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kaibagirl007 · 5 years ago

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Come Undone 3/6

( the third part of a mini side-fic series to accompany my RP with @dragontamer05 )

‘Does it not intrigue you even the slightest bit as to WHY your council suddenly seeks an audience with you?’ Seto asked curiously from inside Kaiba’s mind as the CEO strut down the corridors of Kaiba Corp towards an ‘urgent’ meeting with the board of directors.

No. Kaiba shot back tiredly, still slightly hungover from the night before. He’d really hoped that the other would have taken the hint he wasn’t welcome and go back to wherever it was that he had come from by now. Obviously not. You’ve been lingering around long enough to know that it’s perfectly normal procedure for me to meet with them.

’Timely arranged, yes…’ Seto agreed as his ghostly form slowly materialised beside the CEO. He was very disappointed to see the other still wearing the same dark teal suit and black shirt from the night before. ‘Abruptly like this, no.’

Whatever the reason may be, it’s nothing to be concerned about. This is MY company, I call the shots and would be the first to know if something wasn’t right.

‘Conceited rulers do not last long on their thrones-’

Fuck off already! Or do I need to resort to blocking you right here and now?

‘You wouldn’t dare.’

Try me.

Reluctantly, the pharaoh backed down. He’d already witnessed his bullheaded descendant develop the drug addiction to combat his unwanted presence, and had no desire to give him further excuse for such reckless behaviour. ‘Very well. I shall adjourn for now.’

With that said, Seto vanished and left the other in complete solitude, much to the CEO’s relief.

The door to the boardroom was pushed open and Kaiba entered to the sound of soft murmurs from the rest of the board members. Without saying a word, he headed straight towards his seat at the head of the table and sat down. A quick glance around saw an array of inside directors present for the meeting. Amongst them, he also spotted an unknown face.- a new intern was his presumption,- wearing a light baby blue suit, white shirt and striking red tie. It was a look that greatly contrasted his own.

Imbecile. Kaiba scoffed internally at having seen the fresh-faced man dressed in such a bold manner that was way beyond his actual status. Either that or he was fashion-challenged. Heh, who in their right mind would wear such an audacious looking outfit?…

“Thank you for gracing us with your presence at such short notice, Kaiba.”

The sound of the male voice greeting him broke Kaiba’s attention from the ‘nobody’ seated across the far side of the table. With the CFO seated to his right now having his full attention, he spoke, “Let’s bypass the formalities and get straight to the point, Tsuda; What is the purpose of this meeting?”

All murmuring around the table stopped and the situation was addressed head-on. “Our shareholders are becoming increasingly concerned with your behaviour as of late.”

“Oh? And just what behaviour would that be?” Kaiba challenged. Calmly he crossed both his arms and legs as he awaited a response from the older man. Had his addiction been uncovered? Hopefully not, he’d been so careful in hiding it.

“Since your break-up with Miss Amarella, you have been seen by the media, on numerous occasions, with various women… Surely you know what kind of picture that paints?”

“One that suggests I’ve moved on with my life?”

Tsuda laughed nervously. “Not exactly,”

“Then enlighten me.” Irritation was starting to seep into Kaiba’s words. His head throbbed. He wasn’t in the mood for playing games and wished the other would just get straight to the point and accuse him of being a womaniser if that’s what was being insinuated. It wasn’t a term he wanted to be associated with, but if it kept attention on him and away from Kisara,- so that she was free to heal from their break-up without anyone hounding her,- then so be it.

“Well, um…” The CFO looked towards some of the other board members for help. “It’s understandable that you have… ’needs’, but… um…”

“What he’s trying to say, is that you should be more discrete,” Fuguta came to Tsuda’s rescue. Unlike the other, he wasn’t afraid of being so straight forward with his boss. “It’s been brought to the board’s attention that most of the women you’ve been seen with are known prostitutes. Associating with them will tarnish both yours and Kaiba Corp’s reputations when people find out you’re paying for sex.”

“What proof do you have on these women?” Kaiba challenged the two men and anyone else who dared to meet his eye. “Personal experience? Or just some shareholder’s hearsay?”

Silence.

Whilst he knew perfectly well what ‘services’ the women offered, he was disappointed in his board for believing the word of others without being able to verify it. “And HOW DARE you suggest I would EVER proposition them for sex! They’re ‘escorts’. I hire them to accompany me to and from social events, nothing more.”

He was bending the truth a little, and with good reason as far as he was concerned. The women were used primarily as an easy access route and cover for his newfound addiction. Chizue and the others simply supplied him with drugs and very rarely did sexual intercourse enter into the equation. When it did, it was due to him being too high to give a shit, was meaningless and empty of any emotional connection or joy. Always. He fucking well hated it and felt disgusted with himself afterwards.

“I suggest you cease hiring those woman before rumours spread and you become even more of a liability.”

“You don’t get to make suggestions or call me a liability!” Kaiba’s attention and outrage shifted towards the boldly dressed intern who had brazenly spoken. His brows narrowed dangerously. “Need I remind you just WHO you are talking to?”

The other stood his ground, glared back and replied, “Go ahead, but let it be known that I really DON’T care for your womanising ways and conceited attitude.”

It was only now, when their eyes locked on each other, that Kaiba realised his mistake. The fresh-faced man wasn’t an intern at all but was, in fact, his brother. Mokuba? No, that couldn’t be right. The other’s voice was too deep, hair too short, face not as round, and even though they were sitting, his sibling seemed even taller than he remembered. He hit a growth spurt…and I missed it.

“Your position DOES NOT excuse your behaviour!” Mokuba hadn’t planned on being so aggressive as he spoke, but it seemed to be the only way his stubborn-ass brother would take note. “These rumours could ruin Kaiba Corp, the company you fought and worked so very hard to build. You NEED to stop before they become rampant and destroy what you have left.”

Okay, this wasn’t how Kaiba had envisioned being reunited with his brother. Sure he’d expected some kind of hostility after what he’d done, but not like this and certainly not in front of the whole board of directors. He scoffed at the absurdity of the confrontation. “What do you plan to do besides this reprimand? Remove me from my position?”

“Your choice of words, not mine.”

Wait, he’s actually serious about this?! Kaiba struggled to hide his disbelief at the solemness in both his brother’s face and voice. His eyes then scanned the rest of the board and he let out a hysterical laugh. “Sorry to break the news to you all, but as chairman of the board, NONE of you can do shit without my say-so.”

“I anticipated you’d say that.” Despite already feeling exhausted from the confident demeanour on show, Mokuba remained calm as he reached down for his briefcase and took out the holo-tablet. He tapped and swiped at the screen several times before an array of charts and graphs were projected into the air at the centre of the table, all of them showing Kaiba Corp’s shareholders and their choice of the two brothers whose stance they favoured. “As you can see, I dominate with 54% of the shares on my side. We both know what that means.”

I should have never given you 15% using my own assets. There were no words that could describe what Kaiba was feeling. His brother had done the unthinkable and betrayed him. In fact, all of his shareholders had. Except Industrial Illusions. At the back of his mind, he could hear Gozaburo’s amused laughter begin to surface.

Sensing the sudden wave of fear, anger and a strange chortling in his descendant, Seto’s ghostly form entered the room by his side. ‘What is it, what happened?’ His presence seemed to be ignored as the other continued to focus solely on his brother.

“TRAITOR!” Kaiba roared as he failed to hold his anguish back any longer. He slammed his hands down on the table’s surface,- causing every member of the board to flinch,- and rose up from his seat. “HOW DARE YOU BETRAY ME LIKE THIS, AFTER EVERYTHING I’VE EVER DONE FOR YOU!!”

Fuguta readied himself to step in and defend Mokuba from a possible assault. None came though as Kaiba stayed where he stood, clenched his head and battled against the growing laughter inside it.

Seeing the distress that had been caused, Seto retreated to inside his descendant’s mind with aims to banish the source of the laughter. That was, once he could find it in the dark murkiness of the hippocampus.

“This i-isn’t a takeover, I promise you.” Mokuba’s voice cracked a little. It pained him to see his brother like this, knowing that his actions had just probably triggered memories of their adopted father that were otherwise best forgotten. He cursed himself for not having argued more with Roland and Pegasus about this part of the plan. Unfortunately though, it had been decided an unavoidable necessity. “You NEED a break to sort yourself out. You weren’t prepared to do it willingly so it came down to this. But if you go and self-reflect, or get help from a therapist, and work through your problems, Kaiba Corp is all yours again.”

The frozen terrified face made it hard for Mokuba to determine if his brother was listening or not. With a heavy heart but knowing it was for the best, he continued, “Until then though, as Kaiba Corp’s vice-president, and with the backing of the board, I relieve you of your positions as chairman and CEO.”

Kaiba remained unresponsive

It wasn’t long before the pharaoh found the memory of a man tormenting the young boy whose throat he held whilst the child futilely fought back with tiny trashing arms trying to strike at the grinning face. With fists clenched, Seto raised his arms and flung them in a sweeping motion to dispel the memory as though it was nothing more than mist. The laughing ceased.

So that was it; he’d been overthrown my the only person he’d trusted throughout his whole life. Kaiba let go of his head and furiously turned on the board members. There was no way his brother would do this to him,- right?,- someone else had to be behind it all. “WHICH one of you put him up to this?!“

“None of them put me up to it,” Mokuba stated and almost wished that he hadn’t from the look he’d received. His lip trembled. “I just… couldn’t sit back and watch you flail any longer. You NEED help, Seto!”

‘He’s correct’. the returning pharaoh sided with the younger brother. ’You have many issues to overcome. If you fail to tackle and overcome them, they will continue to eat away at and control you for the rest of your life… I know you don’t want that.’

I don’t know what I want anymore. Kaiba absentmindedly confessed before he remembered that the pharaoh could hear all of his thoughts. Fuck.

‘I understand you feel hurt by your brother’s actions,- just like both he and Kisara were by yours,- but it takes courage to stand up to those you love, and after the way you have attacked and pushed people aside, it is unsurprising that THIS was the only way he felt you would take notice of him.’

“Seto?” Mokuba dared to break the silence and trance-like state the other had fallen into. “Please bro, take this opportunity to seek some help.”

Help? Kaiba didn’t feel he needed help, he just needed to self medicate.

’No.’

“Whatever,” he breathed tiredly, almost but not quite in defeat. Stepping away from his seat, he headed towards the door before taking one last moment to glare back over his shoulder towards his brother. “I hope you realise what it is you’ve let yourself in for. You’ll soon find out that my job isn’t as easy as everybody seems to think it is.”

Once Kaiba had left the room, Mokuba turned to Fuguta. “Would you please watch him for the next 48 hours or so? You know, just to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. He should be okay once he’s had a couple of days for things to sink in a little.”

An affirmative nod was given. “Of course, sir.”

With his brother now under surveillance as Fuguta went about the task asked of him, Mokuba turned to the rest of the board. “Nothing changes in my brother’s absence. You all continue to do your jobs like always and follow whatever plans he had in place, no matter how ridiculous they seem on paper. Understood?”

“Yes sir,” voices answered in unison.

“Good… Well, that’s all I have to say on the matter right now.” Mokuba then looked towards Tsuda and asked, “May I be excused for a moment please?”

The CFO failed to stop himself from laughing. “You’re the chairman now. You don’t need to seek anyone’s permission.”

“Yeah, that’s gonna take some getting used to,” the teen laughed nervously before he then left the room with a flush of colour to his face.

He wandered down the corridor a little and then made a call on his phone. “Hey Roland!… Yeah, I’ve just done it… He didn’t take it too well, but it was better than expected… I am, and in all honesty, I don’t have a clue what I’m doing. I could really do with some guidance. So do you um, want your old job back?… Cool. I’ll see you in Seto’s- I mean, ‘my’ office when you get here. Oh, and could you pass the message on to Pegasus to let him know how it went? I really don’t feel like talking to him right now… Thanks.”

The call ended and Mokuba stood in silence with his thoughts as he looked down at his brother exiting the building below. I’m sorry it came to this Seto, but it’s for your own good. Someday you’ll see that… I hope.

#Come Undone #my crappy writing #fanfiction #rp stuff #dragontamer05

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believingispowerfulmagic · 6 years ago

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“We All Will Be Together”--New Year, New Life

A/N: Hey, everyone! So, my plan was to do this last year but then Old Blue (my laptop) died and I lost it all. I’ve spent 2018 trying to build it up again (though I’m still not as far along as I hoped) so I could spend 2019 giving you a peek into the lives of the Mills-Locksley family from my story The Christmas Wish. If you haven’t read that first, you might want to read it—but you’ll probably figure it out without reading it.

I’m reusing The Christmas Wish cover, which was made by @glindalovesshoes. Thanks again, Eva!

Happy New Year!

Regina was getting used to waking up to a pair of strong arms around her and a warm body pressed against her back. She sighed as consciousness slowly crept upon her and snuggled deeper into Robin’s embrace. He pressed a sleepy kiss to her shoulder and then the side of her head. “Happy New Year, Mrs. Locksley.”

“Happy New Year, Mr. Mills-Locksley,” she shot back, smiling.

He hummed. “If you want to hyphenate, I’m fine with that. Do you want to change the boys’ names as well?”

She crinkled her nose, feeling like her brain had short-circuited. “Ugh. I think that’s a question to be decided when I’m more awake and not hungover.”

“Of course.” He kissed her shoulder again before pulling away from her.

She shivered at the loss of his body warmth and rolled over to ask him where he was going. However, her stomach turned over and she clutched it with a groan. “Oh god…I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t have had that last round of champagne,” he said, his voice sounding scratchy. He then groaned as well. “Or the shots.”

“Are you going to lecture me about our drinking choices last night or are you going to help me before I’m sick all over the bed?” She held out her arm blindly, trying to reach out for her husband.

A warm and strong hand closed around hers and helped her helped her out of bed. He then wrapped an arm around her and walked with her toward their bathroom. She knelt and was sick into the toilet as Robin held her hair back.

She moaned as she sat back against him, hearing him flush the toilet for her. He leaned her against the bathtub. “I’m going to get a facecloth, sweetheart. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay, maybe you had a point about the champagne and the shots,” she moaned, pressing her hand to her eyes to block out the little light that was trying to get past her eyelids.

Robin gently wiped her mouth before sitting down next to her. She fell over, resting her head on his shoulder. “This probably wasn’t the picture you had in mind when you agreed to stay married to me,” she said

He chuckled. “Believe it or not, this is exactly what I had in mind when I agreed to stay married to you.”

“Really?” She would’ve opened her eyes and glared at him but she worried that would’ve triggered the headache she felt lurking behind her eyes.

“Well, I would’ve thought you’d have the flu and not be hungover, but I knew that this agreement would mean holding back your hair at some point,” he told her.

She let out a wry laugh at his statement, acknowledging that truth of it. “Thanks. I’d do the same for you but I doubt your hair gets in your way.”

He chuckled. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m sure you’ll take good care of me when I get sick.”

They sat on the floor for a bit longer and Regina started to drift off again. She felt Robin lift her into his arms and carry her into their bedroom, lying her on the bed. He kissed her forehead as he covered her with the still warm blanket. “Get some more rest. I’ll deal with the boys.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, rolling over and letting sleep claim her yet again.

Robin was also feeling the aftereffects of too much champagne but he was clearly in better shape than his wife. After shrugging on pajama pants and a shirt as well as his bathrobe, he stumbled downstairs and started up the Keurig. He hoped one very strong cup of coffee would help him feel more human before the boys woke up and needed breakfast.

As his coffee brewed, he leaned against the counter and hung his head. The last bottle of champagne had been too much, he decided. Celebrating their marriage did not need that much alcohol. They could’ve toasted their new life together with water.

Or at least drank a gallon each before going to bed rather than making love well into the wee hours of the morning.

The Keurig finished and he grabbed his mug, sipping the hot black liquid without adding any creamer or sugar like usual. He needed his coffee extra strong at the moment. And maybe some Advil, once he could shuffle to the medicine cabinet in the downstairs bathroom.

He leaned against the counter as the reality of his new life hit him. He and Regina had made vows to each other and pledged to spend the rest of their lives together as husband and wife. Now that the holidays were over, they were going to have to really start blending their lives together and coming up with new routines. Robin easily adapted but he knew that Regina liked her schedules, something he figured came from living with her mother. Cora Mills-Blanchard demanded pretty much perfection from her daughter, so if Regina could remain a few steps ahead of her, the easier her life would be.

Robin wanted this transition to be as smooth and easy as they possibly could make it. If it meant getting onto one of Regina’s schedules, then so be it. Hopefully he would then show her that it was okay to shake things up sometimes and be spontaneous, but it would have to be in baby steps.

“Good morning, Papa,” Roland said, shuffling into the kitchen. He hugged Robin. “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year, my boy,” he replied, holding his son close. “Did you sleep well?”

Roland nodded. “Especially once you and Mom told us you were staying together. I like having a mom again and having a brother.”

“And you’re okay with living here instead of our cottage?” Robin asked.

“Yeah. Santa moved all my stuff and there’s more room here,” his son replied. “Do you like it here?”

Smiling, Robin nodded. “I like it here very much. But as long as I have you, Henry and Mum, I would be happy living anywhere.”

“That’s really sappy,” Roland said, scrunching up his nose.

Robin chuckled. “I guess so, but it’s the truth. You three are all I need to be happy.”

“Well, I guess I just need you, Mom and Henry too,” his son replied before smiling widely. “And French toast.”

“Okay, okay. Why don’t you go have a seat and I’ll get the French toast started for breakfast?” He gave Roland a gentle push toward the table before turning to gather the ingredients needed for the request.

As he fried up some French toast for his son, he heard the padding of little feet and knew who had just joined them. Without looking, Robin said: “Good morning, Henry. Are you hungry?”

“Yes. Is that French toast?” Henry asked, coming to stand next to him at the stove.

Robin glanced down, seeing only the boy’s sleep-tousled brown hair. He smoothed it down, causing Henry to look up. Smiling, Robin motioned to the table. “Why don’t you join your brother? Breakfast is almost ready.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Henry didn’t move right away. Instead, he hugged Robin. “I’m glad you decided to stay my dad.”

“Me too,” Robin said, kissing the top of his head. He then pushed Henry toward the table to join Roland before plating the French toast slices for his sons.

Once the boys had their breakfasts—complete with glasses of orange juice—Robin sat down with his own slice of French toast. Henry looked around, frowning. “Where’s Mom?”

“She’s still sleeping,” Robin replied, sipping his second cup of coffee.

Henry’s mouth fell open. “We’re up before her? Is she sick?”

“Uh…” Robin paused, trying to figure out the best way to answer that. He doubted Regina wanted their children to know that she was hungover but he didn’t want the boys to worry too much.

Clearing his throat, he decided on his response. “We were out really late and I kept your mother dancing most of the night. I think I really wore her out.”

“Oooh,” both boys said, satisfied with his answer. They turned back to their breakfast and Robin let out a sigh of relief.

Crisis averted.

Continue reading on FFN (no smut), AO3, Wattpad

#once upon a time #outlaw queen #oq au #oq ff #hood-mills family #the christmas wish #we all will be together

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welllpthisishappening · 7 years ago

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We’ll Take a Cup (defense) of Kindness (2/2)

It’s one night. New Year’s Eve. And a whole list of rules. Because Regina might have actually lost her mind. Or maybe that’s just Emma. Because they’ve played a million games in two days, or it’s at least felt that way, and planning an outdoor practice a few weeks before the Olympics seemed like a good idea at one point. Now it just seems insane. So she’s going to wear this dress and kiss her boyfriend. A lot.

He’s good. Better than good. Great. The greatest. It’s New Year’s Day and, yeah, sure it’s freezing, but Killian hasn’t actually tried to push Scarlet on the Subway tracks yet so that seems like a step in the right direction. So he’s a little distracted a few weeks before the Olympics, but that’s fine. It’s good. Or it’ll be good. Eventually. Soon. In the meantime he’s probably just going to kiss his girlfriend. A lot.

Rating: Mature. They swear. They apologize about the swearing to Roland. They kiss. Killian and Will banter on the Subway platform. Word Count: 9K’ish. I just like words. AN: HAPPY NEW YEAR, INTERNET! It seems fairly fitting that this crazy, jam-packed full of characters hockey ‘verse gets updated on the very first day of 2018 because this whole story sort of defined my 2017 fandom experience. I started writing Blue Line about a year ago and the response to my insane idea to fuel my love of the New York Rangers into my love of Emma Swan and Killian Jones making out continues to absolutely blow my mind every day. I cannot thank you guys enough for every click, comment, message, art you’ve made (!!!) or general flail. Every single one has meant the world to me and kept me writing more of this. Let’s go to the Olympics later this month, huh? A very loud shoutout to @distant-rose & @laurnorder & @beautiful-swan without whom this ‘verse would not be possible. Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll.

“Scarlet, if you hit me with your stick again, I’m going to push you off this platform.”

Will narrowed his eyes – and then hit Killian with his stick again, tapping on the back of his calves and just above his skates and it was an almost impressive feat since he was also holding a phone, glancing at the screen every few minutes because there was, apparently, some kind of audience for this.

“You’re a real bad sport, Cap,” Will sighed, staring at him like he wasn’t following the rules of a pick-up game they’d organized instead of arguing whatever bruise was forming on his leg at that very moment. “People are enjoying this.”

Killian bit his lip, trying to swallow back his immediate retort and well aware that people probably were enjoying this because it was a pretty cool event and he’d been the first one to tell Emma to plan it, Swan when she brought it up two months before.

And, really, it was one of the few fan events they were going to get to do that year.

There wasn’t an All-Star break that season or Casino Night – which might have been some kind of blessing in disguise when Emma realized she wouldn’t have to go to New Jersey to get things out of storage again – because they would be on the other side of the world, playing in games that didn’t really do much for the NHL except make all the front office bigwigs worry about injuries, for two weeks in February and the league wasn’t willing to give up more days or more profit.

Which almost made the six games in nine days thing, even during the so-called Christmas holiday, understandable.

Almost.

If he wasn’t so goddamn tired. And sore. God, every inch of him hurt. And he hadn’t really gotten much sleep the night before.

“Can you at least look like you’re not super pissed off to be here?” Will continued, leaning his elbow on the top of his stick and holding his phone up with his left hand. “Ah, shit, where’s Gina? I need one of those battery things.”

Killian groaned. Or maybe that was Ruby. Or possibly Emma. It was definitely Emma.

“Scarlet,” she muttered, taking a step forward and kicking at his shins. He nearly tripped over his own skates trying to back up. “You are on camera. How did none of the rules stick?” “He broke all the rules yesterday, Em,” Robin reasoned. Will was still trying to backtrack, perilously close to the stairs in the middle of the platform and, a few weeks before, taking the train to an open, outdoor practice in Central Park actually sounded kind of fun and a bit nostalgic, but now Killian was having a hard time keeping his eyes open and he really wanted to still be at home, in bed, with his girlfriend.

Lucas was right – he was a total homebody.

“Totally made the awards thing weird,” Emma added and Will rolled his eyes when he sank onto one of the steps of a staircase that probably hadn’t been cleaned in, at least, four decades. “God, don’t sit on that! You’re going to screw up your uniform.” Will’s lips quirked as soon as the quasi-swear was out of her mouth and Emma rolled her whole head back, something that sounded suspiciously like a growl working its way out of her. Ruby, at least, tried to make her laughter sound like...something else.

It didn’t work.

Killian took a step forward, leaving his stick propped up against a pillar and he could only imagine the amount of paperwork Emma had signed for all of this. There were cameras everywhere – local TV and possibly the NHL Network and some guy that he was fairly certain worked with Dor at Sports Illustrated, which seemed a bit like media cheating, but he absolutely was not going to point that out.

Emma’s head landed on his shoulder when he came up behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist and Will didn’t move his phone.

He’d probably have to thank him for that later.

“How would sitting down screw up my uniform?” he asked instead, tilting his head and flashing a smile Emma’s direction when she met his gaze again. Ruby was mumbling under her breath about germs.

Emma just exhaled, something that was a bit closer to a huff than it probably should have been at eleven in the morning, but she hadn’t really wanted to get out of bed either – even for her own event and a questionable amount of paperwork and waivers for a small group of kids that were supposed to get out on the ice after practice.

They weren’t really going to practice.

If Arthur had been even remotely coherent the night before he probably would have brought that up several times – reminding his roster that they couldn’t actually run real plays or go after Jeff too hard in net and one of them probably would have mentioned that he was a paranoid weirdo because he wouldn’t make them skate blue lines in front of an audience.

It was a glorified morning skate and Arthur was definitely going to be hungover.

He’d brought four bottles of that very expensive champagne.

And they drank them all.

And then got, approximately, one hour and forty-five minutes of sleep.

Killian would do it again and probably spend the majority of the next week thinking about Emma’s dress and the ring around her neck that was obvious in every single photo they’d taken and posted on various social media sites and there were a lot of photos and a lot of kissing and he was going to have a difficult time staying upright on his skates that afternoon.

“Still with us, Cap?” Robin called, the laughter in his voice making it almost painfully obvious it wasn’t the first time he’d tried to get Killian’s attention.

Emma laughed again, leaning forward to try and tug her hair back over her shoulders, but that only served to move a very specific way against Killian and this was ridiculous.

They were going to end up on the cover of The Post.

Killian nodded when Robin widened his eyes again. “Yeah,” he promised. “Definitely still here. Where else would I go?” It was the wrong question to ask – Ruby didn’t even try and mask her laughter at all and Will was probably going to give several Facebook LIVE viewers vertigo if he kept shaking the phone like that.

“I have absolutely no idea, Cap,” Robin said, but his eyes darted towards Will and neither one of them were very good at disguising whatever conversation they were having.

Killian hummed and his hand tightened a bit, thumb tapping out a slightly impatient rhythm on Emma’s hip. “Can we complain about the MTA on this video?” he asked, determined to change the subject and the growing certainty that everyone he knew was talking about him. “You think we’ll get fined for that?” “You’ve got that great, big contract now, Cap,” Will shrugged and the phone was back, no longer shaking and pointed directly in Killian’s face. “Does that mean you’re just going to pay for all of our fun when we're at the Games next month?” Killian leveled him – or his phone, God – with a look he hoped didn’t show how absolutely frustrated he was, but it probably didn’t work because Emma clicked her tongue and stalked towards Will, sinking down onto the step next to him.

“God, we didn’t have to worry about the flu from sharing champagne,” Ruby muttered, but she was leaning against a pillar too, arms crossed and impatience practically rolling off her. This was the slowest uptown-one in the history of the New York public transportation system. “We’re all going to contract some deadly disease from standing on this platform for the rest of our lives.” Emma growled again, scrunching her nose and they were definitely starting to draw a crowd, but there were also a few NYPD officers who were supposed to trail all of them on their several-dozen block ride uptown and no one started shouting about subReddit posts or point totals.

They were in third in the Metro anyway – there wasn’t anything to complain about yet.

“Can we not talk about deadly diseases while we’re still live?” Emma asked, shoulders moving when she took a deep breath that might have just been a yawn. “You’re going to scare away all the fans.” Will chuckled, hitting something on his phone and Emma’s eyes widened when she realized she was on camera with him. She waved.

And Killian’s heart might have stopped.

Or started in quadruple time.

“I don’t think we can scare ‘em away,” Will grinned, twisting slightly to glance at Emma. “There’s a lot of people waiting for us to do something interesting on this stream.” She let out a low whistle and Killian could only imagine how absolutely insufferable Will was going to be about the number of fans his face drew or something equally ridiculous. “We would be able to do something interesting if this train didn’t take eight-hundred years to get here,” Emma mumbled, drawing a laugh out of Robin and a cackle out of Ruby and Killian was somewhere in the realm of impressed.

“Ah, now you’ve done it, Em,” Ruby muttered. “You guys are going to have to resell that very fancy apartment so you can pay whatever fine we’re all going to get wrecked with.” Emma lifted her eyebrows. The fans were starting to get louder. Mulan was still taking pictures of them. “Is that grammatically correct?’ she asked. “Can we get wrecked by something that isn’t actually real?” “I mean the money you’ll have to pay to apologize to the MTA will definitely be real.” “God, stop using the actual name,” Robin groaned. “If we just allude to whoever is in charge of the Subway system, maybe none of us will get fined.” “Yeah, I think we’re past that point,” Will muttered, nodding towards his phone screen and Emma made a noise that was inching dangerously close to distraught.

Killian took another step forward, grabbing the phone out of Will’s hand and ignoring the immediate sounds of protest, glancing at the string of comments and they had, apparently, started some kind of discourse about the woeful incompetence of the MTA.

Or so BlueshirtBanter1926 wrote two seconds before.

GardenFaithful3494 agreed.

“Oh, shit,” he muttered and that drew another string of comments and a few others that were mostly about his face and does Cap look kind of tired and the schedule this month has been insane and someone was pulling the phone away from him.

They should throw the goddamn thing on the tracks.

That would probably just fuck up the train.

“Now you’ve done it, Cap,” Ruby laughed, digging the toe of her heel into the platform floor and she had her own phone out. “Get ready to list that apartment.” He shook his head. “See, you’re saying that like we’d have to sell our apartment to pay a fine. Why jump straight to the apartment?” “That’s the best thing you own.” “We are not selling our apartment,” Emma mumbled, eyes focused on the screen while Will tried to do some sort of damage control, but it didn’t seem to work when he kept breaking out into hysterics. She glanced up when Killian didn’t say anything, but he was too busy thinking in some sort of great, big major way to be concerned with just about anything else and she smiled when she met his gaze.

“Team don’t sell the apartment for a fine I’m fairly sure doesn’t exist, but maybe we try and redirect the conversation a little bit?” she asked and Killian couldn’t stop himself from smiling at her if he tried.

Or flirting with her.

It definitely felt like flirting – still and always and, possibly, indefinitely and it was no wonder he’d gotten less than two hours of sleep the night before. If he wasn’t trying to spend most of his time kissing Emma, he was thinking things and considering other things and she’d spent at least forty minutes the night before crouched in the corner of the loft with Roland and Henry cheering at whatever hockey game they were watching.

It was Boston University.

He looked it up before they went downtown that morning.

They won, beat Harvard in some kind of holiday tournament that Liam probably knew all about, but Killian kept thinking about the way Emma tried to teach Henry and Roland BU cheers, eyes just a shade brighter when they met his and mumbled some kind of trash talk about Minnesota that didn’t quite make sense.

He was surprised he was still standing when she announced the kids are with me and all three of them explained why Minnesota hadn’t won a national championship in nearly a decade.

He was thinking way too much.

“It’s kind of wordy,” Killian grinned, working a laugh out of Emma that seemed to linger in the very center of him and maybe that’d keep them all warm on the ice because he was fairly positive it was close to freezing outside.

And they were all a bit hungover.

“No worse than whatever grammatically incorrect name we had for last night’s party,” Emma challenged.

Killian shrugged. “That’s a fair point. Also, is that going to become an actual annual thing? Because we’ve got way too many things on this team.” “You didn’t seem to mind so much after all the champagne last night, Cap,” Ruby pointed out, the grin on her face taking a slightly predatory turn and he kind of wanted to be holding his stick again. “Almost looked like you were enjoying yourself around midnight.” He quirked an eyebrow, but Ruby was Ruby and she was never going to back down from anything – even with a Facebook LIVE stream that was probably going to spark several dozen internet rumors or a crowd that was beginning to give the NYPD more trouble than they’d originally anticipated.

Robin groaned under his breath, mumbling about acting like children and something that sounded a bit like slander and Will moved on the edge of the step so all three of them could fit together in one spot.

“You need to relax, Dad,” Will said. “Wave hello to the internet, Locksley.”

He did as instructed, if not a little stiffly when he was still holding his stick in front of him, propped up on the steps and they probably weren’t supposed to be blocking the stairs like that. “Hello, internet,” Robin muttered.

Will cackled – or possibly guffawed – head thrown back until he was dangerously close to hitting himself on the step behind him. Emma moved her hand behind his hair, trying to make sure one of them didn’t actually concuss themselves on stairs covered in, likely, several different type of bacteria.

“God, Scarlet,” she groaned, pushing back against his head until he sat up and his whole body was still shaking. Robin was talking to the screen, answering questions and redirecting the conversation and Emma flashed Killian something that was almost a smile, but might have just been a silent plea to get back to their apartment as quickly as possible.

And the whole concussion thing was still slightly shaky ground for both of them – memories of November and Arizona and an absolutely frantic Ariel sprinting into the training room with her phone pressed against her ear and demands to find out if Killian was ok because Emma is totally freaking out.

He might have been too.

“Em, you need to do some breathing exercises with Cap,” Will said, ducking his head back into the frame of his phone screen. Killian was going to strangle him. Or check him on the ice. Probably the second one.

Definitely the second one.

“And,” he added. “Help me answer some of these Olympic questions because people have questions about the Olympics.” “You’re the one playing, not me,” Emma argued, trying to get as far away from the phone without actually standing back up.

“Ah, but you’re there to make sure we all stay in line or something.” “I am not your mother or your minder, Scarlet.” Will clicked his tongue, squeezing one eye shut and even Robin made a noise that might have been a disagreement. “Eh,” he said. Emma glared at both of them. “I’m just saying, if Scarlet is thinking about being an idiot, he’s going to reconsider those thoughts if you’re around, Emma. Or Cap. So really, you guys hold all the pre-Olympic power.” Emma didn’t look impressed.

Killian tried to figure out how he could check Scarlet without a, likely, hungover Arthur and a crowd of several thousand, freezing cold fans who’d waited several hours to see them, noticing.

“He’s not even going to be in the same place as us,” Ruby pointed out, not bothering to take her eyes away from her phone when she rejoined the conversation. “Seriously, where the hell is this train?” “Language, Lucas,” Killian muttered and she kicked at him. She was several feet away. “And Phillip will make sure Scarlet reigns in on his terror-causing tendencies.” He glanced at Emma, smile tugging on the corners of her mouth even when Will stood back up and grabbed Killian’s stick. He hit him with his own stick. “Good alliteration,” Emma smiled and his mind raced back to thoughts and ideas and plans and he’d been nervous that a slightly drunk Liam and Elsa were going to give him away the night before.

And, really, half of those thoughts were absolutely Liam and Elsa’s fault because Christmas at the brownstone had happened and Lizzie absolutely stole everyone’s attention and watching the goddamn Muppet Christmas Carol while Emma held onto a six-month old had done a number on his ability to think about...anything else.

“Ok, first of all,” Will started, stopping next to Killian and he hadn’t actually let go of his stick. “I do not have terror tendencies. I have...fun tendencies.”

“Terror-causing tendencies,” Robin corrected. Will scowled at the internet. “I’m just saying if you’re going to be an ass about this, then at least do it right.” “Can you all please stop swearing on camera?” Emma asked. “We’re still live and I really don’t want to end up in Zelena’s office because someone in Illinois is upset at your distinct lack of morals.”

“That was oddly specific.” “And,” Will added. “I’m, like, at least ninety-nine percent positive Zelena is going to be out of commission for several days because, at one point last night, she and Arthur were just doing shots of the shittiest vodka I’ve ever had to drink.” Ruby lowered her eyebrows. “We are on camera. When did you do shots?” “Are you upset you missed out on the fun, Lucas?” “I mean obviously not if it was garbage. I’m just wondering when I managed to miss that. Also, circling back around to Cap’s question? Is that a thing now? This New Year’s Eve thing? Because if we’re ever allowed to play in the Winter Classic again, doing this every year is going to be kind of problematic.”

“We probably wouldn’t get acceptably drunk if we were playing a game the next day, Lucas,” Killian pointed out and Emma had moved at some point, pacing on the platform because the train, somehow, still hadn’t shown up yet.

“I’m just wondering,” Ruby continued. “If we’re making certain things permanent. In a forever type of way.” He pressed his lips together, teeth digging into the side of his tongue so he wouldn’t start yelling or just punching things and there wasn’t anything to punch. Ruby smiled, the look moving across her face slowly like she could read his mind and Killian wouldn’t have been surprised if she could.

Ruby Lucas knew everything. At all times.

God.

Robin snapped his jaw, looking like he was planning on getting five minutes for slashing. Or possibly a game misconduct. He still wasn’t standing up. “Did we not all have fun last night?” he asked sharply and the rest of them shrugged. “Oh my God, do not pull that. You guys all had fun and Scarlet totally bought that tuxedo.” “I told you that in confidence,” Will shouted. “You were wearing a tophat, Locksley!”

“Yeah, but that was classy. You looked like you were trying to be Mr. V at Casino Night.”

Killian hissed in air, slinging an arm around Emma’s shoulders – mostly so he wouldn’t lose his footing on his own skates. “That’s rough, Locksley,” he laughed. “You’re going to have buy them all something from the Games now.” “I thought we decided you were this great, big rich hockey player now, Cap. Weren’t you going to buy us all food or something?” “Just like...one time? We’re there for two weeks, Locksley.” “Plus,” Emma muttered, voice barely audible over the din of the crowd when the goddamn uptown one, finally, showed up. She hadn’t moved away from Killian’s side. Robin finally stood up. “If you guys want to get technical, there won’t be much time for a ton of team bonding that isn’t, you know, incredible planned.” Will deflated. “What?” he cried and Emma let her head fall against Killian’s shoulder. He kissed her. He probably shouldn’t have done that. They were still on camera. The Sports Illustrated person might have said something. “Em,” Will continued, the two letters sounding particularly distressed. “We’ve got to have a full Olympic experience! We can’t do the bidding of the league at all times.” “Camera, Scarlet,” Killian and Robin mumbled at the same time. He waved a dismissive hand through the air – nearly taking out Ruby because he was still holding Killian’s stick.

“Is there really an Olympic schedule?” Will asked.

Emma shrugged. “What do you think I’ve been doing most of this season?” “Planning Rangers stuff.” “Well, yeah,” she admitted, rocking her head slightly and Killian resisted the urge to kiss her in public again.

They’d gotten those few days off after the parade and the contract and interviews about both the parade and the contract, but there were still events during the offseason and a trip to Colorado and that led to more thoughts and more plans and then they were moving into the apartment and trying to hide trophies they absolutely weren’t supposed to have – deleting photos off Will’s phone at one point – and then the season started and there were a questionable number of games and more back-to-backs than usual so they could go be Olympians and Emma kept working.

She kept planning and coming up with ideas and schedules and it seemed kind of ridiculous to announce that he was proud of his girlfriend, but that’s exactly what Killian was and probably always would be...if he could just organize some of his thoughts.

Ruby was still staring knowingly at him.

And he really wanted to go back home.

“So then why the Olympic schedules?” Will pressed, ignoring Robin’s quiet mumblings of something that sounded a lot like shut up, Scarlet.

Emma rolled her eyes. “Because there are two weeks of time we need to organize and a ton of games and players that aren’t just Rangers that you guys have to, at least, pretend to like and we’ve got tickets to some sports that don’t exist if there aren’t Olympics and you want to stay in the Village.”

“Phillip and I decided that together. It’s the experience.” “I’m not arguing that. I am just telling you I have put a ton of work into this and am only dimly aware of what day it actually is, so you will follow my schedule and you will enjoy it.”

Will didn’t laugh – which might have actually been some kind of miracle – and Killian glanced towards Robin questioningly. He just shrugged. And then Will saluted.

“Idiot,” Killian mumbled, but Will’s smile grew as he stepped into the train, holding his phone as high above his head as he could so he could fit all of them into the frame.

“Just FYI, everyone,” Ruby said. “David’s going to battle the internet again and, apparently, the crowd at Central Park. It’s very cold out, I guess.” Emma’s head snapped up, eyes wide and just a bit hopeful and Killian almost forgot about whatever fine they were probably going to have to pay for insulting a government agency and the National Hockey League on the internet.

He wrapped his arm back around her and she was wearing the same hat she’d had on when they went skating at Central Park.

It felt like a sign. He wasn’t sure for what, but it was definitely there.

“Alright, well, we’re, finally, heading uptown now,” Will said to the camera and Killian reached forward to grab his stick. He hit Will’s ankles. “And if Cap is done beating me up, we’ll see all of you guys in Central Park where I’ll probably amaze all of you with my ability to juke in front of both Jeff and anyone trying to defend me.” “You’re a defenseman, Scarlet,” Killian hissed, but it didn’t really matter because the comments were still coming in and they’d all broken every rule the night before and then on camera, but maybe outdoor practice would be fun.

And he also might try and juke anyone who tried to defend him in some not-quite misplaced attempt to impress his own girlfriend.

“Whatever,” Will brushed off. “Wave goodbye to the fans, everyone!”

They all did as instructed, the NYPD and the small press contingent following them into to the car as soon as an automated voice remind them to stand clear of the closing doors.

Arthur wasn’t just hungover by the time they got on the ice – he was, apparently, determined to put on some sort of show.

He brought his whistle.

To Central Park.

In the goddamn freezing cold.

“Is it even safe for us to be out here?”Will asked, not even ten minutes into skating and it wasn’t the first time he’d asked that.

“You’re really trying to drop gloves aren’t you?” Killian muttered. He dug the toe of his skate into the ice and he wasn’t sure how facilities worked in Central Park, but they were probably going to have to pay for that too because they were absolutely going to practice breakaways.

The crowd would, as they say, go wild.

Will shook his head, disbelief etched into the pinch between his eyebrows. “And end up with Emma mad at me? No thanks, Cap. Plus you guys were making eyes on the platform. I’m not getting in the middle of that.”

Killian didn’t say anything, mostly because he couldn’t argue the very obvious fact that he was, very obviously, making eyes at Emma on the platform and she was somewhere in the crowd with Mary Margaret and David and, hopefully, some form of hot chocolate.

Mary Margaret absolutely brought hot chocolate to Central Park.

“Honestly though,” Will continued, seemingly undeterred by Killian’s silence. “Where’s A? I bet she’ll tell us some really good facts about frostbite.”

“You are not going to get frostbite. God.”

“You don’t know that, Cap. What do you know about frostbite?” “That it probably has to be below freezing to occur.” Will twisted his mouth at that, shoulders shifting under his pads and Arthur’s whistle should probably be put in a museum as some kind of vague torture device, used to destroy the general morale of a third-place hockey team just a few hours after they’d all consumed far too much alcohol in the middle of the season.

“I mean that’s just stupid science,” Will blustered, hooking the curve of his stick under the closest puck and bouncing it a few inches in the air.

Several fans cheered.

“Stupid science,” Robin echoed, making a face when Killian glanced in his direction. “And just think, he graduated college.”

“This whole day is going to do dangerous things to his ego,” Killian said and Robin hummed in agreement. He was stickhandling an imaginary puck. And Arthur must have brought extra oxygen with him to blow the whistle that hard. “Fucking hell,” Robin sighed. “You think we can use the whistle to practice breakaways?”

“If not I’m just going to stomp on it with my skate.” “You could probably get Lucas to do some damage with her heel, honestly,” Will suggested and that might have been the most intelligent thing he’d said all day.

Phillip bit his lip a few feet away, leaning up against the boards with his weight resting on the back of his heels and bags under his eyes that probably could have rivaled just about anyone in the entire world at that point.

“Why are you so tired, Rook?” Robin asked knowingly. Phillip glared at him.

“I don’t have to explain that,” he muttered, ignoring the not-quite-correct nickname anymore. “And also because Mary Margaret is a very nice human being and actually volunteered to discuss wedding appetizers at some point last night. Did you guys get any of that shit vodka Zelena brought?”

Killian shook his head, the laugh working out of him before he could even consider stopping it. Will and Robin glanced at each other again. “Where are your kids, Locksley?” Killian asked, doing his best to try and redirect the conversation and Arthur was yelling about taking shots.

None of them moved.

“Why you worried about my kids, Cap? And they’re with Mary Margaret and David because Mary Margaret said she was going to bring hot chocolate.” “I knew it.” “The kids or Mary Margaret?” “Both.” Robin nodded slowly, like he was trying to put together pieces of a puzzle that Killian wasn’t even sure existed yet. He was going to yell at his brother. He was fairly certain this was his fault.

And the twins were...somewhere.

Probably with Mary Margaret and the hot chocolate. And Emma. Emma was definitely with all of them, likely fine-tuning another cheer and the entire crowd was shouting now, demanding shots and practice and they had to move before Killian just started planning the next forty years.

At least.

Probably longer.

God, he needed to sleep for several days.

He nearly jumped a foot in the air when Robin tapped the side of his stick against Killian’s skate, eyes wide and mouth hanging open like he’d actually run uptown and that probably would have been faster than the goddamn train.

“You should probably take some shots, Cap,” Robin said knowingly and he got the distinct impression he was about to be grounded or something. “Work out some of that residual energy. I bet Henry and Rol even came up with a cheer.” “They did,” Phillip promised, drawing three confused glances his way. He shrugged. “While you guys were doing whatever it was you were doing on Facebook, insulting the entire city and, like, most of hockey and the international sporting community, the rest of us were ushered up here in temperature controlled cars where we probably could have gotten some sleep if it weren’t for some painfully adorable kids shouting trash talk about gophers.”

Killian wasn’t sure who laughed louder – him or Will, but it didn’t really matter because it looked like Robin was actually crying, his whole body shaking when he tried to support himself on his stick. Arthur blew his whistle again.

“Am I missing something?” Phillip asked, flashing a grin at Will when he knocked the puck off his stick. “Keep your wrists tighter. God.” “Shut up, Rook,” Will snapped. “I won us that game two nights ago.” “Lucky shot. You know Lucas told me last night I was one of the most searched NHL players in the league last season. Google told her or something.” Killian lowered his eyebrows. “Google told her? That’s a direct quote, then?”

“Well, technically, I think the league told her and she was supposed to tell reporters, but then, you know, we’ve played eight-hundred games in the last two days and then had a party to go to and I’m fairly certain she forgot.” “I think she’s trying to tell you something,” Robin muttered and Killian’s laugh wasn’t so much a laugh as it was just choking on air.

Arthur was skating towards them. “What the hell?” he growled, whistle held in one hand and a stick held loosely in the other and Will just barely leapt out of the way to avoid being slashed in the shin. “Did you not hear the whistle?” “They heard the whistle in Battery Park,” Killian mumbled. He was far too tired to even move away from the slash.

If he didn’t get to try and shoot something soon he was going to throw his gloves into the crowd.

They were probably supposed to do that anyway.

“Is Phillip complaining about his appetizer choices again?” Arthur continued and he didn’t blink when three quarters of his starting lineup nearly collapsed on the ice in Central Park. The crowd made noise. It probably looked like they were all having some kind of emotional episode.

They kind of were.

“How could you possibly know that?” Phillip demanded, voice just a bit harsher than it had ever been before and the point streak he was on was doing dangerous things to his ego. That also might have been the very obvious hangover he was still nursing.

“Did A try and convince you that you should have your reception at the restaurant, yet?” Will asked, not quite able to disguise the slight snicker in his voice. Phillip glared at him. Arthur laughed.

“Have we all dissolved into some other parallel universe?” Phillip asked, twisting his wrists when he started stickhandling as well. “And, yeah, I mean, obviously. But there’s probably not going to be enough space there. I think she was super offended by that. Something about supporting her kid’s future.” “I think that means you’re out of the running for A’s kid’s favorite.”

Phillip rolled his eyes again. Mulan was probably getting some absolutely ridiculous photos out of this.

Arthur shrugged. “Your fiancée was very vocal about your wedding plans last night. We all heard about it. Even when we were trying not to.” Phillip gaped at him, but Arthur wasn’t done yet. He spun on the spot, turning towards Killian with something that felt a little like fire in his gaze. The ice suddenly felt less stable. “Figure out your life, Jones.” Killian blinked.

And his neck cracked when he snapped his gaze between Robin and Will, both of them equally surprised by whatever proclamation Arthur had just made.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Killian asked, but he also had sort of an idea and he wondered if Liam was capable of keeping his mouth shut.

Probably not.

This practice needed to be over.

Arthur didn’t answer, just blew the whistle again and announced they were starting drills, now and Killian was fairly certain he was frozen to the ice.

“That was kind of terrifying,” Will muttered and Robin hummed in agreement. Phillip laughed.

Killian twisted, spraying Phillip’s skates with ice in the process and lifted his eyebrows expectantly. “The truth, Rook. Also are you going to make sure Scarlet doesn’t embarrass the entire country when we’re at the Games? Because Emma’s kind of worried about that.” “Obviously,” Phillip answered, drowning out Will’s muttered string of curses and insults. “And, as previously mentioned, there were gopher chants involved in the car ride up here. That Arthur was also sitting in. And when Rol and Henry were asked where they learned it, they both were happy to tell them that Emma helped last night.” “Ok….” Phillip widened his eyes, some unspoken something and Killian didn’t ask anymore questions.

He didn’t have to.

Because he and Emma had been living together for half a season and it was good and great and fantastic and his mind wouldn’t shut up, even when he was so exhausted he was barely able to skate. His mind kept jumping from idea to idea and maybe to possibly and hopefully and they needed to keep winning.

In some great, big metaphorical way.

Winning a gold medal would probably help that.

“So, uh…” Will started, skating around them and stealing the puck back from Phillip. “We going to go shoot at Jeff or we just going to let Cap, like, self combust on the ice?” “That’d probably freak out the fans,” Robin said.

“And, you know, your kids too, probably.” “Probably.”

Killian scoffed, but his legs were finally starting to work and they were moving back towards the other side of the ice, a small crowd of familiar faces standing just behind the boards.

Emma smiled at him, one arm slung around Henry’s shoulders and her cheek resting on the top of his head. Roland was jumping up and down next to her, shouting about gophers and living in the dirt and Liam couldn’t quite mask his smile even when Elsa started taking photos, both of the twins trying to find some kind of trash talk harmony with the Mills-Locksley kids.

He might have winked or smiled or shouted I love you and Emma’s answering smile was even bigger than the first – bright and easy and certain and she nodded, like she was agreeing to the sentiment wholeheartedly.

And Killian spent the rest of practice showing off for her.

The fans started to leave an hour or so after they got on the ice – about the same time it actually started to snow – and Killian couldn’t really blame them, slightly concerned with the possibility of frostbite as well and whatever the sun was doing to his eyes.

It was very bright out.

Although he might have just been trying to process everything that had happened in the last few hours, Arthur’s whistle seemingly echoing in between his ears and mixing in with laughter and shouts from the crowd and people made signs, cheering for all of them when they, inevitably, started taking breakaways.

He scored every time. Five hole, right under Jeff’s right leg.

“Show off!”

Killian turned, smile on his face when he moved and most of the fans were gone, but there were still a few Garden of Dreams kids and even more cameras and Henry and Roland were already wearing skates.

He did his best to brace himself when Roland slammed against his side, Henry half a step behind with his laugh hanging in the air and Regina was still stuck halfway on the ice and off, looking decidedly out of place in her own skates. Robin was kept muttering something about balance and finding your center of gravity, but it wasn’t really working and someone had given Will his phone back. “You know that seemed like kind of a challenge, Swan,” Killian said, skating towards her a bit slower than normal when Roland wouldn’t let go of his jersey.

She wasn’t quite as good at stopping in hockey skates as she was in figure skates, hands flying up towards his chest when her toes dug into ice and they were a mess of limbs and smiles and the sounds of Will’s camera shutter.

Emma shook her head and her smile didn’t waver, even when Will pulled Belle past them and Kristoff must have planned all of this.

Or Emma planned all of it.

Emma absolutely planned all of it.

“I don’t see it that way at all,” she said, tugging on fabric and the ‘C’ just under his shoulder. “I was just making an observation that you were, you know, maybe, sort of showing off just a bit. And I was a little curious why.” She’d done it for the reaction, he was positive, and he couldn’t really smirk at her when there was a kid hanging off his side, but he made an effort anyway – and got her to laugh.

He wasn’t quite as cold anymore.

“Was that not obvious?” Killian asked and Emma shrugged, lower lip sticking out slightly in a way that was nearly as distracting as the dress the night before.

Her hat was pulled low over her ears, hair falling over her shoulders and cheeks just a bit more flushed than usual and Killian didn't even mutter shut up, Scarlet when he heard Will skate by, shouting something about eyes and making them. He just ducked his head and kissed Emma.

In front of all the goddamn cameras and the kid still, literally, attached to his hip.

Emma seemed to sigh against him, pushing her hand up and someone laughed loudly when his helmet crashed onto the ice. Killian didn’t move. He hoped Roland moved.

“Your nose is freezing,” Emma muttered, barely moving away from him and it was probably a good thing he was still on the ice because he wasn’t sure he’d have been able to keep his footing on even ground.

Roland and Henry were both trying to check Will – or possibly the other way around. They were all very loud.

“We’ve been outside for nearly two hours, Swan,” Killian said, trying not to breathe in her hair when he brushed against her neck and it didn’t really work, but she made some kind of breathless noise that felt a bit like a victory.

“You’ve been outside for, like, an hour and a half, tops.” “That’s nearly two hours.” “That is way less than two hours. Those fans got here at like...nine this morning. David and Reese’s got here at like...” “You saved them seats, Swan,” he cut in, but Emma shook her head again and her hair nearly found its way into his mouth and, somehow, his eyes. “Did Mary Margaret bring hot chocolate?”

“Did you bet on it?” “I thought we had decided I was on the moral high horse there.” Emma clicked her tongue, tilting her head and it sounded as if the twins had joined the checking fray at the other blue line, Liam shouting something about form and get under his shoulder blades working across the ice.

“El is going to kill him,” Emma laughed, fingers leaving his jersey to wrap an arm around him and he absolutely breathed in her hair when he kissed the top of her head. “Also, you were not on the moral high horse. We were equally without morals while betting on New Year’s Eve parties.” “Ah, well, some kind of team, right, Swan?” She rolled her eyes, but her teeth found her lower lip and Killian was halfway between kissing her and just announcing plans like he was getting ready to broadcast them on the NHL Network camera that was absolutely taping all of this. “Yeah,” Emma said softly. “Exactly that.”

“How’d the crowd go? They sounded loud.” “Because you were showing off. I thought Jeff was actually going to snap his stick over his knee when you scored that last one. That was a gimme-save.” “First you’re suggesting I’m showing off and now you’re telling me I shouldn’t have scored, love? I’m almost insulted.” “Almost,” she repeated, a note of skepticism in her voice that did something to both of his lungs. “And the whole thing was great, aside from how absolutely freezing it is. Plus, you know, the snow. That wasn’t supposed to happen. There was no snow on weather on the 1’s this morning.” “I don’t think you can put much stock in NY1, Swan,” Killian reasoned. “Or actually try and control the weather. Plus, this is still festive. Ask Mulan, I bet the pictures look fantastic.”

Emma’s hair hit his chin when she shook her head.

And not kissing her was some kind of insane idea that probably belonged with the several other insane ideas he’d come up with since Mrs. Vankald had cornered him just before the air hockey tournament and asked him several different questions that were almost louder than Arthur’s whistle.

Liam probably knew about that too.

Liam had probably sent Mrs. Vankald with an itemized list of all the things he’d been dying to ask Killian since they went to Colorado.

“You know I really did come over here with a purpose,” Emma laughed, pulling away to rest her forehead on his shoulder and she fit very well against him. Killian probably would have mentioned that if someone else wasn’t shouting for him and he could feel her laugh when he groaned loudly.

“That was why,” she mumbled, laughter clinging to the words when Killian started cursing whoever was calling for him to several different underworlds. “That’s not festive at all, Jones.” “Forget festive. You want to go home, Swan?”

She pulled back up, eyes distractingly green and bright and that might have just been the sunlight reflecting off the ice. He hoped they never played in a Winter Classic – he’d never be able to score.

“That seems a bit like flirting,” Emma said, tongue pressed against the inside of her cheek and Killian was nodding before she’d even finished the sentence.

“It absolutely is. Was that an answer?” “Cap,” Phillip shouted again and Killian closed his eyes, shoulders sagging under his own pads and snow that was really more like flurries and decidedly festive. “Were you going to shoot or what? Scarlet’s already talking trash and Emma had Kristoff bring out sticks.” He opened one eye to find Emma staring cautiously at him, nose scrunched and lip tugged between her teeth. “Swan…” “Well, in my defense, I didn’t know you’d be trying to get me home or attack kissing me on the ice.” “That’s just a general state of being.” “Jeez.”

“Did you plan something here, love?” Emma shrugged – or at least tried without really moving away from him and he wasn’t going to argue that...ever. “Kind of,” she said. “In that when we filled out all those forms we got the ice for the whole day because, I don’t know, Central Park is nuts and I wasn’t really counting on the freezing cold or the snow, festive or otherwise, but you guys are always practicing breakaways and I thought we could, you know, be competitive or whatever.” “Competitive?”

“Isn’t that how we all operate by default?”

Killian hummed, glancing over his shoulder when Liam shouted hurry up little brother and El had her phone out, what sounded suspiciously like Anna screaming for him to prove your worth from some mountain in Europe.

“I think that’s your cue, Jones,” Emma continued, pushing off him with a quiet oof and there was snow on the ends of her hair. “Plus, as an added bonus, I’m totally going to wreck you.”

She was gone as soon as El actually whooped, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek that he was almost positive left a mark and Phillip grinned at Killian – a knowing look that didn’t do much to silence the ideas bouncing around the back corner of his mind.

“Not a word, Rook,” Killian warned, but Phillip just held up both hands and pressed his lips together.

“I didn’t say anything, Cap. C’mon, you’ve got to stop Scarlet before he tries to steal all the talent for his side.”

It took, approximately, two seconds to realize that Scarlet had already been ousted as team captain by a very enthusiastic Roland Locksley – who already demanded “Emma is on my team, Hook, you’ve got to pick your own people.”

“I think I can do that, mate,” Killian grinned and he couldn’t actually muss Roland’s hair when he was wearing a team-branded hat.

Liam hooked his arm around the kid’s front, dragging him back against his chest and lifting his eyebrows expectantly. “You know, Rol,” he said, not looking away from Killian when he started to grin like he was issuing some kind of unspoken challenge. “I’m definitely the most talented Jones on the ice, so if you want to win whatever it is you’re actually trying to win, I think you’ve got to pick me.” Elsa stuck her tongue out and Anna probably caused an avalanche on whatever mountain she was standing out. “That is just patently wrong, Liam,” Anna said. “Where’s KJ? Is there steam coming out of his ears?” “Nah,” Liam muttered. “He’s way too busy staring at Emma and trying to figure out how he’s going to trick Jeff when he used all his moves to impress the fans during practice.” “Wasn’t that the point?” Killian asked, leaning forward to drag a wayward puck towards his stick. “Hey, Banana. What mountain you conquering today? You break any limbs yet?”

“That’s rude, KJ. I hope you lose your edge when you start trying to impress Emma.” She glanced to the side, like she could see out the phone. “Where’s Emma? Hi, Emma!”

Emma waved in response, the flush in her cheeks getting a bit redder when Will moved next to her and there were too many phones and too many people, but it was snowing and they were all still laughing and it felt like something almost permanent.

Killian tried not to smile too much – certain someone would ask about that too. “Banana, if you shout any louder, you’re going to end up under a pile of snow,” he said. She stuck her tongue out at him. “Also, Henry you’re on my team, obviously.” Henry’s whole face lit up, but both Elsa and Will grumbled several creative curses under their breath. “That’s super lame, KJ,” Elsa muttered, hooking her chin over Robin’s shoulder. “You’re playing dirty and you don’t even know what you’re playing for.” “Glory?”

“The fact that you think any of us would be willing to play for just glory is absolutely adorable,” Ruby laughed, stumbling forward when she tried to skate. She reached both her hands out, glaring at Killian when he wrapped his fingers around her wrist and tugged her towards a faceoff circle.

“If not just generic glory, what are we playing for, then?” he asked. Ruby tried to make a drumroll noise with her tongue. It did not work.

“I mean glory’s not too far off the mark, actually,” Emma admitted. “But in addition to that we are playing for this fantastic, slightly dented because I forgot it was in my pocket, piece of plastic that Mer remembered to order earlier this week.”

It was a gold medal – or a slightly dented gold medal.

And she’d probably say something about attack kissing her and Anna was never going to let him live it down, would probably bring it up at every team-sponsored event or family gathering for the rest of their lives, but those things were kind of the same and Killian was moving before he’d really even considered it, one hand on Emma’s hip and his mouth on hers and Scarlet whistled.

“I love you,” Killian muttered, pointedly ignoring Anna when she yelled this is gross, KJ. Elsa shushed her.

“I love you too,” Emma said. “And Rol’s team is definitely going to be better than yours.” Liam made some noise that sounded like all the air had been forcibly removed from his lungs and Robin was only still standing because Elsa was using him as a human-wall. Will was doubled over.

“The gold medal is only for whoever wins Arthur’s critique,” Ruby said, doing her best to get the competition started. Mulan was still taking pictures. “We didn’t want to buy a whole team medals, so this is what you’re all fighting for.” “So why are we drawing teams exactly then?” Phillip asked.

“Because you have two teams in a game, right Rook?” He shrugged, shaking slightly on his skates when Mary Margaret collided with his side. It would be a miracle if they made it off the ice with all of their bones in tact.

“Arthur are you going to be fair about this?” Robin called. Arthur shrugged, still sitting on the bench with his feet propped up against the boards and his whistle clutched between his teeth. “So, that’s a no then?” “There are rules, Locksley,” Ruby continued. “You have to start from center ice, no trying to get more speed if you start from the other blue line…” “She’s talking about you, Cap,” Will interrupted, but his jaw audibly snapped closed when Ruby glared at him.

Ruby sighed. “I mean I am talking about you Cap, but, whatever, shut up Scarlet. So you start from center ice, you get no more than five moves, Arthur is going to count, and you can’t stop. Normal shootout rules. Jeff can’t come out of the crease. We all get one chance, if the puck comes off your stick, you’re screwed. Sorry, Rol.” “The puck isn’t going to come off my stick, Aunt Ruby,” Roland said, confidence rolling off him in waves and Ruby’s mouth quirked down.

“Of course it’s not, kid. Silly to think otherwise.”

It didn’t.

Roland skated from center ice with a stick that was far too big for him and a confidence that didn’t quite match up with his age and he beat Jeff with a deke just a few inches out of the crease that froze up the goalie and the entire Rangers roster.

“Holy shit,” Will breathed, his phone still held out in front of him and he must have charged it at some point. “God, sorry, Em, I swore on the stream again.” “Yeah, no, I think that was warranted,” Emma muttered. Roland grinned at them all when he spun back around, crashing against the side of the boards in a move that was just a bit too Killian for comfort. “It’s your turn, Hook,” he called, skating back towards them and he didn’t argue when Regina tugged his hat back over his ears.

“But, you know, no pressure or anything,” Emma grinned. “Don’t cheat.” Killian winked at her – an absurd move that felt almost unnatural, but still managed to work a laugh out of her and that was kind of the goal, literal or otherwise.

He didn’t cheat, started at center ice as directed, and he didn’t lose his edge or the puck, but it was difficult to get any power on his shot when Emma yelled Five hole! and it might have been the easiest save Jeff made all day.

Will and Robin were never going to stop laughing.

“You need some new moves, Cap,” Emma grinned when he skated back to the boards, handing off his stick to Phillip so he could use both hands to tug her towards his chest and he didn’t even mind losing.

That was some kind of first.

And Roland was really excited about his gold medal.

Will tried to get them to go to the restaurant once they finally got off the ice, but Killian shook his head and Emma shook her head and it only took a few seconds for him to get that message, rolling his whole tongue out to express his displeasure.

“We’ve got less than twenty-four hours before we need to be on a plane to...where do we go next?” Killian asked, throwing his arm out for a cab.

“Carolina,” Emma said. “How do you not remember that?” “It’s been a long week, Swan.” “It’s not going to get any easier. The Games are going to be some sort of almost organized disaster.” A cab skidded to a stop in front of them and he didn’t let go of her hand when they slid into the backseat, smiling when Emma’s head fell against his shoulder. “You’ve planned it all, Swan. It’s going to be fantastic.” “You think we’re going to win?” “The country or you and me?” Her body shook against his and he wouldn’t have complained if she actually fell asleep. “Either or.” “All of the above, Swan on some kind of indefinite scale.”

“Smooth,” Emma murmured, but the word came out a bit like a yawn. “God, if we fall asleep as soon as we get home is that insanely lame?”

Killian made a contradictory noise, kissing her temple and squeezing his arm around her waist. “Nah. Sounds kind of nice actually.”

“Good.”

They did fall asleep eventually – but only after they made hot chocolate and drank hot chocolate and the kissing in the kitchen led to kissing in the bedroom and there was a pile of their clothes in the hallway when he woke up for his flight the next morning.

#cs ff #captain swan #cs #cs fic #captain swan ff #cup defense #blue line one shots #the vesey-hayes-skjei thing the rangers are doing now is going to influence a lot of my story-writing tendencies #just like....fyi

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pictureperfectafternoon · 7 years ago

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one of the many reasons i love will roland so much, he posted this the morning after the Tony’s lmao he’s probably so hungover

edit: I just realized on my long drive home that he also might have meant it as “wow the world is brighter and more vibrant knowing we’ve made it this far with the tony awards” and i was so touched

but he’s probably hungover

#i love him so #CONGRATS DEH CAST!!!!#will roland #jared kleinman #deh #dear evan hansen

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wearecounterfeit · 7 years ago

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Bit late transcribing this one. Giggoer interviewed the band at Leeds Festival

All: Hi, we're Counterfeit. Roland: Were here at Leeds Festival with Giggoer. Jamie: It's our first time here, my first time here as a punter as well, [to Roland] as is yours right? Roland: Yeah, I think it's only been Jimmy who's been before. Jimmy: I've been coming since I was 15 years old.

What's the worst thing about the festival? Jimmy: Bit of sloppy mud y'know.

Any weird tour stories to share? Jamie: Well on the last tour my girlfriend decided she would come and surprise me on the last date of tour. Everyone else knew and I didn't and she like got onto the tour bus in the morning and was like stroking my face and I thought it was someone who wasn't meant to be on the bus so I sort of tried to reject her quite quickly from my bunk. So that was fairly weird. But not much else weird stuff has happened. Sam: I lose everything that's pretty weird, it doesn't happen much other - Tristan: That's not weird, that's normal for you. Sam: Yeah potata potato.

Has a fan ever crossed the line? Jamie: Oh I've had some weird gifts in my time. Yeah I got a wheel of cheese and some nipple clamps and a bondage collar with a letter that sort of in great detail what this individual would like to do to me sexually. A ripping good yarn if I do say so myself. E L James has got nothing on this person.

Who is the messiest on tour? Jimmy: Probably Sam. Sam leaves his shit everywhere. T-shirts, belts, fucking shoes. Sam: I like to make my presence known around the area. Tristan: It's like a territorial thing I think it is.. Sam: Yeah yeah. Tristan: It's like pissing, in your areas. Sam: We're talking about mess here by the way.

Who drinks the most? Roland: Jimmy. Jimmy: Probably Sam. Tristan: It's between you two. Sam: I don't know, we kind of, we're not good for each other. Jimmy: Roland sinks a few pints. Tristan: Roland's a sneaky drinker. Roland: On occasions. Sam: A sneaky pint.

Any hangover cure tips? Jamie: Borrocca in your final vodka of the night. Sam: I find however hungover I am, I'm like 20 mins before a show I'm sober and instantly it comes back.

What's your opinion on Big Ben going silent for four years? Sam: Big Ben going silent for four years.. It's a tragedy. Roland: Heartbreak. Outrage. Sam: It's ridiculous, he bings he bongs all day, and what for?

Does pineapple go on pizza? Sam: Pineapple goes where it feels like it goes. Tristan: It can't come here though, it's not allowed in here. Sam: No. Tristan: Pineapple has been banned. Roland: What from pizza? Tristan: No from here, this festival. Roland: Why? Tristan: Don't know. Sam: Has it? Tristan: You can't come in with a pineapple. I have no idea why. Jamie: Really. At this festival you couldn't? Tristan: At Reading and Leeds. Jamie: No pineapples at Reading and Leeds. Sam: Wherever pineapple feels comfortable, that's where it belongs. Tristan: Not on a pizza though, no.

What's next in your near future? Jamie: We are playing the Don Broco show at Ally Pally in November. We're moving into a house together, and we're slowly but surely starting to work on new material.

#interviews #leeds festival #counterfeit

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parasite-core · 6 years ago

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Roland: in the early stages he loosens up and becomes more talkative and open. Too much alcohol, though, and he becomes a sad drunk.

Kiyo: Also becomes more talkative and open. Is more physically affectionate when drunk, completely loses their sense of personal space and likes to hug and cuddle people when they’re really drunk. Can also slip into sad drunk, but generally only if they were already thinking about sad things beforehand.

Sai: Has only had alcohol once and accidentally got really drunk (and then really hungover), so she doesn’t drink. That one time she started off being really loud and confused, and then became an extremely tired drunk.

Ashton: Is an extremely physically affectionate drunk. Is the life of the party when drunk, but is a lightweight and drinks too much too quickly, and gets blackout drunk faster than anyone around him. Is forbidden to drink by Roland.

Jeffry: Has never drunk. Is probably a lightweight, and doesn’t intend to try it.

Jack: Has never drunk. Is probably a lightweight, and will absolutely try alcohol the first chance he gets.

Vespa: Is an angry drunk, will pick a fight with you for looking at her wrong if she’s had even a little too much to drink.

What is your OC like drunk?

#oc prompts

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kvltprince · 4 years ago

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Roland in nv and fo4

#roland is probably hungover #fallout oc #porter gage #niner

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mehdeaguided · 6 years ago

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My Courier 6, Roland and Niner having a moment in the Mojave Wastes.

They are glorious disasters together.

#fallout oc #fallout new vegas #courier 6 #off to shift roland in fo4 where he needs to be lookswise #roland is probably hungover

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abutterflyobsession · 8 years ago

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Doctor Who AU: Part 25

prelude/one/two/three/four/five/six/seven/eight/nine/ten/eleven/twelve/thirteen/fourteen/fifteen/sixteen/seventeen/eighteen/nineteen/twenty/twenty-one/twenty-two/twenty-three/24/ao3

“Try this.”

Bog's hands closed around the mug the Doctor had handed him. The sound of the smooth dish in his hands was vaguely unsettling. The dull sound of wood on ceramic. Every movement was unsettling, the scrape of bark on the smooth floor, the faint grinding of the hard edges of his skin where his joints bent.

The unease sank readily underneath the haze of exhaustion when Bog shoved the thoughts down and tuned back in to whatever the Doctor was going on about.

“I got the recipe from Aunt Aura. She yelled at me for ten minutes even thought I told her you were just hungover.”

“I guess you could call it that.”

“As a general rule I don't get yelled at by people's aunts.”

“I'll try to make sure it doesn't happen again.”

The Doctor rolled her head around to fix him with a look of dull disbelief, “Nothing can stop Aunt Aura. I tried and failed. Drink your miracle-gro and cease to make empty promises.”

Bog groaned and pushed the drink back at her, “No, please, things are already growing enough as it is.”

Soft green tendrils had wound around the cables plugged into Bog and crawled their way into the console. The central column was wrapped in tender new vines and a profusion of soft pink blossoms. Primroses dottled the interior of the pseudo-art gallery like pink constellations in a stark white sky.

“Just joking,” the Doctor took a seat on the floor next to Bog again, “It's just something to help the pain. All natural herbal remedy for the Cheem with a headache.”

Bog was glad the Doctor was next to him. He knew she'd probably stand up again if he tried to hug her, so he just took one hand away from the mug and put it over hers. A line of tension ran up her arm, fingers curling in at the touch of his hand on hers. He could feel the effort as she made very deliberately relaxed her hand and let him take it.

“You're looking quite the festive floral pine cone,” She remarked abruptly, her free hand clenching a fistful of her jacket.

“Don't remind me.”

There were flowers growing from the cracks in his bark-like skin. Wide, flat leaves layered his head with tiny pink blossoms peeking around their dark edges. He could feel the budding plants, itchy and disconcerting. Dawn had taken pictures and said it looked like a crown.

“King Broden Broderick,” the Doctor said, rolling his scrambled name off with a mimicked Scottish accent, “Lord of the primroses. Speaking of, you seem to be the sort of plant that likes shade, like primroses. Also, I suspect, nearly impossible to kill.”

“Fantastic,” Bog sipped the drink. It tasted like tea and spinach, “How long is going to take to fix me? When prince blondie stuck me in here he said he aged me, like, ten years? More?”

“That won't shorten your lifespan, before you ask. Extended it, actually.”

“That's good, I guess, but what about--”

Dawn sat down on Bog's other side, kicking her pink shoes into the air as she did, “Why are you two so buddy buddy all of a sudden? Today had been like two months long for me, but you two have been strictly linear. What gives, sister mine?”

The Doctor grimaced, “Don't call me that. I was just checking his pulse. Great news: he still has one.”

She picked up Bog's hand and shoved it away.

“Have you two been bonding over mutual grouchiness? Has my sister made a friend? This is a huge advancement in your socialization!”

The Doctor looked at Dawn with smudged eyes and an expression of deep weariness, “I don't want to be socialized. I want people to stop being idiots.”

“Your standards are a little too exacting. You could count on one hand the number of people in the galaxy who even stand a chance of meeting them.”

“So, what are we going to do about this?” Bog gestured at the cables and his generally leafy visage, hoping to divert the conversation before Dawn figured out that Bog and the Doctor were . . . well, whatever they were.

“What are we going to do about this?” Sunny said, standing over the still unconscious Roland, “Are there, like, space police we can take him to? Is there a reward on his head and can we collect it in US dollars?”

“Sunny!” Dawn laughed.

“What, I have student loans to pay off!”

“I forgot he was still there,” the Doctor stood up, giving Bog's head an absent-minded pat before she walked away, “After the AI got its virtual neck snapped I sort of discarded the idea of him.”

“Wish I could have seen that,” Bog sighed.

“But what are we going to do with him?” Dawn joined her sister in standing over Roland, both of them staring down at him with the air of people trying to decide if something went in the garbage or recycle bin, “I don't know why he decided to go all supervillain, but he is my brother-in-law.”

“Was,” the Doctor said with great emphasis, “The only thing he is to me now is a problem I need to solve. I'll have to think on it.”

“I suppose we can just take him back home and let them deal with him,” Dawn suggested, “Unless you don't want to risk getting charged with flying a TARDIS without a license.”

“Mm,” the Doctor said vaguely.

“More importantly,” Bog cut in, “am I going to be able to get that blasted necklace back to my mom?”

“Um,” Dawn looked into the opened console, “It's sort of . . . a bit fused.”

“With what?”

“Everything, basically,” Dawn waved her screwdriver over the console, “Looks like it's part of the computer. And engines. The whole TARDIS.”

“Great,” Bog took another swallow Aunt Aura's concoction, hoping it would somehow ease the painful thought of talking to his mother, “Not only do I have to tell her I'm temporarily a tree, but also that I got a family heirloom fused to an alien time machine. Oh, Aunt Aura is going to be livid.”

“Good news is,” Dawn said, continuing her examination of the systems, “I think you've got control of this TARDIS now, through the primrose. You're in charge. Just about all the systems have been wiped and control relegated to your pendant, though there are some little pieces of programming . . . something a tiny bit alive. Those are always stubborn. Give me a second--”

“Leave it,” the Doctor walked around the console toward her sister.

“Just a second—got it!”

A final buzz of the screwdriver was followed by Roland materializing next to the console.

Dawn threw her screwdriver at his head.

It went right through.

The Doctor caught it.

“Oh, hologram,” Dawn ran a hand through her fluffy hair and gave a little laugh before taking her screwdriver back.

“Of course you have holograms,” Sunny shook his head, “Because this month—uh, day—hasn't been sci-fi enough. Can I get a hologram? I could use it to make my boss think I'm working when I'm really out back checking my phone.”

“Most mobile holograms would be too see-through for that. Now,” Dawn put on her glasses and looked at the hologram's fixed smile, “what have you got to say for yourself?”

“If this has been activated you probably saved the day,” the hologram drawled, coming to life and standing at ease with its hands on its hips.

“How can one guy get around so much when he's not even awake?” Bog groaned, “turn it off, I am begging you.”

“Trying,” the Doctor was attacking the console with her own sonic screwdriver, giving pieces of machinery several whacks with her fist for good measure.

“Right now you're popping the champagne, throwing confetti, having yourselves a good old party of self-congratulation,” the hologram flicked its fingers in the air, “While I am probably off and away already or I'd be saying this myself. I can only assume I made my exit with my usual flair.”

He twirled a finger through the curl that hung over his forehead and cast a sideways look and a smile. The effect was not what it could have been, seeing as the hologram apparently couldn't tell where people were standing and was facing a wall.

Everyone looked at Roland on the floor and rolled their eyes at the mention of an escape. The Doctor even paused in her work to grumble something under her breath about unnecessary dramatics.

“Now, this is very important, little sister. She hasn't told you yet. My buttercup hasn't told you everything and it's only right that you should know. As your big brother I feel it's my responsibility to make sure you have all the facts at your disposal.

Hologram Roland put a hand to his heart and looked sincerely at the wall.

“Turn off, turn off,” the Doctor muttered, still working, “Bog! Turn it off! You should have control of this thing!”

“Yeah, I just know how to do that, sure. Why do you keep assuming I have any idea what's going on? Can't you just hit mute?”

“Dearest little sister,” the hologram gave a winning smile and Bog was almost positive that Roland's teeth actually sparkled, “has she told you yet? Has she told you of Gallifrey's last days?”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” the Doctor kicked the console so hard she sent herself stumbling backward, screwdriver falling out of her hand and disappearing into the growth of plants around the console's base. She dropped to her knees and began scrabbling among the leaves.

“Has she told you how it burned? How the red-gold skies turned dark with smoke, the great silver spirals of the cathedral enclosed in their glass dome lost their light, like a star extinguished by the dark? The war raged throughout time, throughout space, our people fighting, brave until the last. Until the last flicker of the candle was lost and there was only the emptiness of space where a planet had lived, breathed, pulsed like a heart, a glorious centerpiece in the constellation of Kasterborous. Has she told you that it's gone? It's charred husk locked outside of time so there isn't even a grave to visit. Did she tell you?”

“No,” Dawn's eyes were fixed on the hologram but she shook her head, “I would know if it was gone. Gallifrey can't be gone! I would know! My head would echo with the emptiness if everything was gone. Roland knows that! Why would he say something so sick? Why would he say that? Sister! Look at me! I don't even know what name to call you but look at me!”

“Stop, stop, stop,” the Doctor ripped at the plants in a desperate, uncoordinated way, “She doesn't need to hear it from you. Not from you. Shut up, shut up--”

“Has she told you?” Roland's smile was gone and his eyes hard, his jaw set, “Has she told you, little sister, who robed our burning world in darkness and destroyed everything? All of it gone, daleks and Time Lords alike, assigned to oblivion?”

“Shut up!” the Doctor was on her feet and ripping at the console's innards with her bare hands but unable to pry anything loose.

The Doctor's scream made Bog's heart leap up into his throat, the cry was frightening in its desperation and choked by the beginning of tears. Her eyes were wide, the pupils dilated so wide that her golden eyes were almost black, and her face marked with pain.

“Has your sister told you what she's done?”

The Doctor's face was dead white and she flinched at the hologram's words, hands going still. She leaned heavily on the console, breathing hard, eyes fixed on Dawn with the look of someone beneath a cresting ocean wave about to crash down on top of them.

Bog had know that the sisters' planet was gone, but until he saw the horror in Dawn's eyes he had not fully realized what that meant. What it meant, that the Doctor had ended the war and her entire race. Every member of Dawn's family, every friend, every person she had ever seen on her planet, were gone in the blink of an eye and their blood was on her sister's hands.

Something flipped in Bog's mind. He just wanted the hologram to stop and something responded to that desire. Roland's hologram gave a fizz and disappeared.

But too late to stop the truth from crashing down.

“You did something in my head,” Dawn said slowly, “You took your name right out of my head. And you did something else. Something else isn't sitting right in my head and I want you to tell me that it isn't what I think it is. That this is Roland's sick idea of a joke and his implications are pure invention.”

“What's going on? What happened to your planet?” Sunny touched Dawn's shoulder.

She grabbed his hand and held it tight, “Time Lords know Time Lords. We can hear each other in our heads. I know Gallifrey lives, it’s humming in the back of my mind. Or, at least, I thought it was. Something is there, in my head, but it's not right. It doesn't want me to look at it. Something in my own brain is hiding itself. Somebody did this to me.”

“When she erased the memory of her name?”

“Yes. I thought that was all she did. I hope that was all she did. Tell me I'm wrong. Look at me and tell me!”

The Doctor's head was bowed, her eyes cast down, “I was going to tell you. In time.”

“No,” Dawn's hand tightened on Sunny's.

“But not like this. Never like this.”

“No. No! Tell me the truth! Tell me he was lying!”

“What I did . . . I regret it but it had to be done. I regret that it had to be done and that I had to be the one who did it. I'm sorry, little rising star, I'm so very sorry.”

“No!” Dawn pushed the word out, clenching her fists to keep back her anger, “No. It isn't true. You and I are going to unhook Boggy, make sure everything is right here and then we are going home. We are going home to Gallifrey with Roland and we'll get him help. We'll go to the house in the mountains. Just—just help me get Boggy out of this mess!”

Dawn dropped Sunny's hand and rushed over to the cables trailing from Bog, running her screwdriver up and down them and talking a mile a minute.

“He's fused to the primrose, but we can get him out. You had a plan. Just tell me what we need to do and with both of us working we can get this done in two heartbeats. Well, four heartbeats. And it'll take some time, Bog, to get you back to your usual handsome self, but we've got a time machine and you're welcome to come along. Not that you look so bad right now. You'll be looking sharp once we get these cables off--”

“Dawn,” the Doctor said softly.

“What Roland did we can undo. Just be patient and don't try and blow out any candles since you're exhaling oxygen. You could lose your eyebrows. If you had any.”

“Dawn, please.”

“Just tell me what to do!” Dawn threw down the cable, “I can't see how to fix it! You're the one who suddenly got old and clever, you tell me how to fix it!”

“We can't. He's the new interface. He's completely merged with the primrose pendant and the TARDIS systems. Removing him would destroy everything. Including him.”

“You—you--!” Dawn gasped, “I couldn't see how to get him out but you made me think—I thought you had a plan!”

“Yes. You were supposed to.”

“What do you mean, merged?” Bog pushed himself up to sit straighter, “You're getting me out of this!”

“There is no way out of it,” Dawn said, hands digging into her hair, pacing up and down the room in a swirl of coattails, “Before you merged with the systems. I couldn't see how we could get you free even then, but I thought she had a plan. I trusted her. I trusted her to have a plan!”

“You . . .” Bog struggled to breathe, trying to remember when the Doctor has promised to free him, to unhook him. She never had. After Roland had hook him up to the cables she had never stated Bog could be freed. She had lured him with the slim chance of overriding the interface and surviving to be free again. When that had never even been a possibility.

She had kissed him, or let herself be kissed.

In a day of fantastic, impossible things Bog had actually let him think that he might have a future. Not a future he had ever wanted or expected, but a future worth living. She had let him kiss her. Let him think that the impossible was possible. All while carefully making no actual promises, just the shape of a promise, outlined in the air by words that implied but never stated.

It had all been a trick.

“You played me.”

She raised her eyes to meet his, her face blank but her eyes full of emotions that Bog couldn't read. When she spoke her voice betrayed no quaver of tears, only a terrible tiredness and dull acceptance of inevitable pain:

“I told you I would.”

#strange magic #spread the lofe #butterfly bog #potionless #sir roland the scumbag #doctor who au #strange magic doctor who au #my writing #fanfic

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