#post makeout killian

[dinneratgrannys]

When do Emma and Hook first sleep together?

okay this is a tough one for me!

i feel like it has to be sometime in early season 6. the makeout scene in 6.01 makes me think they haven't yet because they clearly REALLYYYY want to but they keep getting interrupted by the chaos.

my guess would probably be after 6.03 when she asks him to move in with her. shortly after that we get him hiding the shears of destiny instead of getting rid of them, EQ trying to turn henry against killian by saying he's trying to be his dad, and then the first proposal, so i feel like post 6.03 makes sense to me

[welllpthisishappening]

You Play Ball Like a Girl: Outtakes

“She’s what?” she prompted.

“Nothing.”

“You’re an idiot. A lying idiot, but an idiot nonetheless.”

“He couldn’t say that to her.”

“You going to tell her you love later tonight or like next week while you’re at work?”

A/N: Someday I’ll write the sequel to YPBLAG, but this needed to exist and it has existed on Google Docs for weeks, so now it can see the light of day. I might just write more Killian outtakes for the rest of my life. It’s also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll. 

“You’re being an idiot, you know.”

Killian looked up, raising his eyebrows at Aurora and meeting her stare from the other end of the couch.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, crossing his legs slowly and doing his best not to rub his hand or tug on his hair. She’d absolutely know he was lying then. At least now he had a chance to get away with

Or maybe not.

Aurora moved the baby to her other arm, leveling him with a very particular gaze and started to laugh – loudly.

That hardly seemed fair.

Killian glared at her, but Aurora didn’t move, didn’t even lower her eyebrows. She just kept staring at him in silence, waiting for him to finally admit that he was, in fact, being an idiot.

Which he absolutely was.

He shouldn’t have kissed her.

Or had Emma kissed him?

Killian wasn’t entirely sure. It had all happened so fast and there were hands everywhere and he thought she actually pulled on his jacket as leverage at one point. And, God, had really said that the problem was she didn’t want to keep kissing him?

He was absolutely an idiot.

“You’re right,” he said after a few more moments of staring and baby-gurgling. “I know you’re right.”

“In what world did you think it was ok to punch her boyfriend?” Aurora asked, patting Samantha’s back slightly. She still hadn’t stopped making that face.

“He’s not her boyfriend,” Killian answered, much quicker than he expected to.

Aurora made a significant face and widened her eyes, the threat of a smile dancing on her mouth. “You seem fairly confident in that piece of information.”

Killian drooped back farther into the corner of the couch, hoping he might just disappear as well.

He shouldn’t have come here.

No, he thought quickly, he should have come straight here – shouldn’t have followed Emma home after he hit Neal, should have let her react on her own time.

If there was one thing Killian knew about Emma Swan it was that she didn’t like to be pushed.

And he hadn’t just pushed – he’d shoved, with both hands, including his bad one.

“That’s just what Swan said,” he muttered, running his hand through his hair before he could stop himself. Aurora laughed triumphantly.

“What the hell, A?” Killian asked, earning a very different type of glare for daring to swear in front of her still non-verbal child.

“Killian,” she snapped and his eyes flashed to the baby who, it appeared, had actually fallen asleep.

He shrugged in apology and adjusted the chain around his neck – the one he absolutely never took off, the one that was good luck, the one that had been Liam’s. “A, if you’re just going to yell at me for being stupid, I’m definitely going to leave. I know I was stupid. I know I shouldn’t have done it, but it happened. I can’t really take it back now.”

“You could apologize,” she pointed out, standing up slowly to put Samantha in the crib that they moved into the living room as soon as he landed on her doorstep half an hour before.

“I did that.”

“You could mean it.”

“I do,” Killian said. “Things just got a bit complicated.”

Aurora turned back towards him, eyebrows low and a ‘mom’ look on her face that she had perfected far quicker than Killian would have expected. “Meaning?” she asked.

“You promise not to yell?”

“I just spent the last two hours trying to get my baby to fall asleep, Killian,” she said slowly, putting her hands on her hips as if that proved her point. “I’m not going to yell over your workplace romance.”

He eyed her speculatively, glancing at the sleeping baby in the crib and winced as he said the two words that had been bouncing around his brain since he walked off her doorstep. “We kissed,” he said.

Aurora yelled. Or maybe screeched was a better word.

Samantha started crying immediately.

“I’m going to kill you,” she hissed at Killian, spinning back towards her baby and scooping her up in one quick movement. Aurora spent several minutes trying to calm down Samantha before she stopped crying and laid her back in the crib, taking a deep breath that made her shoulders heave dramatically.

Killian sighed and ran his hand through his hair again – he must look like a disaster. Although some of that was certainly from Emma. He smiled slightly at the memory of that – pointedly ignoring that it hadn’t been exactly his most professionally ethical moment – and it didn’t take long for Aurora to delve into one of her patented ‘fix your life speeches.’

Ever since they had met at The Record, Killian and Aurora had been close.

It didn’t make sense.

They hated each other the very first day they were there – Killian just barely out of Colorado and still decidedly angry at, well, everyone – but Aurora had snuck into his life somehow and it didn’t take long until they were friends.

And it didn’t take long until Aurora realized she, desperately, needed to relax.

She had always been a bit high-strung – deadlines made her anxious, late-arriving credentials made her anxious and she was consistently pressing other photographers to make sure they didn’t steal her spot on the Barclays Center baseline. But, somehow, Killian had been able to help.

In his desperate desire to feel like himself again – to forget Milah and all of the almost’s that had been ripped away from him – Killian decided he was going to get Aurora to relax.

They were both going to relax.

They were going to take on The New York Record and the deadlines and the mutual bouts of anxiety and they were going to be better people because of it.

Killian wasn’t sure if he had done it himself, but he’d never seen Aurora so happy.

“You kissed her or she kissed you?” Aurora asked, finally settling back onto the far end of her couch, pulling her legs up tightly to her chest.

“Does it matter, A?”

“Of course it matters!” she whispered intently, reaching out to smack his arm.

“Ow,” Killian muttered, shaking his arm slightly and making a face at her. “Jeez, what’s your problem?”

“My problem is that you absolutely buried your lede,” Aurora said. “You should have started with the ‘we kissed’ and then gone on from there.”

“Well, to be fair, the only reason we kissed is because I punched the guy.”

“She’s into that?”

Killian groaned and leaned his head against his head, trying not to ram his forehead into the wall. That probably would have been more comfortable than this conversation.

“No, A,” he said with enough force that Aurora’s leaned back slightly. “That’s not what happened. I hit him. I followed her. I tried to explain that she was important to me and then she kissed me. Or I kissed her. I don’t know, it’s kind of a blur.”

“A blur of makeout?”

“You are out of control.”

“I’m interested in your life.”

“Yuh huh,” Killian answered, not entirely convinced at all.

“So what happened?”

“I just told you.”

“No, what happened after you kissed? Or made out or whatever? Did you go up to her apartment?”

“I’m her editor, A.”

“So?”

“So,” Killian said, staring at his friend. “That’s not exactly part of the rules. You’re not supposed to make out with your staff writers on the sidewalk.”

“On the sidewalk?!”

“You’re going to wake up Samantha again,” Killian pointed out. Aurora glanced over her shoulder at the once-again sleeping baby and waved her hand dismissively at Killian.

“This whole thing happened on the sidewalk?”

“I punched him in front of the Garden.”

“Jeez,” Aurora sighed. “You really are an idiot.”

“I know,” Killian admitted. “I just couldn’t let that guy talk to her like that. He was telling her how worthless her work was and how unimportant it was.”

“What a dick.”

“Exactly,” he agreed. “And I don’t know, I guess I kind of lost my mind. I hit him and Swan freaked out and Neal just left. But she needed to know, after the last few weeks especially, she’s doing a good job. She’s an incredible writer and, well, she’s...”

He trailed off slowly – he was standing now, he wasn’t sure when that happened – and looked down to find Aurora staring at him, smiling.

“She’s what?” she prompted.

“Nothing.”

“You’re an idiot. A lying idiot, but an idiot nonetheless.”

“He couldn’t say that to her.”

“You going to tell her you love later tonight or like next week while you’re at work?”

Killian bit his tongue, glaring at Aurora and doing his best not to yell – he didn’t want to wake the baby again. “What are you talking about?” he whispered, voice sharp even to his own ears.

“Are you listening to yourself?” Aurora laughed, wrapping her arms around her legs and resting her head on her knees, an amused smile on her face. “You are so far in on this, Killian. Straight into the deep end and you are barely treading water.”

She chuckled softly and shook her head, almost as if she couldn’t believe what she had just said. Killian couldn’t believe it either.

“That’s not true,” he mumbled, not even trying to sound confident.

Aurora just raised her eyebrows at him.

“Ok,” he amended. “So maybe not entirely wrong either.”

“What are you going to do?”

He had absolutely no idea.

Emma Swan had barreled into his life – quite literally – and taken over completely in the span of only a few months.

She was impossible.

And slightly infuriating. And a bit demanding.

But she was also confident and talented and the only person in the last five years who had been willing and able to meet him beat for beat.

It was impressive.

It also scared the shit out of him.

Because he hadn’t been lying before – Emma Swan was important to him, incredibly important, and he would have punched Neal whatever ten more times in the face to prove it. Or he could have kissed her some more.

He definitely should have kissed her some more.

Aurora made an impatient noise in the back of her throat and Killian rolled his eyes at her. Then he shrugged. That only seemed to make her even more annoyed.

“That’s not an answer,” she pointed out.

“That’s because I don’t have one.”

“Was it a good make out at least?”

“A!” he said sharply, shaking his head. “You’re not 17. What kind of question is that even?”

“A legitimate one from someone who hasn’t seen the outside world in several weeks.”

“You have a baby.”

“And surprisingly enough that doesn’t stop me from being a person,” Aurora argued, earning a smile from Killian in the process. “So answer the question Jones. Good make out session?”

He groaned, but nodded slowly – that was as much as she was getting out of him. Aurora practically cackled.

“You have to see her on Monday,” she pointed out.

“I do.”

“What are you going to say?”

“That question’s bordering dangerously close to being the same thing as asking me what I’m going to do. Same answer. I have absolutely no idea.”

“What do you think she’s going to do?”

“She’s terrified,” Killian said easily. “She’s not going to do anything.”

“Terrified?” Aurora repeated, laughing openly now. “Of you? Why are you so scary?”

“She’s just not very good at trusting.”

“She doesn’t trust you? Didn’t look like that before.”

“You met her what, A, twice? And once after you had literally just had a baby?”

“She was there because you brought her.”

Killian sighed. “Doesn’t mean you know her.”

Aurora looked at him and Killian got the distinct impression that she was forming some kind of incredibly pointed opinion. He wasn’t sure he was going to like it.

“And you do?” she asked.

“That’s a work in progress.”

“And you want it to be?”

“I don’t know, A,” Killian said slowly, doing his best to keep his voice in check. He paused between every word, practically making each one its own sentence, and, hoping, that he would get his point across.

He didn’t have an answer.

He wished Aurora would drop it. He knew she wouldn’t.

Killian leaned back against the couch, resting his head back against the wall and rubbing his hand. Aurora made a vaguely ridiculous noise.

“Stop that,” she said sharply and Killian’s right hand practically flew back to his side.  “This is different,” she said quickly.

“From?”

“Everything else.”

“That’s awfully vague, A.”

“That’s because you’re not really telling me anything,” Aurora said flippantly. “But I know you. I might not know Emma, but I know you and you are all in on this.”

Killian widened his eyes and tried to take a deep breath.

He should have just gone home.

He shouldn’t have come here. Hell, he lived five blocks away from Emma, there was no point in getting back on the train to come back uptown.

But he needed someone to talk to and, right now, the only person to talk to was Aurora.

And she was right.

“I’m going to take your silence as confirmation,” Aurora said.

“That journalistic integrity is incredible, A. Really taking that source and running with it.”

“Shut up. Why are you so worried about this?”

“It’s a big deal, A,” Killian said without thinking about it.

“Is it?”

“She’s important,” he sighed.

“You care,” Aurora said.

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“You don’t think she does?”

Killian shrugged again and bit back another sigh. “I hope,” he said softly.

“That’s rare,” Aurora said, just as softly and there was a small smile on her face.

“Like I said, it’s a work in progress.”

“Hey,” she continued, leaning forward to grip Killian’s forearm. He raised his eyebrows and Aurora made a face at him. “You know you’re allowed to hope, right? This is different.”

“I feel like you’re going somewhere specific with this. Spit it out, A.”

“You might not like it.”

“You say plenty of stuff I don’t like,” Killian said and Aurora glared at him, squeezing his arm in the process. “But I listen to you anyway. Say it.”

Aurora took an overly dramatic breath and narrowed her eyes at Killian before talking. “Emma isn’t Milah,” she said, rushing over the words like she was hoping they wouldn’t hurt as much if she said them fast.

“You were right.”

“About?”

“It wasn’t something I liked.”

Aurora squeezed his arm again. “I’m serious.”

“I know you are,” Killian said. “But we are so far away from comparing either one of those things that they’re not even in the same country.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“And we’ve come full circle,” he laughed.

“I’m serious,” Aurora whined. “You are the biggest idiot. You just told me you care and you punched her boyfriend to defend her honor and then you made out on the sidewalk. And! You don’t know what you’re going to do when you see her next. You’re a walking, talking cliche, Killian. You are practically drowning in how much you want this.”

Killian knew his eyes were wide, knew his mouth was hanging open slightly, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to move. Aurora just looked particularly pleased with herself.

“It’s ok to want stuff,” she continued quietly.

“It’s not just my decision, A.”

“I’m not saying that. I’m telling you that in the two times I have seen you with Emma Swan – post-birth included – she looked at you like you were the most interesting thing she had ever seen. She wants you just as much as you want her. I know it.”

“Relationship expert now, huh?” Killian laughed.

“Absolutely.”

“It doesn’t feel like it did with Milah,” he said softly. He heard Aurora gasp slightly and he glanced up to find her staring at him like she had never seen him before. “You’re right, you know, this is different.”

“You going to worry about the non-rules of wanting to date one of your staff writers?”

“I’m going to let her figure it out,” Killian said, mind very suddenly made up.

That happened a lot quicker than he thought it would.

He would let Emma decide.

He wouldn’t push.

He wouldn’t kiss her again – as much as he may want to – and he’d be her friend.

He could be her friend.

Maybe.

“Gentleman,” Aurora accused fondly, shaking her head. “An idiot, but a gentleman.”

“Always.”

“You’re going to have to talk to her eventually, you know.”

“Yeah.” “It’ll probably be weird.” “Yeah.” “Just do me a favor, ok?”

“What’s that?” “Be happy.” “That’s a work in progress,” Killian said, squeezing Aurora’s hand and smiling.

[spartanguard]

sick of love (2/3)

Summary: If Emma’s not careful, she just might bump into her soulmate. Physically. And while she might like the idea of what comes with that—an almost psychic connection whenever they make skin contact—she’d rather not deal with the awful withdrawal sickness that can come when they inevitably leave her; she’s got a son, so she doesn’t have time for that. So she keeps herself covered and thinks she’ll be okay. Until she meets Killian, who does the same thing. Will their barriers protect them, or just hurt them more?

CS Soulmates AU | Rated M | 8.3k | part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | AO3

A/N: Onto chapter two!! As stated before, this story was inspired by this tumblr post. Thank you again to the organizers of @cssns for putting on this awesome event and to @sherlockianwhovian for making that AMAZING art up there! I’m planning to post the last chapter a week from now but that depends on how much writing gets done while I’m teaching at band camp...so if not then, then shortly thereafter. Happy reading! 

Wrong.

See, Emma had told herself that under the assumption that she’d only be seeing Killian once a week, in the controlled setting of Snow and Dave’s house, with them and Henry as buffers. That they’d be able to keep it completely chill and casual—sharing conversation over beer, maybe someday discussing their apparent shared aversion to soulmates, and who knows, getting drunk and having a makeout they don’t remember the next day. You know, keeping things safe.

Okay, maybe that last one was just something that had happened in her dreams—ones that were usually populated by whichever Marvel character was the focus of Henry’s obsession at the time, because damn did the women in their casting department know what they were doing. However, in the days following that first encounter, Killian’s face had replaced that of Thor in her fantasies, without conscious thought.

She was sure a therapist could have a field day with her, and would probably say that by fantasizing, she was keeping things in a risk-free environment where she had control. Which she was vaguely aware of. But honestly? It was a little annoying how easily he slipped in there, because the things she imagined and dreamed them doing...if she didn’t blush the next time she saw him, it’d be a miracle.

But she had until Friday to get that under control, and it was only Wednesday. That was totally doable. (Just like him...oh god, she needed to stop.)

Fate had other ideas in mind, though; it always does. Because of course, the skip got a little too aggressive while she was trying to take her down. How was Emma supposed to know the other woman carried a can of Monster in her purse? Or that it made an excellent blunt object? Despite getting whacked in the head, Emma still managed to bring her in. But the arresting officer took one look at the growing bruise on her forehead, and the blood she didn’t even realize was pouring out of it, before sending her to the ER for stitches and to check for a concussion.

Emma grumbled the whole time they drove her over, but knew it was better to be safe than sorry; she’d do the same if it was Henry in her place. And while she’d normally be worried about going to any place that involved a lot of contact, at least they had to wear gloves there.

After dealing with the typical harried nurse asking the requisite questions—any allergies, what medications was she on, was there a chance she could be pregnant (ha!), could she have lovesickness (double ha!)—she expected to see the worn-out woman again, who would inevitably fix her up, lecture her about living dangerously and/or her unseasonable attire, and then send her on her way. She was not expecting the curtain to pull back and reveal Killian, reading at her chart, wearing scrubs and a white coat.

“I see you need stitches, Miss Swan...Emma?” He looked up at her, surprised when he saw it was her—which also made her realize they’d never exchanged last names. 

“Hey, Dr.…” she had to squint to read the embroidery on his coat. “Jones.”

“Bloody hell, lass; what did you do?”

Like their first meeting, he jumped into action, tossing aside the clipboard and immediately inspecting her injury. She hated the deja vu this was giving her.

Even if this gave her a better look at the light freckles and the way his ears came to an almost elfin point. 

Whatever.

“Just a hazard of the job,” she said, hoping to downplay it; this certainly wasn’t the first time a skip had sent her here, and wouldn’t be the last.

“Hardly seems like a safe line of work,” he tutted, gently poking the mess on her head with his rubber-gloved hand. He hit a particularly sensitive spot, drawing a wince. “Sorry,” he said softly. “Yeah, you’re definitely going to need a few stitches. I’ll be right back.”

He returned shortly with the necessary materials and got to work. “I’ll have to numb this, but that should be the most painful part, aside from getting smacked in the face with...what hit you?”

“An energy drink.”

“Huh; that’s a new one.”

“Really? I figured they see everything in these kinds of places.”

“Oh, we do; but people are endlessly creative.”

She giggled, but it quickly went away when the numbing injection came, turning into a hiss. “Did you distract me on purpose?”

“Aye. Figured it was better than surprising you like last time.”

Her hand throbbed at the memory; it was mostly healed but she was still keeping it wrapped up. “I guess this tells me why you knew what to do right away.”

“Yeah,” he said, but she could tell he was focusing on the task at hand, and could feel the gentle tugging of the needle and sutures as he started to work—though that was all she could feel, thankfully. “And I can see why you were such a good patient; I get the impression you’re used to it,” he tossed back, smirking a bit.

“Hey, I’m not THAT clumsy; only when it comes to beverage containers, apparently.”

“I’ll be sure to keep my flask away from you, then.”

“A flask? What are you, a sailor?”

“Former Navy, yes.” 

Okay, she had to stop making these sweeping generalizations about him if they were all going to be proven true. “Wow; cool.”

“For the most part, yeah; some places were rather hot, though.”

She wanted to laugh but not if it meant moving while she was pretty sure a needle was in her skin, so settled for the stillest chuckle she could manage. “Did they teach you dad jokes in the Navy?”

“No, mostly just medicine.”

“This is the British Navy, right?”

“The Royal Navy of Her Majesty’s Armed Forces, yes.”

“Then how’d you end up over here?”

There was another, rougher tug on her laceration, but then Killian pulled away. “You’re all stitched up,” he said, but then he swallowed. “The Navy doesn’t have a ton of use for one-handed doctors, unfortunately, but they will give you a decent pension with your honorable discharge.”

“Well, that’s awfully ableist of them.”

“You won’t hear me disagreeing,” he concurred as he took off his gloves and cleaned up; she noticed that his false hand did have some articulation, but not a ton. “So, there wasn’t much left for me there after that happened, and I figured there must be some reason the colonists rebelled. So, here we are.”

She could tell he was mostly telling the truth, but definitely leaving parts out. “That’s a pretty flimsy reason to pack up and move across the ocean. What did your family say?”

He shrugged as he wrapped up the last of the suturing kit. “No one left to talk me out of it.”

A pit formed in her stomach and she realized they had a bit more in common. “Yeah, I know how that goes.”

He cocked his head as he returned from disposing the soiled instruments. “What about David and Snow? And your son?”

“Oh, they’re amazing; but I grew up in the foster system. I didn't end up with the Nolans until I was 15.”

“Ahh, you’re another lost one.”

The casual way he said it took her aback briefly. “I guess that’s one way of putting it. Are...are you?”

He pulled his little flashlight thing out of his coat pocket (she had no idea what it was really called) and fiddled with it a bit. “My mum died when I was young; dad left a few years later. So it was just me and my brother, but I entered the system when he joined the Navy. Then followed him in a few years later.” 

His somber tone, paired with the previous revelation about no more family, was enough to let her know that wasn’t quite all of it. “Can I ask what happened to him?” 

“After I check you for a concussion.” 

“Ugh, do I have to?”

“Yes,” he commanded.

She rolled her eyes, but let him perform the exam; better safe than sorry, right? “You’re clear there,” he told her, after a few simple tests that included pointing that damn flashlight in her eyes. And in a quieter voice, continued, “IED in Iraq. Head injury. I tried, but...I couldn’t save him.”

Well, that explained why he was so insistent on the concussion exam. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It is what it is,” he said, in a tone that suggested he was convincing himself of that as much as her, as he pocketed his flashlight and grabbed her chart again. “At least I can still help save other people.”

“Wish you’d been there when Neal came in,” she blurted, thinking out loud. Then mortification washed over her as she realized what she said. She never talked about what happened to Neal—only with Henry, and only when he asked.

“Guess it’s my turn to extend the condolences, then,” he said softly. 

She let go of the breath she’d been holding; most people were quick with empty platitudes, so it was almost refreshing to hear something sincere. And there it was again—that same intense, understanding look in his eyes from the other day; it felt like he was reading her like a book, and it was more than a little unsettling—but not in a way that scared her, oddly enough. Still, it was overwhelming enough for her to avert her gaze. “Don’t we make a pair, huh?” she scoffed. 

“I wouldn’t let Snow hear you say that if I were you,” he jibed. She could hear the laughter in his voice but didn’t dare look up just yet.

“She’s probably already got the wedding invitations on order.”

He laughed for real this time, a deep, hearty chuckle. “Hope they aren’t nonrefundable.”

“Same.”

He excused himself to go write up her prescriptions—an antibiotic and some extra-strength headache medicine—and returned a few minutes later with an easy smile on his face. He went back into doctor mode as he gave her care instructions for the next few days and weeks, and then asked, “Any questions?”

“Yeah, but it’s not related to any of that.”

He tilted his head in question. “What is it?”

“How exactly do you manage to do all this and...not touch anyone?” She’d been wondering it ever since he came into the room the first time. “It seems like a job like this would put you at higher risk of skin contact.”

He nodded. “Yeah, it does, to some extent,” he explained. “But when you’re already down a hand, that cuts the odds in half. And I just double up on gloves the rest of the time.”

She I thought his glove looked kind of thick. “Gotcha. Thanks for telling me; I was just curious, is all.” A slightly awkward silence settled over them; she felt like she needed to divulge something, after everything he had, but after dropping a Neal reference, she was kind of spent in the emotional backstory department. “So...no one has tried to claw at that pretty face of yours?”

He smiled at that, arching an eyebrow in apparent amusement. “No, thankfully; I’ve gotten fairly good at evasive maneuvers, ever since my brother gave me this,” he said, pointing to a faded scar on his cheek.

“Yeah, that was something I figured out pretty quick, too. But I guess my training never covered giant soda cans.”

“Well, that’s something to work on, then. Just not until this heals, okay?”

“Aye-aye, Captain,” she said with a salute

“Please, I was only a Lieutenant.”

“Eh, Captain suits you better. And thank you for this again.”

“Again, it was my pleasure, Swan.”

She casually hopped off the exam table, but apparently, her head wasn’t as ready for that as the rest of her body, and the room began to spin as soon as she was on her feet. She could feel herself swaying, but before her knees had a chance to buckle under her, a firm grip and strong arms stabilized her.

“Woah—easy there,” he cautioned. “You may not have a concussion, but that’s still a nasty bump.”

She took a deep breath as the vertigo dissipated, but the next one caught in her throat when she realized that he was the one holding her—and that she kind of liked it. Her eyes were immediately drawn to his hand and prosthesis, the way they were curled around her arms and holding her in place, but were still gentle.

He must have taken her staring for shock, because he quickly let go and stepped out of her space. “You okay now?”

“Y-yeah,” she said, shaking her head to clear the momentary fog—and to try to get rid of the sense of loss she felt as soon as he’d moved away. “I guess I better get going with these,” she said lamely, nodding toward the prescription slips she’d shoved in her pocket.

“Yeah; the pharmacy closes soon.” His voice was a bit rougher than it’d been a minute ago, and that faraway look was back in his eyes. “See you Friday?”

“Yeah, see you then,” she said, then left as quick as she could.

Shit. How was she going to be able to keep things casual if he continued to have that kind of effect on her?

*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*

When Friday rolled around, she almost wanted to feign sickness to get out of going. His steady hand had also found its way into her dreams, as well as what was surely a strong, warm embrace. There was no way she could face him now.

But she knew Henry would see through any excuse she tried to throw at him—he had inherited her built-in lie detector to some extent—so she just swallowed her pride, grabbed her usual bottle of wine, and they headed off. 

“Whose car is that?” Henry asked as soon as they pulled up.

“Killian’s,” she answered grumpily.

“Is he why you didn’t want to come? Is he a dick?”

“Hey, language!” she scolded. “And he’s not; he’s...I dunno, the opposite, or something. You’ll see.”

Her brother had finally bowed to the summer heat and turned on his air conditioning, so everyone was seated around the living room when they got inside: Dave and Snow on their respective recliners (Emma joked they were their Carl and Ellie chairs), and Killian on one end of the sofa, leaving the rest of it open for her and Henry.

David and Snow got up and exchanged the requisite hugs, complete with Snow fussing over Emma’s stitches, but Killian hung back, understandably. Seeing him back in his leather jacket and dark wash jeans again was almost a jolt from how soft he’d looked in his scrubs, but she knew why he’d default back to his armor; heck, she’d even put on some more tonight, opting for a long-sleeve crewneck instead of the v-necked t-shirts she’d been wearing. 

He gave her a simple “Swan” as a greeting, and she nodded back, before introducing Henry to him. “A pleasure to meet you, lad,” he said, offering his gloved hand. Henry studied it a minute, then cast a curious glance at Emma before taking it. Knowing Henry, he was already putting two and two together; with any luck, she’d be able to keep him out of Snow’s plotting, at least.

Emma left to the kitchen to pour wine for her and Snow, but when she got back, Henry was giving Killian the full 21 questions: where was he from, what did he do, all that jazz.

“How did you lose your hand?”

“Henry David,” she said in warning—he knew better than to ask stuff like that—but Killian didn’t seem fazed. 

He leaned toward Henry conspiratorially. “Well, don’t tell anyone else, but...a crocodile took it!” His voice was full of childish humor and even his eyes sparkled with it. Henry gasped and then laughed, aware it was a joke but no less entertained.

“So does that make you Captain Hook?” he asked.

“Perhaps; my ship is named the Jolly Roger.”

As soon as that came up, Henry’s attention was completely taken by the fact that there was a potential pirate sitting next to him and all thoughts of more personal questions went out the door, thankfully. And bless Killian, he answered all of Henry’s questions seriously (excluding the first one) and didn’t seem put off the boy’s endless curiosity like a lot of adults were; this was a kid who had to transfer classes in first grade because his old-fashioned teacher couldn’t tolerate all his questions. But Killian handled it with ease.

The only thing that could take Henry off the thought of high seas adventure was food, and he made a mad dash to the table once dinner was ready. “Thanks for that,” Emma told Killian after they were left in Henry’s dust. “I know he can be a bit much.”

“Nonsense; he’s a brilliant lad,” Killian waved off. “You should be proud.”

“Oh, I am.”

It didn’t go without notice that Killian had provided the beer for this meal. She stuck to her wine while they ate, but afterwards, as she watched David and Henry throw around a football in the front yard from the double rocker on the porch, she gave his a try. And yeah, it was significantly better.

“I was right, wasn’t I?” Killian was standing by the door, leaning against the brick siding and sipping from his own bottle. One long leg was crossed over the other, highlighting just how well those skinny jeans fit him. Something about it was insanely hot, both literally and figuratively. 

And it only got worse when he pushed off the wall with his hips and sauntered forward. “Much better than David’s alcohol-flavoured water, no?”

“Oh, for sure,” she agreed. “Definitely what you need on a day like today.” Granted, she probably shouldn’t be drinking booze at all with how much she was sweating, but she’d long since learned how to make sure she didn’t dehydrate in the summer—and, given the fact that he wasn’t keeling over, either, so had Killian.

“Is this seat taken?” he inquired, nodding at the empty half of the rocker.

“Go ahead.”

For a few minutes, they just sat there in companionable silence, watching the continued passes in the yard, until Killian finally said, “They know that’s not real football, right?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re gonna show up next week with a soccer ball, aren’t you?”

“What makes you think I don’t already have one in my car?”

“Why am I not surprised?” she chuckled. “But that’s another thing you’d have to fight David over.”

“I figured as much,” Killian sighed. “He’s as stubborn as my brother.”

“Must be a big brother thing, then.”

“Aye, probably.” He took a long pull on his beer. “David’s great with Henry, it seems.”

“Yeah,” she smiled. “He was kind of born to be an uncle; he’s been there since day one. I can only imagine how great a dad he’ll be someday.”

“If you don’t mind my asking—where is Henry’s father?”

It wasn’t an uncommon question; more than one snoop-nosed PTA mom had asked that and sneered. Killian was the first to ask it in a non-judging way. “He’s gone. Neal—the guy I mentioned the other day; that's him.”

He nodded, understanding. “I probably should have guessed from your tone. What happened?”

She swallowed; it had been so long since that night.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he was quick to assure her.

“No, it’s fine. He...well, we were something of teenage delinquents,” she started to explain. “We ran away, kind of shoplifted our down the East Coast. He was older and dreamy, especially to a 16-year-old girl who’d never had much. I thought he was the one, you know? Everything just seemed...better with him.” She hadn’t known exactly what being soulmates entailed, but for a touch-starved orphan growing up in the foster system—moreso, in a society that placed so much emphasis on physical contact—once she had finally discovered that bliss, she’d given herself over to it fully. The first time he held her hand, she swore there were sparks. When she saw the love in his eyes, it filled her with a warmth that she’d never known before, deep in her soul. He filled her dreams so often, she thought they had to be shared. And making love? To be fair, he was her first, but—damn.

“Aye, I know that,” he added, and that distant look was back in his eyes.

“So, yeah, we’re in love and making plans and just need a bit of extra cash to get us to Florida, where we planned on settling down.” She snorted. “Settling down at 16; god, I was dumb. Anyways, he tried to sell some watches to make up what we needed for a plane ticket, but the deal went sour and...he got shot.”

“Bloody hell.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, softly. She could still clearly remember what went down in that ambulance, as they tried to revive him and couldn’t, then her being the only one available to identify the body. “And the rest, I guess, is history.”

Killian chewed on his bottom lip a bit; there was still something on his mind. “Was...was he your soulmate?”

She swallowed again; this was the really personal part. “I don’t know.” The only people she’d admitted that to were close family, and even they remained a bit skeptical—how could she not know? “I thought I was getting lovesickness a few weeks later, but then I found out I was pregnant, so I’ve never really been sure if it was or not.”

Killian’s eyes grew wide for a moment and he studied her solemnly. “So that’s why you cover up? In case he wasn’t?”

“Yeah,” she breathed. It was a little unnerving that he’d figured it out so easily.

“I...uh,” he stammered, nervously scratching at a spot behind his ear. “Um, same.”

“Same?”

“Yeah.”

She hadn’t expected that; she’d never met anyone else who shared her uncertainty. While covering up wasn’t an odd thing, it was usually only done by people who truly hated the idea of the system altogether—not those who had been potentially burned by it.

He took her silence as an invitation to continue. “Her name was Milah; she lived near the base. We met in a pub and it was...a whirlwind, honestly, but she was incredible. And it was like you said: everything felt amazing; I had no reason to believe we weren’t soulmates, save for one minor problem.”

“What was that?”

“She was married.”

“Fuck. Was he hers?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so, but I never got a chance to find out for sure. Once he learned she was cheating on him with me, he messed with her car. I’m still not entirely sure what happened, but we were in it and she lost control; hit a tree. She died on impact; I...well, this.” He held up his prosthetic.

“Oh my god, Killian—I’m so sorry.”

He gave her a sad smile. “The Navy took care of me as best they could, but I was still out of it for a long time as I healed, and dealt with infection and whatnot. I think it was three months or so? So I have no idea if I had lovesickness or not in there. And I...I wasn’t sure I wanted one if it wasn’t her. Thus...” He nodded down towards his attire.

“Yeah.” She definitely understood. 

It took a bit for the weight of the conversation to settle on them; they were quiet for a few minutes, until Emma got fidgety, as if she needed to move to make her thoughts come to a rest. Seriously—what were the odds she’d literally stumble into someone who actually got her? It was simultaneously exciting and terrifying.

She shifted in her seat to relieve some of the tension building within, and that’s when she realized just how close they were sitting—she’d barely moved when her thigh brushed against his, heat radiating from it that likely had as much to do with the ambient temperature as her own heightened awareness. As casually as she could muster, she pulled it back, but couldn’t tell if he noticed or not.

“Who knew we’d be trading tragic backstories after only a week?” he finally commented, giving her a gentle smile.

She smiled back. “I’d repeat what I said the other day, but Snow is in earshot. So...cheers?” This time, she was the one to offer up her bottle.

“Cheers,” he echoed, clinking the lip of his against the neck of hers, which gave her some other thoughts she didn’t really want to entertain long at the present moment.

They were both taking long pulls from their drinks when Snow herself came out, almost as if she was summoned. “Don’t you two look cozy?” she commented, unable to hide the twinkle in her eye at the thought. 

“Ew, no, it’s too hot to think about that,” Emma threw back. Between the humid air and whatever had just passed between her and Killian, she was almost thinking about taking off her jacket. Almost.

“Well, how about coming back into the AC for some pie?”

“Sounds perfect, milady,” Killian answered for both of them; Emma usually hated that but couldn’t really find it in her to complain.

Snow shouted at the other guys and headed back in; David and Henry immediately followed, pounding up the stairs to the porch and hardly giving a passing glance to its current residents.

“Shall we?” Killian asked as the screen door banged shut, a sound that was quickly followed by Snow yelling at Dave.

“Yeah; if we dawdle, Snow will get ideas.”

“I’m under the impression that anything will.”

“Also true.”

He chuckled as he stood. The motion made the chair start rocking under Emma, making her jolt—they’d kept it still while they were sitting on it.

Wordlessly, he held out his false hand to her, and just as unconsciously, she took it and stood. She didn’t even think about it until she was back on her feet, and then found herself staring at their joined hands. Even though his was fake, even though hers was gloved, she swore she felt heat.

Her eyes darted up to look at him, to see his reaction—and he too was staring at their joined hands with a bit of awe. Did he mean to do that, and expect her not to take it? Or was it as instinctive as her move was?

Either way, she quickly pulled her hand back and stuck it in her jeans pocket. “Uh, thanks,” she blurted, then turned to head in the house; his heavy footfalls followed her, as did a sense of deja vu.

The rest of the evening went without incident—unless Henry losing his mind to the sound of Killian’s ringtone (the theme to Pirates of the Caribbean) counted—until Killian got called into work and Emma decided they should head out, too (but not before he insisted on checking on her stitches).

She’d honestly never met anyone that threw her so off balance as Killian. It was so nice to finally have a friend that understood her, so maybe it was just that novelty that was throwing her for a loop. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else going on, and she wasn’t sure it was welcome.

Oh, well. Once a week—she only had to see him once a week, barring any more emergency room trips. She could do this. They could do this.

*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*

And they did, for a while. The next few weeks, she only saw him at the Nolans, with his charming self and his good beer and his soccer ball, which Henry unsurprisingly took to quickly—her son had the incredible knack to learn anything with ease. Other than a jab at her usual doctor for not taking more care in the way he removed Emma’s stitches, they managed to avoid any other close calls, physically or emotionally—and he seemed just as keen to stay away from those as Emma.

They fell into a pretty casual friendship, and when they weren’t inadvertently baring their souls to one another, she genuinely enjoyed his company, as well as the buffer it gave her against Snow’s constant fairy tale romance ideals. They’d chat about music, movies, books, sports, and he was great with Henry, too—actually, he was almost better with him than she was when it came to what might be classified as Henry’s nerdier interests, like comics and role-playing games. She was dangerously close to being roped into a game of Dungeons and Dragons, with Henry as the DM and Killian as a rogue (or so she was told—she didn’t quite know what that meant).

(Although the idea of Killian as a pirate on an adventure? That was definitely an image that stuck with her, and had been ever since his Captain Hook reference...she kept that private, however.)

Everything was easy until the day she got on the train much earlier than usual, exhausted after an all-night stakeout (that thankfully landed in a nab) and desperate for a seat—and the only one open was right next to a weary-looking Killian.

“Is this seat taken?” she asked, standing in front of him.

His eyes darted up warily, but his face broke into a grin when he realized it was her. “Of course, Swan; have at it. I didn’t know you rode this train.”

“Almost every day,” she said as she plopped down. “Just usually not so early.”

“You got the bail jumper that quick?”

“Eh,” she shrugged. “More like it took way too long. Overnight job.”

“Same; you must be beat. At least this one didn’t go for the face.”

She snorted. “Thank god. I almost considered starting to wear a ski mask, but it probably wouldn’t look good if I started dressing like the criminals I’m supposed to be catching.”

He laughed. “Maybe you can in the winter.”

“Maybe. God, I can’t wait for it to get cold again so I can wear scarves without anyone looking at me weird.”

“Right?”

They traded stories about adventures and misadventures they’d had with the way they covered up; his mostly had to do with patients tearing his clothes, although there was one story about a woman who tried to get admitted to the lovesick wing after claiming he’d kissed her when, in all reality, he’d treated her for the flu a week prior and she was just still sick—not an altogether uncommon phenomenon.

“I had a guy try to do that to me once, too,” she told him. “It was several years ago when I wasn’t wearing gloves yet and made the mistake of shaking hands with a furniture salesman; when I went to pick up the stuff a couple weeks later, he was clearly ill and tried to convince me we were meant to be.”

“And you felt completely fine?”

“Obviously.”

“Some people are just that desperate.”

“It’s ridiculous!”

She’d been so caught up in the conversation that she hardly noticed they were at her stop. Nor did the train conductor, apparently, because the brake came on hard. Emma had to grip the pole next to her to avoid being completely thrown into Killian’s side, but was able to lean away enough that only her hip bumped into his. His scrubs must have been terribly thin, because she could feel the heat coming off his body even more than the day they’d been on Snow and Dave’s porch.

“Well, this is me,” she said as she stood. “It was nice seeing you!”

“Wait,” he called, then stood up with her. “This might seem a bit forward, but I was wondering...could I take you and Henry out to dinner sometime?”

She was a bit stunned at the request; she hadn’t been asked out in...well, not since creepy Walsh tried to tell her they were soulmates. But she knew Killian wasn’t looking at it that way. She also knew she had to answer before the train rolled off with her still on it.

“Uh, yeah, sure—we’d love to; when’s good for you?”

“Tonight, tomorrow?”

“I really don’t feel like cooking tonight.”

“Tonight it is. You know where the Regina Pizzeria is on Cambridge?”

“Of course.”

“6:30?”

“Sounds perfect. See you then!”

She managed to get off the train right as the doors were closing, but glanced back and saw him smiling at her as the train pulled away; she couldn’t help but return it, especially with the way his hair was adorably hanging in his face. He really was cute.

And friends can be cute. Platonically cute. Yes. That’s a thing she’d been reminding herself a lot over the past few weeks.

She immediately passed out when she got home, only waking up to the sound of Henry arriving back from his sleepover at the Nolans. He obviously loved the idea of going out for pizza and seeing Killian, but apparently had some concerns.

“Are you sure he meant both of us? I don’t want to be the third wheel.”

“What the—what?” Where would he get that idea? “Yes, he specifically said your name; and you’re my kid; you’re not a third wheel.” 

“Yeah, but I don’t want to cockblock Killian.” 

She was stunned. The only admonishment she could come up with was, “Henry David.” 

“What? He totally likes you and you totally like him. I may be a kid but I still have eyes; you’re both so obvious.”

That definitely left an impact on her. Henry knew everything—what happened in the past and why she wrapped up; she assumed he’d figured out that Killian was the same. That that was exactly why they got along: there was no pretense, no double entendre—just two people being friends. (Really good friends, it was turning out to be.) 

Was she sending mixed signals? Was Killian sending some that she wasn’t picking up on? Was she so far out of the game that she didn’t even know what the signals looked like anymore?

This was not the kind of thing she needed on her mind when she was supposed to be having a casual dinner with a casual friend.

“Stop overthinking it, Mom,” Henry called from his room, where he’d retreated. “Just be normal.”

Easier said than done. She walked into the pizza place ready to be a bit more reserved, but then he smiled when he saw them and any resolve she had was left at the door.

And any lingering traces of it disappeared when Henry, in his excitement over something that happened in his last game of D&D, knocked over her water glass—and Killian was the one to rush forward with napkins. For her lap. He set a few on her thigh before realizing what he’d done—and where his hand was—before backing away.

Part of her wanted to tell Henry, “See? He’s not interested.” But that would involve telling him where hands on thighs usually ended up and she wasn’t ready for that conversation anytime soon.

But from then on, Killian was a constant presence. It wasn’t really done by conscious effort; it just kind of...happened. 

Like their weekly tradition with the Nolans, pizza night with Killian became a thing, too, especially with the discovery that he didn’t live all that far away from them—his apartment was just a handful of blocks from theirs. They didn’t stick to just pizza—Chinese and Mediterranean found their way into the rotation regularly, among others—and the day varied depending on work schedules, but they ended up sharing meals at least a couple times a week. 

Every few days, she and Killian would find themselves on the same train, and their 20-minute chats covered everything. He shared stories of growing up in England with Liam; she talked about the revolving foster home doors of her upbringing. He described the oppressive heat and constant fear during his deployment in the Middle East, but the incredible sense of camaraderie with his crew mates; she relayed how scared she was staring at the positive pregnancy test at 17, and even more so during delivery, but the immediate relief and joy at holding Henry for the first time. They discussed their jobs, too—how watching his mother die of illness first pushed him into medicine and the challenges of being a one-handed ER doc, and how she kind of fell into bail bonds when she helped catch the guy who shot Neal after he skipped bail; how now, it helped her bring other people to justice. 

And they traded the tales of their lost loves, which were almost eerily similar in their whirlwind nature and tragic end—not to mention the scars left on their hearts. 

“Do you ever wonder if you made the right choice, though?” Killian asked her one day; he’d just treated a couple brought in after an accident and it was obvious it had hit close to home. “Like...do you ever doubt yourself? With all this?”

It wasn’t hard for her to answer. “Yeah, I do.” The more time passed, the more she wondered if she’d been right in her initial assessment—if there really had been evidence that Neal was her soulmate, or if she’d been off base. “But what’s worse—knowing you had a soulmate and losing them, or never finding them at all?”

Killian nodded. “Too true, lass—too true.” He furrowed his brow in thought, though, as if working up the courage for his next statement. “But what if they were still out there?”

Her heart skipped a beat; was he talking about himself? God, she hoped not (...or did she?). Regardless, it was definitely something she’d thought about, too. “If they are, I’m still not sure. I’ve had enough of being passed over and pushed around for one lifetime; I want to be chosen by someone, not just fated to be with them. So at least I know I had that—for a little bit, anyway.”

He studied her, seeming to soak in her words. “I can’t say I’ve ever thought of it that way, but...you’re right.”

She never would’ve thought some of the most intimate conversations of her life would take place on a public train, but the way Killian gave her his undivided attention, with understanding in those bright blue eyes, somehow made it feel like they were the only people in the car. 

And he was always so...close. Physically. It was almost as if in their dance around each other trying to avoid touch, they only ended up waltzing closer. There was the time she nearly slipped in Snow’s kitchen after Henry spilled water (again) and he grabbed her by the arm to keep her upright. Or the night he nearly stepped into traffic as they were leaving their favorite sushi place and she had to tug him back by the bicep. Not to mention when they nearly hugged in farewell as they left the Nolans’ one night—especially after Henry had given him a fierce one. It had just felt natural to do the same, but they caught themselves at the same moment. Awkwardly, she offered up her elbow instead, which he gamely bumped with his own, but it was a near miss on both their parts. 

(Emma was still pretending she hadn’t heard Henry mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like “oh my god, just kiss already.”)

He was the one to give her a boost when a slip kept evading her. “I’ve yet to see you fail, Swan,” he assured her, and she couldn’t help but believe it. 

She returned the favor when he was upset over losing a young patient. “Trust me—you’ve got more than one mark in the hero column.”

His laugh became one of her favorite sounds. His smile never failed to brighten her days. And she’d never seen someone so good with Henry other than her brother. 

Without anyone really noticing, they’d become part of each other’s lives seamlessly—a fact that finally hit her when he was the first person she texted when she finally caught the elusive skip, not David or Snow like she used to. 

Emma knew that should freak her out in some way. What would happen if Killian got a job out of town? Or if he actually did like her-like her, but didn’t want to deal with her emotional walls and/or possible rejection? (She had no idea how’d she’d respond to that.) Because by late summer, he’d become such a constant that she was having a hard time remembering what life was like before he was in it.

That was a lie; she knew exactly how it’d been: lonely. She knew she didn’t “need a man” or whatever, or even romance, but she couldn’t deny that she’d been severely lacking in the kind of companionship he provided—someone outside her family she could be close to. 

On one of the last Saturdays of the summer, she and Henry were taking Killian on their own version of the Freedom Trail—all the parts they found coolest, at least. They started at Boston Common and had worked their way over to Faneuil Hall, giving Killian plenty of time and opportunity to curse out the statue of Sam Adams for “irresponsibly condemning this city to a lifetime of inadequate, tasteless ale”, before showing him the marketplace. Emma’s heart did a strange stutter when she saw his eyes grow wide at the spectacle ahead of him—it was too adorable. 

And then Henry was shouting something about one of street performers and grabbing Killian’s prosthesis to drag him off to see them. And then Killian, in turn, took hold of her hand at the last second, nearly yanking her arm from her socket as she got pulled away.

She didn’t yelp or cry out, though—she laughed; screamed, even, in surprise and joy as she was dragged along by two of her favorite boys. Killian glanced over his shoulder, as if to make sure she was still there, and gave one of the biggest grins she’d ever seen.

The three of them nearly crashed together when Henry came to a sudden stop; she instinctively grabbed Killian’s bicep to brace herself from smacking into him. It took a minute for them to catch their breath, and at the end of it, she realized she was still gripping Killian’s hand in hers. Her palm was sweating in its leather confine, but she couldn’t take her eyes off of the way their fingers had so easily intertwined.

Killian must have taken the way she was staring as something other than awe, because as soon as he noticed, he let go and stepped away. He scratched behind his ear—what she’d come to identify as a nervous tick—as he turned his attention on the busker, so she too tried to play it cool.

That was the most physical contact she’d had with someone outside of her family in literal years—that she actually wanted, at least. And she was pretty positive the same went for him.

Despite the heat, she shivered. Was she really considering something that was vaguely romantic? She firmly believed in platonic relationships—in particular, the platonic-ness of theirs—but it wasn’t hard for her to imagine more, especially if her dreams were any indication (they almost exclusively featured him nowadays, and in far less fanatastical settings than they once had). So deep down, she knew there was a (very small) part of her that wanted it.

She attempted to ignore it; it was, after all, just another in their long line of weird clashes that sent sparks through her body, another of which happened later that day when they were eating at Regina Pizzeria (again) and their fingers brushed when she handed him a plate.

And whatever that weirdness was, it didn’t affect their friendship, or his with Henry. As they sat there at their table, enjoying the meal and listening (and laughing) to Henry’s stories about school, the only thing she could really feel was happy. And, she had to admit, happier than she’d been in a long time.

Outsiders would probably make some inferences on their familial appearance, and maybe there was a slight chance it could be like that some day, once she had more time to warm up to the idea; but what they had was perfect, and didn’t need to change.

*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*

As has been stated in the past, however, the universe is a dick.

It was the Sunday before Labor Day, but the standard work week doesn’t mean much for people working in emergency medicine and bail bonds. At least Emma had wrapped up early for the day—nabbed her mark as he was leaving mass, ironically—and hopped on the crowded train, filled with people heading home from church.

“Swan! Over here,” came the familiar shout from the middle of the car; Killian was standing at one of the poles in the middle, his right arm holding it tight and with just enough space next to him for her to slip in. Her left hand came to rest on the pole just below his, and the train shuddered off a moment later; she had to bend her knees to keep from falling into him.

“Well, did you get your man?”

“Yup. And his priest saw the whole thing.”

“Ooh,” Killian winced. “Hope he’d already gone to confession.”

He caught her up on the craziness of his last shift, as had become habit at this point, before moving to his usual simple request for “So, dinner?”

She was ready to say yes, until she remembered. “Oh, sorry—Henry has a sleepover tonight. Last one before school starts.”

“Ahh,” Killian nodded understanding. “Well,” he started, and then his nervous tick came out again, as he scratched behind his ear with his prosthesis and stared at the floor. “My invitation still stands, if you’d like.”

She swallowed. She hadn’t been alone with Killian...well, not since the first day they met, when he cleaned her hand in the Nolans’ half bath. There’d always been someone else there as a buffer.

Not all that long ago, she would have been terrified at the idea. But now...she was kind of excited by it. Or maybe “intrigued” was the better word. She certainly didn’t hate it.

Her walls wouldn’t let her be so obvious, though. “Are you asking me out on a date or something?” she teased, smirking; she also had a bit of extra endorphins running through her system after that morning’s takedown.

“Do you want it to be one?” he tossed back, except he was serious.

She chewed on her bottom lip for a bit; despite all their conversations—despite the fact that he knew basically everything about her—this was the most exposed she’d ever felt with him. “Would it be okay if I did?” she said quietly, only loud enough for him to hear.

A slow smile took over his face, starting in the corners of his eyes and lighting up his whole face. Those butterflies in her stomach began to flutter again at the sight of it, and she could feel her face involuntarily mirroring it—until she was rudely jolted.

Looking back on the moment, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The train slammed on the brakes, which was nothing new, but the car wasn’t usually packed like a sardine. The man behind Emma hadn’t been holding onto anything, so he was sent reeling forward, crashing into her back and pushing her toward Killian, who instinctively put his free arm out to catch her.

She didn’t have time to grab his arm, though, before her chest was colliding with his. Logically, she knew she should be feeling a shock at the collision and no doubt have her wind knocked from her, but all she could feel—emotionally, at least—was a completely foreign rush of worry and, stranger still, love.

Fuck, she thought.

«Bloody hell,» was the echo within her mind—but that wasn’t her voice. It was Killian’s.

In her brain.

She opened her eyes, not realizing she’d been squinting them shut, only to realize her cheek was pressed up against Killian’s and he still had his arm wrapped around her, holding her close.

Holding her.

Against his skin.

Oh, no.

The train came to a stop just as she jumped away from him; people would probably say it looked like she’d been burned, and she supposed in a way she had been. This couldn’t be happening.

“Emma?” he breathed, eyes wide and incredulous.

“I—I—” she stammered. “I...can’t.”

Not wasting another moment, she turned and ran—off the train, out of the station, halfway home. He’d shouted her name as she was leaving but she didn’t stop. Her phone buzzed several times but she ignored it. She didn’t stop even to breathe until she was in her apartment, with the door locked behind her.

She’d just imagined it, right? He must have said it out loud. She only felt those things because he was hugging her. That was why he was surprised; it had to be.

There was no way that Killian Jones was her soulmate.

Right?

----------------------------------------------

thanks for reading! Hope to see you for the last chapter!

tagging some peeps: @kat2609 @thesschesthair @optomisticgirl @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @amortentia-on-the-rocks @mryddinwilt@cocohook38 @annytecture @wingedlioness @word-bug @fergus80@pirateherokillian@bleebug @its-imperator-furiosa @killianmesmalls @effulgentcolors @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @stubble-sandwich @killian-whump @lenfaz @phiralovesloki @distant-rose @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose@snowbellewells @idristardis @scientificapricot @let-it-raines @shireness-says @courtorderedcake @its-okay-killian @captainsjedi @a-faekindagirl

[killianmesmalls]

Life as We Know It

At the request of a certain someone (eh hem @queen-mabs-revenge), I’m posting this (you’ve seen it here before) on a separate post and shall continue to add to it because I’m lost forever in this AU. Inspired by that same someone’s fantastic gifs. 

Summary: Just when the Jones brothers feel like their lives are where they should be—Liam is graduating from the police academy and Killian is just a couple years away from graduating high school—they get some news that turns their whole world sideways. An AU where Liam, Milah, and Bae are alive and help Killian navigate the unexpected world of being a young, single father. 

Warnings: So far, mentions of date rape and Eloise Gardener, as well as a decent amount of swearing. 

Combined Parts 1& 2/?

Invite your little brother out, he thought. It’ll be good for him, he thought. Apparently, Liam had thought wrong.

In a few weeks, he’d be graduating from the police academy, unable to participate in his more “childish” endeavors of DJing or staying up all hours at a club. Truth be told, even at 22, he felt he was getting too old for supporting himself and his brother through odd jobs and late night events. The smell of spilled beer and the sweat of hundreds of people didn’t quite wash out like it used to.

Still, he thought one last big night out and inviting Killian out would help get whatever had been happening in his head recently out in the open or get rid of it entirely. He’d still be in a safe place—all the bartenders knew the Jones brothers and knew exactly what would happen if they served the younger one—but he’d have the chance to blow off some steam. Sixteen was a rough year, especially when one was experimenting with growing facial hair and dating, as Killian seemed to be.

Upon first catching sight of him, it looked like experimenting with the advancing of puberty wasn’t the only thing Killian had gotten into. Liam didn’t need to see the state of his eyes or feel his pulse. He was on something. Drugs or an interesting mix of liquor, it didn’t matter. His underage brother, one bad CPS call away from getting slammed back into the system, was dancing like a maniac in… fucking hell, was that one of his pajama shirts?

Focus, Liam. Focus. You’re getting paid for this. You can kill him for free later.

The music continued to swell and the liquor and flailing limbs of a bunch of drunk revelers continued to multiply. The air had taken on its own alcohol level, exacerbating Killian’s wildness until he finally hit into the wrong person.

“Bloody hell,�� Liam whispered under some God-awful remix he’d been requested.

It was clockwork with all bar or club fights, and Liam was disappointed to see the same was the case with his little brother. The stranger pushed, Killian pushed back, the stranger got closer, Killian got into the man’s face, and soon fists were flying. Thank whatever higher power that the security team was also well-aware of who Killian was, pulling him and the other man away from each other just as Liam approached.

“What the hell is going on here?” Liam practically snarled.

“He—” Killian started in a distorted yell, before one of the bouncers cut him off.

“Sorry, Li, but we gotta get him out of here.”

Liam nodded, grabbing Killian by his upper arm. “Mind asking Ray to take over for a bit? I’ll be back in twenty or so.”

They exchanged a nod as the elder Jones ignored the swears of the younger one, soon pulling him out like an angry parent pulling a toddler mid-tantrum from a toy store.

The cool air of the back alley had an instant effect on his nerves, cooling the sweat on the back of his neck and forcing some semblance of calm to wash over him. As the heavy back door closed behind them and all he could hear was the pulse of the music instead of a bombardment of noise, he tried to harness that calm into something productive.

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT FOR?!” Killian yelled.

And, there went the calm.

Liam let go of his brother’s arm, only to reel his hand back and smack him hard upside the head. “What was that for? What is wrong with you?! You come in here, completely wasted off of fuck knows what, and get into a fight? Do you have any idea what sort of risks you put yourself in tonight?”

“I don’t care!”

“You don’t care?! Well I sure as shit do, little brother!”

“Younger brother,” the teen snarled.

“No, I meant little. You’re acting like a child. A reckless, idiot child. What in the hell has gotten into you recently? Huh? The last few weeks you’ve been a sullen, irritating fucking mess! Now look at you! Did you want to get taken into some home? Because that’s where you’re going if you keep this up! One call is all it will take, Killian! One call! Do you want that?!”

“No!” Killian shouted, shaking his head in a wild gesture, as if he could swing himself into some tranquil sobriety.

“Then why do it?!”

“ELOISE IS PREGNANT!” he shouted.

The air in the alley turned ice cold then left all at once. Liam could swear everything got somehow both closer and farther away. Eloise was…

“That… that girl you mentioned you met at a party? I thought you said you met someone and it didn’t go well.”

“I did,” Killian choked out, a weight gathering over him as he realized what he’d said.

“Then tell me, genius, how does having sex with a girl at a party count for you as not going well? Oh, I know, because WHY THE HELL DID YOU DO IT?”

“I—”

Again, before Killian could answer, Liam couldn’t resist another hit upside his head. He was never one with force with his brother, opting more for guilt trips or general brotherly pestering, but tonight shattered something and he couldn’t help himself. He felt both too old and too young for this at once, and even where he stood could feel himself aging a decade.

“Stop that!” Killian shouted. “I didn’t mean to do it!”

“You didn’t mean to have sex with a random girl at a party? What happened? You drink there, too, and you just happened to have your penis fall into—”

“SHE DRUGGED ME, LIAM!”

Okay, if that last confession took all the air out of the alley, this one felt like it all came rushing back, concentrated and like a punch to the chest. “She what?” he almost whispered.

“I drank a beer that night, like I told you. We got to talking about things, and she asked me to come upstairs with her. I did because, hell, why wouldn’t I? I thought we were just going to makeout or something. We went into a bedroom and we did start talking. She then offered to get us a couple of drinks, and when she got back we got to talking again. Then, well, I don’t remember much. I remember some things? But, next thing I know, I’m waking up and…. I had a feeling it happened, but I didn’t want to think about it.”

“Killian,” was all Liam could say at first, reaching out to him. He guiltily watched as his brother flinched slightly, calming when Liam rested a hand on his shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell anyone? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to think about it. This sort of thing doesn’t happen to guys, right? I mean, people would say I probably wanted it. And maybe I did? I don’t know. And I didn’t know for sure, so why start something about anything I didn’t know for a fact? Plus, I mean, I didn’t want you to get in trouble or me to get in trouble. I didn’t…. I just couldn’t Liam. But, now she told me she’s pregnant and she’s keeping it, though I don’t know why. She even said she doesn’t like kids. Why is she keeping it? I don’t know Liam. I don’t know what to do.”

Suddenly, Killian pressed his hands to his face and started to sob. Liam pulled the teen into his arms and rubbed his back, his mind racing over what all had happened. Though he didn’t know how, he reassured, “It’ll be alright. We’ll figure this out. It’ll be okay. I promise.”

He just hoped something somewhere heard him and was listening.

After Killian’s confession, Liam had taken the rest of the night off. The loss in wages was insult to injury, but he shoved his frustration aside, figuring it was worth it to have the chance to escort his little brother home. After sobbing at length and having the full amount of alcohol he’d pregamed with hit him at once, Killian was unsteady as he walked, and Liam was all too happy to help guide him with his arm over his shoulder.

It helped to assuage his guilt.

How had he not noticed something so wrong could have happened? Why hadn’t he asked earlier? Hell, why hadn’t he asked the next morning when he saw Killian in a daze? Sure, he thought it was from the beer he might have downed too quickly (and maybe the few other drinks Liam assumed he’d lied about not having). He should have pressed more, or at least tried just a little harder to get something out of him.

“I don’t feel so good.” Killian’s shaky voice broke through Liam’s thoughts. “Li, I think I—”

He didn’t finish what he thought he was going to do, because he did it all over the sidewalk next to them. Liam sent a small “thanks” to nothing in particular that his brother had opted to point his lunch in the other direction, and he rubbed the teen’s back as his breakfast went to join.

“You okay now?” he asked, rubbing Killian’s back.

“Yeah. I think?”

Liam doubted that. He doubted anything would be okay for a while. He watched as his little brother attempted to walk a straight line, his mind now wandering from what he missed in the past to what had yet to face them both. Meetings with social workers, a custody battle or at least a battle for Killian’s voice to be heard given the circumstances and current laws, months of Killian struggling to figure out what it was he even wanted to begin with, and battles with the girl who had taken advantage of his brother in the worst way.

He hated that his mind wandered to “what if Killian did this?” He trusted his brother inherently, but Killian was right, rape was underreported to a staggering degree, and male rape extremely so for exactly the reasons he had stressed earlier. Drunk and slightly incoherent, but his worries were crystal clear and sadly what Liam had heard more times than he’d have liked in his months at the academy. He didn’t feel like he’d be believed, perhaps he’d asked for it, maybe it was better to just deal with it on his own…. On and on the reasons went, and Liam both couldn’t blame him for any of them and also hated to the depths of his soul how many others of all genders reasoned the same way he did.

No, Killian didn’t ask for this. He didn’t deserve this. And, Liam was going to fight like hell to make sure something good came out of something so foul.

Liam barely slept that night. He’d wake up every few hours and check on Killian. He knew the teen would get over his hangover, likely with one more expulsion of his insides followed by some greasy food around noon. Still, Liam couldn’t help it. For the last three years he’d had custody of his little brother, Liam still looked at him as a child. There was something different now. He was catapulted against his will into adulthood, and Liam found himself worried somehow that if he didn’t pay more attention from here on out, he’d miss something else.

He was already wide awake for the eighth time that night when his alarm went off. He slammed his hand down on “off” button and shuffled to their shared bathroom, going through the movements. Use the facilities, shower, shave, dress, cook breakfast, check again on Killian, have the last dregs of his coffee, write a note for his brother, leave. He’d checked on his brother between each section of his routine this morning, and felt a tug of guilt at leaving at a still sleeping Killian.

The temptation to call in sick was strong, but his common sense took over. Calling sick would do less for his career than help Killian today. Besides, he had someone he needed to talk to. If he were going to figure out his options in the next nine months, he needed to start laying the groundwork now.

He just hoped Weaver was in a good mood.

[idexstuck]

what is kissing various ccuers like? find out

vivian: awk af and will force ur hands up to touch her face. altho thinks its 10x more hot for u to just touch her lips not actually smooch her. might end w her trying 2 like eat ur hand killian: hes a dad. also divorced 2 times. so weird is an understatement. also full indiana dad semi-aftershave beard so double awk. altho if u like that good on ya. needless to say he kinda is occupied w trying to eradicate humanity but he makes time exceptions 4 u. lips taste like regret and $5 cedar lake beer c(d)r: again awk as hell. high energy tho. prefers little 'muah' pecks. if on lips: redbull and coffee. makeouts r rare but cdr isnt rly a ~sexy~ person (lawyer). would love love love if u initiated smth further tho! but if u are not comfy thats ok :) xiang: gravity increases in a good way like when u get underwater so far & water pressure does that thing it does where you just feel .zip'd. soft lips rating = 12/10 kris: dont try to be sexy and bite his lip you might catch his lip ring and that hurts him be careful :( otherwise also p awk but in a very endearing way pre gb emerson: apyr :) post gb emerson: his lips taste like broken dreams, expired yogurt, and porn. 0/10 but he likes to shove his tongue down ur throat and if u find that hot congrats. also will use his es. just enjoys the idea of escalation. rly hard to 'just' kiss him bc if he wasnt already horny for everyone its ESPECIALLY bad for u. ender: doesnt know what human affection is but hypothetically will not have an understanding of being normal. will try and succeed to hurt you. if you dont like it he wont be affected (MEAN!) unless he cares abt u (partner on his quest for revenge). if you like it congrats hes not abt to go bdsm and hurt u unless u ask tho eva: not interested in romance but you're special :) at first shes eh to the idea of making out bc tht takes up time but it grows on her. likes human intimacy ig. kisses are very sweet and very nice :) 20/10 jacobi: smoker so not great. also doesnt shave so not great. kinda awk and not rly in an endearing way either. you have to teach him. but hes trying ok???? juno: electric! loves kissing thinks the idea of smashing faces is weird but also AzanPog. will like it if u run ur hands thru his hair so do it :) ruth: has never been a romance guy post-HS and frankly has naught the time nor energy for it rn (except for u). so hes just kinda rusty. likes to be guided and told what to do not in a weirdo way just ig u gotta let him know cos he needs to know ur boundaries if escalation. otherwise hes super nervous. will maybe surprise kiss u if he is brave! :) holo 0302: kiss -> makeout -> devolves into (if you so desire) hard and heavy fuckin. cant really control itself enough to stop UNLESS you give the word/it senses u arent having a good time. otherwise its rly possessive of u. always wants to be the instigator. always tries to get ur clothes off as fast as possible lol tour: AWKKKKK but it is ok. she isnt for pda or hell even private da so moments are rare w her. u have 2 initiate. super duper rusty also lips chapped af. not rly one for making out tho. sometimes u get insecure like oh does she not love me and the answer is no, she does, just bad at showing it smop: weird she doesnt rly care abt romance or face smashing at all. also unphased by 99% of advances or innuendos or anything remotely romantic. have 2 tread carefully w her. first kiss probably 6mo after u started dating but shes like huh i thot we were jus rly good friends. its super sloppy and she has no idea what shes doing but its ok cos its endearing rich: need i say anything. its perfect every single time. pure euphoria. rly good kisser too. ur welc johanna: messy & sloppy af because she insists upon not initiating intimacy unless shes super inebriated. she doesnt want you to overwrite trevor in her mind so she just hopes the alcohol will get rid of the taste of ur lips. doesnt work. first sober kiss is still weird and shes rly hesitant. u got 2 feel it out w her. takes a looong time to escalate since shes uncomfortable but thats ok. when shes at that point then o ya she loves nice long chill makeout sessions. probably with the caveat that every so often she takes a massive swig of beer (remember to work out this idea with her beforehand as to not overstep boundaries). lips obvi taste like beer. sooo much jack daniels. nikolai: will never initiate intimacy. u have to sit him down and tell him its ok but he still wont. loves it if he is never in control of the scenario. would love it even more if u escalated w/o him asking and hes afraid to ask. but if u eventually deprogram him he might initiate sometimes. kisses are super weird hes not used to em. whys his mouth taste so salty wtf? clara: very clinical. she is not by any means a romantic. but still nice tho since any intimacy is a good act of opening her shell! issac: CHEFS FREAKIN KISS BABY. better than rich. even if u just have a fling u will never ever find anyone who can even just smooch u like he does. filled w emotion and also hes super nice ig so :). handles u so carefully not in a fragile way but in a loving way. mouthtaste for sure some kinda minty flavoure. or a nice wine :) reina: she makes u feel so safe. thts all i have 2 say. u are Held ingrid: are you crazy? schuyler: actually not as bad as one might think. prefers u to initiate. obvi used to be a heavy smoker and drinker so he is kinda bad for the mouth ya feel. acquired taste for sure. if u like southern men, congratulations. dr.w: go grandpa go jim: would start happy crying if u asked if u could kiss him. then would say no. ur gonna have to wait a LOOOOOOOOOOONG ASS TIME to kiss him. just be patient. notice that his acts of intimacy are skewed towards nonphysical- hes a great listener and is very attentive to u! those are good :)

[charmingturkeysandwich]

Knock, Knock Ch. 26/27: (Im)perfect

Second to last chapter! Last chapter is going to be posted in about five minutes, so there won’t be much wait on this one. 

Read on AO3.

Start from beginning on tumblr (links to next chapter at the end of each)

“I swear to God, Mary Margaret, if you make me go into one more store, I’m going to set you on fire.”

The mall was crowded – it was a gloomy Saturday and there wasn’t much else to do but window shop and people watch – so Emma’s shouting (unfortunately) garnered quite a bit of attention.

And guess what? She couldn’t care less.

“First of all, Emma, the fire references are no longer funny. OK, they never were funny, but I’m officially calling Time of Death on tolerating them. Second – and more importantly – you have to completely start over here. You’re building a home! And you have very little to fill it with. You need to explore, to look around and see what you want. It’s more important than you’re realizing.”

Eye roll. “It’s just stuff, Mary Margaret. You know me well enough to know that I don’t give a shit about the things that I own. I’ve lived on next to nothing, so why the hell should I care if my pot holders match my tea kettle?!” She was still shouting. It would be easy to pretend she was merely enjoying the full use of her lungs now that she’d mostly recovered from the smoke inhalation damage, but the fact was she just snapped a little and lost all volume control in the process.

Mary Margaret approached her carefully, her eyes sad when Emma knew she deserved anger or frustration at the moment. “Don’t you see, Emma? That’s exactly why this matters. You’ve never had anything. And now you do. It’s just stuff, yes, but it’s symbolic. It’s yours. You deserve to own things that, sure, have a perfectly reasonable function. But they’re allowed to represent you. You and Killian. Together. So, please, stop scowling at dinnerware sets and just enjoy the fact that you’re about to start a life that a version of you never dreamed was possible.”

The thing was: Emma didn’t like shopping. Even under the best circumstances. And today – well, this wasn’t the worst circumstances. It was good, actually. She was feeling better – functional, even – and she and Killian had signed all the appropriate paperwork to move into their cute little house. But she was tired. And hungry. And truly didn’t give a crap about what patterns were on her plates.

But Mary Margaret wasn’t wrong. The fire had been dreadful, obviously, and dangerous and all kinds of awful. But it also did that whole cleansing thing where you destroy the old to make way for the new. She didn’t have to cook in pans Mary Margaret had passed down to her. She didn’t have to keep using the fan she got for $2.50 at a yard sale. She didn’t need to cling to the ratty afghan she’d taken from one of her foster homes ages ago (even though it truly was cozy). She could start over. Things could be hers.

Theirs.

She and Killian would obviously be doing the actual purchasing, but Mary Margaret had desperately just wanted Emma to look. Something about how if Emma refused to make a Pinterest board for Home Stuff then she’d just have to go out in the real world for ideas.

But she was tired.

“Can we just go get a pretzel? I appreciate the sentiment, and you’re right. About all of that. But I’m just – I’m not really in the mood for fawning over pillows with anchors on them. Even though I know they’ll inevitably end up on my couch because Killian is predictable and corny.” A smile was finally creeping onto her face, she could feel it, and Mary Margaret responded with a kind nod.

It had been a whirlwind of a week. Killian and Mary Margaret had been manning the summer camp ship (and with wild success). Emma had recommitted herself to a more cheerful recovery and a bitterness reduction, making dinner with David each night and doing all of her PT-recommended activities in the day. She and Killian would retire to their room after dinner was all cleaned up, talking business and new house and budget and renter’s insurance and all kinds of super productive, uber-adulty things.

It was reasonable and rational and really just pure shit.

No, it wasn’t. But it was still a drag, spending all of her time and energy on the stuff she needed – and not what she wanted. Which was to celebrate with her Captain the giant step they were taking.

But there were things to be done and bodies to be healed and so the logistics talk of 8pm turned into the you need your rest, so come let’s cuddle of 9pm and then it was up and at ‘em to another day of busy and planning and just –

No sex. No steamy makeouts. No Netflix and Chill or Hulu and hand jobs or whatever the kids were saying these days. It had been so long since she and Killian could just be together – even non-naked – and the frustration was mounting (ha), especially as her body continued to recover.

Maybe it would be easier to focus on which bedspread she thought would go best in their new master bedroom if she’d been bedded at all in the last month or so.

Groan. Apparently a nice cheesy pretzel would have to suffice.

Auntie Anne’s had only been a short walk from the Home Goods store Emma had melted down in front of, so only minutes had passed and the two of them were seated at a silly table with an unnecessary umbrella chowing on salty goodness and washing it down with sugary lemonade.

“So what do you think you’ll do with the second bedroom?” Mary Margaret asked, her eyes not on Emma but on the excess salt on her pretzel.

“Office, probably. I mean, we’ll put a bed in there for guests and everything, but we’ll add a desk, too. In case we want to do work in a half-professional manner and not just with our laptops propped on the couch pillows.”

Mary Margaret hummed and nodded, seemingly satisfied with Emma’s answer. When really Emma knew exactly what she was thinking.

Babies.

It was probably hard to think of anything else when you had one constantly kicking your bladder or whatever they were doing at that stage of development.

And, yes, Emma had thought about it, the whole family thing. She could definitely see her and Killian with kids – restless, brave, adventurous souls, to be certain.

But, you know, one thing at a time, Mary Margaret. God.

“I’m thinking of getting one of those little portable grill things, though. For the back deck thing, I mean, not for the bedroom. Obviously. We’ve never really had outdoor space and even though this is fairly small, it’ll be nice. You know, to sit outside. Grill some pineapple. The nice, lazy Sunday kind of stuff.”

Mary Margaret finally made eye contact. “You deserve some very lazy Sundays, you know.”

-

The first summer camp had been an unbridled success.

The kids were happy. The parents were happy. He was happy. They'd had fun and made so much progress in getting the kids excited to learn and create and this - this was what he should have been doing all along. Yeah, he'd still book the night rides and the corporate gigs and maybe even a college party or two, but working on something bigger than rum and Instagram-worthy sunsets - it's exactly what he's always needed.

Emma. Emma was what he'd always needed and never really knew. Not until she banged on his door and barged into his life, so resistant at first and yet so right. He was his own man, of course. This wasn't some codependent bullshit. But she'd nudged him in all the right directions, and now he just - well he sounded like a loon even in his own head because the happiness had made him delirious and probably quite insufferable.

But there were still hiccups, of course. He'd wanted Emma to be on the ship the previous week, first of all. He'd been especially distracted the first few days, just worrying about her and then feeling guilty when he wasn't worrying about her. And the nights they spent together - they were cherished, of course - she could have died in a bloody fire not too long ago - but they were also lacking their usual luster. It was always about plans and business and never just playing video games or watching movies or talking about the various flaws in the book-to-movie adaptations of the Harry Potter series or, you know, making love until they were so exhausted they fell asleep wherever they finally landed.

The future was bright - there would be plenty of nights together for, hopefully, the rest of forever. But that didn't mean it wasn't frustrating now.

When the weekend came there was a certain assumption that he might actually get some alone time with his pirate princess. But, as it turned out, he had to do a few Skype calls with his lawyer and the insurance guys - both bitter to be working on a weekend, no less - and so Mary Margaret swept Emma off to the mall for "inspiration" or some shit, and he stayed behind to play stuffy businessman for the morning.

They were getting there. Slowly but surely he was finding what the kids in all their folk stories and fairy tales would call a happily ever after.

-

Begrudgingly, Emma had entered three more department stores after the pretzel fuel-up. It really wasn't the worst. After Mary Margaret had put some things into perspective, Emma had opened her mind up a little (also begrudgingly) and imagined some pieces in her house. She'd even picked some things up to show Mary Margaret and get her opinion - but that was all but a lost cause. Mary Margaret was more about finding a theme and sticking to it. A color scheme. A repeating pattern. Emma liked eclectic. She liked personality. She did not need every single item in her kitchen to have an apple on it, even though she'd picked up one apple-covered serving dish.

It's a good thing she was starting a life with Killian and not Mary Margaret. They would most definitely clash.

Once Mary Margaret was satisfied that Emma had gotten a good idea of her options, they hopped back in the car and headed home, chatting mostly about the previous week's summer camp on their drive.

"... and you wouldn't believe this one boy. Completely obsessed with dragons. Every single story he wrote ended with a dragon. No matter what kind of scenario Killian or I presented. And his parents are doctors and can afford everything so he has dragon shoes, a dragon backpack, and I think I overheard another boy saying he has a jungle gym at home with an actual carved dragon on it."

"Damn," Emma responded. "I didn't know people like that actually existed. Are we running a camp for Storybrooke's most privileged kids or what?"

"Well, you know it does cost money to participate in the summer camp. And for good reason! I'm not saying Killian or you overcharge. But you're certainly more likely to get Richie Rich than Orphan Annie."

"Yeah, yeah you're right. I guess I just - I hadn't thought of it." The truth was that Emma had thought of it. She'd talked about it, even, with Killian. They obviously couldn't run the camp for free, but how would kids like she was ever be able to participate unless it was for a school field trip? They really weren't sure. And with the business being so new - well, it was hard to see into the future to know their success, their impact, whatever.

They were doing their best.

(And their best would be enough, said a little voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like Mary Margaret.)

When they arrived at the Nolans' David was outside mowing and Killian was "supervising" from the porch, two cups of iced tea in his hands.

"You taking good care of your boyfriend, I see?" Emma called as she slid out of the car and started up the sidewalk.

"No, love, this is for you. Mary Margaret alerted me to your return, and I wanted to be prepared. She indicated the trip was... tense?"

"She doesn't seem to get that I don't give a fuck about china patterns."

"I wasn't asking you to pick china patterns, Emma!" Mary Margaret defended, loudly and with a distinct screech.

Killian leaned down to kiss Emma's forehead as he handed her the cool glass and it was like the morning's worries had decreased by at least half.

"How was your morning?" she asked, leading him to the wicker chairs (that matched the house and the rug and the bird feeders, by the way) and plopping down in his lap (personal space was overrated).

"Dull. But everything is definitely squared away, so at least I've accomplished something."

"Unlike your girlfriend," Mary Margaret grumbled.

Steadfastly ignoring her, Emma sipped at her tea and then nuzzled her forehead into Killian's neck, just enjoying the smell of the mowed grass and the feel of her best friend/boyfriend/brand new roommate's arms around her.

They'd come such a long way.

Killian downed the rest of his tea and returned both hands to Emma, stroking her back and toying with her hair and overall making her feel all warm and fuzzy and content inside despite David's constant swearing at the rocks he was hitting in the deeper grass behind the house.

"Zelena called while you were out, by the way," Killian mumbled into her hair.

"Oh?"

"She said we can move in as early as tomorrow. We just need to tell her what day we want and then I guess the guy will prorate the month's rent based on how many days we actually live there."

"Oh, wow. I just - I assumed that we'd have to wait until the first of the month."

"No, love. We can start our life tomorrow, should we desire it."

"Do you? Desire it, I mean?"

"Well, to be fair I've already started my life with you. As far as I'm concerned."

"So have I."

"So tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow."

They sat there for God knows how long, just enjoying the rare moment of calm between two very different (but very real) stress storms.

They came out of their little bubble when David shut off the mower and came stomping up the stairs, grumbling about neighbor kids and raccoons or something. He stopped in front of them, almost startled at their presence.

"I see how it is. You survive one fire and suddenly you never have to do chores again?" David joked, clearly amused by Emma's state of relaxation.

"It's not my grass. Plus I'll be out of your hair tomorrow, Dave. We got the all-clear on our place!" Saying it out loud to someone other than Killian gave her a rush like the drop of a roller coaster and she already craved telling someone else. She was going to be a little insufferable with her joy and she did not care even one bit.

"And... how exactly will you be doing that, might I ask?"

Emma glanced at Killian, relieved to see that he, too, was confused.

"What do you mean?"

"You don't - I mean, I'm not trying to be insensitive, but... “he trailed off, looking around as if to find someone who could get him out of this conversation. But Mary Margaret didn't magically appear (guess they weren't telepathic like Emma often suspected), so he finished his thought. "You guys don't have anything to move."

The deflation of her soul those simple words caused was tangible. Probably visible if the near-regret in David's eyes was anything to go on.

Mary Margaret had been urging Emma to think of her new home and what she wanted to fill it with and cranky, sexually frustrated Emma resisted and tried to procrastinate and now here it was - the time they could move - and the obvious hadn't hit her.

They had next to nothing.

"But - I don't want to wait," Emma all but whined, her voice sounding small even to herself.

Killian rubbed his arms up and down her back, squeezing her more tightly when he felt her shake a little.

"Don't worry, love. Tomorrow shall be a shopping spree!"

Killian sounded like a kid on Christmas and his enthusiasm was contagious - even though David hurried to tell them they didn't need to rush and they could stay as long as they wanted and they should really think long and hard about the things they wanted to fill their house with rather than buying whatever the heck they saw first at the store.

But Emma tuned him out. She was moving in with her boyfriend tomorrow.

-

Mary Margaret and David were the most annoying parents on the planet and their child was as of yet to be born.

As soon as Emma and Killian made it clear that they were absolutely, most definitely moving into their new house tomorrow, the couple went into overdrive, making lists and searching local department store websites for prices and inventory and any bargains or coupons or incentives. Mary Margaret was shuffling around the house, raiding closets and drawers and shelves for items "just to use for the time being" and "you know, just to get you started." Emma kept refusing, but Killian was genuinely concerned that Mary Margaret was going to go into early labor if they refused her help, so he just whispered Swan, let her have this one each time Emma tried to argue.

They were about an hour into comparing furniture designs and prices when David remarked that it was simply too bad that they didn't know the measurements of the house offhand - if they knew a couch/bed/etc. would fit, they could order it right now.

Which was when Emma seemed to have a light bulb switch on above her head like a damned cartoon.

"We'll find out!" she shouted, jumping up from the recliner she'd been leaning on.

"It's probably a little late to call Zelena, don't you think? It's not even a work day," Mary Margaret warned.

"No, yeah, of course I'm not going to bother her. I just mean - well, no one is at the house and I have some pretty excellent lock picking skills that are sorely going to waste."

"Excuse me, young lady, cop present," David shouted, purely scandalized.

Emma just rolled her eyes and grabbed Killian's hand, tugging him toward the door. "You gonna turn me in?"

"Emma, now is not the time. It can wait until morning."

"You just said that it would be helpful to know the dimensions. Killian and I will slip on in there, measure it up, and come back ready to start ordering!"

Emma stopped off at the front closet of the Nolans' house, grabbing a few tools (and a measuring tape) and threw them in her bag, tossing it over her shoulder and retaking Killian's hand in a span of two seconds flat. Clearly something was happening here beyond measurements because not ten minutes before Emma had been tired and utterly disinterested in choosing a sofa or a kitchen table. Now her excitement was definitely an eleven on a scale of one to ten and while he was certainly happy to see her so enthusiastic, he also had some genuine confusion over the motivation.

Unless she really, really just needed a break from the helicopter parents that were her best friends.

Yeah, that was probably it.

The house was within walking distance and the sun was still a ways from setting so they decided to walk to their new home, hand-in-hand and truly giddy (they had a home).

When it seemed that they were far enough away from the house that no gentle breeze and open window would allow the Nolans to hear his words, Killian turned to Emma, eyebrow quirked in silent question.

"We seriously needed out of there, right? They're nuts! We're going to be fine. It's not like the whole house needs an Interior Design team. Right? We can start with some basics and add as we go?"

The Nolans - Mary Margaret, especially - had been so persuasive and adamant in their demands, even Killian had started to believe some of what they were suggesting Emma and Killian simply couldn't live without from day one. But now, with some fresh air and space, he could see even more clearly what Emma obviously had as well.

They actually were going to be just fine on their own.

"You can't blame them for being that way. They just really, really want you to be happy, Swan."

She slowly moved in front of him and grasped his other hand as well, squeezing tightly as she locked eyes with him. "They want us to be happy, Killian. They're your people, too."

"I know, love. But my god is that love smothering at times!"

They continued their walk, going over the most ridiculous things that had been said by their friends in the course of the last few hours and sharing what retorts they'd wanted to say versus what they'd actually responded with and before they knew it, their new home was right in front of them.

"It looks so pretty in the sunset," Emma breathed, utterly amazed by what honestly amounted to an average, modest dwelling.

But he was amazed, too. "Aye."

"Aye," she (poorly) imitated his accent. "But I'm the pirate now. Watch me work, babe."

With that Emma took out some tools from her bag - small wrenches it looked like - and started picking at the lock on the surprisingly old door. It only took a minute or so for him to hear a distinct click followed by a hushed whoop of glee and, finally, the creaking of the door as Emma swung it open.

He'd seen it already, of course. Emma had taken him back there after she'd already secured it. But knowing it wasn't just this thing that was happening in the future, that this was going to be all theirs come tomorrow - it was overwhelming.

And absolutely made it ten times more beautiful than when he first saw it.

Emma pulled out the measuring tape and tossed her bag in the corner, slipping off her boots so as not to track anything on their carpet. "What kind of couch do you want, anyway? I feel like I only know what Mary Margaret and David think is best for us."

"You're not wrong, love. I think I prefer the ones that are fluffy and spacious. I want something we can cuddle on and watch television."

"Isn't that what the bed is for, Killian?"

"I wish to cuddle with you everywhere."

"Is that so?" Emma asked, quirking her eyebrow and putting a little extra swing in her hips as she approached him.

"Of course. You're very cuddly."

"Cuddly, that's what you're going for?"

"Would you prefer a different adjective, love?"

"Well, I wouldn't be opposed to something a little less innocent..." Emma murmured, wrapping her arms around him and kissing around his clavicle.

"Would you now?" His body was responding to hers but fast, having been without any non-innocent touch in some time.

"Is that so hard to believe?" She continued kissing across his shoulder, up his neck, around his earlobe.

Jesus she was trying to kill him.

"Well you already know my feelings on you in that way. But considering all you've been through recently, I didn't think - I wasn't going to assume you wanted to go in this direction."

"What direction?" she asked oh-so-innocently - while raising her thigh to rub against his already painfully hard erection.

"Emmaaaaaa," he groaned, having absolutely not expected this when he agreed to this venture.

"Killiaaaaaan," she mocked.

He pulled out of her grasp and turned her around so they were both facing the unlit fireplace, his arms enveloping her and her sinking against him in response. "We came here, to our home, to measure for our furniture, love. Not to give into carnal desires only to end up in the ER."

"Are you planning to cut yourself on my measuring tape?"

"Emma. You were in a fire a month ago!"

"They never said I couldn't have sex," she reasoned, shrugging her shoulders beneath him.

"I think when one can't breathe, it's just common sense that there won't be any sex."

"But I can breathe now. And I want you! We need to celebrate. Like you said, this is our home."

He had absolutely no desire to say no to her in the first place and his body had already jumped on the yes train about two minutes ago, so Killian just said fuck it and started raining kisses from Emma's shoulder to her neck before finally catching her mouth with his, despite her still being tucked with her back against his front.

She moaned into it and he felt her tongue immediately sliding against his bottom lip, and goddamn it if he wasn't so hungry for her he could just die.

She squeezed her arms against his around her middle as their tongues tangled together, the spark finally fully igniting. Killian let his arms wander from her waist, trailing up to stroke at her breasts and down to feel the heat radiating between her legs.

"Swan, there isn't a bed," he grumbled between kisses, still desperately grasping at her body. "Or even a couch."

"So?" Emma turned in his hold to face him, one hand reaching behind his neck to draw him closer and the other sliding down to fumble with the button on his pants.

"So do you fancy rug burn on your knees? Or mine?"

She chuckled but continued her assault, yanking down his zipper and pushing his boxers out of the way until she had him fully in hand, stroking ever-so-lightly.

"We'll do it standing up. It's not like this is going to take long." She looked up at him and winked, removing her hand (thankfully) and pulling off her own top.

"God, I love you," was all Killian could get out before he was stripping himself down, clothes tossed haphazardly around what would become his living room.

Emma just laughed, a giddy, genuine sound that should have seemed out of place in such a frenzy of sexual passion - but that fit right in with what made them... them.

Once she'd discarded all of her clothes, she scurried over to the fireplace, leaning her arms against it and jutting her ass out, wiggling it adorably in invitation. Killian accepted (obviously), locking eyes with her as she peered at him over her shoulder. "Sorry this is going to be so fast, love."

"Oh, believe me. I'm just as worked up as you. I'll probably come the second you touch me, so, you know. Just get on with it."

"Just get on with it?" He repeated, rolling his eyes.

"Fuck me, Killian." Her eyes were fire and he couldn't have held himself back if there was a fire alarm at that point.

She moaned loudly as he rubbed himself against her, finding her positively dripping as he lined himself up and pushed in with ease.

"Holy hell," she breathed, her chest already heaving.

"So good," he whispered back, both of his hands squeezing her hips with the exertion of trying to make this last longer than thirty fucking seconds.

He rocked against her slowly, deliberately at first, but it only took a few sighs and curses from Emma before he was desperately plunging into her, hard and fast. She kept one hand firmly against the wall, but reached her other back to tangle with his, her moans rapidly rising in pitch as she began to rock back against him stroke for stroke.

She felt so good around him, so tight at this angle and so warm and it had been so long since he'd had her and it happening here, in their home - it was all too much for him to handle. The emotions, the feel of her walls starting to flutter and squeeze him, it brought him to the edge and right over it, his whole body shaking as he spilled himself deep inside her. They were both gasping for breath and quivering (either from the orgasm or tired muscles, he couldn't be sure), but still firmly connected.

"I love you," she gasped out after a minute or so, her forehead now resting on the hand that was planted against the wall.

"As I love you," he responded, bending further over her to kiss across her back and over to her shoulders.

"Ugh, I didn't really think of cleanup," she groaned, apparently looking down at her thighs that were now more than a little sticky. "Guess I'm going to have to resort to using my underwear."

"Should have thought of that before you attacked me."

She scoffed. "Oh, like you didn't want it."

"Of course I did, love," Killian slowly pulled out of her, quickly bending down to find her panties before they made too noticeable a mess. "But I always want you. So that's not ever really going to be an issue."

But she suddenly didn't seem to care so much about the mess, taking the cloth from him but then wrapping her arms around him and pulling him so their lips were just inches apart. "This is our home, Killian."

He felt just as amazed as she looked and so what if there was semen on their brand new carpet? They'd bring the Lysol tomorrow.

This was their home.

-

Move-in was the fucking worst.

Emma and Killian had steadfastly decided that they were only going to buy the basics that first day. Bed, trash cans, food, TV, whatever. They already had bought most of their bathroom-type things and had been keeping them at the Nolans', but they figured they could probably buy some more clothes while they were out, if they had time.

But, no. Mary Margaret and David had apparently recruited everyone and their fucking brother to help them that day and had insisted on full everything. They couldn't just get a bed - they had to get the whole bed set! And they couldn't just have a TV sitting on the floor - they needed an entertainment center! And quite frankly Emma was too fucking tired to argue.

The night before had been perfect. She'd finally gotten some alone time with Killian (and some satisfying alone time, at that). They'd made a good amount of decisions about the types of things they wanted for their house.

But they hadn't planned on buying them the very next day.

Hadn't it been Mary Margaret and David who had warned them to wait? Apparently once they started something they were just going at full speed until they hit a fucking brick wall.

A brick wall named Emma.

"Guys! Didn't we talk about this? We have enough money. Stop trying to buy us shit!"

Robin had gotten them a toaster oven, which was very sweet and relatively small. That was OK. Belle had sent Will with a beautiful picture for their wall - the whole crew of them on the Jewel for Ruby's going away party. That was thoughtful and sweet. But then Mary Margaret and David were insisting on buying them a washer and dryer set. A set! It was something like $1,600 and while Emma was trying to be cool with letting her makeshift "parents" help out, enough was fucking enough.

"But we just want to help you, Emma! You've been through so much. You both have! And not just the fire. This is your happy ending! You made it! I just want to provide pieces of it for you."

"For god's sake, woman, you already have! The important stuff, too. Not things. I know you say things are symbolic, but quite honestly fuck the symbols. The only thing I need from you is love and support and friendship. And perhaps your recipe for Mexican hot chocolate cookies. My point is: yes, I made it. I did! I'm already here. You don't have to keep giving. I'm good."

Will and Robin were seemingly trying to teleport themselves out of this conversation and Killian and David were mostly just staring at their women and the women were staring at each other and everything was just too tense and awkward and this was supposed to be a happy day, not another goddamn meltdown.

"Are we cool?" Emma finally asked.

"Yes, we're - we're cool. But we're also never going to just... stop being overbearing and excessive. I've decided it's my job. And David will back me up because he always backs me up. And Robin and Will, they're on board, too, even if they don't realize it."

"You know what I'm on board with?" Will chimed in. "Pizza. It's what you do when you move people, right? You order pizza. I say it's pizza time."

So they drove their (many) rented trucks back to the (adorable) rented house and sat down at the (expensive) non-rented table that Killian actually really did want, despite not having planned on buying one, and their scrappy little family ate way too much cheese and toasted with only semi-chilled beer to all the shit that led them here.

-

The air was already warm, despite the sun having just risen, when Killian first stepped aboard his ship that Monday morning. The kids wouldn't be there for another hour or so, but he wanted to make sure that all the activities were properly lined up - after all, the previous week he'd leaned quite a bit on Mary Margaret to do the teacher-y things while he pouted. Or brooded. Whatever it was. But Mary Margaret wasn't going to be his co-captain this week.

Emma walked up the gangplank, her new (not-so-binding) outfit flowing in the gentle breeze. The leather, while sexy as all hell, wasn't quite appropriate with the kids and, in her words, hurt like a bitch against burns. So they found some vaguely old-timey stuff at a Salvation Army the previous week, and Emma was rocking it like no one else on this Earth could. But, then again, she looked good in anything.

(Or nothing.)

"Reporting for duty, Captain Jones!" she called, saluting excitedly as she approached him.

"Good morning, my love," he crooned, reaching out for her hand and dropping a kiss on her forehead.

"You better get all that affection out of your system, buddy. No PDA in front of the kids."

"I'll behave, Captain Swan."

She chuckled and hugged him tighter, her ear pressing against his chest so closely she had to be able to hear his heart stuttering.

"We did it, Killian."

"Did what?"

"All of it? I mean, we found each other. And we built this together." She gestured around the ship at the activity stations and the snacks. "I just - I always thought I'd stay at least half-lost. Even after I had Ruby, Mary Margaret, David, a job I was damn good at. I just - I never expected this. You."

"I never expected you, either, love. Especially not, well, the way we happened."

"It's a unique story, I'll give you that," Emma laughed, her cheeks flushing as if she were remembering the many embarrassments along the way.

"I wouldn't trade it for anything," Killian promised her, bending down for one last kiss on the lips before the pack of kids descended upon them and sucked away all their energy for the next 8 hours.

"Me neither."

Go to FINAL chapter!

[ripplestitchskein]

I always find the faux social justice implications of fandom concerns absolutely ridiculous.

Like “Oh you’re worried your ship will be broken up and a new love interest inserted because A. the female part of the couple left the show B. The creators have a history of blowing up ships for pointless drama and fridging female characters and C. There is no indication the female part of the couple will return for more than one episode and it’s a question that will definitely be on the GA’s mind considering it’s a show about fairytales and true love?”

You must hate women in leading/regular roles.

Like what?

On the one hand, yeah they shouldn’t take their nervous nelly concern to someone else’s inbox (under any circumstance, like what is that person supposed to do?) but on the other hand the reply kind of puts that same erroneous conclusion of motivation on EVERYONE who thinks that’s a concern and maybe posted it to their own space, or kept it in their head and are just innocently scrolling through their dash.

Which is a running theme with fandom. You can’t separate the two. If a blogger feels that way about some nervous anonymous person who is worried they feel that way about the people who kept it to themselves and are just trying to look at gifs of Killian Jones.

If it was just one person saying that, fine, but yet again it seems to be the current fandom bandwagon to jump on while this new information comes in. All people who have a concern over something that happens on many TV shows when one half of a couple leaves are suddenly anti-women?

I, for one, still think it’s a strong possibility that could happen. Or that they’ll make Killian into a drunken caricature of himself. Actually, it’s the very reason why I’m choosing not to watch at all until I see where they are going with this bullshit “reboot” (see: We don’t feel like writing anything new or paying seasoned actors so we’re just redoing season 1 with a few changed details and hiring some people on the cheap so we can keep collecting ad revenue). Also why when I saw the news my first thought was “Oh which of you ladies is KJ True Love Number 3?”

Not because I dislike women. Or because I assume their only function is to serve as a love interest for the male lead, but because I know what fucking show I watched for 6 years and who is in charge of it. Because I watched them pointlessly have the EQ makeout with Rumple for no reason. Because Mary Margaret sleeping with Whale was a running joke but David being married and potentially impregnating Abigail wasn’t. Because Maid Marian turned into Zelena having Robin’s baby was a thing.

Just a regular day on Tumblr I guess? I dunno, I just needed to vent

[thesschesthair]

@stophookingatmeswan so remember that post about a fic where the fake dating couple don’t end up together in the end?

I may have cheated a little but I think i’ve got an idea for one... although it probably is complete crap because I know nothing of legal proceedings etc- it’s fanfic it’s supposed to be unrealistic! :p

Yay or ney??

So I got this modern AU idea that twists the fake dating trope.

So Emma’s a deputy in storybrooke, David’s the sheriff, Mary Margaret is a school teacher, married to David and both her close friends. (same old)

Emma’s trying to gain legal custody of her son Henry, who’s been fostered/adopted by Regina, the town mayor.

Emma and regina have built a tentative friendship and worked out a routine sharing custody, but Emma wants it to be legal and official etc. Regina has reluctantly agreed after a tense year of arguing between the two, mostly in part to her new and blossoming relationship with Robin and his son Roland.

So Emma’s doing her very best to stay on her good side to keep the legal proceedings going ahead.

Which means keeping her relationship with Killian Jones a secret for now.

Killian’s father was a complete dick back in the day, responsible for the death of Cora; Regina’s mother. He took off before he could be brought to justice, abandoning Killian and his older brother Liam in town, never to be seen or heard from again.

The brothers moved away until years later, Killian returned minus his brother, and fell in love with Milah, Mr Gold’s wife. A huge fight and a horrific accident saw him lose his hand and Milah lose her life, and even after the dust had settled and Mr Gold had remarried and moved away, Killian still held the reputation of being a reckless drunken homewrecker, even though he’d since cleaned up his act and kept to himself, working at the docks and turning his nefarious ways into a thing of the past.

Unfortunately, it’s no secret that Regina dislikes the man and holds him accountable for his father’s misdeeds. There’s just really bad blood between them.

Emma’s fallen for the redeemed bad boy and he’s fallen just as hard for her. They’re willing to remain secret until Emma has legal rights to Henry’s care, and then they plan to come out as a serious item.

It’s been working seamlessly so far…. Until Regina spots Emma one night with a dark haired, leather jacket wearing guy.

Only Regina believes it to be another gentleman in town, part time English teacher and struggling author, August Booth.

“You should have told me you were seeing someone”

“Excuse me?”

“ No need to act so coy miss Swan. I saw you with August down by the docks the other night”

“Wait- august?”

“Please. I’m not stupid. I’d recognise that dark hair and hideous leather jacket anywhere. I actually think it’s a good thing.”

The good news: August is one of Emma’s first and closest friends, and the only other person in town to know about her and Killian.

The bad news: Regina thinks it's wonderful that Emma has found someone (her own loved up status making her soft) and has arranged for a family weekend for herself, Robin, Roland, Emma and August, for them all to get to know each other better as they’ll soon be a part of each other’s lives for good.

And that’s where the terrible plan comes in.

Emma and August will play a fake couple over the weekend for the benefit of Regina.

Killian isn’t happy about it at all and wants to say screw Regina, but knows how important it is for Emma to get custody of Henry and maintain a good relationship with the woman.

He reluctantly agrees with the ridiculous plan… after all, it’s only one weekend, and once those court documents are signed, he’s got a plan all of his own in the form of a shiny ring.

Insert wacky hijinks, secret makeouts, angst, shocking reveals and an ill-timed proposal.

[vigilantewives]

infinty13 replied to your post: How many times has Emma been on top? 3? and...

Don’t forget on their couch “I like the red leather jacket” time!

YESSSSS! How could I forget the greatest couch makeout of all time ;)

Emma - 3; Killian - 2

[initiala]

natascha-remi-ronin replied to your post: I’m super late on this but I’ve been working on...

Gaaaaaahhhhhhh

Well, the good news is that we start off January with Dark One makeouts

And then February is just before the stabbing.

And then there’s a lot of bruised and bloody and broken Killian for a while, and I’m torn between Painful Elevator Scene or just Emma laying on top of Killian in Firebird for June...

And with the absolute dearth of scenes through the rest of 5b and 6a, I might be up through 6x07 when I’m done selecting scenes (can’t get any caps from 6x08-10, might have to do two scenes from The Other Shoe)

[welllpthisishappening]

You know normally I’d be all over the “Peggy Jones elopes” or “will/belle and the game in Philly” BUT I’m finding myself really soft for OOTFP so I’m gonna ask about “OOTFP Wedding Cake”

Yes, let softness for Out of the Frying Pan reign supreme! So, basically, a million years ago, (read: possibly more like three) I put out a kiss prompts list, wrote a bunch of kiss prompts and then, because of who I am as a person, never posted any of them. I apologize for all my shortcomings. Basically, this is what it suggests on the tin. After It's a Funny Old Game, when Emma and Killian are already engaged, Emma realizes that they haven't actually asked anyone to make their wedding cake. No doubt, much to pastry chef Belle's chagrin. But, also, like, they're professional chefs, right? They could figure it out. Shenanigans ensue, makeouts are had, banter is wide-spread. Then they make out some more:

“And you really have no thoughts on the wedding cake debacle?” “I don’t know that I’d call it a debacle, exactly. An oversight, certainly, but it’s hardly the end of the world.” “How do you figure?” “Because wedding cakes are vastly overrated.” “Explain that.” “All those fancy ones are covered in fondant anyway. No one is eating fondant. Ask Belle.” “Why would I do that when you apparently have so many fondant opinions?” Emma’s entire body was going to be covered with goosebumps, lungs feeling as if they were collapsing or just taking an elongated break. Killian kissed behind her ear. “I have absolutely normal fondant opinions for someone who has dealt with fondant in a professional and competitive capacity.” “I think you’re trying to get me to swoon with this impressive vocabulary exercise.”

“I’m hoping it will, at least, distract from some of the stress,” Killian admitted, pulling back to smirk at her. “Fondant is disgusting. Sure, it looks nice, but at what cost? It’s so obnoxious if it falls the wrong way and it always falls the wrong way and--” “--That may just be a commentary on your ability to work with fondant, Lieutenant.”

Ask Me About My Not-So-In-Progress WIPs

[welllpthisishappening]

Hello, hey, hi there internet. I’ve spent the last two days casually dying in my living room, so to combat that, I’ve written some vague Halloween words set inexplicably in the Out of the Frying Pan universe. It’s because @searchingwardrobes tagged me when she reblogged these gifs. Also, this is very much for @shireness-says who is an absolute delight at all times. 

She couldn’t move her fingers fast enough.

Emma pulled herself closer, tugging lightly on the mess of hair in her hands and whatever noise he made ensured that these few stolen moments were absolutely, positively worth it.

In a storage closet.

On set.

Where she was dangerously close to ripping her husband’s jacket off.

He had to go film in a few minutes.

It was a miracle no one had found them yet.

So, it might not have been the most mature thing they’d ever done, but it had been a week and she’d spent the last two days looking at costume options to wear while cooking some Halloween monstrosity and Mary Margaret keep texting about the party at the Jolly and it was—

“God, I can’t think when you do that,” Killian groaned, a distinct lack of anything even resembling frustration in his voice.

Emma smiled against his mouth. And nipped at his lower lip. That version of the sound was slightly different and possibly even better, a low rumble in the back of his throat and his hand flat against her back as soon as it worked under her shirt.

“Yeah, that is definitely the point,” Emma said. She gasped when his other hand moved, prosthetic working under her left thigh to hitch that same thigh further up his hip and something shook precariously above his head.

“If we get concussed,” she continued, “I’m blaming you.”

Killian snickered, dropping his head to drag his mouth over the curve of her jaw and the side of her neck and Emma’s back arched of its own accord. “If memory serves, love, this was your idea.”

“Yeah, well—“

“Well?”

“Oh, don’t get smug.”

“Would I do that?”

Emma hummed, another hair tug and unspoken command to kiss her again because they were so goddamn good at kissing each other and she hadn’t checked with Henry on his costume yet.

She assumed Henry remembered to get his own costume.

And that Ryan hadn’t.

Because she was a baby.

“You’re getting distracted, Swan,” Killian murmured.

“You think very highly of you mind reading powers, don’t you?”

“I think you nearly yanked my hair out of my head—“

“—Ok, let’s not joke like you’re not stupid into that.”

It was a closet, so it wasn’t very bright in the few feet of space Emma had pushed them into, but she was certain she could see the first few hints of color on Killian’s cheeks and the tips of his ears and that one, specific way his eyes flashed never failed to leave her just a little breathless.

She scrunched her nose.

“What if we just blew off the party?”

“What?”

“Didn’t go,” Killian shrugged, an impressive feat considering the location of his hand and how much stuff the network had managed to stuff in this closet.

“It’s at our restaurant.”

“And have you planned a single second of it?”

“Why does that sound like a commendation?”

He nipped at the shell of her ear. Emma had to glance down to make sure she hadn’t burst into flames. She hadn’t. So, positives. “It’s not,” Killian said. “First of all, when would you have had the time—“

“—Oh shit, remind me later that Rubes wants to talk about starting some kind of Instagram video thing—“

“—Swan, we cannot talk about Lucas while I’m actively trying to get my hand under your shirt.”

Emma’s nose was going to be permanently scrunched. And impossibly charmed. “Is it not already?”

“Well, that’s just semantics and—“

“You know,” she drawled, scratching lightly at the back of his neck, “you are even more attractive when you’re flustered, Lieutenant.”

“Even more?”

“Also not a condemnation.”

She could feel his smile when he kissed her, which might have been better than the thigh thing and the hand thing and they managed to hide in the storage closet for another three minutes before Emma figured there would be actual repercussions to being in the closet and—

“Oh my God, have you seen this?” Ruby asked sharply, several days later at a party Emma hadn’t planned a moment of, wearing a red hood with a stuffed wolf in an actual basket.

Emma shook her head. The tiara was already pinching her brain. She needed to find her kids. And her husband. And maybe another closet. Or, a hallway.

She wasn’t going to be specific.

“You’re just shouting words at me,” Emma said. “Have you seen Henry? Or Ry? Or—“

“—Your husband post-makeout?”

“Excuse me?”

Ruby’s smile stretched across her face so slowly, Emma was actually concerned something had happened to the fabric of reality. That didn’t last long. Because then there was a phone in her face and a video on the phone and, that time, the nose scrunch came from the blush rising up her own cheeks.

He must have filmed before he cooked — a talking head for Iron Chef and Emma couldn’t imagine how no one had noticed, but his hair was…messy. Standing almost straight up. Clearly wrecked by Emma’s fingers.

Ruby threw her whole head back when she laughed.

“Oh my God, I knew it, I knew it, I knew it. That is—you really did a number on him, huh?”

Emma’s face flamed, lips tugged back hind her teeth and eyes squeezed shut, like ignoring Ruby would make sure no one else knew about this, but that was a pipe dream and she could hear footsteps moving towards them.

“Oh, leave her alone, Rubes,” Mary Margaret chided. “Sometimes, you’ve got to seize your opportunities when you get them, that’s all.”

Emma gagged. “You are married to my brother.”

“And your husband filmed his Iron Chef interview with makeout hair.”

“How did the happen?” Emma asked, finally opening her eyes. Ruby was still laughing. “I mean—was Gina not there?”

“Did you want Gina to see Killian’s makeout hair?”

“Stop calling it that!”

Mary Margaret ducked her head, turning to bury her face in Ruby’s shoulder. It didn’t help mask her laugh much, both of them shaking with the rather pitiful attempts to stay quiet.

“That’s not an answer,” she muttered.

Ruby bit down on her hand before she answered. “Apparently Gina was helping Ariel with stuff for tonight, couldn’t be on set when they started filming and, uh—“ She shrugged. “—This happened.”

“Are they going to use it?”

“I don’t think they have another choice, really. Plus—“

“—I think I look pretty great, honestly,” Killian interrupted, an arm circling Emma’s waist and his chin hooking over her shoulder. She definitely leaned back. “And, for the record, Gina was the one who was shirking responsibilities, not me. I was on time for call.”

“Yeah,” Ruby laughed, “you’re a picture of responsibility.”

“You want to let our kids stay at your apartment this weekend?”

“So you can make out with Em?”

“Was that not obvious?”

“And filmed for posterity,” Mary Margaret added, smiling when she saw the presumably scandalized look on Emma’s face.

Killian kissed behind her ear. 

And Emma hadn’t really made any decisions about anything to do with the Jolly’s annual Halloween party, but the party was fun and Ariel had let Will come up with some ridiculous alcoholic concoction that left her with a pleasant buzz under her skin and she didn’t argue as soon as her shoulders pressed into the hallway outside of the kitchen, Killian’s mouth catching hers.

She pushed her fingers into his hair.

[welllpthisishappening]

i was wondering if i could please maybe please read some of your google drive words please? i just have a borderline unhealthy obsession with your writing and always want more of it and would absolutely love it if you let me

Seriously, this left me with the biggest smile. So, first off, thank you. Secondly, always. Like, always. My greatest issue fandom-wise is that I am a horrible mix of the laziest person to ever write fic and also petrified of posting too much and too often. This leads me to having just...a lot of unposted fic. As of right now, this is what I have, so if anything sparks your interest (and this is true for literally everyone) just shoot me a PM and I’ll send you the google link.

Shorter Captain Swan Multi-Chapters

** the Pushing Daisies AU (seven chapters)

** Killian becomes Henry’s guardian and falls into raising him with Emma (ten chapters)

Blue Line Stuff

** Two more Christmas stories

** Peggy asks Emma about Killian’s Milah tattoo

** There’s a movie

** Roland and Lizzie get married

** Post-Game Hair and Bad Makeouts

** Peggy gets lost in the Garden

** Peggy elopes

** One time the Rangers made a sushi video

** Matt in the ESPN the Body issue

** Matt and Roland play at the Garden

** The first Casino Night after Peggy is born

** Henry meets Ella

** Getting drunk at hockey games

** Chris Jones’ boyfriend knows nothing about hockey

** Celebrations and Jumping Techniques

** The first road trip after Matt is born

** Outlaw Queen injury

** Inadvertent baby making

Yankee!Killian

** Playoff celebrations

** On the road, with special appearances by Will Scarlet and scathing critiques of the National League

One Shots

** Emma and Killian watch cricket

** Prompt from Contact Light - which was a two-shot with secret dating I wrote a million years ago

** Emma and Killian both on the road in You Play Ball Like a Girl

** Wedding cakes in Out of the Frying Pan

** David and Mary Margaret’s Wedding from To Make the Season Bright

I also wrote a questionably long time travel story with lots of kissing, several different battle couples, an even more questionable amount of Greek mythology and far too many Spotify playlists to go along with it. Seriously, I could talk about this story every second of the day and anyone willing to listen to that or read it would be other-level heroic.

[welllpthisishappening]

Hi! I miss the Blue Line stories/one-shots. Are you writing or posting more?

Hello, kind anon! Is it weird to say I appreciate that you miss Blue Line stuff? Too late, wrote it. That’s very nice of you! So, uh, the short answer to your question is, yes, always. Blue Line is my slightly warped life coping device. It’s like a fic-writing blanket that I can fall back into when I am crazy stressed out and I linger for a few hours in this world and this overly interfering family and I slam on keys for a little while. 

That being said, there is a pretty absurd backlog of stress-fueled fic in my docs. The last thing I want to be doing is spamming the internet with hockey words, so they’ve just kind of hung out there, but here’s what’s there:

** Two more Christmas’es with the Vankalds, including when they give the Jones Line the brownstone and also when Matt brings Claire** Chris Jones has a boyfriend. That boyfriend doesn’t understand hockey.** Matt and Roland play against each other at the Garden** Matt and Roland play against each other at the Garden take two, while Peggy and Lizzie play a drinking game in the team suite** Peggy helps Henry meet Ella** Casino Night a few months after Peggy is born** Matt Jones in the ESPN Body Issue** One time the Rangers made a video where they forced Jimmy Vesey to eat sushi and I turned it into a Blue Line thing** Peggy Jones gets married** Peggy Jones gets lost in the Garden and everyone loses their mind** The title of this doc is literally “Post-game hair and bad makeouts”** Roland Locksley gets married** The 30th anniversary of the Olympics and there’s a movie** Emma and Killian make out in a storage closet** An Outlaw Queen-focused thing** Matt Jones trying to recreate Killian’s post-goal celebration** The first road trip after Matt is born

…I think that’s it. Oh, God, that’s so jarring all written out. Anyway, if you guys are interested in any one of those in particular, I’m always down to actually post things. Or even post other things. I’m very bad at sticking with the actual prompt, but I enjoy few things more than getting hockey prompts. 

[spartanguard]

WIP Name Game

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Send me an ask with the title that most intrigues you and interests you and I’ll post a little snippet of it or tell you something about it!

I was tagged by @killian-morelike-killingme and you do not know the beast you’ve just unleashed. My WIP folder is a scary, chaotic place.

I have to do this as a numbered list because that’s the only way it’s gonna work, and even then I’m limiting this to things that are at least partially written/fleshed out. Most will never see the light of day but maybe this will help!

Here goes, in order of most recently edited to ancient:

Dark deckhand

“nude” pictures

KR HP CS AU IDK

dark hook drunk snow

tumblr prompts

no hands

makeout

off with his shirt

Davy Jones

officer rogers x ravi?

whumpy soulmates

Mermaid ANGSTTTT/FREE KILLY

imzadi

storybrooke CC

january joy

vampire v. werewolf

dark captain charming

Deckhand Davy

peggy and diana

a league of their own

lieutenant charming

swans

Storybrooke Brewing Co

Evil Twin

captain book thing

powers

mermaid!more

merbook

DWTS AU

well that’s new

babies

mm!LD

talking is hard

swan lake

Princess Diaries 2 AU

into the woods

FML, that’s a lot. But feel free to ask about any of them!

tagging @optomisticgirl, @laschatzi, @sherlockianwhovian, @initiala, @effulgentcolors, @stubble-sandwich, @wingedlioness, @snowbellewells, @ilovemesomekillianjones, and whoever else wants to do this!

[welllpthisishappening]

Tripping Over the Blue Line (43/45)

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: Welcome back to New York and Game Six and pre-game makeouts. They’re making out again and everyone knows and everyone has opinions and there’s lots of family-type sports feelz on the horizon. I am still just stunned and vaguely overwhelmed by the incredible response to this story. You guys are the best. As always @laurnorder, @distant-rose & @beautiful-swan made this better. Also hanging out on Ao3, FF.net & tag’ed up on Tumblr. 

“Sign this,” Emma said, pushing a pair of gloves at him.

Push was generous. She threw them, letting them land in on his legs and he hadn’t even gotten out of bed yet. If he didn’t get out of bed, then he wouldn't have to actually put words to whatever was happening in the pit of his stomach.

Nerves.

Killian was nervous. Again.

Because they could win. Again. On Garden ice.

At least he’d slept the night before – and the last two nights since he’d shown up in Emma’s apartment and used the word home several times and neither one of them had talked about that yet. She’d just pressed a key in his hand before they brought an absurd amount of promotional signage back to the Garden, ducking her eyes and muttering so you don’t have to give me a heart attack the next time you come back home in the middle of the night.

He’d kissed her.

And then fell asleep in her bed later that night. Theirs? They’d have to talk about that eventually.

They should win a Cup first.

Killian glanced up, mouth half open to demand a pen, if I’m going to sign them, Swan, but the words got caught in his mouth, eyes going wide and breath rushing out of his lungs and he’d lost his train of thought completely.

Emma grinned at him, crossing her arms lightly over the jersey she was wearing – his jersey again, it was always his jersey and maybe always would be his jersey and they really needed to start making schedules for these conversations. He had a lot of points he wanted to make. If he could ever remember to how to talk.

“Something wrong, Cap?” Emma asked, eyes bright as she shook her hair back over her shoulders. She pressed her teeth into her lower lip, rocking back on her heels and he’d been so caught up in the look on her face and his number plastered across her back that he’d barely even registered everything else.

Or, rather, a distinct lack of anything else.

She was all long legs and oversized jersey and that smile still plastered on her face and he had to swallow once before he started actually shouting everything he was thinking. She could probably tell anyway.  

Killian shifted slightly, blankets just a bit more troublesome than they’d been a few minutes before as he tried to sit up straight. “That’s playing dirty, Swan,” he accused, tossing the gloves over the side of the bed.

“Hey,” she shouted, rolling her eyes at his complete disregard for what was, probably, game-worn merchandise. “Come on, I need that.” “Yeah, I don’t care.”

He moved before she did, leaning across the bed and the blankets to wrap his fingers around her forearm and tug her closer to him, appreciating the soft sound of surprise that came with her movement. The pillows shook when Emma landed next to him and Killian swore he could feel her laughter everywhere, inching through every single muscle until it seemed to smother the recently resurgent batch of nerves that had settled in his stomach.

“I really need you to sign that,” Emma mumbled, voice muffled by the pillows and his lips and her hand found the top of his shorts much quicker than he expected.

Killian jerked back when her fingers moved again and everything felt a bit hazy – that was probably because he couldn't remember the last time he’d taken a deep breath.

“Like, you know, soon,” she continued, but the demand lost a bit of its edge when her tongue traced along his bottom lip and one of them made some kind of ridiculous noise when Killian’s hand moved under her jersey.

“I’ll sign the gloves eventually, Swan,” Killian promised and his fingers trailed along the inside of her thighs, pushing her shoulder into the mattress with his own.

“Eventually?” “I’m a bit preoccupied now, you see.” “You have to get downtown.” “So do you.” Emma sighed, but there was still the ghost of a smile on her face when he pulled back to stare at her speculatively. “Where’d you get this one?” Killian asked softly, tugging on the bottom of the jersey and they’d never actually gotten around to taking off clothes.

“The jersey?”

He made a noise in the back of his throat, dragging his mouth against her neck and maybe they should take off the jersey because it was getting in the way of the rest of her and the half a plan to kiss every single inch of skin before they even considered getting out of bed.

Their bed.

It was absolutely their bed.

They should buy a new mattress. And he should tell her every single plan he’d come up with after they won a Cup.

They were going to win the goddamn Stanley Cup that night. He knew it.

“Yes, Swan,” he muttered, palm flat against her side and she jumped slightly at the contact. It left her hips hitting his and Killian squeezed his eyes shut tightly, trying to remember how to properly put words into sentences. “This one.” Emma narrowed her eyes slightly, rolling her shoulders and his gaze caught sight of the patch he absolutely hadn’t noticed either. He had, apparently, lost all ability to reason as soon as she showed up next to the bed.

“I…”

Her voice trailed off and her teeth were back on her lip and that wasn’t doing anything to whatever tenuous grip Killian had on his control. He was half half a moment from ripping the damn jersey in half.

“The jersey, love,” he said, tapping one finger on the Finals patch just underneath her shoulder. “Looks decidedly new.” “It’s not.” “No?” “Well, not in the way you’re thinking.” “And, what exactly, do you think I’m thinking?” he asked, hand inching higher and she closed her eyes again.

“What was that you were saying before? Playing dirty. Pot meet kettle or whatever.” “Don’t start cliché-ing while I’m doing this, Swan.” “So many rules.” Killian laughed softly and Emma made a face, pushing the hand that wasn’t otherwise occupied into his hair and pulling his mouth back towards hers. He groaned again, trying to move enough that the absurd amount of clothing they were, somehow, still wearing found its way to the floor with the game-worn gloves.

He moved slower than he wanted, determined to take his time when he absolutely didn’t have any and they both should have been dressed and out of bed and he absolutely did not care. Emma moved again, fingers still entrenched in his hair and he could feel her heels pressed into the back of his calves.

There was a bruise there.

There were bruises everywhere. His back was still purple.

He hissed when her hands found the spot on his hip that had hit the boards particularly hard two days ago and Emma’s eyes widened. “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” she said quickly and he couldn’t really brush her off with one hand in between her legs.

“Add that to the rules too, no more apologizing” Killian mumbled, dragging his teeth behind her ear and Emma’s breath hitched.

“You can’t do that,” Emma argued. He barely heard her – her hand, finally, moving under the waistband of the team-provided shorts he was wearing as she pushed down on fabric. “And are you bruised everywhere?”

The jersey was halfway up her body now, twisted up underneath Killian’s stomach. “Probably,” he answered, before he realized they were having two different conversations at once. “Wait, what? God, Swan, you’ve got to take this jersey off.” “The beard,” she explained, tapping on his jaw for emphasis. “You’re going to scratch my neck to hell.”

Killian laughed, his breath leaving goosebumps on the skin he’d been so intent on kissing and Emma wriggled underneath him. That wasn’t exactly disproving his point that she was playing dirty.

She smiled at him, tongue pressed into the corner of her lips with her eyebrows raised like she was waiting for him to do something. He was frozen. He couldn’t move. He’d forgotten about the jersey completely.

“What?” Emma asked, the concern in her voice obvious as she tried to pull the jersey back down over her exposed stomach. He shook his head once, smile inching across his face and then he kissed her again – heady and desperate and a mix of tongue and teeth and the want he’d felt in every inch of him as soon as she walked into the Garden.

They were going to be late. He had walk-through and film and he still needed to sign the goddamn gloves and there were more promotional signs piled in the back corner of Emma’s office that promised pre-game events and pre-game auctions and he didn’t care about any of it.

He cared about her and that noise she kept making whenever he moved his hips, his shorts still hanging off his left ankle underneath the blankets that were only just clinging to their spot on the mattress.

They both made a noise when they moved a very particular way and Killian might have briefly considered the idea of just kissing her for the rest of his life.

To hell with Game Six.

“Killian, you’ve got to move,” Emma muttered. He did and she did and time seemed to stop for a few moments – which was good since they didn’t have much to begin with anyway.

He still couldn’t breathe even after he’d fallen back to his side of the bed and tugged Emma to his side and his hand wouldn’t stop moving. It kept tracing across his name and his number and one of their phones was ringing.

Neither one of them moved.

“I bought it,” Emma said softly and Killian hummed in the back of his throat, glancing down at her when she propped her head up on her hand.

“What?” “I bought it. The jersey.” “You bought my jersey, Swan? You didn’t have to do that.” She rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling and he’d never bothered pulling his shorts back up. “No, no, that’s not what I mean,” she continued. “The gloves and the jersey...where are the gloves by the way?”

Killian shrugged, eyebrows pulled low at the movement – his back would probably hurt for the rest of his life. They kept hitting him. Hard. “Probably somewhere underneath the bed at this point, honestly.” “Shit,” Emma sighed, leaning over him to pull at half-discarded blankets and, apparently, his shorts and that wasn’t helping either one of them actually get out of bed and back on schedule.

“Swan,” Killian muttered, wrapping his arm around her waist and she glared at him when he pulled her back up. “The jersey, love.” “You have to sign those gloves.” “I will sign the gloves, explain the jersey. And you can’t just lay across me like that.”

Her eyes got brighter and it was the most ridiculous thing he’d thought in his entire life, but then he remembered he was trying to win a Stanley Cup for her and he had every intention of putting a Conn-Smythe in the kitchen and, well, maybe this was just himnow.

“What’s the matter, Jones,” Emma laughed. “Can’t handle it?”

“Obviously not.” “We’re very late.” “I still have to shower.” “None of this was on the to-do-list.” His chest shook when he laughed, Emma’s hand resting across his stomach. “I’m almost glad it wasn’t,” Killian said. “Come on, Swan, you’re stalling. Where’d you buy the jersey?” She scrunched her nose, tapping out a rhythm with her fingers and her wrist looked decidedly bare without her laces there. He should fix that. “From the auction,” she mumbled. “Mer’s probably going to kill me because this was supposed to be one of the bigger things, but, well, I wanted it and I bought it, so it’s not like GD’s not getting its money.” At some point, he was convinced, Emma Swan would stop amazing him. Maybe. Probably not.

It didn’t really matter.

He kind of hoped it wouldn't ever happen.

“We’re going to win tonight,” Killian said and it wasn’t the list of plans he had in the back of his head, but Emma’s smile widened.

“I know you are.” She kissed him again, tugging on his lip with just enough force that he felt himself chasing after her as soon as she moved. She laughed softly when her feet hit the floor, pulling on the bottom of the jersey again. “Go shower.”

Killian smirked, pushing the rest of the blankets away from him and appreciating the way her mouth opened half an inch. His hands found her hips as soon as he was standing in front of her and Emma tilted her head in unspoken question.

He kissed her.

Again.

For several more unscheduled minutes. And around the doorframe and into the bathroom and the shower and they were nearly half an hour late.

Arthur glared at him when he did his best to sneak into the back corner of the film room and the entire goddamn roster probably noticed, Will’s laughter at Killian’s sudden appearance in their row some kind of flashing neon sign at his arrival.

“We going to have to start fundraising to pay for your fines too, Cap?” Will muttered when Killian sank into the seat next to him. “I don’t know if we’ve got enough, between you and Arthur.” “Shut up, Scarlet,” Killian mumbled, pulling up the hood of his sweatshirt and Arthur was, apparently, trying to glare at all of them at this point. They probably shouldn’t sit in the back row of the film room.

“Will both of you shut up,” Robin hissed, leaning around Will to stare at them like they were Roland and Henry and Killian slumped a bit farther into his seat.

Arthur kept talking about hits and getting the puck against the board and something that might have been if you guys let Cap get hit in the back again, I’m going to murder all of you and fucking enjoy it, and he was half an hour late to film and Killian already wanted film to be over.

He wanted to be on the goddamn ice.

And maybe, this time, he’d hit something.

“Are you even listening?” Arthur snapped and Robin elbowed him in the side. That was bruised too.

“Jeez, Locksley,” Killian groaned. “Wait until I’m dressed before you start trying to kill me.” Will’s whole head fell back when he started laughing again and Arthur had given up on even trying to yell anymore. He threw the remote at them. “You been particularly undressed today, Cap?” Will asked, not even bothering to keep his voice down.

Killian ran his hand over his face and maybe he’d just start hitting his teammates. Or ignore whatever post-game celebration he knew Ariel had half-planned if they managed to actually pull this off in a few hours.

Maybe he’d just find Emma and start kissing her again before puck drop.

“Ah, no, I figured you’d do that,” Merida said, leaning up against the doorframe in Emma’s office and eyeing her with a very specific look.

“What?” Emma asked. She groaned slightly when she snapped her head up and Merida just raised her eyebrows, smile tugging on the ends of her mouth as she crossed her arms lightly and pushed the toe of her shoe into the absurdly blue carpet of the hallway.

“As soon as we put that jersey on there, I knew you were going to take it.” “I bought it!” “Really?” “Jeez, Mer, you think I’m just stealing merch from GD auctions?”” Merida shrugged, smile full-blown now and her phone buzzed in her hand – probably Aurora demanding the merch that was sitting in a pile a few feet away and Emma had managed to get the gloves signed, but only after they ran out of hot water and Ruby had practically cackled at her when she walked into the Garden half an hour after she was supposed to.

“You tell me, boss,” she said, taking a step into the office at the same time Emma’s desk phone went off.

Emma made a face, bordering dangerously close to sensory overload with the absurd amount of phones making noise in her general vicinity. “I just did. Actually.”

“Yeah, well, I knew you were going to take it. Even if you bought it like you were supposed to. You should answer Ruby, she probably wants to give you the videos from media to send out.” “They’re not doing media yet,” Emma said before she could stop herself and Merida made some kind of impossibly judgemental noise.

“You’re not doing yourself any rumor-type favors, boss.” Emma tugged on her hair, trying not to actually slide off the chair as she continued to ignore the multitude of ringing phones and, as if on cue, heard the telltale sound of heels coming down the hallway.

“Brace yourself,” Merida warned, glancing over her shoulder before Ruby could march into the office with something that might have actually been a sneer on her face.

The heels seemed to echo off the walls and that didn’t make any sense because there was carpet on the floor and Ruby seemed to pick up more speed as soon as she brushed past Merida.

“You look like you’re on a mission, Rubes,” Emma said, doing her best to keep her voice light and it didn’t work at all.

Her phone – phones, God – were still ringing.

“Is he living with you?” Ruby asked, not even bothering to mince words and they better win tonight if only because Emma was half certain the whole Garden would implode if they had to deal with a Game Seven.

Merida sounded like she was choking. Or maybe just collapsing against the doorframe.

“Who told you that?” Emma muttered and it wasn’t the answer it probably should have been. She didn’t have the answer she probably should have.

Were they?

Kind of? She’d given him a key with some excuse about not terrifying her when he came home in the middle of the night during the season and the season was almost over. She absolutely meant next season and indefinitely and Emma should probably mention that too.

After they won. Tonight. When they got back home.

Together.

Ruby made a noise, fingers a blur across her phone screen. “The same people who think he’s going to propose on the ice later on tonight.” “Oh my God,” Emma sighed and Merida muttered sorry under her breath. “Don’t you have a job to do? Media’s in an hour.” “How do you know that?” “I work here too.” “Working on Cap more likely.” “Jeez, what the fuck, Ruby?” Ruby didn’t look even remotely apologetic, smile just a bit more predatory than it probably should have been a few hours before puck drop. “Don’t you have a job to do,” she challenged. “Maybe a few phones to answer? Get you back on schedule, or something.”

“Witch,” Emma muttered, but her desk phone was still ringing and she was, somehow, still a half an hour behind schedule.

She couldn’t think straight. The word distraction flitted through her mind and that wasn’t really right either – it wasn’t quite enough.

They were definitely living together.

“I think you’re blushing,” Ruby laughed, taking another step towards her and her eyes widened slightly when her gaze landed on Emma’s neck. “And I think you should consider keeping your hair over your shoulders when David gets here.” Emma didn’t bother responding, just grabbed the phone on her desk and ignored the buzzing cellphone a few inches away, well aware it was a near-constant stream of updates from David who was on his way to the Garden in another team provided car with Mary Margaret.

And maybe Ruby was right.

“Ms. Swan,” the voice on the other end of the phone said and Emma blinked, waving her hand at Ruby when she refused to stop laughing.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” Emma said quickly and it was all she could do to tug her hair back over her shoulder and try to push memories of the morning into the back corner of her mind. Later. Tonight. After they won a Cup.

“There’s a whole group of people down here. Say you’ve got tickets for them.”

She resisted giving voice to the groan in the back of her throat, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling instead and she didn’t have the tickets – will-call had the tickets, that was why it was will-call and will-call shouldn’t be calling when they were in charge of this.

“So….give them the tickets?”

“They’re under your name, Ms. Swan. I can’t give them the tickets until you’re down here.”

Oh. Maybe her phone wasn’t just David’s stream of Rangers-based consciousness. Ruby looked a bit wary at whatever was happening with Emma’s face as she tapped her nails over the back of her wrist in frustration.

“Of course not,” Emma mumbled. “Alright, I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.” “Thank you.” “Yup.”

Emma slammed the phone back into its holder and Ruby whistled as soon as she pushed out of her chair and marched around the front of her desk. “Hair over your shoulder, Em,” she said softly, tugging on the side of her blazer for good measure. “Can’t scare away the in-laws before you even get them tickets.” Her mouth fell open and she’d lost complete control of the day. God, they better win.

“How could you possibly know that?” Emma asked, some of the tension falling off her as soon as Ruby looked at her. Merida chuckled.

“We’ve been over this. I know everything.” “How?” “Aside from the fact that I just walked by the entire Vankald-Jones clan on my way up here?” “Yeah, aside from that.” “David told me. He’s trying to work out some of his pre-game anxiety by texting every single person in his contacts.”

Emma rolled her eyes again – there was a crack in the ceiling that she should probably get someone to fix – and she couldn’t quite completely mask the look of frustration and her own pre-game anxiety as her phone buzzed again.

“It’s going to work this time, boss,” Merida said.

“They can’t get shut out at the Garden,” Ruby reasoned and she hadn’t moved her hand away from Emma’s shoulder yet. “They’ve been ridiculous here.”

Emma scoffed. “I don’t know if the guys would appreciate ridiculous as some sort of game-defining term.” “That’s a compliment!” “You want them to use that during media?” “Whatever,” Ruby mumbled. “Go tell your new in-laws that you and the captain of the New York Rangers are totally living together.”

It took her four minutes to sprint down the stairs from her office to Chase Square and if she were being honest with herself, Emma probably should have been down there already – supervising Rangerstown and the auction and that was probably why Merida had come upstairs anyway. She’d never actually bothered asking.

She’d just shown up half an hour late with the ends of her hair still a bit damp after her second shower of the morning and sprinted into her office to make sure there weren’t any pre-game stories.

There weren’t.

Small miracles or something.

“Emma,” a voice shouted and she had half a moment to see a blur of red hair and the C on her shoulder before she felt Anna collide with her body with enough force that she was half certain she’d be bruised as well.

“Hey,” Emma breathed. “Sorry they couldn’t give you the tickets, I just figured they’d see the Jones jerseys and it’d be fine.” “How come you’re not in a jersey?” Anna pulled back slightly, eyebrows pulled low as she examined Emma’s blazer and blue dress and she did her best not to blush. Again. This was ridiculous. There was a game to play.

“God, stop screaming at her Anna,” Elsa said softly, throwing an apologetic glance Emma’s way. “She can’t wear the jersey to work.” Anna’s shoulders sagged and she stuck her lower lip out slightly. “Yeah,” she mumbled. “I guess that makes sense.”

They were an army of Jones jerseys, Emma thought, taking a look at all of them – a sea of blue and the number 20 and Stanley Cup Finals patches. God, they’d all bought brand-new jerseys. “You guys look great,” Emma said honestly, smiling widely and Mrs. Vankald looked like she was already on the verge of tears.

“I can’t believe we actually made it,” Liam admitted, muttering towards the twins who’d already started racing towards the Rangerstown booths a few feet away as he shifted a tiny, blue bundle in the crook of his elbow.

Oh. She’d kind of forgotten about that.

It had only been half a plan – a text message sent to Elsa just after Emma had given Killian the key and they’d taken the downtown one together like some kind of collective, domestic unit and she hoped it would work.

Elsa made sure it had.

She’d promised they’d figure it out and Emma was half convinced Elsa Vankald-Jones was the superhero Killian claimed she was because she got three kids in a car and got Anna tickets and, somehow, managed to get a several-weeks old newborn from Colorado to Chase Square in front of Madison Square Garden.

“We finally got her to fall asleep somewhere between the Holland Tunnel and here,” Liam explained, rocking on the balls of his feet.

“It’s some kind of Game Six miracle,” Emma added, smiling at Elsa and glancing down to her wrist quickly.

There still weren’t any laces there.

Emma bit her lip tightly and leaned forward slowly, staring at Lizzie Jones like she’d never seen a baby before in her life.

“I’m so glad you guys are here,” Emma whispered, blinking quickly and maybe she and Mrs. Vankald should be quarantined to some corner of the team suite where they could both work out whatever mess of emotions they both seemed to be dealing with.

And it didn’t seem quite fair that Emma met Lizzie before Killian did.

“Us too,” Liam said. “They’re totally going to win here.” Emma hummed, not taking her eyes away from the somehow-still-sleeping baby and she could hear Anna corralling the twins again. “I know they are,” she said.

“He’s got good stats here in clinching games,” Liam continued and Emma didn’t care about any of that. “You know he’s scored twelve times in clinching games at home?” “I did not.”

“He’s been looking up stats since whatever happened at the Staples Center,” Anna mumbled, eyes widening meaningfully. “Like KJ’s not just going to will the whole goddamn team to a victory tonight.” Emma laughed, but she couldn’t bring herself to disagree either. Liam grumbled slightly, careful to keep his voice soft so as not to actual wake up Lizzie and maybe the baby was the superhero, managing to sleep through the entire event two hours before puck drop. There were tiny headphones sticking out of the bag slung over Liam’s shoulder.

The twins were still shouting, Anna not quite able to contend with both of them at the same time and Emma bit her lip tightly at the scene in front of her.

“You know,” she said, taking a few steps forward and crouching down next to Anna until she was level with the pair. “There’s a virtual reality thing over there where you guys can actually save shots on net.” They both started shouting before the words were almost entirely out of her mouth, one of them jumping up and down while the other tried to actually drag Anna towards the booth.

“Alright, you terrors,” Liam muttered, shifting Lizzie into Elsa’s expectant arms. “Let’s go make some saves and after the game you can tell Jeff how much better you are than him. Uncle Killian will appreciate that.”

He was gone a moment later, Mr. and Mrs. Vankald half a step behind with their phones out and Elsa shook her head slowly as half a dozen Jones jerseys walked away from them.

“Thank you,” she said suddenly and a bit louder than than any of the ridiculously loud noises around them. Emma jerked her head back, glancing to her right where Elsa was standing, staring at her like she’d only recently realized who she was.

“What?” Emma sputtered. Her phone was ringing now. David and Mary Margaret were there.

“Thank you,” Elsa said again. “For getting us here.” “You got them in the car, El. That was the majority of the work. The team suite is huge, it’s not a huge deal.” “That’s not even remotely what I’m talking about.” Emma blinked once, turning slightly until she was staring straight at Elsa and she looked as exhausted as she probably should have, but she also looked a bit like Mary Margaret did whenever Killian slung his arm around Emma’s shoulders or kissed the top of her head in the restaurant after a game.

“I’m very confused,” Emma admitted.

“I told you at Christmas, this season was different. And I thought I knew then, but it’s been...so much more than that. You’ve been so much more than that.” “Me?” Elsa nodded slowly, humming softly when Lizzie started to stir. “And then some. He is...I’ve never seen KJ this happy. Ever.” Emma didn’t know what to say, every word she’d ever learned forgotten in the middle of her own event and Elsa just kept smiling at her. “You look happy too,” she added, muttering the words until Emma was certain they were practically hanging in the air.

“I am,” Emma said quickly and easily and, well, it wasn’t quite as unexpected an answer as it would have been a few months before. “We are.”

“He really doesn’t know we’re here?” “No,” Emma said, shaking her head. “They’re totally going to win. Even without Liam’s stats, which he wouldn't shut up about by the way. The entire drive, finding new numbers and facts no one’s ever tried to look up before. I’m surprised he hasn’t just been texting you constant updates.” “It's probably good he hasn't. Something about distracted driving, right?” Emma asked. “And to be fair, I’ve been kind of ignoring my phone for most of the day.” “Would you believe he actually paid for wi-fi at the hotel last night so he could keep looking up stats? He’s probably the most nervous out of all of us. Although he’d never admit it. Wait until puck drop, he won’t sit down once.” “Well, that makes two of us,” Emma admitted.

Elsa nodded slowly, lips tilting up in understanding. “They’re going to win,” she said again. “And there weren’t any stories today. A said they probably wouldn’t ask at media either.” “Ruby would kill the lot of them right there in the locker room if any of them did,” Emma muttered. “She’s been on a warpath the last couple of days. She pulled that guy’s credentials for the New York games.” “Remind me to thank her later.” “We can go in on some sort of edible arrangement together.” “Deal.”

“Did you check for stories?” Emma asked, mumbling the words together as she tried to bore a hole in the ground.

Elsa made a noise that might have been agreement. “Every morning since this started. We should probably get Arthur something too.” “They paid his fine.” “That one was a story.” “Of course it was,” Emma laughed. “Ruby wouldn’t miss a headline like that.” Elsa grinned at her and Lizzie was awake now, mumbling as much as a baby could actually mumble and Emma’s heart might have actually exploded in her chest. “I’m glad we’re here too,” Elsa said.

The locker room was packed, phones and recorders shoved in their faces while they sat in front of their respective lockers and Killian tried not to groan when he had to re-lace his skates again – it was difficult to do that while talking and answering questions and, well, maybe he was a bit distracted, gaze darting around the locker room for blonde hair and green eyes and a jersey he knew was still sitting in a heap just outside the bathroom door.

“She’s not here,” Ariel said, dropping down next to him on the bench in front of his locker with a soft huff. “Make a fist, Cap.” Killian shot her a look, rolling his eyes and someone a few feet away asked him another question about how excited he was, like he could be anything but. He ignored them.

“What?” he asked Ariel, trying to brush her away when she just grabbed his wrist and pushed her thumb into the back of the back of his hand.

“A fist,” she repeated and her grip tightened when he tried to pull his hand away.

“Red, I can’t do that if you’re trying to cut off the blood flow to my fingers.” “You’re a doctor now, then?” “Let go of my hand.”

She did, grumbling under her breath slightly as she crossed her arms over her bright blue polo and Killian heard Will laughing a few feet away again. “God,” Ariel muttered, tilting her head to the side when he started to clench his fingers together. “Scarlet is the absolute worst isn’t he?” “He doesn’t know how else to work out his pre-game aggression.” “If he gets a penalty in the first Arthur will kill him.” She paused, twisting her lips and something flickered in her gaze. Killian turned on her, lowering his eyebrows and she sighed dramatically when he didn’t actually ask a question. “You’re super frustrating, you know that?” “I’m just sitting here, Red.” The reporters were, mostly, gone – disappointed with Killian’s distinct lack of quotes and no one in the locker room seemed very interested in talking with just a little over an hour to puck drop. He needed to actually get his jersey on.

And maybe check his phone one more time before he got on the ice.

Ariel sighed again and Killian felt a flush of worry shoot down his spine that had him practically frozen to in front of his locker. The jersey could wait.

“What’s the matter, A?” Will asked, appearing suddenly next to them with Robin just a few feet behind and Ariel twisted her fingers together. Killian pulled her hands apart slowly, eyeing her as she rolled her shoulders back and took a deep breath.

“Talk, Red,” he said and it sounded a bit like a command.

She let out a shaky laugh and none of them moved. “Aye, aye, Cap,” Ariel muttered. She didn’t pull her hands away from Killian’s. “We’re, uh, we’re moving.” “What?” “Out of the city?” “Was that a question?” Ariel shook her head, eyes trained on her shoes and Will sank onto her other side, arm flung around her shoulders when her breathing started to pick up. “A different team, A?” he asked softly and Killian’s stomach clenched, dimly aware of someone moving in the doorway.

“What?” Ariel asked sharply and Will glared at the tone in her voice. “No, of course not!” She yanked her hands back, dragging her knuckles underneath her eyes and practically jumping off the bench to turn on all three of them with a look that probably could have started several small fires.

Or melted the ice in the Garden.

“What is happening right now?” Killian mumbled, glancing at a stricken Robin and Will. They shrugged. And there was still someone standing in the doorway.

Ariel groaned loudly, rolling her whole head back as she stomped one of her feet on the carpet. “God, you idiots,” she half-shouted, but there was something on the edge of her voice that sounded a bit like happiness. “I’m pregnant!”

Killian’s mouth hung open and Will might have actually whooped, smile taking up the majority of his face as he punched his fist into the air. Robin was the only one who moved, taking three quick steps towards Ariel and wrapping his arms around her tightly.

He muttered something against her hair and Ariel was crying, tears falling down her cheeks quicker than she could wipe them away.

“We’re buying a house,” she continued, pulling out of Robin’s grip and Killian still hadn’t moved away from his locker. “That’s what I was talking about. They’ll have to push me out of the Garden to get me away from this team.” Killian shook his head slowly, smiling pulling on his mouth as Ariel glanced at him cautiously. “Why all the cloak and dagger, Red?” “I wasn’t going to tell you,” she shrugged. “At least not until after we won. But well….” “What?” “I’m happy,” Ariel said simply. “And you were half an hour late this morning, so I know you’re happy too and…” She shrugged again. “This is good. I wanted you to know.” He was on his feet before he realized he’d even bent his knees, standing up and pulling Ariel against him, her forehead pressed against his heavily bruised shoulder. “Why is everyone on this team so concerned with what time I got to the Garden today?” Killian asked and he could feel Ariel laugh, burrowing her head against his neck.

“You’re happy, Cap,” she answered and he couldn’t bring himself to argue.

“And you said after we win.” “We’re going to.” “There weren’t any stories today either, Cap,” Robin added, clapping him on the shoulder. Killian twisted back, arm still wrapped around Ariel and he laughed in the kind of disbelief he probably shouldn’t have had.

He’d almost walked away from all of this.

And it still surprised him how happy he was.

“He was totally checking for stories before you got to film,” Will laughed, moving his eyebrows quickly and Robin sighed dramatically, as if serving as some kind of de facto team dad was particularly trying at the moment.

“How often are you looking for stories, Locksley?” Killian asked and he was half certain he already knew the answer.

“Every day since this started. Gina looks at night. I look in the morning. Sometimes we swap which one of us looks at New York and which one of us looks at Los Angeles. She’s in charge of threatening editors, though.” “You’d get fined otherwise.” “Yeah, well, we’ve got another kid to feed now, so…” Killian barked out a laugh, running a hand through his hair and Mulan was already taking pictures of them, the shutter sounding louder than it should have been in the suddenly empty locker room. “Lucas put you up to this?” Killian asked and Mulan didn’t answer, just kept taking pictures that would get sent to season-tickets if they won.

When they won.

“Ruby’s been with Emma all day,” Ariel said and Killian’s eyes widened immediately. “They were running Rangerstown stuff when I went outside to get some air.” “You need air, Red?”

“Morning sickness is a lie they tell you to make it seem like any of this is going to be easy.” He pulled her against his side again, kissing the top of her hair and ignoring another demand to make a fist, just one more time, before you guys have to get on the ice.

“Where are they sitting?” Killian asked instead, glancing towards Robin and he didn’t really need to be any more specific.

Robin looked like they’d already won. “By the boards. Henry and Rol practiced cheers the entire ride down here.” “There are signs,” Will added, his own smile on his face.

“They put you on the signs too, didn’t they?” Killian asked knowingly and Will nodded enthusiastically.

“Look who’s gunning for top non-Locksley favorite now, Cap.” “That doesn’t even make any sense.” “Whatever, I’ll be A’s kid’s favorite.” Ariel scoffed. “Please,” she muttered, shaking her head slightly as she grabbed Killian’s hand and started examining another bruise in between his thumb and pointer finger. “Cap’s totally going to be their favorite and you know it.” “See, that’s just mean for no reason at all, A.” Robin rolled his eyes, shrugging into his jersey and the noise from the ice was starting make its way down the hallway – pre-game music and probably Arthur already pacing along the bench and pucks hitting up against the boards and Killian’s stomach was in his throat.

It wasn’t because of the game.

Fuck, if he wasn’t the happiest person in the entire goddamn world. Lucky bastard. He wished El and Liam were there.

“Here,” Robin said pointedly, pushing an unopened bottle of Gatorade at Killian.

“What am I doing with this?” “Well, no jinx, or whatever, but we should acknowledge this moment or something, right? I’d say we should steal the champagne, but A’s pregnant and she knows how to break bones so….” “I don’t know how to break bones,” Ariel argued, pulling the bottle of Robin’s hands before Killian could and throwing the top over her shoulder. “Just make sure they don’t rebreak once you guys have ruined them.” “Semantics. And this is better than whatever champagne we got in Vancouver.” Ariel clicked her tongue. “We did that for your own good. Only so many options in the middle of the night.” “Yeah, well, only so many options in the middle of the locker room or something,” Robin argued and they were going to spill all the Gatorade on the floor before they even got around to whatever it was they were doing. “Anyway, to...us.” “Us?” Killian repeated skeptically and Robin shrugged. Ariel was crying again.

“I like it,” Will said, taking a swig of Gatorade that was far more than his allotted quarter of the bottle. “Straight to the point, Dad.” Killian laughed loudly, the force of it making his shoulders shake, and Robin looked slightly affronted. “He just called you dad!” “I have ears, Cap,” Robin muttered. “Whatever, I take my toast back. You guys are all assholes.” “And you looked up stories to make sure I wasn’t getting distracted.” “Yeah, so what?” Robin challenged. Ariel was probably going to cry until the final buzzer went off. Mulan was still taking pictures.

“Thank you,” Killian said, trying to put years of everything into a couple of letters. Robin’s lips tilted up and his chest heaved when he took a deep breath, visible even under the brand-new jersey he had on.

“I should have thought of a cliché about team for a moment like this.” “No I in team,” Will muttered. “Or us since Dad was getting all sentimental with his toast. Either way it works. I’m totally going to tell Mrs. V. I’ll be her favorite.”

“That seems fair,” Robin admitted, holding his hand out to Killian and he took it without a second thought. “Let’s go win a Cup.” It was loud when they got on the ice – seats packed even for warmups and Killian swore he could feel the Let’s go Rangers chants echoing in his head, settling in his center and he’d never been more ready for anything in his entire life.

The anthem took forever, stretching out somewhere closer to never-ending and he could feel the camera focusing on him, shifting back and forth on his skates as he tapped his stick impatiently. Will laughed quietly behind him, muttering something under his breath that sounded a bit like relax, Cap. He didn’t stop.

“What do you say, Cap,” Will said, moving towards center ice and the opening faceoff and Game Six and the entire goddamn Garden was shaking, he was convinced. “One more round of the bet?” He grinned, skidding to a stop next to a Kings player that stared at him like he’d spent the better part of the last forty-eight hours coming up with half a dozen different ways to get him against the boards, nodding towards Will. “Name your stakes,” Killian answered.

Will shrugged – as if he hadn’t planned the whole thing hours before. “Let me be A’s kid’s favorite.” “You want to bet favoritism on an unborn baby?” “Don’t tell A, then.” “You’re insane, you know that?”

Another shrug and there was a whistle and a hockey game to be played. “Sell your apartment then. That less weird?” “Oh my God,” Killian said, but it wasn’t actually the disagreement it probably should have been. And maybe while Robin and Regina had been checking for stories and distractions, he’d spent several hours looking at real estate listings on his phone.

Will didn’t know that. The Kings player hit him as soon as the ref dropped the puck, shoulder colliding into Killian’s and he grunted when he felt the hit through his pads, a stick knocking against his decidedly un-covered ankle. “Fuck,” he mumbled, turning on his skates and trying to get away from a freakishly strong winger who knew how to check very well just a few minutes into a Finals-clinching game.

His back would never recover.

“Hit him back, Cap,” Phillip shouted late in the first period, skating around him when Killian found himself, once again, pinned against the boards with a stick hitting against the back of his calves and each one of these goddamn referees appeared to have forgotten the definition of a slash. His wrist was bleeding underneath his glove.

Killian grumbled when another Kings player collided with his back, half convinced the entire Los Angeles roster was trying to get the puck out of the corner.

He twisted his stick again – could dimly make out Will’s string of curses a few feet away from him as he pushed into the melee and Arthur would kill them both if they turned the puck over in the defensive zone. Or got a penalty.

Either or.

There were only a few minutes left in the first and it hadn’t been a perfect start, but they hadn’t drawn a penalty yet and he hadn’t actually given into whatever game plan the Kings seemed to be staging – a never-ending supply of insults and hits and they wanted him to fight.

They wanted him off the ice.

They’d have to drag him off the fucking ice.

Killian stabbed his stick forward again and he heard the puck shift, kicking at it with the side of his skate for good measure and his legs were on fire, or possibly made of jello and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d changed for a shift.

It didn’t matter.

“Go,” Phillip shouted, nodding up the ice as he elbowed an oncoming Kings winger. Killian gritted his teeth when he moved, but there were only a few minutes left and someone needed to score. He turned again, leaving a small pile of ice-snow in his wake and Los Angeles was already in the middle of a change.

There was a lot of open ice in front of him.

Phillip knocked the puck back behind him and Killian was moving as soon as he heard it hit Will’s stick, ignoring the pain that shot up his legs and settled into the base of his spine and he was behind the defense in a few strides and shit Will was never going to let him live that pass down.

It was a good pass – right to his stick and in between defenders and he could only marvel at what a complete shit time it was for Los Angeles to change.

He was wide open.

The cheers were still echoing in his head, puck pushed out in front of him and legs somewhere close to just dissolving at this point and Killian didn’t slow down.

Forehand. Backhand. The goalie was already out of the crease and there was a sliver of space to his right – it went right under his outstretched glove.

The light went off.

He scored.

They were winning.

And everything seemed to slow, Killian slamming his back into the boards when he spun out and that didn’t even hurt. He might have yelled or maybe screamed, his own voice sounding like an echo when all of New York City seemed to erupt in the stands around him.

He must have made some kind of ridiculous celebratory move though, bending his knees and clenching his fists and Will was already laughing when he crashed into him.

“Did you see that pass, Cap?” Will shouted. “Twenty points at least!”

“That doesn’t even make any sense,” Killian argued. “I scored. Give me fifteen points for that juke. I’m totally beating you.”

“Nah, nah, ten points for the juke. At most.” “Are you two serious?” Robin asked and the horn was still going off. The crowd sang through the goal song twice. “We are in the middle of a fucking hockey game.”

“If Cap loses he’s going to sell his apartment.” “For real?” “I never agreed to that,” Killian said, slinging his legs over the boards and Arthur glared at all three of them.

Will groaned, disappointment on his face clear through his visor and the set of his shoulders when they, eventually, walked back to the locker room. “That’s stupid. You’d make a killing on that apartment.” “If you three want to shut up,” Arthur hissed, marching into the center of the locker room with a still-intact white board gripped tightly in his hands. “We’ve still got forty minutes of hockey to play and the Kings are trying to get Jones to fight.” “I’m not going to fight anyone Arthur,” Killian promised. “That’s Scarlet’s job anyway.” “Nuh uh, Cap,” Will argued. “I’m not doing anything to jeopardize my points standings here. I’m absolutely winning and a penalty’s just going to fuck that up. Get ready to list that apartment.” “When did you become some kind of real estate matchmaker?” Will stuck his tongue out and Robin sighed again, rolling his eyes for good measure. Arthur hit the whiteboard up against Will’s shoulder. “Enough,” he snapped. “I don’t care about any of this. No penalties, more goals, less play up against the boards. You guys look like shit there.” “Motivational as always, Arthur,” Killian laughed.

Arthur pressed his lips together tightly, eyebrows drawn low as he took two measured steps closer to Killian and his outstretched skates. “Nice shot. And I’d be less worried about Scarlet’s match-maker tendencies and more concerned with Lucas more or less announcing that you’ve got a ring stashed somewhere already.”

He didn’t say anything else, leaving Killian open-mouthed and wide-eyed with his helmet resting on his knee while Will and Robin doubled over with laughter on either side of him.

Forty more minutes of hockey.