, ok?” “Consider it done.”

He hung up and Emma’s heart thudded painfully in her chest, some kind of physical reminder of what exactly was going on – everything, all at once.

“Emma,” Mary Margaret shouted, walking towards her and David with Henry half a step behind. Roland’s hand was wrapped up between hers and Regina’s, skipping across the sidewalk like he’d scored the game-winner.

“Hey,” she said quickly, trying to brush the tears she totally wasn’t crying off her cheeks. “Sorry I never made it back.” “That’s ok. I think we’ve found a ringbearer anyway. And maybe an usher?”

Henry and Roland nodded enthusiastically and this wasn’t even fair anymore. This kind of thing didn’t happen in the real world.

The real world was dark and lonely and an entire NHL team shouldn’t be able to feel like a family. That same NHL team didn’t seem to care much about any of that.

“Anyway,” Mary Margaret continued and she totally saw the tears. “Ariel is, apparently, getting Eric to open up later tonight when the guys get home and we’re going to head up to help. You want to come?” Emma couldn't even be surprised. Of course they were going to open up the restaurant.

“I can’t,” she sighed. “I’ve got to finish breaking down here and get some social media things out.” “Well,” Regina said. “They won’t be home until some God-awful hour anyway. You’ve got some time.”

Emma nodded – Merida already making her way towards her with a schedule for the end of the event and they were absurdly over-planned. “I’ll meet you guys up there?”

“Sure.” It didn’t take long – there was a schedule, after all – but Emma didn’t make it to the restaurant until after midnight. Roland was already asleep, curled up in the corner of a booth with Henry blinking blearily next to him.

And the New York Rangers organization must have been the most efficient group of human beings in the entire league, banners hanging and everyone already sporting Eastern Conference champ mech and Emma was forced into a hat before she even entirely realized what was happening.

David handed her a glass without a word and Mary Margaret called her into the corner of the bar, pointing at the grilled cheese she’d already ordered for her. There was talk about the game and the final two minutes and how much Pittsburgh absolutely sucked , but the conversation died down the longer they waited and they seemed to wait forever.

Her phone vibrated on the bar and Emma’s eyes snapped open, wider than they’d been all night. She’d nearly fallen asleep at the bar.

We won.

Weird, I noticed that.

Are you home? No.

Where are you?

Why, Captain, are you trying to tell me you want to see me?

If you’re trying to woo me again, Swan, it’s completely unnecessary. I’m in a cab uptown and Robin seems to think there’s some kind of plan that I don’t care about and I am very interested in kissing you.

Emma was suddenly very awake, stomach flipping several times to prove it.

Regina’s phone went off and Emma’s eyes went to the door out of instinct, voices just outside and Roland mumbled a bit from his spot in the corner.

She nearly jumped off the stool when the door swung open, feet hitting the ground as soon as she heard Killian’s grumbled I just want to go home. And Emma barely gave herself a moment to register that he’d just told her he wanted to kiss her.

Like she was home.

David chuckled softly when Emma all but sprinted across the restaurant, arms around Killian’s neck as soon as she collided against him.

He grunted softly, but he didn’t move her away from him, just wrapped his arms around her waist and caught her lips with his and there was something to be said for emotion, apparently. Emma had to press up on tiptoes to reach him, fingers finding their way into his hair and he still smelled like celebratory champagne despite the post-game shower she knew he’d taken.

Killian’s hand tightened, gripping the fabric of her shirt and the whole restaurant could have been crumbling down around them and Emma was convinced neither one of them would have noticed.

It felt a little bit like Tarrytown – important and meaningful and something that might have been life-changing.

There was an entire NHL team around them still.

“God,” Will muttered, kicking at their feet when he walked into the restaurant. “Get a room. There are kids here.” “Roland’s been asleep since we got here,” Emma mumbled. Killian smiled and they hadn’t really moved away from each other yet.

“And that might have been my original plan,” Killian added.

“Are you ok?” she continued, hands ghosting over the front of his jacket. “That was a heck of a block.” David scoffed from the back of the restaurant and Killian tilted his head in question. “Or at least I was told it was.” His smile grew even more and his thumb traced over her wrist. “Could you not watch, Swan?” “I was super busy all night.” “I’m fine,” Killian promised. “Bruised to hell, but fine.”

“Did you talk to Liam?” Will groaned again, grabbing one of Emma’s onion rings from the plate still sitting at the bar. “Oh, jeez, now you’ve done it, Emma. He wouldn’t stop talking about it all night. The entire plane ride, shoving his phone in people’s faces like it was something any of us actually wanted to see.” “Shut up, Scarlet,” Killian hissed, but it didn’t hold quite enough venom to be actually threatening. “Did you see, Swan?” Emma nodded. She’d already shown Mary Margaret twice. “She’s perfect.”

“We won.” “We did,” she said and kissing him again just made sense. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Killian nodded once, fingers lacing through Emma’s as he tugged her back through the door and into a cab and they fell asleep wrapped up in each other almost as soon as they landed on her bed.

#cs ff #captain swan ff #ouat ff #cs #csbb #blue line #the end of this chapter was sitting in my head for mooooooonths before i wrote it

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