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welllpthisishappening · 7 years ago

Text

Rounding Home

Emma Swan is happy. Really. Absurdly. Incandescently.

Even when she's surrounded by the picture-perfect wedding of her two best friends. Well, re-wedding. David and Mary Margaret have been married for nearly six months. No one in Storybrooke got that message. It didn't matter. She was still happy. And, well, it might have been half because of the boyfriend she'd brought back to Storybrooke with her.

He was her boyfriend this time.

Or - Emma and Killian return to Storybrooke for the "re-wedding of the century" and it's not quite as dramatic this time. A not-quite You Play Ball Like a Girl sequel.

AN: This is a gift for my delightful and fantastic friend @distant-rose who deserves a bit of fluff and feels very strongly about YPBLAG. Someday I’ll write that sequel. Someday. Here’s about 10K worth of fluff and feelings instead.

Also up on Ao3 if that’s how you roll.

“Have you seen this?”

Emma’s head snapped up quickly and she widened her eyes at the voice – and the highlights – behind her. “What are you talking about?” Ruby pushed a handful of papers into her hands and Emma did her best to make sure none of them fell on the ground. She sank onto one of the chairs nearby – pushed out of the way when she started changing the latest tablecloth.

They were making good time.

The hall was almost entirely blue.

And they were all incredibly buzzed.

Regina made good on her promise to swipe some Storybrooke Scotches and Emma might have made Ruby grab a few bottles of rum from behind The Rabbit Hole bar as well. Although she wouldn’t ever admit to that.

It just felt a bit like a rum kind of night.

And now her head was spinning.

“What exactly am I looking at here, Ruby?” Emma asked, pulling apart the pages in her hands. It was a newspaper.

It was The Storybrooke Mirror.

And it had Mary Margaret’s face on the front page.

“What the fuck,” Emma mumbled, flattening out the cover over her knee. Ruby made a significant face and pulled another chair towards her, the sound scratching against Emma’s very-buzzed ears.

“Right?” Ruby asked, widening her eyes and glancing meaningfully at the single sheet of paper. “Her royal highness, Mary Margaret set to wed long-time suitor in extravagant ceremony as family and friends look on.”

“Is this today’s?”

“Yup.”

“M’s seen it?” “I’m not an idiot.”

“You just carry Mirrors around with you regularly, Ruby?” Emm asked, eyes skimming over the ink and paper in her hands.

“How else would you get updated on the goings-ons of our lovely town?”

Emma scoffed and rolled her eyes, folding The Mirror along the fold and stared at it intently. The headline was as ridiculous as she expected.

Storybrooke’s first family set to host daughter’s wedding this weekend .

If it wasn’t all so absurd, Emma would have laughed. She would have showed Mary Margaret and they, probably, would have laughed together. But they were, despite making pretty good time, still only about halfway done with the tablecloth issues and they still had to string the lights in the awning thing that Marco made.

And, quite suddenly, Emma was overwhelmed.

And spinning.

At least her head was spinning.

“You look like you could use another drink,” Ruby said, pulling the paper out of Emma’s hand slowly and tossing it on the table next to them.

“That’s probably the last thing I need right now.”

Ruby stared at her for a few moments, eyes narrowing like she was reading Emma. Killian’s voice echoed in her head – open book.

“You remember when Mary Margaret and David first started dating?” Ruby asked.

“I don’t know if I was here yet,” Emma answered honestly. “I wasn’t here when they were growing up.” “That’s exactly what I mean.” Emma blinked – several times – and she smiled genuinely at Ruby. “You’re smart,” Emma muttered, leaning against the chair and glancing around the hall. The room was jam-packed with people – Elsa and Ingrid and Regina and Marco and Graham and, God, Killian – all there to make sure that the plan Emma had come up with – to make sure Mary Margaret and David got some sort of picture-perfect wedding – actually happened.

She bit her lip and looked quickly back at Ruby who appeared particularly pleased with herself, tugging her hair over her shoulder and crossing her legs.

“You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know,” Ruby said pointedly, shaking her shoulders slightly as she spoke.

Emma shook her head. Operation: happily ever after was going to be fine.

Because Mary Margaret and David would be fine – always.

“It all makes sense, Emma,” Ruby continued. “She loves him, he loves her. They both love you an absolutely ridiculous amount. The three musketeers drove back into Storybrooke this weekend and they’re going to school us all in friendship and romance and it’s going to be disgustingly sweet.” “Disgustingly?” “Absolutely. Mary Margaret and David have always been disgustingly sweet, but you’re well on your way there.”

“What?”

Emma sat up a bit straighter and Ruby stared at her, a smile practically dancing its way across her face. She tilted her head and grinned before staring over Emma’s shoulder and nodding towards the other side of the hall.

“You’re kidding me right?” Ruby laughed.

“Of course not.” “Emma, give me a break. Turn around and look at what is happening at that table over there.”

She did as instructed, twisting her body in the chair and glancing at the scene in front of her. Killian Jones was stringing lights in some type of decorative blue awning, balancing on a wobbly chair and looking down every few moments to grab another row of decorations from Marco standing next to him.

Emma’s heart thudded and she chewed on the inside of her lip, fighting off the urge to smile like a complete idiot.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Emma mumbled, turning back around and meeting Ruby’s disbelieving gaze.

“Sure you don’t.” “Honestly.” “You’re a terrible liar.” “We’re not Mary Margaret and David levels of disgustingly sweet yet.” “No,” Ruby agreed. “Not yet. But you are so far gone from that ridiculous person who thought he was flirting with me at the last wedding we did here.” Emma was certain her whole body flushed and she stared at her feet, crossing and uncrossing her ankles several times before she finally managed to actually look at Ruby. “I’m sorry about that,” she apologized. “I should have opened with that. I know, well I know now, that I was being ridiculous. So I’m sorry.” “You know he was absurdly in love with you even then.” There was absolutely no way for Emma’s face to get even more red – she knew it was a scientific impossibility, but she also wasn’t entirely convinced she didn’t flush more at that single sentence.

“You’re blushing,” Ruby laughed. “I didn’t know you were capable of such a thing.”

Emma rolled her eyes and shot Ruby a glare, but Mary Margaret walked up to them before she could respond with some sort of biting retort. She had a drink in her hand – Emma had lost count of the number of Storybrooke Scotches Mary Margaret had at this point – and wobbled slightly when she leaned against one of the chairs.

She looked like she was standing on the ice that they absolutely needed to do something about on the sidewalk outside.

“You alright there, M’s?” Emma asked, doing her best not to laugh. Ruby didn’t even try to mask her own chuckle, even adding a head shake in for good measure.

“Fine, fine,” Mary Margaret promised quickly, brushing Emma off and looking expectantly at Ruby. “You tell her yet?”

Ruby shook her head. “No,” she said. “I figured you’d want to tell her, it was your idea.” “It’s your room.” “It’s Granny’s room.” “What is going on?” Emma interrupted quickly. Her eyes darted between Ruby and Mary Margaret, widening slightly.

“We got you a room,” Mary Margaret said simply. That didn’t do much to help clear up Emma’s confusion. Ruby took pity on her – Mary Margaret just looked pleased with herself – and smiled encouragingly at Emma.

“Literally what Mary Margaret just said,” Ruby explained. “We got you a room. At Granny’s.” In addition to regularly feeding the entire population of Storybrooke, Granny Lucas also owned and operated a bed and breakfast behind the diner. It was, usually, jam-packed with tourists, but it was, currently, December 22nd and no one had seen in a tourist in at least a month. Granny’s was empty.

Emma’s eyes widened even more as she realized what Ruby and Mary Margaret had done. Granny’s was empty – except for the room that she and Killian, apparently, had to themselves that night.

“What did you guys do?” Emma muttered slowly, trying to process the last few seconds of her life.

“And here I was thinking I was slow on the uptake because I’m a bit over-buzzed,” Mary Margaret laughed. “You really don’t understand or you just trying to ignore the possibilities of what’s happening here?” “Be nice,” Emma mumbled, nudging her shoulder against Mary Margaret’s side. She nearly fell over. “And drink some water.” “David and Killian have been all over my water consumption, I promise. I’m just horrible at holding my alcohol.” “That is true,” Ruby laughed. She shook her head, making a face at Mary Margaret before glancing back at Emma. “You’re ignoring the possibilities of what’s happening here, aren’t you?”

“Probably,” Emma admitted.

“I’m going to say something,” Ruby warned, holding her hands up and visibly doing her best to look innocent.

“Yuh huh.”

“I wasn’t lying before. He was ridiculously in love with you the last time you were here. He talked about you like...I don’t even know. Like you were the center of everything, Emma. And now you’re bordering on David and Mary Margaret levels of disgustingly adorable…” “Hey,” Mary Margaret interrupted, but Ruby brushed her off.

“You’re not quite there, but almost and, honestly, that’s not something you would have ever allowed yourself to have – even last year, you were so scared of it you tried to pretend like he was flirting with me.” “So you got us a room?” Emma asked slowly. “I have a room at Ingrid’s.” “Where he won’t make out with you,” Mary Margaret pointed out. Emma groaned. “Well he won’t,” she continued. “He’s trying to make some sort of good impression or something. First official visit home as real-boyfriend and all that.” “Killian came to Christmas last year,” Emma said.

Mary Margaret just shook her head. “That doesn’t count. He came because Elsa told him to drive here and make sure you didn’t spend the entire week wallowing.”

Emma sighed again and slid down the back of the chair, legs stretching out dramatically in front of her. Somewhere along the line – without even realizing it – everyone started to be able to read her perfectly.

And they all found their way into every nook and cranny of her life.

And they wanted to make her happy.

They wanted her to make out with her boyfriend.

“You two have been through a lot the last couple of months,” Mary Margaret said, suddenly sounding much more sober. “Long-distance relationships and new jobs and trying to balance life on either side of the New York City newspaper war. You deserve one night away from all of that. So that’s what we’re giving you.” “There are wars?” Ruby asked, curiosity clouding her voice.

“It’s a long story,” Emma said quickly. “I can’t believe you did all of this. This weekend is supposed to be about you, M’s.” “I don’t see how you spending the night in a hotel room with Killian changes any of that. Just don’t be late to my dad’s house tomorrow and we’ll be fine.” Emma sighed and shook her head slowly, overwhelmed with friends and happily ever afters and second-try weddings and, quite possibly, rum.

“Ingrid know?” she muttered, turning her head up to stare at Mary Margaret.

“She’s the one who suggested Granny’s.” “Of course she did.” “Elsa made sure to point out it was one of the few Storybrooke landmarks you and Killian hadn’t made out at yet,” Ruby added, laughing loudly as she twirled a piece of hair around her finger. “Which sparks a whole slew of questions for you.” “Oh my God,” Emma mumbled. “He’s incredibly good looking. I’m surprised you’re not somewhere making out right now, honestly.” “We can control ourselves, you know,” Emma said, defenses rising immediately. “We worked together at The Record for months and nothing ever happened.” Except that one time they absolutely made out in the studio and the block outside the building – several times. But neither Ruby nor Mary Margaret needed to know that.

“Sure,” Ruby said, sounding unconvinced. Mary Margaret was beaming at her.

Emma sighed dramatically and shook her head. “You need to relieve some tension, Emma,” Mary Margaret said without any trace of sarcasm. “Just go straight to the room when we’re done.” “Jeez, M’s. Who are you and what have your Storybrooke Scotches done to you?” “Operation: happily ever after doesn’t isn’t just limited to me,” she argued. “You want your happy ending too, Ruby? We can work on that. And the Storybrooke Scotches have just made me more relaxed.” “If we just go to the room, everyone is going to know that I didn’t go back to Ingrid’s tonight,” Emma argued.

“Yeah.” “And I’d like to avoid that.” “I’m fairly positive everyone knows that Killian is also staying at Ingrid’s,” Ruby cut in. “It’s not like this is 1725. They probably realize he’s sleeping in your room. Wait, he was sleeping in your room right?” “Yes,” Emma nodded. She didn’t add that Killian sleeping in her bed took a bit of convincing the night before. It was only after she reminded him that they’d done just about everything they possibly could do in this bed already and there was no need to stand on ceremony or some misplaced sense of propriety.

He got into bed after that.

“Good,” Mary Margaret said forcefully. “But now you guys can be by yourselves and have some time to just...whatever.” “Whatever?” Emma laughed. Mary Margaret rolled her eyes and took her hand off the back of Emma’s chair – standing on her own for the first time since she’d walked over to the table. “Whatever,” she repeated.

Ruby reached down suddenly and grabbed her bag off the floor, rummaging inside for a few moments before presenting Emma with a key – an actual key – and smiling at her. “Here,” she said, pushing the item into Emma’s outstretched hand.

“Granny still uses actual keys?” Emma asked skeptically. “Maybe it is the 18th century.” “It’s charming,” Ruby argued. “And changing all the locks is ridiculously expensive.”

“Naturally.”

Emma heard a pair of heels walking towards them – and she didn’t even have to turn around to know that the heels were accompanied by a sensible pants suit. Regina put a quartet of glasses down on the table and dragged a chair towards her with her foot.

“That’s impressive,” Ruby muttered appreciatively and Regina shot her a smile.

“I figured you three might need to be re-buzzed,” Regina said, nodding towards the drink.

“Storybrooke Scotches?” Mary Margaret asked, reaching towards one of the glasses and taking a sip before Regina even answered.

“Yup,” she said. “Well, except one. That one on the side is Emma’s. Your boyfriend sent you rum.”

Emma felt Mary Margaret’s stare and smile and knew her cheeks were red again. Killian hadn’t known she’d switched to rum when they got to the hall, far too preoccupied with light-stringing to take her drink order.

He just knew.

Or he also thought it was a rum type of night.

There was probably some sort of deep meaning there – or maybe the deep meaning was in Mary Margaret’s seemingly never-ending stare – but Emma was more interested in changing tablecloths and the buzz she was nursing and the empty room at Granny’s that, literally, had her name on it.

“Of course he did,” Emma said, wrapping both her hands around the glass as Regina handed it to her.

Regina nodded to her and picked up the paper Emma had tossed on the table a few minutes before. “What’s this?” she asked, holding The Mirror up to the group and Emma bit back a groan.

“Is that today’s Mirror ?” Mary Margaret said, pulling the front page out of Regina’s fingers. She stared at it for a few minutes and Emma looked nervously at Regina. Then, Mary Margaret Blanchard-Nolan, slightly buzzed second-try bride started to laugh. Loudly.

“M’s?” Emma asked softly, standing up quickly to put her hand on her shoulder. “You alright?” “Have you seen this?” “Yeah…” “This is the best thing I have ever seen.” “Best?” “Absolutely. Oh God, this is so Storybrooke. It’s everything we wanted to avoid.” “And that’s a good thing?”

Mary Margaret shook her head and settled into the final empty chair nearby. “Oh, no, it’s an awful thing, but if this is the worst thing that happens all weekend, and it certainly looks like it’ll be the worst thing that happens all weekend, then I think Operation: happily ever after is a stunning success.”

“I don’t know about stunning,” Emma said.

“No, you’re right. A totally-expected success because you figured it all out. And all these people came here to fix tablecloths and, well, it’s nice. So incredibly nice. If all of that is happening then I can deal with a front-page story in The Mirror. Although,” she added quickly, staring at Regina for a moment, “the next time I see Cora, I may have to ask her some very specific questions about some of these quotes.”

Emma gaped at Mary Margaret, stunned, not for the first time and certainly not for the last, at how one single person could be the absolute embodiment of sunshine and positivity and the sheer belief that everything was going to be fantastic.

“You’d come up with a better headline, though,” Mary Margaret added, tossing the paper back on the table. “When you buy it, make sure you come up with better headlines.” “You’re going to buy The Mirror? ” Regina asked, eyebrows shooting up her forehead.

Emma waved her hand – an effective brushoff. “Absolutely not.” “Someday,” Mary Margaret promised.

“Someday, what?” David asked, appearing, seemingly, out of nowhere. “We’re done with the tablecloths, babe,” he added. “And Killian’s done stringing all those lights. He’s the only one who could keep his balance on the chair.” “Athlete,” Emma mumbled, taking another sip of her drink. The rum settled into her stomach and her whole body felt like it was blushing.

“You throwing out insults, Swan?”

Emma glanced over her shoulder to find Killian walking towards them, sleeves pushed up his forearms and she ignored the bright colors of the tattoo there. He put his hand on her shoulder and his fingers tightened slightly, thumb moving over the chain around her neck and Emma, quickly, didn’t care about the tattoo on his arm.

She only cared about the key to the hotel room she still had clutched in her hand.

“Just facts,” she said, glancing up. He smirked at her and squeezed his hand again, laughing softly.

“You play the sports you write about too, Killian?” Regina asked. His hand tightened again – but this time it was for a different reason and Emma’s whole body tensed underneath his fingers.

“Used to,” he said quickly.

“Just one sport?” “Baseball.” Regina nodded, something that looked like impressed settling onto her face. “You never wanted to do something with that? Like as a career? Instead of writing about it?” “Regina,” Emma mumbled. “It’s fine, Swan,” Killian interrupted and his hand moved around the back of her neck. “I did – think about that as a career. I actually did it for awhile.” “Really? Why’d you stop?” Killian held up his left hand quickly, twisting it a bit like it was on display and smiled sardonically at Regina. “Made it kind of tough to play.” Regina’s mouth formed a perfectly shaped ‘o’ and she blinked a few times before opening her mouth, Emma assumed, to apologize. Killian brushed her off. “It’s almost ok, now,” he said. “Bordering close to fine. I like writing a lot and there are some things, I’ve found, that are more important than baseball.” The entire world was staring at Emma, she was sure of it. Or at least the half a dozen people in the hall were. Graham and Marco had joined their mini-meeting a few moments before – just in time to hear Killian’s declaration or whatever – and Emma resisted the urge to slide off the chair, lay flat on the floor and squeeze her eyes closed tightly.

Killian’s hand hadn’t left her neck and his thumb was tracing over the chain again, pushing up underneath it. She ignored that too.

“Hey,” Emma said suddenly, “I’ve got a question.” The eyes that had been staring at her before all widened quickly and Mary Margaret laughed softly next to her. “What’s that?” she asked. “When did you and David start dating?” “What?” “Exactly what I said. Ruby and I were talking about it and I honestly had no idea.” Mary Margaret blinked, twisting her lips in thought and looked over at David. He shrugged. “I don’t really either,” she said, voice tinged with laughter still.

“It’s been awhile,” David added.

“Well you did know you wanted to marry M’s when you were seventeen,” Emma pointed out. “That late?” Ruby asked. “Please, David wanted to marry her when they were in third grade.”

“At least,” Regina added.

“I think they went on their first official date when they were eleven though,” Graham added, Storybrooke Scotch in his hand. “My dad found them on the docks after dark and brought them back home in the squad car.” Emma’s whole body shook as she laughed. “Did Mrs. Nolan totally freak out?” “She absolutely freaked out. Although, to be fair, if I remember correctly, Mr. Blanchard tried to fight my dad in the driveway because he’d dared to suggest that Mary Margaret had done something wrong.” “He was always a bit overprotective,” Mary Margaret muttered.

“Just a bit,” Emma added, smiling at her friend. “Your royal highness.” “Shut up.” “Rude.” “You remember the first time David actually picked you up for a date?” Regina asked, breaking up the quasi-fight and looking at Mary Margaret with eyebrows raised.

Mary Margaret nodded. “I was sixteen and David had just gotten his learner’s permit. He wasn’t really supposed to be driving, but he didn’t tell his mom the rules and he got the car and came to my house and picked up. We went to Bella Notte.” Emma bit her lip tightly, absolutely refusing to look back at Killian. “I remember that,” she said. “You must have tried on a dozen dresses before he got to your house.” “I wanted to look good!” “It was purple,” David said, earning stares from everyone crowded around the table. “And sparkly. There were sparkles around your waist.” “That’s right,” Mary Margaret whispered.

David smiled slightly and nodded. “I know it is.” “I can’t believe you remember that.” “He brought you forget-me-nots too,” Emma added. Mary Margaret gaped at her.

“That’s also right.” “I know it is,” Emma repeated and glanced at David, raising her eyebrows quickly and smiling. She flicked his arm, earning a very specific type of face, but Emma just kept smiling.

“Why do you know that?” Mary Margaret asked.

Emma shrugged – she met Elsa’s eyes across the table and noticed her sister was staring at her expectantly.

Elsa knew.

She’d always known.

Because Elsa had landed on Ingrid’s doorstep too – positive that no one in the entire world wanted her either and certain that no one would ever love her as much as Mary Margaret Blanchard and David Nolan seemed to love each other.

They’d both been horribly wrong.

“Just filing away embarrassingly romantic moments to bring up before second-round weddings,” Emma said, sarcasm practically seeping out of her pores.

“Yuh huh.”

Emma shrugged again and Mary Margaret looked at her skeptically. “We should probably get out of here,” she said, glancing at the people around the table.

“Is there a plan for tomorrow?” Elsa asked.

“Well, Emma’s dress is at my dad’s house and we’re going to get ready there. My dad wants to do pictures in the middle of town or something and then he wants to, get this, walk to the hall from the house.” “You can come get ready with us if you want, El,” Emma said.

Her sister shook her head before Emma even finished the sentence. “Nah, that’s ok. We’ve got ice cream to deliver, you know.” Emma looked guiltily at Ingrid, trying to smile at her, thanking her silently for making six different ice cream flavors. “You want some help with that tomorrow morning?” “That’s alright,” Ingrid said quickly and Emma got the distinct impression that everyone at that table knew Ruby and Mary Margaret had gotten her a room at Granny’s.

“You’ve got stuff to do,” Elsa said evasively.

“You’ve got stuff to do?” Killian muttered and Emma glared at her sister. Elsa made a face, rolling her eyes slightly.

“Kind of,” Emma said. “Kind of.” “You should probably go do it,” Elsa added. Emma was positive if she blushed anymore her entire body would spontaneously combust.

“But..” Emma sputtered.

“Go,” Mary Margaret said seriously. Ruby nodded and David flicked her arm – hard.

Emma stood up, Killian’s hand dropping from her neck quickly and spun on the spot. She reached out, wrapping her fingers around his forearm and tugged a bit. “C’mon,” she said softly, ignoring her entire family’s collective stare.

Killian’s eyes were clouded with confusion, but he nodded slowly, a smile inching across his face. “You sure you don’t need anymore help?” he asked, looking at Mary Margaret.

She shook her. “Go.” Emma tugged on his arm again and Killian followed her towards the door to the hall, disappearing from the main room and, most importantly, the rest of her very opinionated family. She came to a stop just in front of the door, hand wrapping around the handle. “You going to tell me what’s going on now, love?” Killian asked. “What exactly do you have to do tomorrow morning?” “Well,” she said slowly. “It’s more like what I’m doing later on tonight.” He raised one eyebrow slowly – torturously – and Emma bit her lip tightly, hand gripping the door handle behind her like it was keeping her standing. “That so?” Killian asked, voice dropping low.

Emma nodded and Killian’s eyes dropped to her still closed left hand. She hadn’t stopped clutching the key. “What’s that.” he nodded towards her fingers.

She bit her lip even tighter and held her hand up, unwrapping her fingers until the key was pinched in between her thumb and pointer finger. “A key,” she said.

“I can see that. To what?” “A room at Granny’s?” “You have a key to a room in, what, Granny’s house?” “No, no,” Emma laughed. “Granny’s bed and breakfast. It’s back behind the diner.” “Who knew this town could boast a bed and breakfast? Practically a metropolis.” “We don’t have to go.”

Killian widened his eyes dramatically and sighed loudly, reaching forward to grab Emma’s hand off the handle. He twisted his fingers around hers and smiled – the feel of it settling into her stomach the same way the rum had. “That’s not what I said.”

“You didn’t say anything.” “I was just surprised Storybrooke, Maine had a hotel. Or bed and breakfast. Although I suppose if anyone is going to run something like that, I shouldn’t be surprised that Granny does.”

“We can go back to Ingrid’s,” Emma continued.

“Stop suggesting that, Swan.”

“Ruby and Mary Margaret planned it.” “I’ll have to thank them.” “Said we could use some time to ourselves.” “They’re not wrong.” “So,” Emma said slowly. “You want to go then? To Granny’s? With me? For like the night?” “You don’t have to give me an out, love.” “No?” Killian didn’t say anything else, just shook his head and took a step into her space. His head tilt was the only warning Emma got before he kissed her, hand wrapping around the back of her head as he walked her up against the door.

Her hands fell to his waist and his left hand trailed up her side, pressing against her with all the pent-up frustration of someone who was nervous about impressing family members and silently terrified of encroaching on his girlfriend's beat on opposing sides of the New York City tabloid wars.

Emma’s head was spinning – not for the first time that night – and she moved her hands up to his shoulders, pushing back slightly so she could try and get some oxygen. Killian barely moved, lips just inches away from hers, but she could see the smile there.

He was beaming at her, eyes still closed lightly and he rocked forward slightly almost as if he was moving without thinking – trying to stay as close to her as possible.

Or maybe Emma was just in an absurdly romantic mood.

“You bring clothes here or are they still all at Ingrid’s?” he asked softly.

“All at Ingrid’s. I was told not to go back there.” “That so?”

“Yeah.” “Won’t everyone know what happened when we walk out tomorrow morning in the same clothes we’re wearing now?” “I think everybody knows already,” Emma pointed out, fingers trailing along the bottom of his hair.

“So much for that good impression.” “The opposite actually.” “Yeah?” “Yeah,” Emma confirmed. “You’re quite a gentleman, you know.” Killian laughed softly, pressing his forehead against Emma’s. She could feel him take a deep breath. “I’m more concerned with making up for lost time right now.” “That so?” “Absolutely,” he said and Emma would have taken a step back at the certainty in his voice – except there was a door in her way. “Contrary to my determination to be some sort of top-tier boyfriend, I enjoy kissing you quite a bit, Swan.” “Good thing I enjoy kissing you too. Quite a bit.”

He smiled for a moment again before ducking his head and kissing her, like he was trying to prove just how serious he was. Emma was willing to accept that.

“You want to get out of here?” she mumbled, hardly stopping this current track of making out in Storybrooke landmarks, to ask.

“I’d like nothing more than that.” “Come on,” Emma said, leaning back to twist open the door handle. His hand landed on her waist as he followed her out onto the sidewalk.

“You alright, love?”

Emma rolled her head to her side, cheek pressing against the pillow as she did her best to raise one eyebrow at him. She still couldn’t do it. And he absolutely laughed at her. Emma made a face, sticking her tongue out between her teeth.

That made Killian laugh more.

“You’re honestly asking me that?” Emma asked, stretching out her legs underneath the sheets. “Right now? Without any clothes on?” Killian made a face – he did the eyebrow thing – and trailed his hand down one of her outstretched legs. “I appreciate the no clothes part,” he said softly, fingers wrapping tightly around her thigh.

Emma bit her lip tightly and tried not to make some sort of noise that would be embarrassing or possibly cause him to do something else with his eyebrow. “You didn’t answer my question,” she pointed out.

“You didn’t answer mine.” That was true.

She hadn’t. Because Emma wasn’t entirely certain she had an answer.

The room had done its job – at least for a little while. Every time Killian kissed her or muttered something in her ear, Emma forgot about sources and jobs and anything outside of that very comfortable bed.

She had been fine then.

Now she was a bit nervous all over again.

“Swan,” Killian said softly. His eyebrows back to their appropriate position and his eyes were so blue and so concerned that Emma couldn’t quite believe he was real. “What are you thinking about, love?” “Everything all at once.” “Sounds painful.” “I’d rather not be thinking everything all at once, if we’re being honest.” “Then don’t.”

“Easier said than done.” Killian sighed softly, but he was smiling when he turned to look at her, propping his head up on his right hand as his left settled on the dip in her waist. “Wasn’t the whole point of this to not think about everything all at once?” “I thought the point of all of this was to make sure you stopped worrying about kissing your girlfriend in front of her entire family.” “Good impressions, Swan.” “That you made over a year ago.” He widened his eyes and smirked at Emma, leaning forward, but stopping just short of actually kissing her. Emma groaned.

“Stop thinking,” he muttered. “Or tell me what you’re thinking about.” “We’ve done that already. We’ve talked about everything so many times I’m not sure I can actually bring myself to come up with different words to talk about it again.” “True.”

Killian tightened his hand around her waist and pulled Emma closer to him, lips just a few inches away from her again and did something absurd with his eyes. “Then stop thinking, Swan. Just be here.” She smiled before she could come up with a reason not to the words settling into her heart and her bloodstream and moving through every single centimeter of her body. Emma nodded, cheek brushing against the pillow, and met his gaze.

Killian's hand moved up her side, trailing over her arm and her collarbone – leaving goosebumps in his wake – until his fingers traced along the chain around her neck and moved the ring across her skin slowly.

“You never take it off,” he said softly, staring at the silver circle. “Why?” “What?” “Why? Seems like a simple question, Swan.” It wasn’t.

It was the opposite of a simple question. It was, in fact, a fairly difficult question – one Emma didn’t have an answer to when Mary Margaret asked her and one she didn’t have answer to when Killian asked her.

Without any clothes on.

“Emma,” Killian mumbled, eyes not moving away from the ring pinched between his fingers. “Why, love?” She squeezed her eyes tightly and tugged on her lip. “It’s important.” It was what she told Mary Margaret.

It was the only answer she had.

Emma opened her eyes quickly and stared at him for a moment. He looked a bit stunned. “It might be the most important thing I have,” Emma added slowly.

Killian’s breath rushed out of him and he moved so quickly, Emma was positive he was a blur of black hair and emotion-filled eyes and a hand that wouldn’t let go of the ring around her neck. He kissed her, lips moving across hers and Emma sighed against him, pulling herself against his chest and twining her legs against Killian’s.

“I’m glad you don’t take it off,” he said, hardly moving while he talked. He was practically kissing her as he spoke.

Emma smiled – not quite sure what to say – and pressed her lips against his again. “I love you,” she whispered after a few more moments.

That was what she should say.

“I love you too,” he answered, fingers brushing over her jaw until they found their way into her hair.

“Would you...would you tell me about him?” Emma asked, ducking her head and avoiding Killian’s gaze for a moment.

“Who?” “Liam. Would you tell me about Liam?”

Killian’s eyes widened for a moment and Emma was worried he was upset. That would have ruined the moment a bit.

And then he smiled, leaning towards her to kiss her quickly. “He would have liked you, Swan,” he said. “I’m positive.” He tugged her tighter against him and rolled on his back, pulling Emma on her side so she rested her head on his shoulder. “He probably would have liked you more than he liked me,” Killian laughed.

“That’s not true,” Emma argued. “And you know it.”

“Ah, I don’t know about that. I was kind of an asshole to him when I was a teenager.” “That so?” Emma felt his head move as he nodded and his chest shook slightly underneath her when he laughed. “Absolutely,” Killian agreed. “I’ve always been kind of bordering on selfish, bastard territory, Swan and it was easy to fall right into that when you’ve got a dozen Division I baseball programs telling you how fantastic you are all the time. Liam wasn’t about to let that go to my head though. After the twelfth offer came in, I tried to pull a whole bunch of shit on Liam, skipping out on classes and work.

"All I wanted to do was play, but I wasn’t the smartest about it. I skipped class one day to hit and I was so focused on getting in the cage that I forgot Liam still had friends at the Piers. They called him and he came down and dragged me, literally, out of the cage. He threw my bat in the water.” Emma widened her eyes, mouth dropping open a bit. “He threw your bat in the water?” she repeated. “Wasn’t that awfully expensive?” “Absolutely,” Killian agreed. “But he was trying to prove a point or something. And he did. After I went and got it back.” “What?” Emma’s laugh ricocheted off the walls of the tiny hotel room, her smile almost tensing the muscles in her face.

Killian nodded, his own smile matching hers. “Yup. He threw the stupid thing in the Hudson River and then told me if I wanted to hit again, I had to go get it. So I did. I mean, I wanted to hit, so there wasn’t much of a choice.” “Isn’t that awfully illegal?” “Awfully. Not to mention a bit recklessly dangerous. I nearly killed myself trying to climb down the side of Manhattan.” “Drama queen,” Emma muttered and Killian laughed, brushing his lips over her forehead in response.

“He threw my bat in the Hudson River, Swan. I was seventeen. I think I was allowed to be a little bit dramatic about it.” “True. Did you learn your lesson?” “I didn’t miss another day of school. And they let me hit at the Piers for free for the rest of the year.” Emma shook her head. “That was the kind of person Liam was though,” Killian continued. “I don’t know how he put up with me, honestly. But he’s the one who got me playing baseball, so maybe it was all his fault to begin with. He put a glove on my hand when I was five years old and said I had to learn how to catch so that he’d have someone to play with. He was thirteen then and incredibly demanding. But I did it and I was good at it. Better than him.” Killian laughed softly and licked his lips quickly, taking a deep breath through his nose. Emma smiled at him, fingers ghosting over the back of his neck. His shoulders sagged as soon as she touched him and Emma tried not to read too far into that.

“Liam stopped playing in high school. I was eight and then he went to school a couple years later and he didn’t really have time for anything, but he brought me to the Piers once a week. No matter what. Sat there doing his homework and watched me hit and told me to keep my wrists straight.” “That’s why you tell Henry that,” Emma cut in, stomach flipping at the realization.

Killian nodded slowly. “It’s basically ingrained in my brain at this point.” He stopped talking for a moment, eyes falling away from Emma’s and landing on the ring again. He took another deep breath and smiled sadly, flexing his hand quickly.

“You know we were playing when we found out mom died,” he muttered.

Emma’s entire body froze. She pulled herself down slightly so Killian had no choice but to look at her. She wrapped her fingers around his hand – bunched into a fist now – and she could hear herself breathing.

“We’d spent most of the last couple of weeks at the hospital and I mean, I was twelve, but I knew it was bad. And Liam knew even more. We’d been sitting there in the room and, suddenly, he jumped out of his chair and practically dragged me out the hallway. Told me we were going to shag fly balls on the tiny patch of grass around the corner.” “He brought a ball with you?” Emma asked, curiosity getting the best of her.

Journalist.

Killian laughed and his smile actually reached his eyes this time. “I almost always had a baseball with me at that point. Especially when Liam was around. In case he had a couple of minutes to throw. My glove basically lived in my backpack too. I was nothing if not constantly prepared, Swan.” “Boy scout.” He rolled his eyes and finally stopped clenching his hand, fingers twining with Emma’s. “The doctor came and got us twenty minute later. She was gone. I think Liam did it on purpose. Got me out of there because he knew what was coming and was trying to protect me or something. He’d never admit to it, but I always kind of knew.”

“That seems like a fairly safe assumption,” Emma said softly, leaning up to kiss him quickly. “I think I would have liked him too.” Killian closed his eyes lightly, nodding slowly. “He did everything after that, after my mom died. Left school and fought to keep me and somehow found a way to keep me going to the cages – even when I was an asshole about it.”

“I’m sure he never thought you were an asshole.” “No, you’re right Swan,” Killian agreed. “He just kind of set some fairly high expectations.” “What do you mean?” “Liam did everything,” he repeated. “Worked and made sure I got into school. It wasn’t just baseball. He wasn’t just my brother, you know what I mean? He was my dad and my best friend and the biggest supporter I had. And I think I’ve spent the better part of the last decade of my life trying to prove to myself that he didn’t do all of that for nothing. He didn’t die for nothing. Or, something like that.” Emma stared at him, eyes narrowing with an influx of emotion she probably should have expected.

Killian Jones was scared of not being good enough.

Constantly.

He had been disappointed and let down and, eventually, come to some sort of conclusion that he didn’t deserve anything. Because he’d missed all of it – never got an explanation for any of it, for his mom or Liam or his dad or even Milah. They’d all just left, gone without a chance for him to actually say goodbye.

And somewhere deep in the corners of just exactly who Killian Jones was, he was still terrified that this latest round of happiness he’d wandered into would leave without saying goodbye – again.

That’s why he’d asked how she was before.

That’s why he always asked.

He was looking for confirmation.

And while Emma was more than willing to provide that confirmation – several times over if necessary – she knew he’d never believe any of it until he believed in himself.

Until he forgave himself for being angry and a selfish bastard and finding he could be happy anyway – despite all of it.

“He would have been so proud of you,” Emma said softly, refusing to blink. She needed him to understand this. She needed him to believe that.

“You don’t know that.” “I do. They all would have.” His whole body jerked slightly and Killian’s eyes – ridiculously blue and just a bit wide – snapped towards Emma. “They want me to cover the Knicks when we get home. Column stuff.” “Do you want to?” “No.” Emma pressed her lips together tightly, pushing back any sort of opinion she’d formed on the situation over the last few weeks – and she had a few of them – but Killian wasn’t done yet. “Although,” he added. “I’ve been thinking I might? If...well, it is my job.” “You're good at your job.”

He nodded quickly and sighed loudly, fingers tapping against Emma’s shoulders. “Depends on the hour,” he laughed. “Sometimes I think it’s a good idea and sometimes I don’t. But there's some good stories there and maybe something with the equipment staff that I've been thinking about for a couple of weeks.” “What about the equipment staff?” Killian flashed her a grin, like he knew she was trying to get an angle and she really, almost, wasn't. She was interested. Genuinely. ”Specialization for each player and the hours and how they might be the hardest working people in the league. August had some theories about that. Said that was, without a doubt, definitely him. He sits at his fucking desk for seven hours a day." “Asshole,” Emma muttered before she could stop herself, forehead falling forward to rest on his chest.

“That’s one of the reasons I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“He wants a story.” “Of course he does.” That seemed to catch Killian by surprise. “We're back to square one here. You're good at your job. You're good at writing. You could write a good story here. Why aren't you?” “Because it's your beat,” Killian said rolling his eyes. “And I'm not trying to step on your toes. Even if your byline isn't in my section.” “That's vaguely romantic, but also vaguely stupid.” Killian pulled himself up, leaning against the back of the headrest. Emma moved with him, sitting up and leaning against his side. His arm fell across her shoulders and he kissed the top of her head quickly. “A rather pointed opinion,” he mumbled. “It's a good story.” “I know it is.” “I've already got notes.”

"That doesn't surprise me at all."

"They'd probably put it on the front of the section on a Sunday." Emma laughed softly, hand wrapped around his middle. “When El showed up,” she said suddenly, earning a wide-eyed stare for her sudden change in topic. “I thought she was going to ruin everything. I thought she was going to change it all. That she’d steal Ingrid or something ridiculous like that. And about a week after she got to Storybrooke, Ingrid threw a party at the store, made all kinds of ice cream and everyone came.

"I was doing my best to be as bitter about it as possible and El looked a bit terrified by all of it – she’d come from a really horrible family before, even worse than what I’d been through in Boston. But Ingrid insisted we do something to welcome her to town and I fought her on it, loudly. For several days.” “I don’t think that would have changed Ingrid’s mind,” Killian said, glancing down at Emma with a smile on his face.

“Of course not,” she agreed. “So that Sunday afternoon, we had the party and everyone showed up and I was positive they were all going to forget about me. But they didn’t. Ingrid made me rocky road and chocolate – a whole pint just for me – and M’s and David spent the entire afternoon with me. We ate an obscene amount of ice cream and sat at the counter and, after a few hours, Elsa started talking to us.

"And she was awesome, of course. She was El after that. Nothing changed. It got better. I got a sister and I realized, suddenly, that just because things happen it doesn’t mean that they’re going to be horrible by default.” “That’s awfully positive for you, love,” Killian pointed out. “Doesn’t seem like something you’d believe.” Emma shrugged. “It isn’t always.” “So when is it? Something you believe?” “When it proves my point.” “Are you making a point?” “Obviously,” Emma sighed. “This is your point, in fact. I’m just repeating what you told me before.”

Killian pulled his head back, eyes narrowing in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“In Boston. You told me that change wasn’t always bad. And that I wouldn’t be alone again. So listen to me listening to you in this situation. When El showed up, I thought she was going to ruin everything, to steal my family from me and make sure I was alone again. She didn’t. She became part of my family. And everyone who was there before stayed. M’s and David have never walked away from me.” “This is a very convoluted point you’re making, Swan,” he laughed.

“It wouldn’t be if you stopped interrupting me.”

“Go on.” “What I’m trying to say is, write the story. Get fantastic quotes and one-of-a-kind insight and win sixteen awards for it. And I'll see you in the locker room and during post and we'll both keep writing and then, probably, go home and you know...make out on the couch or something," Emma said, fumbling over the words. "I mean, ok, so, this is a change. And we're not sharing a section anymore, but we're sharing some other stuff and it changed and it got...better?"

It was a kind of convoluted point.

It had made a lot more sense in her head.

Eventually she’d be better at this whole emotions thing.

“It probably won’t always be quite this easy,” she continued. “But it also might not ruin everything if you actually do the job they hired you for. It might even be ok.” “You think?” he asked, voice low and face flushed with every single emotion Emma had been stumbling over before.

She hadn’t actually said the words.

She hadn’t actually proved her point.

And she didn’t have to – the look on his face was reason enough to believe that. But she wanted to.

More than anything.

Huh.

“I do,” Emma agreed. “No one is leaving. I’m not leaving. No matter what. Write the story. Print it. I'll wake up early and go get a dozen copies." Killian stared at her for a few moments, hands moving so he held her up like he was surprised to find her there – in bed without any clothes on – and Emma did her best not to blush. She’d done more than enough of that for one night.

His mouth hung open and he shook his head, blinking several times.

And then he kissed her, surging up towards her lips and moving so forcefully that Emma nearly fell back against the mattress.

Killian’s hands hadn’t moved, still gripping her shoulders tightly and he made sure she didn’t fall. He pushed her down instead, hovering above her slightly with that same, surprised, vaguely overwhelmed look on his face.

“You are incredible, you know that,” he said softly, shaking his head again.

Emma shrugged. “Did that prove my point?” “I think so.”

And then he kissed her again – for several minutes – and Emma was breathless and had nearly forgotten her point.

She wasn’t sure how long it took before either one of them could actually form coherent sentences again – God, she really was going to have to thank Ruby and Mary Margaret for this stupid room – but Killian’s chest was practically heaving when he finally fell back to his own side of the bed and Emma was certain her hair was tangle by his hands.

She’d let the hairdresser deal with that the next morning.

Or possibly this morning.

She had no idea what time it was.

It absolutely didn’t matter.

“I love you a lot, you know?” Killian muttered, staring at the ceiling. “ No matter what.” “Not more than anything?”

He rolled his head to the side to smirk at her, expression inching across his face and settling into the space between Emma’s ribs. “That too,” he said. “Good.”

“It’s been a kind of an interesting last couple of months,” Emma mumbled, making a face.

Killian laughed softly. “That’s one way of putting it.” “We should probably stop doing this nonsense during Christmas.” “True,” he agreed. “I promise, next Christmas, we’ll be completely drama-free, Swan.” “Yeah?” “Absolutely.” “I’ll probably hold you to that. Although that’s kind of far away.” “Yuh huh.” Emma turned on her side, resting her head on her hand the same way Killian had earlier. “And you’re good with that kind of promise?” she asked.

“You’re the one who was making all kinds of convoluted points before, love,” he answered, voice tinged with laughter. “I think promising to be drama-free next Christmas is even easier to ensure. And several Christmases after that, if you’re interested.” Emma tilted her head, lips ticking up slightly. “I could be interested in that,” she said softly.

She shut her eyes quickly, images of that white dress and the ceremony on the beach and everything she wanted so badly her whole body felt on edge, fleeting through her mind. Maybe eventually they’d talk about that.

If they ever got through this weekend.

They could do it.

They could do all of it.

Emma’s stomach churned at the thought – the belief – that, between, the two of them they could do just about anything.

Because no one had ever believed quite as much as Killian did.

And, now, Emma was going to return the favor.

“I know I’m interested in that,” he said softly.

Emma smiled widely at him, heart thumping wildly in her chest, when a thought hit her suddenly. “Where are you supposed to get ready tomorrow?”

“Today,” he corrected, nodding towards the LED alarm clock behind her. It was 2:30 in the morning. Maybe Mary Margaret and Ruby shouldn’t have gotten them this room.

Or let them have deep, emotional conversations in the middle of the night.

“Where are you supposed to get ready today?” Emma corrected, making a face at his particulars.

“David’s, or rather, David’s mother’s house. But not until after twelve. There’s not a lot of prep in putting on a tuxedo.” “There are tuxedos involved?” Emma asked, surprised.

“Didn’t you re-plan this wedding, Swan? Shouldn’t you know exactly who’s wearing what?” “That was, literally, David’s only job aside from his quarter of the list. He was in charge of figuring out what you guys were supposed to wear.” “Well, he did,” Killian promised. “And I brought the tux with me. It’s, so I’ve been told, already in David’s childhood bedroom.”

“Try not to woo Mrs. Nolan too much when you walk out in that tuxedo.” “I have no idea what you’re insinuating, Swan.”

“Sure you don’t.”

“You think she’s ever forgiven him for stealing the car and going to pick up Mary Margaret?” Killian asked. “Maybe if you woo her tomorrow afternoon, she’ll forget all about it.” “You’re hysterical.” “I’m serious.” “Of course,” he sighed, shaking his head slightly despite the smile on his face. “Did you know he wasn’t supposed to drive then?” “Who do you think covered for him when he didn’t get the car home exactly at nine o’clock?”

“Of course,” he repeated. “You’re a ridiculously good friend, you know that?” “Eh,” Emma brushed him off. “I don’t know. They’re the ones who followed me to New York and let me third wheel on them for the majority of our lives.” “Eventually you’re going to have to realize that’s not how they see it.”

“Oh, no, I know it’s not. But when I was a kid, it was all a bit overwhelming, you know what I mean?”

Killian nodded quickly. “When we were growing up, Liam, he had this girlfriend and, well, it was serious. But then he went to school and my mom got sick and he spent about a year in court trying to prove he could be some kind of competent guardian. And the girlfriend wasn’t around as much.” “Did she ever come back?” “Sometimes. She came to my mom’s funeral and I know she and Liam stayed in touch, but once I went to Louisville and he went into the Navy, I don’t know what happened to her.” Emma waited for him to continue – a bit confused where this point was going – and knew he could read exactly what she was thinking. He even smiled at her slightly blank stare, leaning up to brush his lips against hers quickly.

“The point I’m trying to make, Swan,” he said slowly, “is that these kinds of stories, David and Mary Margaret and their slightly overwhelming relationship, don’t happen every day. It doesn’t always work out the way it’s supposed to. Life gets in the way and the girl disappears. So, what I’m saying is, that if they’ve been with you this entire time, they don’t see you as a third wheel. You’re just as much a part of the story as they are.” Emma felt her shoulders dropping and she knew her face betrayed every single emotion that was coursing through her – stupid open book – as she tried to blink quickly to make sure she didn’t do something stupid like cry.

They were a mess.

A disaster of low expectations and disappointments and people leaving and, in any other situation, Emma Swan and Killian Jones probably shouldn’t work.

But they did.

They worked perfectly.

“So are you,” Emma said, nodding towards him. “You’re part of the story now too.” “As long as you’re there, I don’t care what story it is.” “That’s a good line.” “And a serious one.”

“How is it every time we’re in Storybrooke we seem to have these vaguely ridiculous, emotionally conversations?” Emma asked, laughing softly.

“I think you’re more comfortable here,” Killian said, answering her easily. “Being vulnerable isn’t really your strong suit, love, but you kind of let your guard down a little bit when you’re here. I’m just here to seize the opportunity.” Emma laughed again, dropping back onto the pillow in dramatic fashion. “ I guess my armor's been on for such a long time that sometimes I forget that I don't need it with you,” she said softly. “And maybe I’m a little bit scared.” “Of?” “Wanting.” “You’re not the only one who wants things, love.” “No?” “Decidedly not.”

“Life won’t get in the way?” Emma asked, repeating the words Killian had just told her. He smiled at her and shook his head quickly.

“No,” he said easily. “It hasn’t yet. I can’t imagine a situation where it would, honestly. You’re the story, Swan. You know that, right?” “I didn’t before. But I might be starting to.” “That’s the goal.” “I’m not going to take it off,” Emma said, changing the subject again. She was surprised they didn’t have conversational whiplash.

“What’s that, love?” “The ring,” she answered quickly, hand ghosting over it. “I’m not going to take it off.” He put his hand over hers, squeezing his fingers tightly around it and smiled – so wide and so sincere, that Emma was certain he had actually lit up a corner of the room. “That’s the goal,” he repeated softly, head ducking down to trail a line of kisses across her jaw.

“You should get some sleep, Swan, you’ve got to get ready earlier than I do tomorrow,” Killian said after a few prolonged moments of kissing and goosebumps forming on her forearm.

“Deja vu,” Emma mumbled, ignoring his laughter when he noticed the goosebumps.

“Yeah, but this time we were much more efficient.” “Romantic.” “I think we’ve accomplished that too.”

“True.” “You’re not the only one who wants things, Swan,” he said again, voice dropping low and doing something very specific to Emma’s ability to fall asleep at a slightly responsible time. “You don’t have to worry about that.” “What do you want?” Emma whispered, stomach flipping at the question.

A year ago, she never would have asked. She would have wondered and pondered and worried. But she never would have asked.

Because there would have been emotions involved.

And Emma Swan didn’t do emotions.

She still didn’t – at least not very well – but somewhere along the line, Emma had also gotten a bit more confident and a little more certain and she wanted to hear it.

Killian took a deep breath and kept his hand trained over the ring around her neck. “I want you to read every story I write. From here on out.” Emma nodded, smile creeping across her face as quickly as her pulse seemed to thump in her veins. “I’d like that,” she said, meaning every single letter.

He kissed her again, pulling her back against his chest and wrapped his arm tightly around his waist. “Get some sleep, Swan,” he said into her hair.

She pressed her face against the pillow, eyes drooping far quicker than she expected and fell asleep in a few moments – promises of future Christmases and wants and overwhelming romances lingering in her mind.

#cs fic #cs au #cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan fanfiction #captain swan ff #ypblag #someday there'll be a fully plotted sequel #this got kind of christmas themed???#i don't know man #i don't know

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welllpthisishappening · 7 years ago

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I just found YTLAG & I'm just speechless! It's amazing! I love everything about it! How you framed this AU is perfect, loved how you incorporated so many characters from the show BUT, how you write Emma and Killian is truly divine! Your characterizations, your beautifully detailed imagery & your dialogue is so wonderful! Thank you! I loved the sequel too! Pls tell me there's more to come! I'd love to know what would happen if Gold found out who Emma really was & our duo fights back! Thx!!

Hi there ‘non! And thank you so much! YPBLAG was a story idea that had been lingering in my head for, literally, years and, finally, one day I sat down and was like…this could work for OUAT. I��m so, so, glad you enjoyed it!

I wrote like…a questionable amount of words for a sequel and it was so angsty, it was almost too angsty. It was just improbable. But. BUT. I’d also really like to write something again and I really, really enjoyed jumping back into that verse. Someday I’ll plot the whole thing out.

In the meantime, this is basically Emma and Killian the entire time they were back in Storybrooke:

#anon #laura rambles #ypblag

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welllpthisishappening · 8 years ago

Text

You Play Ball Like a Girl: Outtakes 3.0

It hadn’t been the plan, so of course Emma had been there. Of course she’d been reading his book and sitting in the darkroom and the look on her face when he’d opened the door nearly sent shockwaves down his spine.

He’d thought about it for the rest of the week.

He’d thought about that talk all week – another talk and another set of reasons why this wouldn’t work and he’d gone to work every day, but he’d polished off an entire bottle of rum in his apartment as well.

Also livin’ it up on Ao3 and Tumblr if that’s how you roll.

His phone was buzzing.

He didn’t move.

He should probably move at some point. Get off the couch. Fix that crick in his spine.

He didn’t. And his phone stopped buzzing.

Killian rolled his head to the side and glared at it – like the few pieces of metal and technology and whatever had, somehow, offended him. It kind of had. It wouldn't shut up.

Although, some vaguely rational and incredibly frustrating voice in the back of his mind reminded him, if the phone stopped buzzing then his apartment would get very, very quiet and that would leave him with just...him.

Who, apparently, was not much of anything.

Jeez. That was a little much. Melodramatic idiot.

A melodramatic idiot who hadn’t moved off his couch in the last eight hours and hadn’t stopped thinking, despite the noise coming from his phone. It started buzzing again.

Killian sighed loudly, swinging his feet back onto the floor and realizing belatedly he hadn’t ever taken his shoes off.

Maybe he should call Aurora.

Or….there wasn’t anyone else. Well, that was depressing.

The phone made noise again, nearly vibrating off the edge of the coffee table in front of him and he groaned when he lunged forward quickly to make sure it didn’t land on the ground. The last thing he needed was his phone breaking.

He should probably answer the several hundred e-mails he had. Or maybe go to work. He probably wasn’t going to work.

That voice in the back of his mind nearly shouted coward at him.

There were a dozen text messages and more e-mails than he’d really been prepared for, but he didn’t look at any of them, eyes landing on the name that kept popping up in his inbox – a string of questions and hopes and concerns about the status of the New York Yankees designated hitter problem.

Henry.

Shit.

Did you watch that game last night? The guy is swinging at ball four in the dirt in the bottom of the eighth. Idiot .

Oh you’re not in New York, are you? Ah, well, don’t watch that game. It was awful.

At least they get to play the Sox soon. Maybe they’ll sweep them and things will be right with the world.

Killian laughed and then he nearly dropped his phone again.

That might have been the first sound he’d made – barring the occasional groan or overly dramatic sigh – since practically falling into his apartment the night before, his conversation with Emma playing in front of his eyes like some sort of horrible broken record.

He’d known something was wrong the moment he woke up – could hear her talking to Elsa even down the stairs and around the corner, the anxious note of her voice and the way she nearly jumped out of her skin the minute his fingers hit hers.

He hadn’t been lying. He knew she was running, had been worried about it as soon as the invitation to Storybrooke was out of her mouth that, one morning, she’d wake up and, suddenly, realize what was going on.

And for a moment he was certain maybe that moment wouldn’t come.

The second she kissed him – or maybe he kissed her – desperately trying to make sure they didn’t get ice cream on each other’s clothes.

He thought maybe she wouldn’t run.

She did.

And he’d gotten mad and yelled and she’d yelled back and Mary Margaret and David had tried to play parents, like this was something that made any sense.

It didn’t. Emma had to know he wouldn’t go anywhere, didn’t she? Apparently not.

Killian’s phone buzzed again in his hand and his eyes snapped down to another message from Henry, followed shortly by another from Will Scarlet.

How come you didn’t tell me Gardner was going on 15-day?! He’s the only one in that lineup that can hit at all!

Just wondering what time you’re coming in Cap. We’ve got a ton of box scores to get through and Victor wants to talk about some summer league story he’s doing.

Killian’s stomach clenched and he pressed his lips together tightly until his teeth were digging into them, threatening to draw blood. He ignored Will.

He couldn’t do that right now.

He couldn’t think about that right now.

Coward. He didn’t even need the voice then. He knew what he was doing.

Killian clicked back on Henry’s message and started typing out a reply, fingers flying over the screen with a quickness that belied the fact that he’d been wallowing on his couch for the better part of the night.

That’s not part of my job description. You don’t get inside info, just because I know you, kid. And I wasn’t there this weekend. So I didn’t even know about Gardner until you just so pleasantly informed me. Also, I’d lower my hopes on the Sox series. Especially if Gardner is out.

Aren’t you supposed to, like, check your phone? You’re in charge.

I get days off.

He cringed at the message, something that felt a bit like an entire wad of anxiety sitting in the middle of his throat. He didn’t have to be an ass to Henry.

And the service was kind of spotty all weekend. So I was kind of out of touch. Thanks for the updates.

Henry didn’t answer for what felt like an eternity and Killian resisted the urge to sink back into the couch, certain he’d, somehow, managed to mess something else up.

It’s a calf strain. Apparently. That’s what it said in the paper this morning .

You’re reading the paper now? Yeah, well, I figured if you and Emma were there, it was worth something. And you guys really do get good stories. ESPN credited your Gardner scoop. They said other sources, but whatever. I knew it was you .

The wad of anxiety disappeared and was replaced with something that felt a bit like emotion – the good kind. The kind that made Killian proud of what they were doing at The Record and in sports and maybe...him.

Maybe he was doing something good.

What are you doing on Friday?

It’s August. Literally nothing .

You don’t have to work? Oh, yeah, that .

Killian chuckled again, toeing out of his shoes and kicking them into the corner of the room near the bag he’d never actually moved or unpacked.

Yeah, that. Mary Margaret wouldn’t appreciate if you just didn’t show. But what about after? When are you done?

Usually around 3:30.

Well, I’m back now and I’ve got some time on Friday and there’s probably a cage free. What do you say to a bit of hitting?

What? For real? Why would I lie about that?

I have no idea.

I’m not.

You don’t have to do...editor things?

What exactly are editor things.?

I have no idea about that either.

Sometimes Killian forgot Henry was a teenager. Sometimes he forgot what it was to be a teenager who just wanted something, without any strings attached, just baseball and the cages and Henry was, maybe, just a little bit terrified that he’d never get what he wanted.

Well, he thought, seriously, fuck that.

Henry wasn’t just going to get what he wanted, he was going to get time at the cages and then he was going to get back on this high school baseball team and go to college and play for the goddamn New York Yankees.

And Killian was, suddenly, more determined than he could remember being in quite some time.

I have no editor things. And if I did this is more important. Come over when you’re done with work. We’ll get a cage and you can hit until you can’t swing anymore.

That might take some time.

Killian smiled. Confidence. Good. That’s ok. I’ve got time.

I haven’t hit since we did before you guys went away .

There went the smile – a mixture of Henry’s inability to get into cages without Killian’s Piers connections and the idea that going to Storybrooke was some sort of vacation and not a painful smack in the face, all converging at once to take up residence in the pit of his stomach. He sank back against the cushions of his couch, head hitting painfully against the wall and his phone made noise.

But, yeah, that would be really cool. If you can get away from work. I’d love to hit.

I can get away. Four work for you?

Yeah, yeah, that’s easy. Can we ask Emma too?

He was an idiot. He hadn’t really thought about it. Well, no, that was a lie. He’d thought about nothing else for the last eight hours – refusing to move an inch for want of thinking about it and her and that conversation in the middle of Penn Station.

And it was her story.

She probably needed quotes. He knew she needed quotes. She was going to start writing after they got back from the wedding and he wasn’t sure why he’d been under some strange impression that was, somehow, going to change now.

Probably because everything had changed now.

He’d never answered Henry.

I’ll take care of it. You just worry about keeping your wrists tight when you swing.

Killian could practically hear the dramatic sigh when he read the answering text message. Ok that’s not even true. My wrists are fine .

Your wrists are wobbly. At best. Hold your wrists tighter and you’ll hit .450 this season.

That’s not possible. It would be if you’d tighten your wrists.

There was probably another groan, but Killian was nothing if not stubborn, particularly when he wanted something. And he wanted this for Henry.

Whatever.

Four o’clock. Friday. Tight wrists.

Deal. It took a few moments for the follow up and Killian wondered if Henry had thought about it. Thanks. For all of this .

No problem.

He got off the couch. And that felt like a bit of a miracle, but Killian figured if Henry could find a way to believe they’d make this work and actually thank him for being a somewhat decent person, he could at least get off the couch and shower and get ready for work.

He’d be late, but he’d go.

That felt like a bit of a victory.

Killian didn’t really try to rush through anything, but he heard his phone buzz again when he walked back into his room later, hair still damp from the shower he’d finally taken. He tugged a t-shirt over his head, glancing at the thing when it kept making noise and nearly sprinted towards it when it went off a third time.

It was Scarlet.

Cap. I know you were late getting in yesterday, but I just wanted to know what time you were getting here. Not work stuff. Victor’s calmed down overnight.

Ok, seriously you need to call me. Or show up for work.

This is not about the paper. Emma’s here, or at least just got here, and, well, she’s got this look on her face. Like she’s going to explode.

She said she didn’t know where you were.

Killian sank onto the end of the bed, right hand gripping his phone and left trained at his side so he didn’t do something absurd like stare at the scars on his skin and question every single decision he’d ever made in his life.

It didn’t really work.

Because he might be just as determined as ever to make sure this worked for Henry and even for whatever scoop the paper would get out of it, but he couldn’t pretend like the last weekend hadn’t happened.

And he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t as in love with Emma Swan as he’d been since she’d run him over in the hallway.

He wasn’t going to go to work.

Coward.

He thought it every time he took a drink for the rest of the afternoon.

Of course, it didn’t matter how much he drank or how much he avoided that giant building and the almost absurd amount of e-mails he got. He still had to go back to work and he’d found himself walking there without even realizing it, feet moving up Eighth Avenue with practiced ease.

He’d thought about it for the rest of the week.

It was all about give and take. Or something. Liam probably would have been disappointed.

And time kept moving and Emma brought him coffee and asked if he wanted to skip out on the Piers, that nervous edge in her voice doing something very specific to his lungs' ability to function consistently.

Of course he wanted to go.

He wanted her to go. Maybe he was a masochistic, but he just wanted her to stop looking like that, ducking her eyes whenever he moved more than half an inch closer to her and actually stopping at Lisa’s desk before she barreled into his office.

She knew everything and Killian still wanted her around.

They’d been there for almost an hour before Emma got there, Henry muttering that the doctors had cleared him to start running earlier that week.

“You want to run then?” Killian asked and Henry’s eyes widened slightly.

“What?” “I mean if the doctors said it was ok.” “They did.” “So, yeah, then?” Henry twisted his lips and scuffed his foot along the turf. “What?” Killian continued, nodding his head to get in the teenager’s eyeline. “You don’t have to run if you don’t want to.” “No, no, I was just wondering if we could practice stealing.” “Stealing? Like bases?” Henry nodded. He still hadn’t looked up. “It’s just...I got hurt stealing and when I came to the paper that first time you asked who taught me how to steal and, well, the answer is no one. That’s why I’m so bad at it.”

Killian crossed his arms and felt the smile creep across his face. It almost didn’t feel entirely out of place. “Sure,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound too eager. “We can steal some stuff.”

God, that kid was fast.

Killian was certain his eyes fell out of their sockets as soon as Henry moved, dimly aware of Emma’s eyes on them and the more-than-appropriate co-worker distance she kept from the tiny spot of turf they’d claimed as their own.

This was going to work. They just had to Henry back on the field.

“How was that?” Henry asked when he finished another sprint, chest heaving just a bit when he dropped onto the ground.

“Good, really good,” Killian promised, not even trying to mask how impressed he was. “What did you think, Swan?”

She looked surprised – eyes going wide and mouth dropping open and she must have just come from the office because she was still wearing a dress. He tried not to rub his left hand.

“It was good,” Emma said quickly, but he could hear her voice shake on the words. “You’re absurdly fast, Henry.”

He didn’t even bother getting up to answer. “I’ve always been fast,” he said, laying flat on his back with one leg crossed over the other. Killian tried not to roll his eyes. “I was worried the ACL would mess it up, but it seems ok.” “Looks perfect to me,” Emma continued.

“You think?” She hummed and Killian was tapping out some sort of rhythm on his thigh. He wanted to move. Every single muscle in his body wanted him to take a step towards her and grab her hand or sling his arm around her shoulder, to tug him up against his side and promise, again, that this could work.

They could work. Together.

He didn’t do any of that. They had a story to save.

“I do,” Emma added. “And if Killian said you were good, then you must be. He knows what he’s talking about.” His stomach flipped like he was thirteen years old and the girl he had a crush on just told him she’d like to hang out. Kind of. The woman he loved thought he knew what he was doing. That was, somehow, better and worse.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Swan,” he said and he couldn’t stop himself from moving if he tried.

“You hit yet?”

“Nah, figured we’d try something different before we started repeating ourselves." Emma smiled and his stomach was just being ridiculous at that point. “You going to make Killian hit, Henry?” she asked. “I heard you were making a pretty good argument.” It felt like getting doused in ice water. Or falling into ice water. It definitely felt like falling and a bit like drowning and he couldn’t really breathe.

Emma’s smile wavered and Killian knew she could read the look on his face, certain he looked every bit as terrified as he was.

“He said he doesn’t want to,” Henry replied a bit sullenly. Killian bit his lip and the fingers on his right hand traced over one of the scars, stare boring a hole into the turf.

“What? Why?” Emma asked and Killian got the very strong impression they were waging some sort of something right there in the middle of Chelsea Piers

“It’s not a good time, Swan.” “Why?”

“Yeah, Killian,” Henry implored, pushing up off the turf and practically bouncing on the balls of his feet as he stared at him. “C’mon you promised. You said you could hit when you played.” “He could hit,” Emma said, eyebrows raised like she was challenging him to disagree.

“Swan,” he sighed and he could feel his shoulders slump. Emma didn’t blink. She didn’t move – closer or farther away – just kept staring at him and waiting for him to take back a bit of control of his life.

“What?” “Let Henry hit, it’s for him.” Henry groaned, rolling his eyes. “I can hit later. Just go one round.”

Killian met Emma’s gaze and there was something in her eyes that seemed to cause something to audibly snap in the back of his mind. “Fine, fine” he muttered, taking a step towards the cage and grabbing a bat as he moved. He slammed the door closed behind him, nearly breaking the goddamn machine with the force of his hand against the start button.

“Aren’t you going to wear a helmet?” Emma asked.

“I don’t need a helmet, Swan.” He couldn't’ remember the last time he hit.

That wasn’t even a sad, melodramatic idea. Killian hadn’t touched a baseball bat in years – his date with Emma notwithstanding – and he hadn’t actually stepped into those cages at the Piers in over a decade.

It didn’t seem to matter.

As soon as the machine whirred to life, it was as if he was sixteen again and Liam was a few feet away and he had a whole afternoon in front of him. There was probably a scientific reason for that – muscle memory or something else that Killian wouldn’t ever entirely understand – but it didn’t matter.

He fell into the rhythm he always did, the noise of the bat on the ball sounding like a metronome that kept reminding him of what could have been.

Almost.

It was always almost.

He hit every ball and when the machine powered down, his hand was already killing him, muscles objecting to overuse and a distinct inability to do what they’d just done.

Henry looked a little stunned. Emma just looked kind of sad.

“You think you can teach me to hit like that?” Henry asked.

“That’s kind of the plan,” Killian answered. “Swan?” Her head snapped up and he saw the muscles in her throat tense. “Yeah?” “We good now? No more of this?” No more feeling guilty. No more pushing. No more trying to force anything.

“Yeah, we’re good.”

They talked about the story and if he fell into some sort of muscle-memory rhythm in the cages, then Emma did the same as soon as she started asking question, every word out of her mouth drawing details and dates and everything that would get Henry back on the field.

Killian watched her in wonder, pulse thudding in his ears like an audible reminder of how much he loved her.

As if he wasn’t constantly aware of that.

The story went on forever and Emma got every fact she’d need for some kind of life-changing feature and Killian was certain she’d written half of it in her head already.

He kept flexing his fingers, trying to work out some of that excess emotion as Henry kept talking about how much baseball meant to him and it all felt a little too on point. Emma noticed. And she moved before Killian was entirely ready for it, before he’d been able to prepare himself for the feel of his hand on hers or what that would do to the oxygen in his lungs, but as soon as he felt her fingers lace with his he seemed to take a deep breath for the first time all week.

“Was that ok, Emma?” Henry asked eventually and Killian’s heart almost audibly cracked.

“Better,” she said. “We’re going to make this work, Henry.”

“You think? “I know.” She was still holding his hand. Or maybe he was holding her hand. He didn’t let go, at least.

“Why don’t you go hit, Henry?” Killian asked.

“Right now? “If you want? “Sure!” Henry was gone half a second later, a blur of baseball excitement and determination and Killian was still holding Emma’s hand.

“You said you weren’t going to promise him anything,” Killian said, certain it sounded like the accusation it maybe half was.

“Yeah,” she said slowly. “I just can’t let him down. I’m going to get him back on the field and into a school if I have to take on the entire city myself.”

He shook his head and exhaled, eyes closed lightly when he realized – she still didn’t know. That seemed impossible with his fingers twisted up in Emma’s, but she still believed she was on her own.

“The entire city?” “If I have to.” “Not by yourself, you won’t.” “No?” Emma whispered, glancing at him with something he couldn’t quite name flashing in her eyes. He squeezed her hand.

“No. Never.”

And maybe he wasn’t done with pushing.

Maybe he was the biggest ass in the entire world. Emma’s face fell and she pulled her hand away from his, oblivious to the quiet sigh he’d tried to make sure she didn’t hear.

He wanted to hit something again.

That would just make his hand hurt.

Killian stood up and ran his hand through his hair, trying to to take a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he said, staring at the water he could just barely make out over the wall in front of them.

“What for?”

“Overstepping.” “You don’t have to apologize.” He turned at that, drawn by the earnestness in her voice and the tiny crease in between her eyebrows that was obvious as soon as his gaze landed on her. “Feels like I should.” “No,” Emma argued, shaking her head and pushing her hair behind her ears. She looked disappointed. “Don’t. It’s ok, Killian. We’re not very good at this.” “That’s true. Maybe we’ve both got some things to work on, huh?”

Henry hit another pitch and it might have been the loudest sound in the history of the world. Louder than his phone. “Probably,” Emma said. “But in the meantime we can still do this , right?” “Of course,” Killian answered, promise flying out of him before he considered what he was saying. “Henry’s going to play again. We can take on the city together.”

He smiled and Emma hadn’t ever gotten off the ground, chin resting on her knees. She nodded once, and held out her hand, something that looked like hope flitting across her face.

Killian took it without question.

“How’d that look?” Henry asked, blissfully ignorant to whatever was happening a few feet away from him.

“If you don’t tighten your wrists more, I’m going to tape them straight.” He opened his mouth to yell something else, as soon as Henry missed the next pitch, but he didn’t have to.

“Shut up,” Henry shouted.

Emma laughed softly next to him and Killian swore the sound worked its way through every single inch of him, settling in his core like some sort of hopeful, metaphorical flame. He’d obviously lost his mind.

“How come you don’t coach?” she asked.

That caught him by surprise. “What?”

“Coach? Or something? You know what you’re doing. You’ve got experience. You’re clearly good at this. Why not?”

“When would I find the time, love?”

It felt like the Earth shook a bit. Killian swallowed and Emma’s breath audibly caught in her throat and he’d been so good at it – hadn’t called her that all week, had thought it half a dozen times, but managed to catch himself before the endearment and everything it meant to him landed in that mile-wide expanse in front of them.

He’d gotten too comfortable here though, too used to talking and the feel of her next to him and how easily her hand fit in his.

He loved her an absolutely ridiculous amount.

“I don’t know,” Emma said, ignoring whatever mental breakdown Killian was having. “Just seems like something you’d enjoy.”

“Eh, I don’t know. Seems a pretty solid pathway to wallowing. Lost glory and could-have-been, should-have-been me's.”

“That’s not like you,” Emma said and her determination brought him up short. He blinked once and she stood up a bit straighter. “It’s not.”

“I have a tendency to relapse.”

If he were keeping track of all the things he shouldn’t say, he’d be somewhere in the dozens now, he was certain. Emma sagged as soon as he’d spoken, eyes falling back towards her shoes and the sound of bat hitting ball was going to make him go crazy.

What a mess.

“Hey,” Killian said, taking a cautious step towards her. “We don’t do that whole pity thing, right?”

“It wasn’t pity.”

“No?”

“No, not for you at least.”

“I don’t want you to feel bad.”

“It’s way too late for that.”

Killian squeezed his eyes shut and fought off everything on the tip of his tongue, the promises of what could have been and how long he would have stayed and how much he loved her goddamnit. He wasn’t going anywhere.

He didn’t say any of that.

She’d just run again.

“You did what you thought you had to,” Killian muttered.

“And you’re suddenly cool with that?”

Emma groaned and Killian tried to smirk, well aware that he’d come up decidedly short on that front. “Loaded question,” he accused.

“Yeah, sorry.” “Don’t be. I just don’t know that I have an answer for your.”

“That’s fair.”

“You asked me on Monday if you thought we could still be friends.”

“I was worried you wouldn't want to,” Emma whispered and if he was a mess then she was some kind of tempest, a whirlwind of emotions that didn’t quite make sense.

“That’s the only thing I know I want,” Killian said. It was half true. He wanted a lot more than that. He wanted something bordering close to everything, but if he couldn’t get that, then he’d settle for friends.

He was a selfish ass.

“I know I fucked up, Swan,” he pressed, “But you’re still important, well, to me, you know. I don’t want that to change.”

She looked stunned. She still didn’t know. He wondered if she’d ever know. Or what he had to do to make sure she did.

“I don’t want that to change either,” Emma mumbled.

Killian nodded, a mix of disappointment and hope and something that felt like an overwhelming need to kiss her settling in between his ribs. It wasn’t very comfortable.

“C’mon Swan,” he said, nodding towards Henry. “Let’s go change city sports.”

#cs fic #cs fanfic #cs au #cs ff #ypblag #ypblag outtakes #this is what happens when i have two games off in the middle of the day

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welllpthisishappening · 8 years ago

Text

You Play Ball Like a Girl: Outtakes

“She’s what?” she prompted.

“Nothing.”

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

“He couldn’t say that to her.”

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

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

“You’re being an idiot, you know.”

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

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

Or maybe not.

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

That hardly seemed fair.

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

Which he absolutely was.

He shouldn’t have kissed her.

Or had Emma kissed him?

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

He was absolutely an idiot.

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

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

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

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

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

He shouldn’t have come here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I did that.”

“You could mean it.”

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

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

“You promise not to yell?”

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

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

Aurora yelled. Or maybe screeched was a better word.

Samantha started crying immediately.

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

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

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

It didn’t make sense.

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

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

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

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

They were both going to relax.

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

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

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

“Does it matter, A?”

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

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

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

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

“She’s into that?”

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

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

“A blur of makeout?”

“You are out of control.”

“I’m interested in your life.”

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

“So what happened?”

“I just told you.”

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

“I’m her editor, A.”

“So?”

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

“On the sidewalk?!”

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

“This whole thing happened on the sidewalk?”

“I punched him in front of the Garden.”

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

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

“What a dick.”

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

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

“She’s what?” she prompted.

“Nothing.”

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

“He couldn’t say that to her.”

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

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

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

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

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

Aurora just raised her eyebrows at him.

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

“What are you going to do?”

He had absolutely no idea.

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

She was impossible.

And slightly infuriating. And a bit demanding.

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

It was impressive.

It also scared the shit out of him.

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

He definitely should have kissed her some more.

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

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

“That’s because I don’t have one.”

“Was it a good make out at least?”

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

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

“You have a baby.”

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

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

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

“I do.”

“What are you going to say?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She was there because you brought her.”

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

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

“And you do?” she asked.

“That’s a work in progress.”

“And you want it to be?”

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

He didn’t have an answer.

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

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

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

“From?”

“Everything else.”

“That’s awfully vague, A.”

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

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

He should have just gone home.

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

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

And she was right.

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

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

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

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

“Is it?”

“She’s important,” he sighed.

“You care,” Aurora said.

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“You don’t think she does?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You might not like it.”

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

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

“You were right.”

“About?”

“It wasn’t something I liked.”

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

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

“You’re an idiot.”

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

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

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

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

“It’s not just my decision, A.”

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

“Relationship expert now, huh?” Killian laughed.

“Absolutely.”

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

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

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

That happened a lot quicker than he thought it would.

He would let Emma decide.

He wouldn’t push.

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

He could be her friend.

Maybe.

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

“Always.”

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

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

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

#cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs au #cs #ypblag #ypblag outtakes #i have two other stories to finish before even considering a ypblag sequel #but i wanted to write this and so i wrote this #post makeout killian

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welllpthisishappening · 8 years ago

Text

You Play Ball Like a Girl: Epilogue

“Are you happy?” she asked softly.

Killian let out a loud exhale of breath and laughed, not even trying to disguise his disbelief. “What?” Emma continued. “That’s a legitimate question.” “It’s a question, sure, Swan, but not a legitimate one. There’s no reason to ask it. At all. Of course I am. Ridiculously.”

This is a complete fanfic on Ao3 and I might actually weep about it because everyone has been so nice and I am eighteen different emotions all at once. Also tag’ed up on Tumblr from the start.

It was a very complicated system.

Killian stayed with Emma. Mary Margaret stayed with David. Will stayed in Killian’s apartment and tried to find somewhere else to live.

Because Killian was coming home.

He started work at The Writer on Monday and had – somehow – managed to enlist all of them to haul boxes back into his apartment five blocks away from Emma’s.

Or what used to be Emma’s.

Because that’s what it was now – her used to be apartment.

Mary Margaret and David were taking it back.

And Emma was moving five blocks away.

She wasn’t sure where Will was going. She almost didn’t care. The system got far too complicated if she started to worry about that too.

Emma hauled the box down the hallway, hoping her clothes didn’t fall out before she could actually making into the apartment, kicking at the closed front door without any semblance of grace.

The door swung open and Aurora laughed at her, Samantha practically clinging to her side. “Aren’t you supposed to be athletic?” she asked.

“Please,” Emma sighed. “Why do you think I write? I am the opposite of athletic. Where’s Killian, or anyone not holding a baby? I’m going to drop all of my clothes.” “There are more clothes, Swan?” Killian asked, raising one eyebrow and tilting his head questioningly. “How is that possible?” Emma groaned and rested the box on her knee. “You going to help or you going to continue to mock?” “Help, absolutely,” he smiled, walking towards her and hauling the box out of her hands easily. Emma rolled her eyes.

Samantha made some sort of one-year-old noise and Aurora made a face at her daughter, muttering nonsense that also sounded a bit like yes, they are frustratingly adorable, that’s right , before walking away.

Emma sighed, walking farther into the apartment as Killian dropped the box in the corner of the living room, adding to the small mountain they were accumulating there. “That’s not your room,” she muttered.

“Genius, love.” “Are you actually going to unpack?” David asked from his spot on the couch, flipping through channels on the TV with Henry and Phillip next to him. Mary Margaret was somewhere, undoubtedly organizing something. “Or are you just going to pile things?” “You’re the one who hasn’t gotten up since he walked over here,” Emma argued, crossing her arms and leaning against the counter in the kitchen. “It’s a long walk.”

“It is literally five blocks.”

David opened his mouth to argue – Emma could hear the sound of the Yankee game in the background – but Mary Margaret walked down the hallway, a small pile of folded towels in her hands.

“You need to put these somewhere,” she said, handing the pile to Emma with an expectant look on her face.

“What are these?” “Towels, Emma,” Mary Margaret said slowly. “Obviously. For the kitchen. They were in a box of clothes.”

“Where have you been?” Emma asked, glancing down the hallway to see that the boxes there had all but disappeared.

“Organizing things.” “Of course,” Emma sighed. “Let me know next time and I’ll help, ok?” “You’ve been busy.” “I’ve been arguing with your husband.” Mary Margaret smiled at that, twisting the rings on her left hand – they had finally gotten actual wedding rings, a few weeks after the spur-of-the-moment wedding ceremony.

They also had finally told their parents, nearly two and a half weeks after the spur-of-the-moment wedding ceremony. And now Mary Margaret was dealing with the totally over-the-top pressure of staging some sort of ceremony in Storybrooke that she very much did not want.

Although she hadn’t told her father that.

One obstacle at a time.

“And what exactly is my husband arguing about?” Mary Margaret asked, eyes flitting towards David who held up his left hand and the ring there, as if that got him off the hook by default. Emma groaned.

“He’s not being very helpful,” she muttered. “In fact, no one is being very helpful except for you, M’s.”

Mary Margaret shrugged. “You’re freaking out.” “I’m not.” “You are,” she argued, raising her eyebrows pointedly. “Don’t. This is a good thing. And far less complicated than the living arrangements we’re dealing with now.” “Did Will ever figure out where he’s living?” Emma asked distractedly, running her thumb along the chain on her neck, pressing the links into her skin. “I feel like we’re kicking him out.” “You’re not,” Mary Margaret countered. “He offered. You know Killian said he’d find somewhere else to live.” “I know, I know,” Emma muttered, pacing before she had even considered what that looked like. “But he wanted to come back here.” “He wanted to come back to you.” Emma stopped pacing and took a deep breath, looking at Mary Margaret over her shoulder. She was smiling.

Mary Margaret won and she knew it.

“I know,” Emma said again, voice just a bit more confident. Mary Margaret stared at her, eyes wide as she watched Emma tug on the chain, the Cardinals emblem on her shirt practically a flashing, neon sign that this was real .

Of course, that was when the baby started to cry and the Yankees hit a home run – making David and Henry cheer and the baby cry more – and Will slammed the front door open, two more boxes in his hands.

And Emma realized this was as real as it got and she felt her pulse stutter slightly at the overwhelming perfection of it.

“You have a ton of stuff,” Mary Margaret said, either not realizing or ignoring Emma’s self-realization in the middle of Killian’s – her – kitchen.

“We do,” Killian agreed, stepping into the conversation with ease and draping his arm over Emma’s shoulder. “An absolutely ridiculous amount of stuff.” “You have an enormous apartment,” Emma mumbled, staring at the floor.

“We have an enormous apartment,” he corrected and her stomach did something. Mary Margaret just laughed and her smile was so goddamn proud that Emma felt a bit like one of her third graders.

“I’m going to go check on David,” Mary Margaret said suddenly, as if she realized she needed to be anywhere but the kitchen. “And Henry. We might order some food soon, what do you guys think?” “Sure,” Killian said, not looking at Mary Margaret. He was staring at Emma, a small smile tugging on the corners of his mouth.

Mary Margaret walked away, that same proud look on her face, and Emma felt Killian turn next to her, moving so he was standing in front of her, arms pressed up on either side of her while she leaned against the counter.

“You said we,” Emma said. “I did.” “And?” “And what?” “We have an enormous apartment,” Emma repeated, making some sort of significant face that she hoped would get her point across. It didn’t.

Or he was just trying to get her to talk.

He was definitely just trying to get her to talk.

“We do, love,” Killian said, laughing.

“You’re really going to make me do this,” Emma groaned.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Her shoulders sagged dramatically and Emma rolled her entire head, the sarcasm rolling off of her. Killian laughed again, running his hands up her forearms and smirking at her. “Killian,” she whined.

“Swan.” His hand moved down, running along the bottom of her t-shirt – his t-shirt – where it met the top of her shorts, fingers dancing just along the bottom until he hit skin and Emma bit her lip tightly, trying to make sure her hips didn’t move on instinct.

“There are half a dozen people in your living room,” Emma mumbled. “Our living room.” “That’s going to take some getting used to.” “I’m willing to wait.” Emma’s head snapped up quickly and she ignored the ridiculous thing her stomach was doing, kissing him quickly without even considering the half a dozen people and a one-year-old that were sitting in their living room.

Killian pulled her towards him quickly, palm resting flat on her back – totally under her shirt now – and Emma hands were tugging on the bottom of his hair before she had even realized she had moved.

“We need to get these people out of here,” Killian said.

“What?” Emma asked softly.

“Get. Them. Out.” “Killian, there are boxes everywhere. And they wanted to order food.” “Tell them to go out for food.” “That’s smart,” she said, making a face. “They’ll be out of the apartment then.” “And hopefully not come back.” “You’re the one who said they had to help us unpack.” “Yeah, well, I clearly hadn’t thought that through,” he said, finger tracing along her collarbone slowly. “And, to be fair, I didn’t really plan on you wearing my clothes and impossibly short shorts.” Emma laughed, a short, loud sound that certainly caught the attention of the people in their living room. “M’s,” she yelled, not taking her eyes off Killian. “Can you come back here for a second?” Mary Margaret’s footsteps were soft, but Emma heard her laughing when she saw the small tangle of limbs and twisted t-shirts leaning against the kitchen counter. “You want us out, don’t you?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Yes,” Emma said without preamble. She felt Killian laugh against her and he kissed softly just behind her ear.

“Like now,” he added.

“Rude,” Emma muttered and he almost look sorry.

“You are teenagers,” Mary Margaret said, shaking her head. “But, fine, after several hours of organizing your life, I will get all of your friends out of your very large apartment and we’ll get go food, so you can do...whatever.”

Emma smiled. “Thank you, M’s.” “Yuh huh.”

Mary Margaret was as good as her word, ushering half a dozen people and a one-year-old out of the apartment with ease, moving them out in a single file line that Emma was certain she used regularly in her classroom.

She shot them a look before closing the door and, suddenly, Emma and Killian were very much alone in their apartment.

“They left,” Emma said, pointing out the obvious and Killian widened his eyes meaningfully. She bit her lip.

“They did.” “Rather quickly.”

Killian nodded. “They did,” he repeated.

“So,” Emma muttered. “What now?” He smirked at her, wrapping his hands around her hips tightly and pulling Emma back towards him. “What do you want to be doing?” he asked suggestively, eyebrows doing something ridiculous and impossible.

Emma scoffed. “There are an incredible amount of boxes everywhere,” she pointed out.

“There are. And I absolutely do not care about them at all.”

“Of course you don’t.” “You know you’re wearing my shirt,” he pointed out again, tugging on the fabric.

“You mentioned that before.” “It’s incredibly distracting.” “Something you also mentioned before.” “Think we might be able to do something about that?” he asked, backing her out of the kitchen and turning her – somehow – towards the hallway.

“What did you have in mind?” she asked, embarrassingly breathless as he pulled the shirt up.

“I’ve got some ideas.” “Ideas that required everyone to leave.” “Exactly that.”

They stopped several times in the hallway, leaving a trail of clothing in their wake – something else they’d have to pick up and put away, but Emma couldn’t bring herself to care.

Not when he was there and staring at her like she was the sun or something painfully romantic and moving her towards their bedroom in the apartment five blocks away.

Emma muttered something when Killian’s hand moved towards the top of her shorts and she pushed her body up against his, all but yanking them off her as she pulled him towards the bed that, somehow, had sheets on it.

Mary Margaret. Of course.

She tried not to think about Mary Margaret.

Especially not when Killian did that .

“Jeez,” she mumbled, feeling him laugh against her as he buried his face against her shoulder, nipping or something absurd.

“Relax, Swan,” he said softly, the laughter still obvious in his voice. “Make me.” “I’m working on that.” Emma shook her head at that, hand running up his back and into his hair again. “I think you have an obsession with my hair, love,” he said softly, while his hands did something else that nearly made Emma drop her arms back on the mattress.

She sighed softly and her breath stuttered and Killian smirked at her.

Impossible.

And attractive.

And, God, she loved him.

“I love you,” he said softly, moving his hand back up and lining his body up with hers. “More than anything.” It was her favorite sentence.

Emma would have said something back, told him that she loved him too or that she wasn’t scared of their absurdly enormous apartment or the ridiculous number of boxes they still had to unpack.

She would have told him she was excited for the future if she weren’t entirely preoccupied with rolling her hips in rhythm with his and making sure he made that noise again.

He did and, that time, Emma smirked at him.

“You know, I never asked you something,” Emma said later – she wasn’t sure how much later. She had lost track of time.

They never made it back to the kitchen or the pile of boxes in the living room.

She was fairly certain Killian wouldn’t have let her get out of the bed even if she tried. Which she didn’t.

“What’s that, love?” he asked, letting her hair fall through his fingers.

“I think you’ve got an obsession with my hair,” she muttered.

“Was that what you had to ask?” “Of course not.” “Then ask,” he pressed, rolling towards her so that he was staring at Emma with wide eyes and a small smile on his face.

Emma bit her lip, nerves getting the better of her suddenly. Killian didn’t say anything, just waited – like always.

“Are you happy?” she asked softly.

“Ridiculously,” Emma repeated. “Then that’s that.” “Just like that?” “Just like that,” Killian agreed. “I wasn’t happy before, Swan. And you’ve fixed that. This is what we talked about.” “What?” “That big, vaguely overwhelming future,” he said. “I’m jumping into the deep end of that metaphorical pool. Now. With you. If you’ll let me.” He looked at her and Emma could see the question behind the question. He wanted to make sure she wasn’t going to run away – again.

Emma understood.

She wasn’t particularly pleased that she did, but after everything, the running from him and the running to him and the particularly bitter breakup with the entire Boston Red Sox organization – which wasn’t all too pleased to hear that their PR specialist was leaving in the middle of the season for a job with a much lower salary – Emma couldn’t come up with a reason not to jump into the deep end of the metaphorical-future pool.

With Killian.

“I’m in,” she said softly.

“Yeah?” “All in,” Emma assured him. “I did bring a ridiculous amount of clothing here today.” “I’m not carrying that five blocks again, Swan.” “I wouldn’t ask you too. And,” she added, “I’m not living with the married versions of Mary Margaret and David. They’re almost too in love. It’s disgusting.” “Disgusting?” he laughed. “Not romantic?” “I don’t know that I’m all too partial to romance.” “No?” Killian asked, raising one eyebrow and pulling her back against him, a move that did something very specific to her pulse. They hadn’t gotten out of bed – their clothes were still in the hallway and she could feel every single inch of him. “You seem to be getting better at the whole romance thing, Swan.” “It’s a work in progress.” “One I’m anxious to get underway as soon as possible.” “That so?”

Killian nodded emphatically and hummed his approval before kissing Emma again, rolling her slightly so she was laying across his chest. She couldn’t think straight when he did that. “You’re like my competition now, you know,” Emma said.

“You’re doing this now, love? You’re going to talk inter-city newspaper competition right now? Without any clothes on in my bed?” “Our bed,” Emma pointed out and Killian grinned at her.

“I like how that sounds.” “Me too.”

“And I don’t see it as competition, Swan,” he said. “For the record.” “Look who’s talking now!” “It’s not,” Killian argued. “I’m just continuing your conversation.” “Alright,” Emma sighed, rolling off him and earning a disgruntled groan in the process. “Explain then. How is it not?” “I’m not beating you to any sort of scoop. Just finding column ideas. It’s totally different than your beat.” “Of course it is.” “It is,” he said strongly.

“Either way,” Emma muttered, feeling something resembling romance building in the pit of stomach. “I’m glad you’re here. And writing. Even if you’re on the wrong side of the New York City newspaper war.” “But think, Swan, now I don’t have to wait for you outside with hot chocolate. There’s hot chocolate in the kitchen.” “You bought hot chocolate already?” “What do you think I was doing when I left this morning?” “I couldn’t begin to imagine.” “Buying you hot chocolate.” Emma sighed and shook her head, a small smile pulling on her lips. The deep end of the metaphorical future pool was looking pretty good so far.

And Emma couldn’t quite remember what she had ever been afraid of.

Not when he was looking her like that, trying desperately to pull her back on top of him.

“I love you,” Emma said softly, finally answering him.

“We’re going to be good, Swan,” he promised. “Even on opposite sides of the New York City newspaper war.”

She opened her mouth to answer him, some sort of witty retort that she figured she’d come up with in the moment, but didn’t get a chance.

Killian kissed her instead and Emma wasn’t going to argue with that.

She was going to enjoy it.

They didn’t unpack the boxes that weekend, scrambling on Monday morning to try and find clothes that looked remotely respectable at competing newspapers, but when Emma walked into the kitchen there was hot chocolate in a mug on the counter and Killian was smiling at her like he couldn’t quite believe she was still there.

“Morning, love,” he said softly, handing her the mug. “You ready?” Emma nodded.

She was.

#cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs au #cs #ypblag #DONE DONE DONE #THIS IS DONE #so #long #this is done and so long #y'all are fantastic

55 notes · View notes

welllpthisishappening · 8 years ago

Text

You Play Ball Like a Girl (46/46)

Emma shrugged, but David was practically beaming. “You really want to?” he asked, staring straight at Mary Margaret.

“Only if you do,” she said, matching his smile with one of her own.

“Since I was 17.” “Oh my God,” Emma muttered and Killian chuckled softly behind her, reaching his hand back around her waist and kissing the top of her head softly.

I am a mess of emotion and vaguely completed fanfictions on Ao3 and tag’ed up from the start at Tumblr and the world is all sunshines and rainbows and happiness.

“I like this color,” he said softly, walking up behind her and wrapping his arms tightly around Emma’s waist. She leaned into him, closing her eyes for a moment to just feel him there with her.

It had been weeks since Killian had been in New York and only a little less since they had seen each other, a quick one-night stop in Boston on an elongated Knicks road trip early in May. And they hadn’t really talked about it – the resume he had sent in at the end of April and the text message conversations that had talked about a possible job, but no guarantee.

They were nothing if not good at worrying in silence.

Because Emma was certainly worried.

And she was positive Killian was too.

He just would never admit it.

So neither would she.

They would wait. And they would hope.

“I stole it from Elsa,” Emma muttered, resting the back of her head on his shoulder and she felt Killian’s lips brush behind her ear, pulling her hair away from her shoulder.

“I’ll thank her at some point,” he said, laughing and leaving goosebumps in his wake. “I like it. A lot.” Emma realized that, glancing over her shoulder and raising her eyebrows at him. “I think I picked up on that actually,” she said, pressing her body further back against hers.

“Swan,” Killian said, his voice dangerously low.

“Yuh huh.” “You’re playing dirty.” “I’m not.” Killian’s hand gripped tightly against her hip and Emma bit back a sigh, turning quickly so she was facing him. His arms didn’t drop once. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said softly.

He didn’t say anything back and, for a moment, Emma was almost frustrated with the lack of a response. But then she realized he was too busy staring at her or, more specifically, the neckline of her dress.

It wasn’t low really – they were going to a high school graduation for Christ’s sake – but it wasn’t hiding the chain she had around her neck either. In fact, it was very clearly showing the chain and the ring.

One side of Killian’s mouth ticked up into a small smile and his hand came up to rest on the ring hanging over the dress. “Incredibly dirty,” he muttered again before ducking his head and kissing her, soundly.

Emma wasn’t certain how long they stayed like that – a few minutes or possibly several full days – before she heard a very pointed laugh coming from the doorway.

“Emma?” Mary Margaret called, sounding like this wasn’t the first time she had said her name. “If we don’t leave now we’re going to be late.” Killian pulled away before Emma did, laughing softly at the whine she made in the back of her throat. “We’ll be right there, Mary Margaret,” he said and she nodded at them once, eyes filled with amusement before walking back towards the living room.

“What was it you were saying about playing dirty?” Emma said, turning away to grab her shoes from the other corner of the room.

“I’m not sure what it is you’re implying, love?” “That was dirty,” she said, stepping into the heels and crossing her arms. “Bordering close to decidedly unfair.” Killian didn’t even try and disguise his laughter, leaning his head back and laughing loudly. “That was my plan all along, Swan,” he said, lacing his fingers with hers as he led them out of the room. “And, for the record, I’m glad that I’m here too.”

They weren’t Henry’s official family so they didn’t get actual tickets to the graduation ceremony, but the four of them found space in the back of the Beacon High School auditorium, making it in with a few minutes to spare.

“He’s not even going to be able to see us back here,” David said softly as the senior class started to file in, filling up the front rows of seats.

“He knows we’re here,” Mary Margaret countered. “And we’ll see him after.”

“That’s not nearly as exciting.” “Wait,” Emma cut in. “There he is.” She pointed to Henry – in the middle of two other girls – head down as he walked slowly towards his designated seat. “God, he looks thrilled to be here doesn’t he?” “It’s a long ceremony,” David said. “Especially when you’re just waiting to walk across a stage.”

“Here, wait a second,” Killian muttered, waving his left hand quickly to silence the two of them. He lifted his right hand to his mouth and made some kind of impossibly loud noise that might have been a whistle and also might have actually split Emma’s ear drum in half.

“Jesus Christ, Killian,” Emma muttered. “Warn me next time…” “Look,” he interrupted.

Henry lifted his head, eyes darting back towards the sound where the four them were sitting. His eyes widened when he saw them and he flashed a smile at them, waving quickly and practically bouncing on his feet in the process. The girl behind him almost collided directly with his back.

The four of them must have looked absolutely ridiculous, Emma thought, as each of them raised their hands to wave back quickly. Henry laughed, shaking his head and the girl behind him pushed his shoulder to get him to start walking again.

“Pushy isn’t she,” Emma mumbled.

“Literally,” Killian laughed, slinging his arm around her shoulders in the process.

“Where did you learn to make that awful sound?”

“That’s what our high school coach used to do when we’d run,” he said, still laughing. “I don’t think he bought a whistle once while I was at school.”

“It’s awful.”

“That’s kind of the point.”

“Shhh, guys, it’s starting,” Mary Margaret said. Teacher voice . Emma widened her eyes at Killian and he made a face.

“You’re going to get me in trouble, Swan,” he said, whispering the words in her ear and sending a chill down her spine.

“That’s probably true,” she answered, leaning into his side as the first speaker took the stage.

David was right – it had been a long ceremony.

Impossibly long, as far as Emma was concerned, but it was worth it when Henry walked across the stage. She wondered silently where his foster family was and realized, almost as quickly, that she didn’t care.

His people were sitting in the very last row in the auditorium and they were the loudest cheers of anyone at the entire graduation. Henry had no more than shaken the principal’s hand and flipped the tassel on his cap that all four of them stood up – in very impressive, unpracticed unison – and screamed their respective lungs out, clapping loudly and shouting. Mary Margaret and Emma even jumped a bit.

Henry laughed – although the stage was too far away for any of them to hear it – and shook his head, beaming out towards the very last row in the auditorium.

They filed out of the building no less than 45 minutes later – Emma was certain there were several thousand kids in Henry’s graduating class – and waited in the small park outside the high school for him. It only took a few moments for him to find them, sprinting across the grass and skidding to a halt, his cap clutched tightly in his hand.

“Slow down kid,” Emma laughed, putting her hand on Henry’s shoulders. He reached forward quickly and hugged her, nearly knocking her backwards with the force of it.

She felt Killian’s hand on her back – keeping her upright – and hugged Henry back, muttering congratulations at him.

“You guys were incredibly loud,” Henry said, pulling away from Emma and glancing at the other three of them with a very specific glint in his eye. “Embarrassingly loud.”

“Stop that,” Killian said, nudging his hand into Henry’s arm, a smirk plastered on his face. “You appreciated it and you know it.” Henry rolled his eyes and mumbled something that sounded like yeah, I did .

“You did great up there Henry,” Mary Margaret said, reaching forward for her own hug, and Henry just laughed again. “I walked across the stage, Mary Margaret.” “Yeah,” David agreed, “but you didn’t fall.” “True,” Henry said and, suddenly, his face got very serious. “Hey, can I say something to you guys?” “Were we really that embarrassing?” Emma asked, widening her eyes.

“No, no,” Henry continued, voice picking up speed quickly. “No, that was nice. Super nice. That’s what I mean. You guys have been so nice. That’s a super lame word and it doesn’t really cover it, but, like, that’s what I mean.” “Where are you going with this kid?”

“Thank you.” “What?” “Thank you,” he repeated. “For the screaming and the yelling and the feature stories and UVA and baseball. Just, well, thank you.” Emma widened her eyes, shoulders slumping slightly under Killian’s arm. “You don’t have to thank us for that,” Killian said softly.

“That’s just what Emma does,” Mary Margaret added, smiling at her while she wrapped her hand around David’s. He nodded slowly.

“It wasn’t just me,” Emma argued. “You’re the one who gave me the story idea, M’s. And you,” she pushed one finger into Killian’s chest, “did all the baseball stuff. And David helped with school.” “It was all of you,” Henry said, voice soft, but undeniably strong. “You all did it and I wish there was something I could do to thank you.” “You’re doing it,” Killian said quickly, eyes wide like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“What?” “You’re doing it,” he repeated. “You graduated and you’re going to UVA and you’re going to make that baseball team and, what did you say, love?” he asked, glancing down at Emma. “Twenty home runs freshman year?” “At least,” Emma said, smiling. “At least,” Killian continued, nodding. “And you’re going to do whatever the hell you want because you can. That’s what you’re going to do.” “And right field for the New York Yankees,” Henry nodded.

Killian’s breath caught and Emma felt his arm tense around her for a moment, before it dropped away completely and he walked towards Henry, pulling him towards him and hugging him. “If that’s what you want,” Killian said, voice gruff. “Then that’s what you’ll do.” “Deal,” Henry said as soon as Killian’s arm dropped away from him.

“Good.”

“So what do we do now?” Henry asked, glancing at the faces in front of him.

“What do you want to do?” Emma asked. “Shouldn’t you let your foster family know where you are?” “Nah, they didn’t come.” “What?” Emma said, voice cracking on the four letters with the force of her very-sudden anger. Henry smiled sadly at her.

“It’s fine, Emma,” he said. “Really. You guys came.”

Emma sighed, pressing her lips together tightly and nodding forcefully. “Absolutely.” “I have an idea,” Mary Margaret said suddenly and four heads snapped towards her quickly.

“What’s up, M’s?” Emma asked.

Mary Margaret glanced at David and Emma go the distinct impression that they were talking without actually using any words. “M’s?” she prompted.

David was smiling.

“What is going on?” Henry asked.

Emma shrugged, but David was practically beaming. “You really want to?” he asked, staring straight at Mary Margaret.

“Only if you do,” she said, matching his smile with with one of her own.

“Since I was 17.” “Oh my God,” Emma muttered and Killian chuckled softly behind her, reaching his hand back around her waist and kissing the top of her head softly.

“Will someone please tell me what is going on?” Henry asked.

“M’s and David are going to get married,” Emma said simply.

“Yeah, I figured that’s what the big ring was about.” “No,” she corrected him quickly. “Today.” “Today?” “Do you just carry your marriage certificate with you, M’s?” Emma asked, shaking her head slowly.

Mary Margaret shrugged. “Maybe.” “Incredible.” “Prepared,” Mary Margaret amended. “And you’re wearing blue.” Emma glanced down at her dress, sunlight glinting off the ring on her chain, and smiled. “Prepared,” she said, meeting Mary Margaret’s eyes.

“I told you it was a good color, love,” Killian said softly, trailing one hand up the side of the dress, and kissing the top of her head again.

“You want to go to a wedding, kid?” Emma asked Henry.

He grinned at her and nodded.

City Hall was empty.

“Shouldn't there be more people here?” Henry asked as soon as they walked in the doors, voicing Emma’s thoughts immediately.

“I guess not,” Emma shrugged.

“Makes it easier for us,” David said, pulling Mary Margaret towards the first open kiosk along the wall.

They were a small parade up to the woman behind the counter, who eyed them speculatively – Henry was still wearing his graduation gown.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“We’d like to get married,” David answered, lacing his fingers with Mary Margaret’s. “Like right now.” “Right now?”

David nodded. “Yup.” “Well, that’s not possible.” “What?” “You need an appointment,” the woman said, shrugging slightly and Emma made a face. “Because you’ll have to have a specific city worker do the ceremony.” “It’s not really a ceremony,” Mary Margaret said quickly, pressing next to David in front of the kiosk. “We just need someone to sign the form.” “That’s not very romantic,” David muttered. He looked back up at the worker behind the counter and put on his best I’m an NYPD detective, do what I’m telling you , face. Emma bit her lip so she wouldn’t laugh.

“Listen,” he glanced at the name on the side of the kiosk, “Wendy. We’ve got all our paperwork filled out. We have a marriage license already. We literally just need one person to say ‘man and wife’ and sign the papers. We’d really just like to get married.” He wrapped his arm around Mary Margaret’s waist for good measure and raised his eyebrows expectantly. Emma rolled her eyes. David was pouring on the charm.

Emma knew the moment it worked – Wendy’s entire face lit up as soon as David kissed Mary Margaret’s cheek sweetly and she sighed softly at the sight in front of her. “I’m sure I can find someone who’s free,” Wendy said quickly.

“That’s all we’re asking,” David said.

“I’ll be right back,” Wendy answered, slipping off her swivel chair and all but sprinting into the backroom.

“Jeez, David,” Emma said sarcastically. “Be even sweeter, please, I don’t think all of my teeth have rotted.” “Shut up, Emma,” he said, flicking her arm behind his back.

“How did you even do that?”

“I’m athletic,” David said quickly, keeping his eyes trained ahead, which was good since Emma rolled her eyes so hard it practically hurt.

Wendy came sprinting back, slightly out of breath, with a smile on her face. “Are you guys free now?” “We are incredibly free now,” David answered.

“Well, then I’ve got good news. Lance is on his lunch break, but he said he’d be willing to do the ceremony for you since he’s done eating.” “Nice to see romance is alive and well in New York City,” Emma muttered.

“Swan,” Killian said softly and she shook her head. Henry practically cackled.

“Alright,” Wendy continued. “If you want to follow me around the side here and bring all your paperwork with you, Lance will be right with you in a couple of minutes.” “Thank you so much, Wendy,” David said, voice dripping with charm. “You’ve been so much help.”

Mary Margaret was the one who rolled her eyes this time and their small parade marched around the corner of Wendy’s kiosk, stopping in front of a slightly faded backdrop of the New York City skyline.

“You really want to do this, babe?” David asked, raising his eyebrows and gripping Mary Margaret’s wrists.

“You’re asking me that now?” she asked, widening her eyes and shaking her head. She was smiling.

“Just double checking.” “We’re getting married, David Nolan,” Mary Margaret said forcefully, pulling her hands away and forcing them flat against his shoulders. “And we’re going to be happy and our parents are going to be furious and we’re going to take ridiculous pictures in front of this disgusting backdrop. It’s going to be perfect.” David let out a shaky laugh and shook his head slowly. “I love you,” he said simply.

“I love you too.” They were kissing when a man – who Emma assumed was Lance – came around the far corner and stared at the scene in front of him. “Aren’t you supposed to wait until after the wedding to kiss each other?” he asked.

David and Mary Margaret broke away quickly and looked just a bit embarrassed. “Oh, yeah, sorry about that…” David muttered.

“Lance,” the man said, sticking his hand out. David shook it quickly and smiled. “Thanks for doing this, Lance,” Mary Margaret said sincerely.

He waved his hands in front of them dismissively. “It’s my pleasure. Wendy said you had your paperwork all filled out already?” “Yup,” Mary Margaret answered, handing him the small stack of papers.

Lance glanced over it, nodding occasionally and putting it on the small table next to him. “Well, that’s all set, so I guess the only thing left is to actually get married, huh?” “That sounds like a plan,” David said, pulling Mary Margaret against his side.

“You two the wedding party?” Lance asked, glancing towards Emma and Killian.

“Oh,” Emma sputtered, caught off guard entirely. “Uh, yeah, I’m Mary Margaret’s maid of honor.”

“And you are?” Lance continued, staring at Killian.

“My best man,” David said confidently. Emma was certain she was going to fall over. Or her heart was going to explode. Either or.

Killian gaped at David, wide eyed and visibly terrified. “What?” he croaked out.

“If you don’t mind,” David said.

“Oh, no, no,” Killian stuttered. “I mean, if you want.” “I wouldn’t have said it otherwise.”

Killian nodded slowly and Emma bit her lip tightly, blinking furiously – but not because she was going to cry.

Of course not.

“Well, that’s settled then,” Lance said, entirely unaware of what had just happened in front of him. “Does that make you the ringbearer?” he asked Henry.

“Do you guys even have rings?” Emma laughed.

“Um, we could use my engagement ring, right?” Mary Margaret suggested. “And, well, we’ll just get David something later. When it’s a bit more planned.” “Makes sense.” “Well, we’ve got paperwork and a wedding party and rings,” Lance listed off. “Time to have a ceremony.”

Emma took a deep breath and all of them spun towards Lance, settling into their designated positions as a small crowd of people formed around them – it was probably everyone in the entire building.

“We stand here because these two people simply couldn’t stand not being married to each other anymore,” Lance said and Emma wondered if he said people because he couldn’t remember David and Mary Margaret’s name. “Because they simply want to be together , to have their friends witness their love and their dedication to each other.”

Emma wasn’t crying.

She wasn’t.

She might be sobbing, but she wasn’t crying.

Killian glanced at her and Emma felt his smirk even standing on the other side of David. She smiled at him. “There’s no point in dragging out vows,” Lance continued. “Not when it’s so obvious how much David and Mary Margaret love each other.” Oh. He did remember their names.

“David,” Lance said, “do you have anything to say to Mary Margaret?” David’s eyes widened slightly and Emma chewed on her lip – he hadn’t planned on surprise vows. “Oh, sure,” David said, turning slightly to look at Mary Margaret. “I love you. And I want to marry you. And I promise to come home to you every night.” “Promise?” Mary Margaret asked softly, eyes shining with tear.

David nodded slowly. “Good,” she said. “And I promise not to worry too much. And be supportive. And come home to you every night. Oh, and I love you too.”

Emma let out a low laugh and looked up to see that Killian was still staring at her. She pressed her knuckles against her cheek, wiping away the tears before they got entirely out of control.

Lance pulled Mary Margaret and David’s hands together, until their fingers were wrapped together and took a deep breath. “By the power vested in me, by the city of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.” David and Mary Margaret moved together quickly and wrapped their arms around each other tightly, kissing forcefully and earning several whoops of encouragement from the crowd around them.

Emma, Killian and Henry yelled the loudest.

“You ok, love?” Killian asked, wiping the tears off her cheeks, a small smile on his face.

“Yeah, yeah, definitely,” Emma said. And she really was. She was emotionally overwhelmed, but she couldn’t bring herself to be anything but happy for Mary Margaret and David. “I think we’ve got to sign some paperwork.” Killian nodded and followed Emma towards the table on the side of the skyline backdrop. “So you two just need to sign your names next on the witness lines,” Lance instructed. “Then Mary Margaret and David mail it in and, just like that, you guys just got married.” “Thank you, Lance,” Mary Margaret said, putting her hand on his forearm.

“My pleasure,” he answered sincerely. “Here, come on, your $35 fee gives you one family photo in front of the backdrop as well.” “Perfect.”

The five of them, somehow, fit in front of the fake skyline and Lance stepped behind the camera, leaning forward slightly to stare through the finder. “You’re quite a multi-tasker, aren’t you?” David laughed. “Oh yeah,” Lance said. “Absolutely. Now, smile.” The flash went off and Emma hoped none of them blinked, leaning back against Killian’s chest behind her, his hand splayed around the curve of her waist. “Congratulations,” he said, leaning around Emma to look at David and Mary Margaret.

The two of them barely even noticed he was talking.

“Hey!” Emma yelled. “Mrs. Nolan.” “Nuh,” David corrected immediately. “Mrs. Blanchard-Nolan.”

“Of course,” she said, shaking her head.

“If she changed it too much, the third graders would get confused,” Henry explained like it as the most obvious thing in the world.

“That’s exactly right, Henry,” Mary Margaret smiled. “And thank you, Killian.”

“What are you guys going to do now?” Emma asked, suddenly curious if she should find somewhere else to stay tonight.

“What do you want to do babe?” David asked. “We could get a hotel?” “Yeah?” Mary Margaret asked, eyes wide and a small smile on her face. “I think we deserve a hotel room on our wedding night,” he answered before kissing her forcefully.

“Ew, gross,” Emma muttered and Henry laughed at her.

David flicked her arm and shook his head, pulling on Mary Margaret’s hand to lead her out of City Hall. Henry was practically hysterical by the time they got back outside.

Mary Margaret and David stopped on the bottom step, pushing their foreheads together to stare at his phone screen and try and find a hotel, while Killian, Emma and Henry hung back behind them.

Killian’s own phone dinged and Emma wondered if he got fewer e-mails now than he did while he was at The Record .

“Hey,” Killian said suddenly. “I’ve got something to tell you.”

Emma snapped her head up and narrowed her eyes at his expression – happy and hopeful and maddeningly, annoyingly, attractively nervous. “What?” she asked.

“I got the job.”

The words sunk into her slowly, inching through every part of her like they were warming every single nerve end in her body. It was like she had just come in after spending hours in the snow and sitting in front of the fire – which was an interesting analogy considering it was the middle of May in New York City.

“What?” Emma croaked out.

“I got the job,” he repeated. “At The Writer .”

Emma’s breath rushed out of her lungs and she fell forward slightly, landing on his chest. “Really?” “I wouldn’t lie about that, Swan,” Killian laughed.

“You’re coming back to New York?” Henry asked. Killian nodded. “When did this happen?” Emma cut in, hand gripping Killian’s shoulder tightly.

“Literally just now.” “Did you even interview?” “No,” Killian shook his head. “Talked to August a couple of times in the last few weeks, but he told me they wanted to keep their options open. I guess they looked at all the other options and I’m it.” “Of course you are,” Emma said forcefully and Killian smiled at her, running his hands up and down her bare arms. He linked his right hand with hers, but his left hand found its way – again – back to the ring hanging in front of her dress and smiled.

“Good luck,” he said softly.

“When?” “When what?” “When are you coming home?” “E-mail says they want me to start the beginning of June,” Killian said, nodding towards his pocket where his phone was stuffed.

“That’s two weeks from now.” “It is.” “That’s so soon.” “It is.” “You’re going to come back?” Emma asked again. “Really come back? For good?” “For good, Swan,” he said and Emma felt like it was a promise – a big one.

Emma didn’t wait another moment – she stood up on her tiptoes and threw her arms bodily around his neck, yanking herself up and kissing him with everything she had in her. She pushed her hand into his hair and ran her thumb behind his ear.

He answered her just as strongly, gripping her waist like she was going to disappear right there on the steps of City Hall.

Mary Margaret must have said something because Emma heard Henry laugh hysterically and mutter something about Killian got a job . They only stopped when Mary Margaret practically screeched a few feet away from them and ran towards them, heels clacking loudly on the stone steps.

“You alright, M’s?” Emma asked. Killian didn’t let go of her.

“Are you?!” Emma nodded and for the first time, in a very long time, she was, completely. “I am.” “Good,” Mary Margaret said, staring pointedly at Killian. He looked a bit taken aback. “Don’t you dare leave again, understand?” “Yes, Mrs. Blanchard-Nolan.” “Exactly.” Killian didn’t wait for anymore demands, just leaned down and kissed Emma again, tugging on the chain around her neck and mumbling I love you against her lips.

It was quiet in the apartment later – hours later, hours jampacked with kisses and makeouts and some sort of post-graduation, post-wedding celebratory dinner.

David and Mary Margaret had gotten that hotel room. Emma was certain they told her where. She was also certain she didn’t remember.

“You’re thinking,” Killian said softly, trailing his finger up her arm.

Emma rolled her head to the side, cheek pressing up against the pillow and widened her eyes at him. They hadn’t really talked, not yet, and she had a sneaking suspicion they were going to do that just now.

She would have been more content with making out.

“That’s not a question,” Emma pointed out, twisting her body when his fingers didn’t stop moving and glaring at him.

He smirked at her.

“It wasn’t supposed to be,” he said.

“Then what’s going on exactly?” “I’m sparking conversation, love.”

“About?” “Swan,” he said pointedly, narrowing his eyes. “You know exactly what.” “This is really happening?” “This talk or me coming home?” Killian asked and the smirk was practically taking over his entire face. Emma shoved her hand against his shoulder and he rolled back dramatically, pulling her along with him.

“I like that you said home,” Emma whispered, half her body splayed out across his. She wasn’t wearing the dress anymore – hadn’t been for quite some time, not since they walked in the door and realized they were actually alone – and it took about two seconds for Killian’s hand to work its way underneath the Louisville baseball t-shirt she had on.

“It is,” he answered simply, surging up quickly to kiss her and for a moment Emma forgot entirely what they were talking about.

“You’re distracting,” she muttered. He almost looked apologetic. “You’re the one who wanted to talk.”

“They really want me to come write for them,” Killian said softly and Emma suddenly realized what was going on. “Soon.” He was giving her an out – one final time – and if Emma wasn’t so happy about The Writer and the wedding and Henry graduating high school, she probably would have been slightly annoyed that he felt like he still had to do that for her.

“Hey,” she said sharply, drawing his eyes up to hers. “You don’t have to do that. You don’t have to double check that it’s alright with me or anything stupid like that. I’ve wanted you to come back from the moment that you left.” That stupid smirk was just ridiculous.

He ran his hand through her hair, pressing his forehead against Emma’s and she felt him take a deep breath.

“I wanted to come back the moment I left,” he said.

“Then come back.” “Just like that?” “I don’t see why not.”

“Two weeks,” Killian said. “That’s it.” “Yuh huh.”

“We can do this.” Emma pulled back from him slightly, narrowing her eyes with a million and two questions running through her mind. “Do you think we can’t?” “No, that’s not what I mean at all,” he said quickly, sighing softly and shaking his head. “I meant…” “What?”

“Emma,” he muttered and her heart did something that vaguely felt like a flip in her chest. “We can do this. This is it. “It?”

He nodded, pulling her against his chest and kissing down her neck. That wasn’t fair at all, a point she made sure to try and make. That proved rather challenging when she could feel his fingers brush along her spine.

“It,” he muttered again, lips ghosting along her collarbone and Emma did her best not to shiver. It didn’t work.

“Happy endings and all that?” she asked, voice only shaking slightly. She was proud of that.

“And all of that,” he confirmed.

#cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs au #cs #ypblag #oh my god #that's a complete fic up there #well there's an epilogue #but the story is done #all resolved #and happy endings #and AGH #i am an emotion

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welllpthisishappening · 8 years ago

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I discovered your Play Ball Like a Girl fic a few days ago and, oh my, I am completely blown away by it! I am at loss for words to tell you how amazing all of it is: your writing, the dialogue, Emma and Killian's characterisation....Just wow! I am currently up to chapter 22 but I can safely say this is one of the best fics I have ever read. Thank you so much for sharing such a beautifully written story with us!

Agh! What a lovely message to wake up to!! Thank you so, so much! I’ve now read your message, like, six times in a row. The nicest!

#anon #ypblag

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welllpthisishappening · 8 years ago

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You Play Ball Like a Girl (45/46)

“What is this?” Emma asked, glancing up at Will. He shrugged.

“Looks like an award.”

“For what?”

“Your name is on it, Emma. I’d wager pretty good money it’s for you.”

A final week of updates on Ao3 and tag’ed up from the start on Tumblr.

The game didn’t last 18 hours, but it felt like it had.

Emma was never good at patient.

Two stories, one live blog and more Twitter responses than she could count later, Emma yanked open the door to the bar on 9th Ave, a few blocks away from the Garden and jam-packed with the Saturday night, midtown crowd.

She groaned slightly at the people packed into the small space and scanned the faces in front of her, trying to find one of the people who were supposed to be waiting for her.

“Emma!”

Her head snapped up suddenly and she saw Mary Margaret waving at her from the end of the bar, the three of them crammed around a table in the corner. Emma nodded once and started walking, trying to her way through the crowd, but finding the task more difficult than she had bargained for.

She felt his hand in hers before she realized he was there and glanced up to find Killian suddenly next to her, pulling her along behind him.

People moved for him. Emma tried not to take that personally.

“Thanks,” she said softly and he grinned at her, raising one eyebrow up in a way that had Emma ready to pull him through the crowd as well – directly out the door.

“Couldn’t leave you to fend for yourself, love,” he said, letting go of her hand to wrap his arm tightly around her shoulders as they stopped in front of the table her friends had commandeered.

“Did you win?”David asked, nodding towards the several plate of bar food sitting on the table.

Emma grabbed a mozzarella stick and made some kind of noise in the affirmative. “Two in a row now.” “Practically a streak.” She scoffed and leaned her head against Killian’s shoulder. “Tired, Swan?” he asked.

Mary Margaret had a very specific look on her face and Emma just widened her eyes. “I’m fine,” she said sharply.

“Of course.” “How was hitting?” Emma asked, desperate to change the subject. Mary Margaret did her best to turn her laughter into a cough.

It was a valiant effort.

“Henry’s really good,” David answered. “Almost gave Killian a run for his money.” “You hit again?” Emma asked, turning quickly to stare at him in surprise.

Killian shrugged. “Henry asked.” “Yuh huh.” “It’s not a big deal, Swan.” “Yuh huh,” she repeated. Killian sighed and tilted his head, widening his eyes at her. “So did you hit too, David? Round out the trio?” “I did and it was only slightly embarrassing.” “You made contact a couple of times,” Killian said.

“Yeah, and you and Henry missed it a combined two times. Only slightly embarrassing.” “Well, at least you tried, David,” Emma said, trying not to laugh.

“Shut up,” he muttered.

Emma glanced at Mary Margaret – still trying to turn her laughter into a cough – and pushed a drink closer to her. “Thanks,” Mary Margaret said. “Sounded like you could use it.” “You’re the one who doesn’t have a drink.” “Nuh uh,” Killian interrupted, pointing to the extra glass in front of him. “That’s Swan’s.” “Not rum?” Emma asked, leaning up against him. His whole body seemed to tense under hers.

“Didn’t seem like that kind of night.” Emma smiled, taking a grateful drink of wine, ignoring the fact that he bought her drink before she even got there.

“I have political news,” Mary Margaret said after another long drink, finally finished with her coughing-laughter fit.

“Political?” Killian asked.

“Emma!” Mary Margaret said quickly, pushing on her shoulder slightly, the light of the bar flashing off the stone in her ring. “You didn’t tell him?”

“There have been a couple of other things going on,” Emma shrugged. Like running away from their respective problems and running towards each other and giving up jobs.

“What’s happening here?” Killian asked, the amusement in his voice obvious.

“There’s been a Storybrooke coup,” David supplied and Killian’s eyes widened.

“That so?” “We’re not using the word ‘coup,’” Mary Margaret pressed. Killian nodded seriously. “It’s a transfer of power within the family.” “Your family?” he asked.

He really was a good journalist.

“Exactly,” Mary Margaret nodded. “Regina is now the new mayor of Storybrooke.” “What happened to your stepmother?” “Stealing from the town,” Emma supplied and Killian made a noise in the back of his throat.

“No wonder the wedding was so fancy,” he said. “Exactly,” David agreed.

“So, what was your news, M’s?” “Regina pitched a fit in City Hall today apparently. My dad called me. Something about Marco and a gazebo they were building in the square and it not being perfect . It lasted several hours, I guess. She was on the phone, trying to get Graham to arrest Marco because he had broken some sort of contract with her.” “Marco is 75 years old,” Emma pointed out.

“I don’t think she cared.”

“What ended the fit?” “Robin, of course.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “I don’t understand it. She’s a totally different person around him. She actually almost seems nice when she’s with him.” “She loves him,” Mary Margaret pointed out. “That makes things different.”

“If you say so,” Emma mumbled and Killian kissed the top of her head. Point to him.

“I just did,” Mary Margaret continued. “Anyway, that’s not even the most exciting part of the conversation.” “There’s more?”

Mary Margaret nodded and Emma noticed she suddenly looked a little bit nervous. “I told my dad,” she said, taking another drink.

Emma blinked and glanced at David who looked just as nervous. “And that went…”

“Not great.” “I figured it wouldn’t.” “Apparently he and my mom have been talking,” David said. “About the wedding. Making plans. And lists full of suggestions from Cora.” “Cora?” Emma asked, nearly choking on the word. “What does Cora have to do with it?”

“She’s got some time on her hands now that she’s not officially mayor anymore,” Mary Margaret continued, leaning against David’ side, like recounting all of this was slightly exhausting. “And, according to my dad, planning me some sort of big ceremony that would prove, once and for all, the joint efforts of the Blanchard-Mills family to take control of Storybrooke.” Emma laughed – loudly – practically doubling over with the sound. “Are you kidding me?” She asked, staring wide-eyed at Mary Margaret and David.

“Swan…” Killian muttered disapprovingly, glancing nervously around the table.

“Are you hearing this?” she asked. “This is absurd.”

“It is,” Mary Margaret agreed. “My dad, well, he’s not pleased with the small New York ceremony idea.”

“What about your mom?” Emma asked, looking at David.

“Surprisingly ok’ish with it,” he said. “She said she wanted to come.”

Emma made a face, sticking her lower lip out slightly and nodding in approval. “What are you going to do M’s?” “Nothing,” she shrugged.

“Really?”

Killian laughed softly behind Emma, the movement of his chest hitting up against her beck, and she glanced over her shoulder at him. “Are you really that surprised, Swan?” he asked, looking up admiringly at Mary Margaret. “I’m not.” “Thanks,” Mary Margaret said, sounding sincere and reaching out to brush her hand over Killian’s forearm. He just shook his head dismissively as Emma leaned against him, hoping he’d understand what she was trying to do.

The hand on her waist made her fairly confident he had picked up on it.

“You’re really going to do it anyway, M’s?” Emma asked. “Just get married whenever?”

“That’s what we’re thinking.” “You know, whenever the wedding mood strikes,” David laughed. “We’re going to get the license later this week.” “When exactly do you think the wedding mood would strike?” Emma asked.

“You can never be too sure.” Emma laughed and finished her drink, feeling something settling in the pit of her stomach. Killian tightened his arm around her shoulders and kissed her head again lightly, chuckling softly as well and everything was so goddamn perfect that Emma couldn’t quite come up with the right word for it all.

But then Mary Margaret smiled at her knowingly, muttering something about how the wedding mood would only strike when Emma was wearing blue because they were at least sticking to a color scheme in this spontaneity and, suddenly, she knew exactly what she was feeling.

Happy. She was happy.

“You alright, love?” Killian asked several hours – and a totally inappropriate number of drinks – later.

Emma nodded, only wobbling slightly as she stepped out of the heels she had somehow managed to keep on all night. “Of course,” she said, taking a few steps back and nearly collapsing on the bed, almost falling on top of him.

“We should have made sure you drank more water,” he said, fingers trailing up her side and finding their way under the bottom of her shirt easily.

“That’s your job.” Killian laughed softly and turned his head to look at Emma, one eyebrow perfectly raised in unspoken question. “Ok,” Emma sighed. “That’s also my job. But maybe I wanted to have a good time before you left.”

“Did you?” “Did I what?” “Have a good time?” Emma smiled, brushing her hand over his cheek, thumb trailing slowly over his lower lip. “I did,” she said softly. “Could have a better time though.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

Killian sighed, leaning his head against Emma’s palm and kissing softly against the inside of her hand. “I think you may have had a considerable amount to drink, love.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that I’m pretty positive we could have a pretty good time.” He narrowed his eyes at her and shook his head. Emma seized the opportunity and pulled him towards her, kissing him – hard. He froze for a moment and then he made some sort of ridiculous noise that sounded like a growl and Emma was pinned underneath him, Killian’s legs on either side of her hips.

“Told you,” she muttered quietly and he shook his head again before pressing his face into the crook of her neck and kissed so hard she was positive he was going to leave a mark. In fact, Emma was fairly certain he was trying to. “I win,” Emma added, moving her hips instinctively and working another groan out of him when her body moved against Killian’s.

“Stop talking, Swan,” he mumbled.

She did and he made sure she did.

For several minutes.

He pulled back slightly, staring at her and God his eyes were blue. And Emma was overwhelmed and she didn’t want him to go back to Boston, didn’t want him to leave the apartment or her bed.

She also didn’t say any of that out loud.

Killian did.

“I don’t want to leave,” he mumbled, barely saying the words.

Emma tried to smile, but she knew it wasn’t even remotely convincing. “I don’t want you to either,” she said. “But you have to go.” “I know.” “Make sure your bag made it back to Boston.”

“I’m sure it did.” “And you’ll be back soon,” Emma continued. “You play at Yankee Stadium in like two weeks.” “I don’t, Swan,” Killian said and she would have heard the slight bite in his voice even if she wasn’t lying two inches away from her. “I know, I know, I’m sorry.” “Don’t be.” Killian muttered. “I knew what you meant. I just...like I said, it wasn’t what I was expecting.” “What exactly were you expecting?” Emma asked, fingers tracing over the veins in his left hand and Killian looked at her with eyes wide, the emotion obvious there.

“Something.” “Not very specific.” “I don’t know that I have a more specific answer.” Emma didn’t really need one. She knew what he expected – or what he hoped for, something to work . Something to not feel like a disappointment after he had given up so much for it. He had hoped for a little bit of fair from a world that seemed determined to give him exactly the opposite.

“You’ll be back soon,” Emma repeated and Killian nodded, head dropping back against her shoulder as he kissed her, just underneath where his lips landed. “And I’ll be in Boston for the playoffs. I’ll see you so much you’ll get sick of me.” “Not possible,” he said into her neck, still kissing her and Emma was getting decidedly distracted. “Plus,” Killian added. “I’ll be back for graduation.” “Whose?” she asked, mind only focused on what he was doing with his mouth and the marks he was undoubtedly leaving there.

“Henry’s, of course.” Emma pulled her head away and gaped at him. “What? Really?” “Yeah, he asked while we were at the Piers today.” “And you said?” “That I’d come back. Of course.” “You won’t have a game?” “ You won’t have a game, Swan? That’s right in the middle of the playoffs.”

“I’ve been guaranteed an afternoon graduation,” Emma said. “Playoff games happen at night. Always.” Killian laughed softly and nodded. “You’ve got it all figured out.” “Do you? You’d really come back for that?”

He made a face at her. “Come on, Swan,” he sighed. “I think I’ve proved I care. Why wouldn’t I come back? I’m entitled to days off.”

“And secret not-so-sick days.” “That too.” He wriggled his eyebrows at her and Emma let out some sort of ridiculous, girlish giggle. Killian beamed at her. “You know what Monday is?” he asked.

“The last game of the homestand?” “You’ll have been at The Record for a year.” “You remember the actual date?” Emma asked, surprise washing over her before she, suddenly, realized he was wrong. “Wait, that’s not right.” “Hmm?” “I started at The Record on the 21st.” “That was your first day,” Killian said. “But you interviewed on the 18th.” That was right. Of course.

Emma’s mouth dropped open suddenly and she bit her lip tightly. “A year,” she said softly. “That’s right.” “I know it is.” “Why do you remember that?” “Do you not?” “No, of course I do,” Emma said. And she did. Vividly.

“Then why wouldn’t I?” “It wasn’t your interview.”

“Yeah, but it was also the day you nearly ran me over outside an elevator,” he laughed, picking up right where he left off with the kissing. Emma bit her lip again. “Seems like kind of an important date.” “I think so.” “Then we’re very much on the same page.” He tugged on the chain around her neck lightly, forcing Emma to turn her head and look at him. She nearly pulled back when she met his eyes. He looked certain. “I love you,” he said seriously and Emma’s stomach flipped.

“I love you too.” “I’m glad you almost ran me over, Swan.” He spent the rest of the night proving how glad he was.

She didn’t do anything when he left.

Didn’t tell him to stay or that she hated the entire Boston Red Sox organization with enough fire to probably light an entire Yankee Candle store.

She just kissed him – standing on the sidewalk in front of her apartment, again, and that wasn’t lost on either of them – and told him she loved him and watched him get in a cab back to LaGuardia.

And then Emma went to work on Monday and tried to pretend like everything was fine. It almost worked.

That was, until, Will Scarlet showed up at her desk with a box full of letters, leaning them on the edge of her desk and staring at her expectantly.

“Good weekend?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Emma said softly. “Real good.” Will made a face, like he was waiting for her to continue, but Emma didn’t say anything else. Instead she changed the subject. “What’s in the box?”

“Oh!” Will exclaimed, like he had forgotten what he was holding. “I come bearing gifts.” “Gifts from the United States Postal Service?” “Exactly.”

He hooked his leg up slightly, balancing the box on his knee and reached in to grab an oversized envelope, holding it out in front of Emma. She grabbed it, lowering her eyebrows and staring at the label on the front.

Emma Swan ℅ The New York Record

300 W 57th St, New York, NY

The NYS Press Association

“The Press Association?” Emma asked, to no one in particular.

Will shrugged. “I don’t know why they’d lie on the return address label. Open it and see what it’s about.”

Emma scoffed under her breath, but ripped open the edge of the envelope as well – it was ridiculously heavy. There wasn’t a letter inside. Emma’s hand hit something far more solid than paper. In fact, it felt a bit like wood.

She lowered her eyebrows and dropped the envelope on her desk – landing with a soft thud – and yanked out the contents. It was a plaque.

“What the hell?” she muttered slowly, staring at the words on it.

New York State Press Association

1st Place

Emma Swan

Feature Writing – Sports

“What is this?” Emma asked, glancing up at Will. He shrugged.

“Looks like an award.”

“For what?”

“Your name is on it, Emma. I’d wager pretty good money it’s for you.” “But it says feature writing,” she argued. “I don’t understand.” “You wrote a feature,” Will said slowly, staring at her like she was a little bit crazy. “Several of them. About Henry.” “And won an award?”

Emma stared at the plaque, running her fingers over the letters and trying to figure out how exactly this had landed on her desk. Will picked up the envelope and shook it slightly, catching the thin program that fell out.

“There’s more,” he said, holding the papers in his hands. “Looks like you missed out on a ceremony.” “What?”

Will nodded, looking at the pamphlet again. “Last month apparently. Look, there’s a date.” Emma grabbed the papers out of his hand and gaped at them. March 10th. “Nobody said anything about this,” she muttered, tossing the program on top of the award. “Why wouldn’t anyone say anything?” “Maybe they didn’t know?” Will asked and Emma appreciated his attempts to be positive.

No – that wasn’t true.

They knew. They just didn’t care.

Emma felt the anger jolt through her system quickly and she was standing up before she even realized it, intent on walking into Jefferson’s office and demanding to know what was going on.

“Hey, wait a second,” Will said quickly. “Before you go off on a yelling-binge, which you’re totally entitled to, don’t you have to get nominated for these things?” She blinked once and tilted her head, glancing back down at the award sitting on her desk. “That’s true,” she said slowly, sinking back into her chair and yanking her hair over her shoulder forcefully. “Who would do that?”

Will rolled his eyes are her. “Are you serious?” “Are you?”

“Emma, please tell me you are not that dense.” “Rude.” “Killian did it,” Will said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Obviously.”

“You think?”

Emma’s voice was barely above a whisper and she couldn’t quite understand what exactly her heartbeat was doing – it couldn't seem to decide if it wanted to speed up or slow down. She ran her hands over the award again, tracing her name and knew , Will was right.

Killian absolutely did this.

“Of course I think that,” Will said, rolling his eyes again. He pushed the award closer to Emma so it was just a few inches away from her and eyed her seriously. “You better let him know you won.”

“And didn’t know about the ceremony.” “Yeah, maybe don’t mention that part,” Will muttered, rolling back on his heels. “He won’t like that part.”

Emma made a face and shrugged, reaching forward to grab her phone, but was interrupted before she could even touch the screen.

“What you got there?” Jefferson asked, appearing at Emma’s desk and glancing between her and Will.

“An award,” Will supplied quickly. “For Emma.” “Oh. Yeah,” Jefferson said. “I heard that was coming.” “You knew about this?” Emma asked. Jefferson shrugged. “And you didn’t think to say anything about it?” “You had a game that day. I figured you wouldn’t have gone to the ceremony. Didn’t seem all that important.” Emma sighed – he was right. She wouldn’t have gone if she had a game, but she still would have liked to have known what was going on. Will, however, seemed more than a little frustrated with the answer.

“That’s bullshit,” Will said sharply. Emma glanced at him warningly. He didn’t stop. “And you know it.”

“Excuse me?” Jefferson’s voice snapped quickly and Emma, suddenly, realized she’d never seen him mad. She’d seen him excited, bordering on hyper, but this was something else all together. This was threatening .

Emma looked at Will again, trying to get him to stop without actually telling him to, but he didn’t pick up on it.

He looked just as angry as Jefferson did. “That. Is. Bullshit,” Will repeated, pausing dramatically between each word. “You should have told Emma what was going on. She deserved that.” “It was my decision not to. She needed to keep focused on the Knicks.”

“Please,” Will sighed. “That’s even more bullshit. As if Emma wouldn’t stay focused on the Knicks. You knew she wouldn’t have gone to that ceremony if she had a game. Even if she didn’t have a game. Have you ever even met Emma? She’s determined to not be the center of attention.”

“That’s not any of your business, Scarlet,” Jefferson said, taking a step towards Will and crossing his arms slowly.

“Emma’s my friend. She deserved to know about that award because she put in a shit ton of work for that award. Both her and Killian.”

Emma widened her eyes and did her best not gasp dramatically. No one mentioned Killian there anymore – least of all in front of Jefferson.

And Will knew it.

It just appeared he didn’t care.

“That’s what it is isn’t it?” Will asked. “Emma and Killian worked on that story and you couldn’t stand that they got acknowledged for it. That’s awfully low, even for a guy who came in here as one of Gold’s lackey's.”

Jefferson laughed.

He actually laughed and Emma wasn’t quite she understood what was going on. “Think you’ve got me all figured out, huh?” Jefferson asked.

“Certainly seems like it,” Will said.

“Well, you’re not wrong. But here’s the thing, I couldn’t acknowledge it. You think Gold didn’t know about that story? And the award? And how much Killian and Emma worked together on it? He knew all of it. Hated it too. So when the list came out, he told Isaac we weren’t going to do anything about it.”

“Gold said that?” Emma asked, wondering how one man could hold onto a grudge for so long that he could care about one award from the New York State Press Association.

Jefferson nodded. “I think he hates you just a bit.” “Yeah, I picked up on that.” “What am I missing?” Will asked, leaning against the side of Emma’s desk in a way that certainly did not make her heart clench.

“A lot,” Emma muttered, leaning her head back against the top of the chair.

“Gold would have hated you no matter what,” Jefferson continued, ignoring Will’s question. “But he despised you – and this whole department for that matter – because of what Killian did.”

Will opened his mouth, no doubt to ask what he had missed again, but Emma cut him off. “Why did he listen?” she asked, staring at Jefferson intently. “Why wouldn’t he have just fired us as soon as Killian left?” “Fire us?” Will said loudly and Emma made a face.

“You don’t know?” Jefferson asked, looking at Emma expectantly.

“No one knows.” “But you do?” “Milah told me, weeks ago, before they left.” Jefferson nodded slowly and Emma tried to smile. “Will someone please tell me what is going on?” Will pleaded.

Emma bit her lip, closing her eyes slightly and tried to take a deep breath.

She hadn’t told anyone, not even Mary Margaret, and wasn’t sure she could actually say the words out loud without displaying some sort of entirely inappropriate workplace emotion.

“Emma?” Will asked again and she just shook her head.

“Killian left,” Jefferson said.

“I know that.” “He left because he made a deal with Gold.” “But he had a job,” Will argued. “He had everything all set up to go to Boston. We talked about it. So I could sublet his apartment. Sorry, Emma,” he added as an afterthought and she shook her head again.

“He had all of that because of the deal,” Jefferson said. “Stop dancing. Just tell me what’s going on.” “Killian told Gold he’d leave, walk away from the paper and New York if he promised not to touch the staff,” Emma said softly, hand resting flat on the plaque on her desk. “Gold would have fired all of us, brought in his own people, made sure the sports department was his and Killian made sure he didn’t.” “Seriously?” It was a wholly underwhelming response, but Emma laughed at it – it was the only response she could come up with as well. She nodded.

“So then, Emma’s right,” Will continued, looking at Jefferson. “Why wouldn’t he just get rid of us as soon as Killian was on a train to Boston? There was nothing to make sure he held up his end of the bargain. Doesn’t seem like the most honorable man around.” “He’s not,” Jefferson admitted quickly before glancing around the office quickly, almost as if he were making sure the place wasn’t bugged. “But he believes in the deal. He wouldn’t go back on a bargain, no matter what.”

“Huh.”

Jefferson nodded quickly and glanced at Emma again. “Does Killian know that you know what he did?” “No,” she answered, shaking her head.

“You should probably tell him.” “You giving out relationship advice now?” Will asked, laughing.

“Relationship?” “Thanks, Will,” Emma muttered. “You really didn’t know? I thought Kathryn told everyone in the entire building. ” “Know what?” “Emma’s dating Killian,” Will answered quickly. “Has been since she started here.” “That’s not true!” Emma objected, Will just looked at her, eyebrows raised and a small smile on his face. “Well, not entirely true.”

Jefferson pressed his lips together tightly, like he finally understood something and stared at Emma for several long minutes before saying anything. “Did you know that The Writer is hiring?” he asked.

“What?” “ The Writer is hiring,” Jefferson repeated. “Right now. Looking for a columnist I heard.” “What else have you heard?” Emma asked.

“That they were thinking of promoting from within, but the sports editor there is nervous that none of his writers are up to par.” “What exactly are you suggesting?” Emma’s pulse was doing that thing again and there were two dozen thoughts racing through her mind at once. Will looked at her expectantly and Emma met his gaze with wide eyes and nervous smile.

“I think you know exactly what I’m suggesting,” Jefferson said, finally uncrossing his arms and taking a step away from Emma’s desk. She nodded slowly. “And I think you should take your award home with you. It doesn’t belong here.”

Jefferson walked away, turning on his heels and moving back towards his office calmly – it may have been the first time Emma had seen him looked calm.

That was unexpected.

“You going to do it?” Will asked, sharply, shaking Emma out of her thoughts.

She nodded quickly. “Yeah,” Emma said, no trace of question in her voice. “Yeah, I am.”

“Good.”

Emma waited until she was home, until she was sitting on her bed and by herself. She didn’t want the entire New York Record office – or any of the tourists on 8th Avenue – to be around when she told Killian about The Writer .

Or the other thing.

Because if Emma was being honest with herself, she wasn’t certain he’d be all too happy to find out that she knew about the otherthing.

She sighed softly, leaning against the wall behind her bed – where Killian had been the day before – and bit her lip tightly, steeling herself for what she needed to do.

It only rang once before he picked.

“Swan,” he said and Emma could hear the smile in his voice. That might make this easier. Or worse when it blew up in her face.

God, she should have talked to him when he was here.

This would be easier if he was here.

“Hey, you got a second to talk?” she asked.

“Of course.” “Like several seconds?” “I have more than several seconds, Swan. Talk.” Emma took another deep breath and pressed her teeth against her lip. She didn’t talk. “Swan?” Killian prompted. “You alright?” “Possibly.” “Possibly?” “Yeah.” “Alright,” he said slowly, dragging out the word and Emma could see him raising one of those stupid eyebrows as if he was standing right in front of her. “What’s going on, love?” “A couple of different things.” “Are you being evasive on purpose or just trying to drive me slightly insane?” “No,” Emma objected quickly. “I’m kind of hoping this can help. Before I get to the other things.”

“Good news before bad, then?” “Something like that.” “The only way this conversation is going to work is if you actually talk, Swan.” Emma groaned and leaned her head against the wall again with much more force than she anticipated – it hurt.

“I know,” she said, nodding once to herself. “Ok, ok. So first thing – I got my award.”

“What award?” “The Press Association.” “You won?”

The pride in his voice was almost too much.

It sent shivers down her spine and made her smile and believe and want and Emma started talking quicker without even realizing she was doing it.

“I know you did that,” she said. “I know you nominated me for that and it was ridiculous of you and totally unnecessary.”

“Not totally, Swan. You deserved that. And 18 other awards.” “Eighteen?” “At least.” “Well, I’m glad I got it then.” “Why wouldn't you have gotten it?”

“I didn’t know I won until the plaque ended up on my desk this afternoon. Will said it came in the mail.” Killian was silent for a moment – like he was processing what Emma had just told him – and then suddenly he was talking quickly as well, only he was angry.

“What the hell do you mean it came in the mail?” “No one told me about the ceremony. Or the nomination,” she tacked on.

“Yeah,” Killian sighed. “Well, I wasn’t really planning on not being there when I sent in your nomination. I figured I’d be the one to let you know.” “That brings me to my next point, actually,” Emma said, cutting him off before he could dive into a whole speech of how much Emma deserved to know what was going on.

“Does it?”

Emma smiled to herself – she had him hooked.

Killian was a journalist, a good journalist, and, by default, he wanted answers. He was also far too curious for his own good.

She was fairly certain he hadn’t entirely forgotten about being angry, but the curiosity was too much to overlook.

He wanted answers.

“It does,” Emma confirmed. “Because while I was putting Jefferson through the wringer for not telling me about the awards ceremony…” “As you should,” he interrupted.

“Hey!” “Sorry,” Killian muttered and Emma bit back a laugh at his not-quite-repentant tone. “Keep going, Swan.”

“Jefferson said that Gold didn’t want me to know, didn’t want anyone on the sports floor to know anything about anything. That he’s been trying to cut us off so to speak. That’s why Jefferson has been so crazy. He’s trying to live up to Gold’s expectations and demands and whatever and still put together a section.” “Where are you going with this, Swan?” “Were you ever going to tell me?”

Killian didn’t say anything, but Emma heard a door close loudly in the background and wondered if he had actually slammed it shut. She winced at the noise, shutting her eyes lightly and pulling the ring out from underneath her shirt.

It took several seconds before he finally answered.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Swan,” he said and the effort to keep his voice even was calm, even across the phone and several hundred miles.

“Liar,” Emma whispered, eyes still shut and legs scrunched up to her chest. She rested her chin on her knees and tried not to breathe too loudly.

“I don’t,” Killian repeated.

“Don’t lie to me,” she said sharply, eyes snapping open quickly. “I know. I know what you did.” “Then I don’t think you need me to tell you.” “It’d be nice, at some point in this relationship, for you to actually be honest with me.”

Killian’s breath hitched in the phone and sighed.

She hadn’t meant to say that.

At all.

She shouldn’t have said that, knew it wasn’t true – that he had told her about some of the deepest, darkest parts of himself and let her into nearly every corner of his life. But , there was still some part of Emma that hated the parts he kept to himself, the things he felt like he had to do without her.

“I’m being honest with you,” he said softly, practically studying every word as he said it. “This isn’t about you.”

“It’s about you and Gold.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.”

“And that doesn’t include me? Or my job? Or the bargain you made for that job?” He was silent for a few more moments and Emma heard him take a deep breath, God, she could hear him tapping his fingers on his desk.

“You didn’t need to know.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Emma hadn’t expected to get so mad. She expected to tell him what she knew, to explain how she found out and that he could come home. The Writer would hire him. She knew they would. He probably wouldn’t even have to interview.

The Writer would lose its collective mind if Killian Jones came to write for them.

“Are you?” Killian snapped back and now Emma wasn’t mad, she was furious .

She leapt off the bed and started pacing, moving across the small floor space in her room. “My job, Killian,” Emma said, voice straining on the syllables. “My job. And my byline. You don’t get to decide how that works.”

“I wasn’t just going to let him throw you all out,” he said, voice practically cutting into Emma. “Especially you. Not when I could do something about it.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” “It didn’t seem important.” “What?” Emma sighed, leaning against the door and sliding down it slowly until she was sitting on the floor, one leg stretched out in front of her.

“He would have done it, Swan. He told me. He would have gotten rid of me and then he would have gone through the staff and he would have enjoyed it. But if I left, if I gave it up, he said he’d keep the staff and he’d keep you on the Knicks beat and he’d leave you alone.” “I can take care of myself,” she said weakly, not entirely certain what she was arguing about anymore.

“I know that, love,” he said softly. “But I couldn’t come up with a reason not to do it. Not if it protected you.” “You traded your job for me?”

“Yeah.” Emma’s breath practically flew out of her lungs and she leaned her head forward, resting her forehead on her leg. “I can fix this,” she said after what felt like several hours of silence.

“What?”

“I can fix this,” Emma repeated. “That was my final point.” “There’s not anything to fix, Swan. It’s not like The Record is going to hire me back any time soon.” “Not The Record . The Writer . Jefferson told me today that they’re looking for a new columnist.” “They’ll promote from within.” “No,” Emma objected quickly. “That’s what I thought too, but Jefferson said that he heard they were nervous about the talent of their writers. Honestly. They’re opening up the search. Bringing in resumes. Everything.” “And where exactly do I fall into this plan?” Emma widened her eyes in exasperation and did her best not to audibly sigh into the phone – he was frustrated enough already.

“Killian,” she said. “Come on.” “I’m asking you a genuine question, Swan.” “They’d hire you,” she continued quickly. “They’d give you a column and a job and you could tell the entire Boston Red Sox organization to go fuck itself.”

He laughed softly and Emma’s entire body tensed. “You could come home,” she added.

“I don’t know that it’s all that simple, love.”

“It absolutely could be and you know it. The Writer would have a conniption if your resume showed up in the pile. They’d throw every other one away without even looking at them. You know that.”

“Swan…”

“What?” “You can’t count on that just happening.” “I already am,” Emma said. “This could work. It would work. Why don’t you think so?” “You’re far too confident in me,” Killian answered. “That wasn’t an actual answer to my question.” “True.” “Don’t you want to come home?” “Of course I do, Swan. But I told Gold I wouldn’t write in New York again. Said I’d leave the city and let him take over.” “He’s gone,” Emma said quickly.

“What?” “He’s gone. Him and Milah. They left weeks ago. She said he wanted to go back home. And he was having an affair with one of the news writers, so he kind of had to leave. Seemed he didn’t want that news to break.”

“She said?” Killian repeated, voice soft.

“I met Milah.” “She’s the one who told you, isn’t she? About what happened with Gold?” “Yeah.”

“You said they left weeks ago,” Killian said and Emma could hear the accusation in his voice as if it were sitting right next to her on her bedroom floor. “You’ve known what I’ve done for weeks.” “Don’t turn this around on me,” Emma answered hotly, anger flaring up quicker than expected. “I was waiting to see if you’d ever get around to telling me.” “Ran out of patience then?” “You know me, not very good at waiting around.”

“That’s true, Swan,” he said. There was a sound on the other end of the line – like he was moving the phone to lean against his shoulder. He was rubbing his hand. Emma knew it. “I’m sorry for not telling you, for whatever that’s worth.” “You shouldn’t have given up.” “It wasn’t giving up. It was a calculated bargain.” “That you decidedly got the short end of.” “That’s not true,” Killian argued. “I’ve read every single one of your stories, love, and they’ve gotten better every time. I wasn’t going to let you risk that. Not for me. Not because of what I’d done before.” “I would have,” Emma whispered.

“I know. That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

“What are you going to do?” “About?” “You know what about.” “I don’t know, Swan,” Killian sighed. Emma groaned in answer and that worked a small, sad laugh out of him.

“It could work,” Emma argued. “It could not work too.” “You’re not usually this pessimistic.”

“Only when it comes to myself.” “Then let me help. Killian, let me help. Just, fuck Gold and fuck the Boston Red Sox and come home and write a column and be happy. You deserve to be happy.” “So do you Swan.” “I am,” she said without hesitation. “Yeah?” “Yes, because of you. I got this job because of you. I got the Knicks because of you and I kept them because of you. So let me help with this. Come home.”

Killian laughed quietly – a shaky noise that made Emma’s heart clench tightly – and sighed again, but this one wasn’t sad. He sounded almost like he was accepting .

“I’ll text August tomorrow,” he said.

“For real?” “For real.”

Emma leaned her head back against her door again and smiled, pressing her lips together tightly and nodding slowly. “Good.”

#cs fic #cs ff #cs au #cs fanfic #cs #ypblag #one more chapter and an epilogue #what what what

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welllpthisishappening · 8 years ago

Text

You Play Ball Like a Girl (44/?)

He groaned again and bobbed on the balls of his feet. “I wrote about people,” Henry said evasively.

“People in general?” “No,” he said, moving his head back and forth nervously. Emma waited. “You know, people people . And what you did and and Mary Margaret and, well, all of you. I wrote about that.”

Living the good life on Ao3 and appropriately tag’ed up on Tumblr.

Emma’s desk phone rang – loudly – and she gasped, surprised to hear the thing even making noise. She muttered a few choice words under her breath and leaned forward, grabbing the thing and pulling it towards her ear.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Emma, there’s a kid down here to see you.”

Emma muttered again and did her best not to groan at Leroy. “Henry?”

“I have no idea what his name is.”

“His name is Henry.”

“You want me to send him up?”

“I’ll be right down.”

Emma hung up before the security guard could say anything else and jogged across the sports department floor, heading back towards the elevator bank. She pulled her phone out of her pocket, tapping the screen impatiently and wondering why Henry hadn’t just called her.

Oh.

He had texted her.

Emma, this guy won’t let me come upstairs. Can you tell him to let me in. I’ve got news!!

The elevator dinged and the doors slide open slowly. Emma rushed into the lobby to find Henry nervously glancing at Leroy who was all but leering at the kid. She tried not to groan again and moved in between the two of them, putting her hand on Henry’s shoulder and glaring at Leroy.

“Why wouldn’t you let him up?” Emma asked without any preamble.

“I can’t just let up random people,” Leroy bit back.

“He’s not random. Henry’s been here half a dozen times. He told you he was here to see me. For future reference you can let him come up to the floor whenever he’s here. Got it?” “Got it.”

Emma glanced down towards Henry, hand still protectively on his shoulder. “Come on kid, we’ll take a walk and you can tell me your news.” Henry nodded once, looking clearly like he was trying not to laugh at the frustrated look on Leroy’s face. Emma turned on the spot and pulled him towards the street. It was finally starting to get warm again – the sidewalks jam-packed with people using their lunch hour to get some fresh air and battle for positioning along 8th Avenue.

Emma and Henry pushed through the crowd outside The Record building and walked across the block, heading farther west where the tourists wouldn’t go. Tourists didn’t believe in anything farther west than 9th Ave.

“It’s quieter over here,” Henry said when they reached 10th Ave and Emma turned them slightly, heading farther uptown.

For someone who lived about as far downtown in Manhattan as it was possible to live, Emma loved it uptown – quiet and old, chock-full of brownstones and people with way too much money. When she, Mary Margaret and David had first moved to New York, Emma wanted to live uptown, but it was never a possibility.

Someday.

Maybe.

If things went perfectly according to the unspoken hopes and dreams Emma had, but never told anybody about.

“I like it up here,” Emma answered after a few moments. “It’s a bit slower, you know what I mean?” Henry nodded, eyes flitting over the tree-lined streets and glancing at the dog walker moving past them, six different leashes gripped tightly in her hand.

“I get it. Easier to think. Or something.” “Or something,” Emma agreed, laughing quietly under her breath. “So, what’s your news?” Henry stopped suddenly, stuffing his hands in his pockets and rolling back on his heels. He was smiling at Emma and she nearly stopped breathing because the move was so Killian that she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.

“It’s big news,” he said, voice packed with excitement.

“Then share,” Emma said, smiling slightly and widening her eyes.

Henry pulled his backpack off his shoulder and leaned down to unzip it. He rummaged through the contents of the bag for a few seconds before making some kind of triumphant noise and pulling out a large envelope from in between two binders.

“Jeez, how much homework are they giving you kid?” Emma laughed.

“Enough,” Henry groaned, standing back up, but leaving the backpack on the sidewalk. He handed Emma the enormous envelope and took a step back, a look of expectation plastered on his face.

“What’s this?” Emma asked.

“Open it and see.” Emma tilted her head at him, but did as he said, reaching into the envelope and pulling out the half a dozen sheets of paper inside. Her eyes roved over the letters on the page and the University of Virginia emblem plastered on the top right corner of each sheet of paper. Her heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest.

Congratulations on your acceptance to the University of Virginia and welcome to the Cavaliers family. We hope that you’ll be joining us next fall and would like to offer you an academic scholarship in the form of complete tuition….

The letter went on, but Emma couldn’t read any more – eyes already too blurry from the tears she absolutely was not crying.

“Emma?” Henry asked, sounding concerned. “Are you ok?” She glanced up at him to find a smile, encouraging smile on his face. God, he was comforting her.

“Are you crying?” he croaked out, laughter just there there in the words.

“Of course not,” Emma muttered, rubbing her knuckles just underneath her eyes. “This is for real?” “It’d be one sick joke if it isn’t.” Emma let out a shaky laugh, gripping the envelope tightly between two fingers and staring down at the acceptance letter again. When she looked back up, Henry was beaming at her and she knew she was matching his expression with one of her own.

“This is incredible,” she said sincerely.

“Right?!”

“An academic scholarship,” she said, shaking her head slightly. “God, kid, you’re smarter than all of us. You should have written your own feature story.” “Emma,” Henry groaned, rolling his whole body in the most stereotypical teenage way possible. “Come on, you know that’s not true.”

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t seem to wipe the smile off her face. “I didn’t know you applied to UVA. When did you get the letter?” “Yesterday. I didn’t even think I’d get in, honestly,” Henry said. “It was kind of a joke thing. But, well, I was thinking about it a couple of months ago and we figured there was no point in not at least trying.” “We?” Henry’s eyes widened – like he realized he had said something he shouldn’t. “Who’s we?” Emma pressed. “Me and Killian and David.”

“You and Killian and David,” Emma repeated softly, twisting her mouth slightly in disbelief.

“Yeah, well, they both knew what I wanted to do.” “And that is?” “Major in history and play baseball eventually.” “Of course.”

Henry took a deep breath and then he was off, rolling through a wordy explanation that had Emma’s head spinning.

“Yuh huh,” Henry said quickly. “David helped with the essay and we talked about what I could do with a history degree and then, you know, Killian helped with the baseball part. Obviously.” “Obviously. What exactly was the baseball part of an academic scholarship?” “One of the guys he played with at Louisville is an assistant at UVA now. So Killian talked to him and they do walk-on stuff a few days after the school year starts.” “You’re going to walk on at UVA?”

“I’m going to try.” Emma did her best not to sigh – someday her friends were going to tell her things – and stared at Henry, practically bursting with enthusiasm and determination. That wasn’t fair. How was she supposed to be frustrated when this kid was standing in front of her with his entire future laid out at his feet and an anxious smile on his face? She wasn’t frustrated.

At all.

She was thrilled for him. Because he deserved an education and a brand-new chance in a brand-new state and a brand-new team.

“They’ll bring you on,” Emma said confidently.

“We’ll see.” “Nah, none of that. It’ll happen. If Killian knows this guy then he’ll make sure it happens.”

“I kind of wanted to get on the team on my own.” “And I’m not saying you won’t. I’m just saying Killian wouldn’t set you up for something that isn’t going to work.” “Oh,” Henry said. “Yeah. That’s definitely true.” “When was all of this happening?” Emma asked, suddenly, curiosity getting the better of her. “I mean you have to apply to school in December, right?”

“Yeah.” Henry didn’t say anything else and Emma narrowed her eyes, doing her best Mary Margaret teacher impersonation. It worked. He sighed and shifted on his feet.

“Killian and David had some time at the end of the month,” Henry continued. “They knew I wanted to go to UVA, but that I wasn’t going to apply because I thought it was such a longshot. They, uh, they weren’t really into that idea.” “Of course they weren’t.”

“So we met a couple of times before Christmas and they helped. And I sent my application in like a day before the deadline. It was close. Beacon almost didn’t get my transcript together in time.” “Before Christmas?” Emma squeaked out, arms tight across her chest.

It would figure.

That stupid, selfless man. Men. Both of them. Stupid and selfless and so intent on helping it made Emma’s whole body ache.

“Yeah,” Henry answered. “They said they had some time.” Because Emma wasn’t talking to Killian. And David knew it.

She shook her head slowly, a smile tugging on her mouth. They barely talked for almost two weeks and he was still out there, determined to help Henry and make sure that all the work they had spent on those feature stories and fighting with the DOE didn’t go to waste.

Killian and David got Henry into college and Emma was doing her best not to cry on a sidewalk in the Upper West Side.

“You ok, Emma?” Henry asked and she knew he already had an answer to the question.

“Absolutely,” she said, wiping away the tears. Henry smiled at her knowingly. “What did you write your essay about?” Henry groaned and bit his lip – Emma’s curiosity immediately sparked. “What?” she asked.

“Stuff.” “Stuff? I don’t know that you get a full academic scholarship on stuff.” He groaned again and bobbed on the balls of his feet. “I wrote about people,” Henry said evasively.

Emma moved on instinct, pulling Henry across the small space in between them and hugging him tightly. He hugged back, arms moving around her waist.

He was nearly taller than Emma – but he seemed to settle into kid quickly and she wondered how anyone couldn’t care about this kid as soon as they saw him.

“I’m going to miss you when I go to school,” he said and Emma smiled, her cheek resting on the top of his head.

“Right back at you, kid,” she answered. “But this is good. You did it. And you’ll go and write a ridiculous amount of papers on the American Revolution and then you’ll hit 800 home runs and play in the College World Series.” “Eight hundred?” he asked, laughing loudly.

“Maybe not eight hundred. But at least 20.” “That seems more viable.” “Deal then. I expect no less than 20 home runs freshman year.” “You don’t even know that I’ll make the team yet.” “I’ve got an absurd amount of confidence in you.” Henry grinned at her and hugged Emma tightly again for one moment before taking a step away. “You tell Killian yet?” Emma asked.

He shook his head. “I didn’t want to bother him. He’s supposed to be flying back from Baltimore later today.”

Emma felt something hearing that Henry knew Killian’s schedule as well as she did. “True,” she said. “But you’ve got to tell him too. We’ll text him. Come here.” She pulled her phone back out, ignoring the dozen e-mails she had in the half an hour she had been away from the office, and swiped up the screen, flipping the camera around. “What are you doing?” Henry asked.

“We’re going to take a picture. Obviously.” Henry groaned and Emma answered his grimace with a face of her. “This is an occasion, Henry,” she said. “A picture is necessary.”

He rolled his eyes, but stepped towards Emma leaning against her shoulder so that they could both fit in the frame. “You’ve got to hold up the letter,” she sighed. “Otherwise this doesn’t make any sense.”

“Fine, fine, fine.” Emma shot him a satisfied grin as Henry held up the acceptance letter in between the two of them and she held her phone out, snapping the picture. “Looks good,” she nodded in approval and Henry made some sort of teenage noise that wasn’t a yes or a no. Emma laughed, shaking her head as she sent out the photo – texting it to Killian, David and Mary Margaret.

Her phone buzzed almost immediately and Emma knew it was Mary Margaret.

It was.

Oh my God!! Tell Henry congratulations. That is so, so, incredibly wonderful .

Emma smiled at the text message and handed her phone towards Henry who chuckled under his breath. “She used a lot of adjectives, huh?” he asked.

“M’s does that when she gets excited.”

“I like it.” Henry gave Emma back her phone. “You got a game tonight?”

“Yeah,” Emma said. “That’s why there are 275 e-mails on my phone. They play the Pacers tonight.” “You gotta go back?” Emma shrugged. “I probably should. I’ve got to get my stuff ready. Tweet out the pre-game coverage video.” “Sorry,” Henry muttered.

“For?” “Making you take a walk when you’ve got 275 e-mails and videos to post.” Emma waved her hand dismissively and shook her head. “No, this was important. I’m glad you showed up today.”

“Me too.”

Henry reached forward to hug Emma again and she smiled with the movement, thankful, once again, that this kid had landed in her life.

Emma nearly fell through the doorway into her apartment that night.

Overtime was incredibly overrated.

Sure, it was dramatic – and it made the story about as easy to write as possible – but it lasted forever and Emma hadn’t gotten out of the Garden media workroom until nearly one in the morning.

She expected to find the apartment entirely deserted, or at least quiet, when she stumbled in, but was stunned to see both Mary Margaret and David sitting on the couch, TV on and half-eaten food sitting on the coffee table.

“Hey,” Mary Margaret said softly, glancing up at Emma. “You’re late.” “I didn’t think you’d even be here.” “I had to work late too,” David said, lifting his head off the back of the couch where it had been resting. That explained the food. “We figured we’d wait up for you.” Emma made a face, not even trying to disguise her surprise. “You guys never do that.” She walked forward, picking up a half eaten piece of garlic bread off one of the plates and ripping it in half.

Mary Margaret eyed her, amusement flashing across her face and David tried to pull the food away from Emma. “That’s mine,” he whined.

“You clearly weren’t eating it.” “I might have been saving it.” “I just watched a four-hour basketball game, David Give me some of your garlic bread.” “Fine.”

Mary Margaret and David were both silent for a few moments, two pairs of eyes glancing down the hallway towards Emma’s room at the same time. She made a face again and took another bite of garlic bread.

“What’s going on?” Emma mumbled.

“Nothing,” David said immediately. Mary Margaret didn’t answer.

“M’s,” Emma prompted, nudging her bag off her shoulder and leaning it up against the side of the couch.

“That doesn’t go there,” Mary Margaret said.

“I’ll bring it in my room once you tell me what’s going on. And why you’re waiting up for me.” “I told you, Emma, I had to work too,” David said. Emma ignored him.

“You might want to go in your room. Soon,” Mary Margaret said. “That was my plan eventually.” “Like now.” “Why?” “You need a reason to go in your room?”

Emma sighed and twisted her head, pulling her ponytail over her shoulder. “What aren’t you telling me?” “Killian is in your room.” “What?” Emma didn’t wait for Mary Margaret to answer, turning quickly and leaving her bag sitting next to the couch without a second thought. She swung her bedroom door open, expecting to find him sitting there – waiting for her to get home as well.

Except he wasn’t.

He was asleep.

And Emma’s breath rushed out of her in one loud noise and she closed the door behind her softly, toeing out of her shoes and sliding her arms out of her blazer.

He looked young , hair falling across his forehead in a way that made Emma’s pulse thud slightly and she bit her lip, walking around the bed to lay down on the other, open side of the mattress. She had a dozen questions on her tongue, but she bit them all back, doing her best to lay down calmly, trying not to jostle the other, rather unexpected body next to her. Emma leaned back on the pillows, shutting her eyes lightly.

She didn’t move for a few seconds, trying to keep her breathing level, when she heard Killian sigh softly. He moved before she could – and it took just a moment for Emma to realize he was still very much asleep – rolling on his side and reach out to wrap his arm around her waist. Her breath hitched and she did her best to stay still, but she knew the moment he woke up, arm tightening slightly.

“Swan?” he mumbled into her shoulder blade, almost as if he was surprised to find her there. In her bed. In her apartment. In New York.

“Yuh huh,” Emma answered.

His eyes snapped open and he shook his head slightly. Emma smiled at him, ducking her head slightly so they were on eye-level. “Hey,” Killian said softly.

“Hey?” Emma widened her eyes at him and he looked just a bit sheepish at her finding him there. “That’s all you’re going to say?” “I was in the neighborhood.” “Liar.”

Killian laughed softly and kissed Emma, pulling her closer to him and pushing his fingers into her ponytail. One day he was going to kiss her and she wouldn’t feel like her entire body was melting or that she had lost her entire center of gravity.

Emma hoped that day never came.

It certainly wasn’t right now.

“Killian,” she muttered against his lips and he made some noise of disapproval.

“Just kiss me, please.” Emma wasn’t going to argue with that.

It was the please that did it.

So she did. She kissed him, draping one leg over his calf and wrapping her hand around his neck. His own hands were flat on her back, like he was trying to make sure she didn’t disappear and he pushed his hips up, making Emma gasp.

Emma couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. She just needed and, it was rather obvious, so did Killian.

“M’s and David are in the living room,” Emma said, not quite sure how she managed to get the words out.

“Don’t care. I don’t care. I need you.”

Emma gaped at him, the desperation in his voice catching her off guard. If she didn’t need him – want him – so badly, she would have realized that he hardly even sounded like himself.

She didn’t.

Instead she pushed her hands underneath his t-shirt and felt him shiver when her fingers hit his skin. Killian’s hands finally moved off her back, gripping the dress she was wearing and tugging slightly, making his intent clear.

Emma moved back, yanking on the zipper with as much force as she could before she couldn’t pull it down any farther. She pulled her arms through the sleeves and pushed the material down to her hips before Killian took over, yanking it down until it was completely off. He threw it in the corner, leaving Emma in far less clothing than he had on and stared at her for a moment, lips brushing over her collarbone.

She sighed softly into the feeling – doing her best not to groan, loudly, and draw the attention of her roommates – and ran her hands down his sides, before pushing one of those hands forcefully past the waistband of his jeans.

Emma didn’t have to worry about her making too much noise – he was going to do be the problem. “Jesus Christ,” he mumbled and Emma laughed softly.

“These need to come off,” she said forcefully, fingers popping the button of his jeans while the other hand stayed – quite firmly – where it was, otherwise occupied entirely.

Killian twisted his hips slightly, letting Emma pull the jeans off while he did his best to yank his t-shirt off as well.

It was a disaster.

Two people weren’t supposed to move like that at the same time they were also trying to touch every single inch of skin on each other’s bodies. It was just scientifically impossible. And Emma, somehow, found her hand practically twisted around while Killian’s leg had managed to work his way between her thighs.

She couldn’t breathe.

“God, I missed you,” he said before kissing her again, tugging lightly on her hair and pulling Emma towards him so she was all but laying on top of his body. “Just kiss me,” Emma answered, repeating his words back to her and earning a smirk before he did as instructed. His hands couldn’t seem to stop moving, fingers tracing up her spine and down her leg and across her waist.

“You. Are. Teasing,” she said, straining over the words.

“Not true, love. Savoring. There’s a very distinct difference.”

Emma did groan at that – as much from the words as the place his hand had finally found. No more teasing.

“Jesus,” Emma mumbled, trying not to collapse on top of him as she rolled her hips, falling into a rhythm with his movement.

Killian laughed darkly, mouth clamping down on the spot in between her neck and her shoulder, and Emma saw stars as she squeezed her eyes closed tightly. Her breathing was bordering on erratic now, but he didn’t give her even a second to come back to Earth before he was leaning to the side and grabbing for his wallet.

Emma peppered his face with kisses, trying to keep his focus and felt his eyes flash towards her. “You’re distracting me, love,” he said softly, ripping open the foil over her back, forced to lift his hands around Emma – her body was still very much on top of his.

“What’s the matter?” she asked. “Can’t multi-task?” “That seems like a challenge.” “Maybe it is.” Killian’s eyes widened and he rolled Emma over, hovering just above her as he leaned forward on his forearm. He made quick work of everything else – he was good at multitasking – and pushed up at the same time he kissed her, swallowing her gasp with a smile against Emma’s lip.

This was different.

If Emma didn’t have so many other things on her mind – namely the way he managed to hold her up and push her down at the same time, melding his chest against hers in a way that made her feel like she wasn’t alone, she was loved , to some sort of absurd degree – she would have been worried.

She would have been worried with the roughness of his movements, the way his right hand gripped her forearm a little tighter than normal or the way his left hand tugged lightly on the chain around her neck.

She didn’t notice any of that.

Instead, she met him movement for movement, lifting her hips up and pushing her hands in his hair to try and anchor his mouth to hers.

Killian didn’t say anything, but Emma could feel his breath picking up, the slightly frantic way his body moved against hers and her entire body tensed – that’s when he talked, repeating her name over and over while he pushed his forehead against her shoulder, before practically collapsing on top of her.

Emma brushed the hair off his forehead softly, fingertips ghosting over the back of his neck. Killian lifted his head up and kissed her lazily, moving his mouth slowly over hers and the corners of Emma’s lifted up at the small flip her stomach did at that.

That was normal.

That was him.

She must have drifted off to sleep at some point, because Emma woke with a jolt a few hours later, taking in the scene in front of her. There were clothes scattered across her bedroom floor and a hand wrapped very tightly around her waist.

Emma burrowed against the pillow underneath her and felt the hand move, drifting up her side to rest just below where she still wasn’t wearing any clothes.

That was when she realized that Killian wasn’t asleep either – and probably never had been.

She twisted slightly, glancing over her shoulder and realized he had bags under his eyes, something Emma certainly hadn’t noticed before.

“Hey,” he said softly and Emma rolled her eyes.

“You need to come up with better greetings,” she said, rolling over so she was facing him. He had clothes on. Or at least boxers.

That didn’t seem fair.

“When did you get up?”

“About five minutes after I knew you were asleep.” “Which was?”

Killian reached back behind him and grabbed his phone, tapping on the screen. “Three hours ago.” Emma made some kind of disgruntled noise. “And you’ve been awake that whole time.” “That’s not a question, Swan.”

“I wasn’t trying to make it one.”

He stared at her for a beat. “I wasn’t.” “You want to talk now or you going to attack me again?”

“Attack is a very strong word.” “I didn’t say I didn’t enjoy it.” “All those double negatives, Swan,” he muttered, smirking at her. “You’re going to confused me.” “Please,” Emma sighed. “Like you couldn’t keep up.” “Your faith in me is overwhelming.” He said it quickly, practically brushing her off with a single sentence, but Emma heard it, the cut in his voice and the sharpness of his tone. Her eyes snapped up towards his and, suddenly, she wasn’t tired at all anymore, didn’t care if it was five in the morning.

They were going to talk.

“Why are you here?” Emma asked.

“Not happy to see me?”

She groaned. “Killian, come on, you know that’s not true. But you were supposed to be on a plane back from Baltimore tonight. Not asleep in my bed in New York City.”

“I told you, I was in the neighborhood.” “Yeah, and how did you end up in that neighborhood?”

“To be fair, I did get on a plane. Just not the one I was supposed to.” “And what do the Boston Red Sox have to say about that?” “They don’t care what plane I got on as long as I’m sitting behind a desk before the series opener on Sunday.”

“You never texted me back before,” Emma said, trying to keep the accusation out of her voice.

“I texted Henry back,” he answered. “Figured I’d go straight to the congratulatory source.” “And you didn’t think to let me know you were just going to fly to New York?” “What fun would that be?”

Emma bunched her hand into a small fist and nudged her hand against Killian’s shoulder. “Talk,” she said.

“I wanted to see you.”

“That’s it?” “That’s not enough?” “Sure it is,” Emma objected. “If I get to run away to you, then you can certainly run away to me. It might even be encouraged, but at some point you’ve got to let me know what you’re running away from. I told you.” “It’s not exactly happy,” Killian said slowly and Emma felt goosebumps form on her skin as he trailed his fingers down from her collarbone, palm flattening over the ring sitting on her chest.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear.” “You know what today’s date is?” he asked. “Or yesterday?”

“April 15th.”

“Yuh huh.”

Killian didn’t say anything else, just toyed with the ring, moving it between his fingers and staring at Emma. She widened her eyes in confusion, but he just waited for her to catch up. It felt like falling through ice when she finally did.

He died a month before I graduated .

That’s what Killian told her those months before, sitting on a dock in Storybrooke with his hand wrapped up in Emma’s.

April 15th – a month before he graduated college.

“Killian,” Emma whispered, trying to keep her voice steady. His hand tightened around the ring again and he smiled at her sadly, the effect not quite reaching his eyes.

“I wanted to see you,” he repeated.

Emma surged up quickly, capturing his lips with hers before she could say anything stupidly sentimental. She wanted him to know he wasn’t alone. She was there, would be there, wasn’t afraid of the future she so desperately wanted with him .

She wanted to tell him that she knew, she knew what he had given up for her and that she had finally realized – she would have done the same for him, without a second thought.

She just kissed him instead.

“I love you,” Emma said softly.

Killian pulled her against him, lining up her body perfectly with his, and smiled again. “I love you too,” he said. “And I’m sorry for just showing up. I think I nearly scared Mary Margaret out of her mind when she saw me.” “You were just here?”

He nodded slowly, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. “I wasn’t really thinking straight. I didn’t even bring my bags with me. I think my stuff went with the team to Boston. I was going to go back get on the plane and just, well, go back, but I couldn’t do it. I kept thinking about Liam and how everything he did when he was alive was to make sure I had some kind of good future and I couldn’t go to Boston.

All I wanted was to see you. So I bought a ticket to New York, took a cab from LaGuardia and camped out in front of your apartment. I was fairly determined to see you. Liam would have liked you he,” he said, almost as an afterthought, and Emma slid her hand around the back of his neck, toying with the hair there.

“Yeah?” she choked out.

Killian nodded. “I know it. He would have liked you a lot. I think he’d be happy with this future.” “I am,” Emma said, answering the question he hadn’t really asked. Killian kissed her in response and Emma silently wondered if this was ever going to stop , the way he moved and the things that he said that made her believe so strongly.

She hoped not.

God, she had missed him.

He pulled away far sooner than Emma would have liked – there was no point in not taking advantage of their current state of undress – and she whined in the back of her throat. Killian laughed softly, pushing a stray piece of hair back behind her ear towards the ponytail that had somehow managed to stay in tact.

“You are what, love?” he asked.

“Happy with this future. Or present. Either or.” “Me too.”

“You can fall asleep in my room whenever you want.” “Noted, Swan.” “Just maybe try not to terrify M’s next time.” “That seems fair.”

She kissed him softly and slowly and she could swear she felt it in her toes.

Emma almost told him to come home , to screw the entire Boston Red Sox organization and be with her, but she held back. He hadn’t said anything about the deal with Gold and she knew he wouldn’t, knew he wouldn’t let her think for a moment that his current state of emotional upheaval over how much he hated his job was even remotely her fault.

So she swallowed every single plea she had and pulled herself up slowly, swinging her leg over his side and pushing on his shoulders until he was flat on his back.

The ponytail had finally surrendered and Emma yanked the hair tie out, tossing it on the nightstand next to Killian’s wallet. The chain around her neck dangled underneath her and Emma saw Killian’s eyes fall on it, the ring twisting slightly in the air.

He lifted his eyes back up to hers, hand moving into her hair almost instinctively. “You are so beautiful,” he said softly and Emma’s pulse stuttered for a moment.

She didn’t say anything, practically stunned silent.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise anymore – Killian had taken all of her preconceived relationship expectations and thrown them out the metaphorical window – but she couldn’t quite come to terms with someone wanting her as much as he very obviously did.

Emma believed him and she trusted him and she wanted him, but, somewhere deep down, she was still terrified of him realizing everything he was saying and everything he was promising and walking away.

She did her best to keep breathing and Killian smiled softly at her, almost as if he was reading her mind. He pulled her head down towards his and kissed her again, purposely, torturously slow, like he was trying to prove something.

“I’m going to say something Swan,” he said, muttering in her ear and Emma just hummed in approval. “It’s going to be overwhelmingly romantic, so brace yourself for that.”

She laughed shakily, looking up at him and his absurdly blue and incredibly sincere eyes.

“You’re it, Emma,” he said. His voice didn’t shake. He didn’t look nervous. He just called her ‘Emma’ and looked at her like she was the most important person in the entire world. “You know that, right? I love you. So much I can’t think straight sometimes. And when I thought about going back to Boston today, every single part of my brain told me it wasn’t an option, the only option was to come home. To you. You’re it for me, love.”

That little kid that still, somehow, lived in the deep recesses of Emma’s mind disappeared and, for the first time very long time – ever , her mind pointed out quickly – she didn’t worry about him leaving or walking away or even being in Boston.

She would get him to come home eventually, but right then she was going to prove him right. She was going to be it , because he was exactly the same thing for her.

“I’m glad you came home,” Emma said softly, letting the word home hang there for a moment.

“To you.” She nodded. “To me.” And then she kissed him – again – and trailed her hand down his leg until she worked a very particular sound of him. “Aren’t you tired?” she asked, grinning slightly at the affronted face he made.

“No,” Killian answered quickly. “Decidedly not.”

“What did you say you were doing before? Savoring?” Killian nodded. “Maybe we could work on that point a bit more. I can be kind of impatient you know.”

He let out a laugh – and Emma appreciated that it was just a bit shaky – before nodding again. “I think I’d like that,” he mumbled, pulling her back on top of him and taking his time.

He ended up staying the weekend.

He called the team on Saturday afternoon, pulling out the I’m sick card, even adding a slightly scratchy voice for good measure and Emma laughed audibly in the background.

“Swan,” Killian said, glaring at her as he hung up the phone. “You can’t be that loud. They could have heard you.” “I’m fairly certain they know you’re not sick.” “It’s all about appearances, love.” “Of course,” Emma said, rolling her eyes as she grabbed a sweater out of her closet. “You going to be ok by yourself?”

She had another game that night and while she couldn’t simply pretend to be sick, she did feel bad about leaving Killian alone.

“We’ve talked about this, Swan,” he said evenly, leaning against the wall behind her bed like he belonged there. “I’m not going to be by myself. David and I are taking Henry hitting.” “He’s going to be so psyched to see you.”

Killian shook his head quickly. “I’m excited to see him. I want to see the acceptance letter in person.” “Were you ever going to tell me that you and David helped him?” He shrugged. “Probably. We were just kind of occupied with other things in December.”

Emma made a face and turned away, leaning into her closet to find her shoes. The buzzer sounded from downstairs and Emma stood up quickly, ready to move towards the living room when she heard Mary Margaret yell I got it .

The door squeaked when it opened and Emma heard a new set of feet in the living room. Killian jumped off her bed, squeezing his hand around Emma’s waist when he walked by and earning a glare in the process.

He just smirked at her.

Emma followed behind him, holding her heels in her hand as she walked into the living room. Her bag was still leaning against the couch where she had left it the night before and David and Henry were already sitting down, talking about the ACC’s baseball prospects for the next season.

“They just jumped into this conversation immediately,” Mary Margaret said quietly, smiling slightly as Henry all but leapt off the couch when he saw Killian. His own smile was wide and Killian only looked slightly overwhelmed at the reception.

“I told him Henry would be psyched,” Emma muttered to Mary Margaret.

“Did he disagree?” “I think he’s worried Henry was mad about him leaving.” “Henry understood.” “All things I told Killian,” Emma said softly. His head moved up to glance at her when he heard his name and he just smirked even more.

“I’ve got to go,” Emma announced to no one in particular, grabbing her bag off the floor and hoping her laptop hadn’t totally died.

“We still good for later?” David asked, glancing away from his phone where Emma noticed he had pulled up UVA’s baseball schedule.

“If this game doesn’t last 18 years then, yeah. I’ll just meet you at the bar.” “Bar?” Henry asked, perking up immediately. “Can I come?” “Absolutely not,” Killian answered before Emma or Mary Margaret could even open their mouths.

Henry’s shoulders sagged noticeably. “Hit a bunch of home runs, kid,” Emma said, smiling at him.

“It’s a batting cage, Emma. I literally hit the ball against the wall.” “Metaphorical home runs then.” Henry rolled his eyes as Emma walked to the front of the couch and leaned over, brushing her lips across Killian’s cheek. “I’ll see you later.” “Go, love,” he said. “We’ve got a batting cage reservation to make.”

Emma nodded once, hitching the strap up her bag up a bit higher and fighting off the rush of emotion she felt at how comfortable all of this was. Mary Margaret tugged on the back of Emma’s sweater lightly, pulling her towards the door and it was only after her friend all but threw her out that she walked into the stairwell, pulling her credential out and heading towards the Subway.

#cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs au #ypblag #two more chapters and an epilogue #can you even believe #also #have some more emotions internet

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welllpthisishappening · 8 years ago

Text

You Play Ball Like a Girl: Outtakes 2.0

“Oh my God, Rubes,” David sighed, pushing his own empty coffee mug towards the waitress. “At least pretend like you have some tact.” “I don’t,” Ruby said. She smiled at Killian and he considered all the ways he could, possibly, sink into the corner of the slightly worn plastic this booth was made out of. “Although you do look kind of tired.” “I’m fine,” Killian argued quickly, far too quickly to pass off as anything except the lie it was.

“Yeah, you look it,” David laughed. He propped his feet up on underneath the table, not even bothering to try and avoid the side of Killian’s leg.

Hanging out on Ao3 and tag’ed up on Tumblr and I’m going to keep writing these outtakes forever if it means I can ignore the rest of my vaguely adult responsibilities.

He could barely keep his eyes open.

He was going to fall asleep in a corner booth of Granny’s with a plate of onion rings in front of him. He’d probably get his suit dirty.

When he, inevitably, fell asleep at this table.

Killian closed his eyes, blinking quickly several times and hoping against hope that he would, somehow, find a way to stay awake.

He hadn’t really slept the night before.

He probably should have. Emma had.

She’d grumbled about it – and he absolutely , positively would not spend the majority of the day thinking about that, about the way her fingers had moved down the line of his shirt or the way her lips ticked down when he’d muttered you should probably get some sleep – but it had taken all of two and a half minutes before her breathing had evened out.

It took him...more than two and a half minutes.

Several hours.

Or maybe most of the night.

And there were probably bags under his eyes and Killian was half convinced he was closing in on some sort of world record for coffee consumption before noon, but he’d absolutely , positively do it the again.

If it meant waking up with Emma curled against his side and an arm splayed over his stomach, then he’d be willing to forgo sleep for the rest of his life entirely.

He had, clearly, lost his mind.

It was probably because he was so sleep deprived.

“Man, you absolutely downed that,” Ruby said, appearing in front of the table with a freshly brewed pot of coffee in one hand and the other on her hip and a knowing smile on her face. “Lots of late-breaking news last night?” Killian’s elbow slid off the table, hitting against his side and he winced slightly when Ruby, somehow, lifted her eyebrows even more.

“Yeah, you look it,” David laughed. He propped his feet up on underneath the table, not even bothering to try and avoid the side of Killian’s leg.

Ruby hooked her own foot around one of the chairs from a nearby table, sinking onto even more worn plastic and she’d left the coffee pot behind her. “Bring that with you,” Killian muttered, nodding towards the still-steaming pot and he wasn’t sure when he actually started to feel almost comfortable in Storybrooke.

Probably at the docks.

No, definitely at the docks. The moment he told her about Liam and there was something about the water and sound or the lack of sound and Killian couldn’t remember the last time he’d breathed that easy.

Or the last time he hadn’t breathed that easily, oxygen intake suffering just a bit as soon as Emma’s lips were on his.

God, he was exhausted.

And he could feel David staring at him, eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch as he gazed at Killian over the top of his recently-refilled coffee mug. Ruby’s eyes kept moving back and forth – staring at each of them in turn, like she was watching a particularly entertaining tennis match – and it sounded like a boulder hit the floor when she slammed her heel against it, uncrossing her legs and sitting up just a little straighter.

“You know, you’re the talk of the entire town,” she said, staring straight at Killian.

“Yuh huh,” he answered, a noncommittal agreement that only seemed to frustrate the other two people at the table.

“Emma didn’t tell anyone you were coming.” “I'm aware of that also.” “Why do you think that is?”

David nearly dropped his mug and choked on his coffee and his feet landed back on the laminate flooring quickly, head snapping up as he stared at Ruby with wide, disbelieving eyes. She shrugged.

“And,” Ruby pressed on, seemingly undeterred by anything at this point, including whatever noise Granny was making behind the counter. She waved her hand over her shoulder, gaze never leaving Killian and he could feel his face getting warmer by the second. “If memory serves, that was the first time she’s been spotted down at the docks.” “Why is that something you know?” Killian asked, twisting around in the booth and swinging his legs up across the padded seat.

Ruby’s smile widened and she made a noise in the back of her throat – it wasn’t really an answer. “It’s a small town,” she said. “People talk.” “Like you? Currently?” “There’s no one else in here.” “Your grandmother is here. And she sounds fairly insistent that you come talk to her.” “You know, new guy, I’m getting the distinct impression you’re trying to get rid of me.” “Would I do that?” “You tell me.” Killian shook his head. “I’m just here because Swan asked me to be here,” he mumbled, far too aware that he wasn’t making a particularly strong case for not being head over heels in love with Emma Swan. “That’s it.” “Yuh huh,” Ruby said, echoing his not-quite-response response from just a few minutes before. It felt longer. This might be the longest conversation in the history of the world.

And Granny was still making that noise from behind the counter, the sound practically ricocheting off the walls of the otherwise empty diner.

Storybrooke, it seemed, appeared to have shut down completely for this wedding.

Or, at least, shut down enough that they could all come together in some banquet hall and talk about Killian and Emma’s relationship. Is that what it was? It had to be, right? Sure. He’d told her about Liam. He’d told her about Milah.

They made out in the woods – and the docks and her bedroom and that small patch of sidewalk just outside the banquet hall.

No wonder the entire town was talking.

“You seem unconvinced,” Killian said, nodding towards Ruby’s crossed arms like he was pointing out something earth-shattering.

Maybe. If he was actually in a relationship.

He was far too tired for this conversation.

Ruby twisted her lips and her body, tightening her arms and recrossing her legs as she balanced on the edge of the chair she was still sitting in. And David might have been a statue carved entirely out of stone for everything he’d contributed to this conversation.

“I don’t know what to think of you, new guy,” Ruby said and Killian wondered when they’d landed on that particular nickname. He wasn’t entirely certainly he liked it. “You show up like some kind of wonder and you know I heard you carried her luggage off the train?” Killian nodded, not sure what to actually say to something like that. It didn’t seem to matter – Ruby wasn’t even close to being done yet.

“And another thing, new guy,” she continued, pulling the chair closer to the edge of the table until her knees were nearly brushing up against his still-outstretched feet. “How come you didn’t ask for my help when it came to coming up with that great, big romantic extravaganza you planned the other day?”

David moved – choking on coffee again and slumping forward a bit in his seat, resting his forearms on the table. He stared at Ruby like he’d never seen her before and Granny had, finally, moved from behind the counter.

That seemed like a step in the right direction – the direction being this conversation ending. And maybe getting more coffee.

“Well, it’s true,” Ruby muttered, pushing her hair behind her ears with more drama than Killian was aware existed in the entire world. “Explanation.” “What kind of explanation could there be?” Killian asked. He glanced at David, not quite sure what kind of support he was looking for, but certain he wasn’t going to get any – not when he was pressed into the corner of the booth, desperately trying to avoid Ruby’s critical glare.

“I heard it went well,” Granny said, appearing next to Ruby as quickly as if she’d teleported there. “C’mon Ruby, leave the poor boy alone.” Killian’s eyes widened and for half a moment he actually forgot that he was exhausted and he’d run out of coffee – stunned silent at the idea of being a poor boy or even a boy in general. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had called him that.

And, well, that was a bit too depressing to spend too long lingering on.

Ruby heaved a dramatic sigh, twisting her lips and shaking her hair back over her shoulders. Granny tapped on her shoulder impatiently, throwing what Killian assumed was a supportive smile – and maybe a wink – his direction before making her way back to the counter, Ruby’s heels echoing in her wake.

Killian took a deep breath, running a hand over his face and he hoped he didn’t look quite as exhausted as he felt.

“She took the coffee,” David muttered under his breath, rolling his head onto his shoulder.

“Of course she did,” Killian answered and he tried not to actually groan out the words. Or maybe yawn them out.

He hadn’t really gotten a ton of sleep.

David seemed to realize that, eyes narrowing slightly and Killian could practically see the metaphorical light bulb go off over his head.

“Should I be worried about you?” David asked, like those words were supposed to make sense in that particular order.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Killian said honestly. He sat up a bit straighter, pushing his hand through his hair and trying to make sure the chain around his neck didn’t inadvertently strangle him when he moved.

Emma’s hand had moved over it the night before, shifting slightly in her sleep and her fingers had hit the band and the chain and the links had pressed against his skin and Killian knew, right then, he wasn’t going to get any sleep.

And that he might be hopelessly all in on this. Aurora was going to be very frustrating about that.

She probably already knew.

Killian definitely already knew – had known for months, known weeks before she’d asked him to come with her to Maine as friends , known, probably, as soon as she’d explained the bar tradition and David had toasted her in the back corner of that dimly lit room.

Jeez.

“I’m serious,” David continued, apparently unaware of whatever mental breakdown Killian was staging in the corner of one of the booths in Granny’s restaurant. “I mean you show up at my house, which, how did you even figure that out by the way?” “Is that what you’re worried about?” Killian asked and he appreciated David’s soft groan of indignation more than he probably should have.

“God, you’re infuriating, you know that?” “You know, something, I think I’m growing on you.” David rolled his eyes, leaning around the corner of the booth to shout at Ruby about the distinct lack of coffee at their table. Killian wasn’t really sure of the specifics – wasn’t even certain they were supposed to be in Granny’s at the moment, but David had shown up at Emma’s house that morning with a plan and the plan, apparently, included Granny’s.

It also appeared Granny’s was the only place open in the entire village of Storybrooke.

“How’d you find my house?” David asked again. Ruby, of course, had appeared at precisely that moment, freshly brewed pot of coffee in her hand and something that looked like curiosity carved onto every single inch of her face.

“Elsa,” Killian said. “As soon as I decided where we were going.” “I can’t believe you took her to Bella Notte,” Ruby muttered, but Killian thought he heard something a bit wistful in her tone. “That’s just like other levels of cliche.” “I’m pretty sure she liked it.” “Oh I’ve got no doubt.” Granny shouted something again and David hadn’t blinked in days, staring straight ahead even after Ruby left. She left the coffee pot that time.

Killian just tried not to actually yawn in anyone’s face.

“You look tired,” David observed, twisting his tie until the knot was half done.

“You’re just going to have re-tie that,” Killian pointed out. David shrugged, undoing the top button of his collar as well and this wedding had to be happening soon.

He hoped this wedding would happen soon.

“So you asked Elsa about what to do then?” David continued and Killian got the distinct impression he was working his way down some sort of question list. He probably wrote it out. Killian made a mental note to remember to tell Emma that – if only to see how long she made fun of David for – but then remembered the thin ice they were skating or the fine line they were walking or whatever metaphor worked for whatever situation they were currently in.

No one had actually said relationship.

And they had to go back to New York the next day.

“I did,” Killian said, realizing he hadn’t actually answered when David coughed pointedly from the other side of the table. “Strangely enough it’s tough to plan things when you’re not certain where anything is in a town.” “But you asked to plan the date, I heard you.”

“Eavesdropping, then?” “Neither one of you was really trying to hide the conversation. I mean Emma did a bit of barging in here.” “I wouldn’t tell her that’s what you called it.” David laughed, dragging his thumb around the curve of the coffee mug sitting in front of him. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” “I’m still not certain where you’re going with this,” Killian said and it felt a bit like admitting to grand larceny.

“I’m just saying. You borrowed my mom’s car, you asked Elsa about stuff, you look like you haven’t gotten any sleep in the last couple of days. I don’t know. I’m just putting two and two together.” “And coming up with five.” “What?”

Killian groaned – ignoring the way Ruby’s eyes seemed to light up at the sound – and did his best to ignore the impulse to rub the back of his left hand. He tapped his fingers on the table instead, humming slightly while he tried to figure out what exactly to say.

“No,” he said and that wasn’t really an explanation.

“No,” David repeated, making the word sound like a question and an explanation all at the same time. “I don’t get it.”

“God, you’re dense.” “I let you borrow my mom’s car!” “Your mom let me borrow her car and it was returned in pristine condition with all of her radio presets in tact.”

“She did appreciate that,” David mumbled grudgingly and Killian smiled before he could stop himself.

“Good. And I appreciate the car.”

David hummed in the back of his throat and the metaphorical gears in his head nearly made audible noise in the middle of the otherwise abandoned diner. The tie was a lost cause completely now, simply hanging around his neck with one side dragging longer than the other. It almost made Killian nervous.

Almost.

He was trying to avoid that train of thought too.

“I’d like to come up with another question other than whether or not I should be worried about you,” David said slowly, staring at his hands and he kept trying to crack his knuckles. “But I can’t think of any other words so I’ll ask you again. Should I be worried about you?” Killian lowered one eyebrow. “Probably not,” he answered and it sounded a bit like a question. Goddamnit.

“See, that didn’t sound very convincing.” “Is this some sort of weird, if you hurt her, I’ll kill you type of thing?” “No,” David said, visibly trying to hold in the laughter threatening at the back of his voice. It didn’t really work. “The opposite in fact.” “Wait, what?” “Well, no I take that back. Because I will absolutely kill you if you do anything even remotely stupid and I know people who can make that all look like an accident. And then, for good measure, Mary Margaret will probably dig you up out of whatever grave you’re in and kill you for good measure as well.” Killian’s laugh was shaky at best, but he was mostly impressed and he couldn’t quite remember the last time anyone had threatened him in defense of someone else’s honor. It felt a bit antiquated and ancient and it almost made sense in this tiny town where everything shut down when one person got married.

“Noted,” Killian said. “And good.” “Good?” He nodded, tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, and David was staring more intently than he had the entire morning – and there’d been a lot of staring.

“Emma deserves to have people who care about her like that,” Killian said softly, wincing slightly when he heard a crash from the direction of the counter.

“Sorry, sorry,” Ruby muttered and her voice came without the presence of a visible body, crouched over whatever it was she had dropped.

Granny nearly knocked the door off its hinges when she came out of the kitchen, moving far quicker than her gray hair would have suggested she was capable of, but she didn’t quite sigh when she saw the mess behind the counter. She just looked at Killian and David and nodded once.

It almost felt a bit like approval.

“Listen,” Killian said sharply. “There’s no need for the threats, as well intentioned as they might be. It’s not something you really need to worry about.”

Ruby made some sort of noise that sounded a bit like ooooh and David hissed in a breath of air, shaking his head before Killian had even finished his point.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong. Because while my addition might not be getting me to five quite yet, and I understood what you were saying, so don’t make that face, we’re almost there and I couldn’t tell you the last time that happened.” “You’re still not making much sense.” “Then let me finish.” Killian felt his lips tick down – impressed finding its way onto his features and David huffed out the air he’d just breathed in a few moments before. “Emma is happy. And you’re exhausted, obviously, which I’m trying not to think about or apply mathematical metaphors to, but you’re here and and you didn’t mess up the presets and that means...something. So I am asking, well, no, I’m telling you. Don’t mess this up because Emma might be happy, but she’s also a bit terrified.”

And that might have been part of the reason he hadn’t fallen asleep in the first place.

Killian was in, all in, in some sort of slightly overwhelming, vaguely terrifying way that he’d been certain of since the rum and the Storybrooke Mirror and he’d tried to prove it – in a way that was just a bit juvenile and almost as overwhelming – with a date and being in Storybrooke and making sure they didn’t rush into anything.

He wanted to. He wanted to dive in and maybe drown a little bit and he’d lost control of this metaphor completely.

“I know that,” Killian muttered, downing the rest of his coffee. It had gone cold. There was another metaphor in there. “But here’s the thing, this isn’t just some sort of thing . Whatever we become, it’s up to her as much as it is me.”

David didn’t say anything and for one vaguely crazy, sleep-deprive moment Killian was concerned the entire diner had actually frozen. And then David nodded slowly, inching across his face and Ruby was standing up again, pushing her arms into her coat as Granny ushered them towards the door.

“You can stay new guy,” Ruby said. “And make sure you get Emma to dance later.”

#cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs au #cs #ypblag #ypblag outtakes #i wrote this instead of watching seton hall #or while watching seton hall #it's cool #i'm the best professional #i have a lot of captain charming feels #is the moral of the story

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welllpthisishappening · 8 years ago

Text

You Play Ball Like a Girl (43/?)

“Nope,” he answered, popping his mouth on the final letter. “I came here to let you know that someone is looking for you.” “If it’s Jefferson I’m going to pull my hair out at this desk.” “It’s Milah Gold.”

Emma almost fell out of her chair again. “What?”

“Yup,” Will nodded, crossing his arms and looking at Emma seriously. “Came onto the floor a couple of minutes ago. Said she wanted to talk to you and only you.”

Closing in on the end of the line on Ao3 and all tag’ed up on Tumblr if you want to start from the very long ago start.

Mary Margaret had been mad.

Or disappointed. Mary Margaret didn’t get mad.

She got disappointed. And she was very disappointed in Emma.

“I just wish you would have talked to me,” she said a few weeks later, still unable to totally understand why Emma had run away.

“And prove to you what a jerk I was?” Emma asked. “No, it was better to get out of here and let you exist in post-engagement bliss for a few days.” “I would have listened.” “And then you have felt guilty and I wasn’t going to do that. Not to you M’s.”

“I want you to be happy, Emma.” “And I am. Really. One hundred percent.” “Yeah?” “I’m not lying to you, M’s,” Emma said, meaning it. She wasn’t. She was happy for Mary Margaret and David – still a bit jealous, certainly – but also one hundred percent happy.

“Then can I ask you a question?” “Of course.” Mary Margaret slid her foot along the kitchen floor and Emma widened her eyes, waiting for any sort of an actual question. “M’s?” Emma prompted and Mary Margaret groaned. “I can’t answer anything if you don’t ask me.” “I was wondering if you’d be my maid of honor?” Mary Margaret rushed out, nearly stumbling over the words as she continued to stare pointedly at her feet.

Emma took a step forward and reached out to grab her arm, squeezing slightly and smiling. “You’re kidding right?” “What?” “You think you honestly have to ask me to do that? Of course I will.”

Mary Margaret’s shoulders visibly slumped and she exhaled loudly. Emma just shook her head. “I just wanted to make sure you wanted to.” “I’m happy for you M’s,” Emma pressed. “Always. I was just being selfish.”

“Selfish? How?” “Well, maybe that’s not the right word. It was a whole mess of jumbled up emotions and childhood fears, but I think I figured it out.” “That so?”

“Yeah,” Emma nodded. “I did.” “It wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with where you went did it?” “Maybe.”

Mary Margaret smiled knowingly at Emma. She just widened her eyes and smiled. “I’m glad,” Mary Margaret said. “You deserve that.” “So I’ve heard.” Mary Margaret made a face that looked like she was 15 and Emma had just told her that she had a crush on a boy. It felt exciting and unexpected and Emma’s stomach flipped.

“Good,” Mary Margaret said strongly. “I was worried.” “About?” “That you were going to put those walls back up, bigger and stronger than before, because he tried to make sure he kept some control of his life.” “I know he wasn’t leaving me . Or at least I do now.” “Good,” Mary Margaret repeated. “That is really, really good.” “I’m hoping.” Mary Margaret looked particularly satisfied with that answer and Emma did her best not to groan at her friend – that would have taken away from the whole apology kick she was on. “What?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“Nothing. I’m not saying anything at all.” “Yuh huh.”

“You think you’ll go back soon?”

“The Knicks don’t play in Boston for another month.” “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” “I know it is,” Emma sighed. “I don’t know, M’s. Maybe. He’s in Florida now anyway. Spring training and all that.” “And he likes it? The PR thing? It didn’t seem like something Killian would be into.” “That’s because it’s not.” Emma sighed again, but this time it was from genuine worry. He was doing a good job trying to pretend.

If Emma didn’t know him – couldn’t hear the way his voice skipped slightly when he talked about batting practice and games and how he couldn’t believe he had to be in charge of an Instagram feed – she would have been certain he was ok.

But Emma did know Killian, could hear the way his voice changed when he talked about the team and she knew – even if he wouldn’t admit it – that he was bordering dangerously close to wallowing.

“He doesn’t want to talk about it,” Emma said. “But I know there’s something going on.”

“I’m sure it’s kind of an overwhelming job.” “And one he shouldn’t be doing.” Mary Margaret raised her eyebrows, staring at Emma in surprise. It was a rather pointed opinion. “Yeah, I know,” Emma muttered. “I don’t know, M’s. I think it’s harder than he expected. But if he doesn’t want to tell me, I’m not going to push. Not yet at least.” “Emma Swan, mature adult,” Mary Margaret teased.

“Sometimes. Anyway, we were talking about you and happiness and plans. Let’s talk about that more.” “You want to talk about wedding plans with me? You would barely even open Regina’s e-mails.”

“That’s different and you know it. I like you a lot more than Regina.” “I’m honored.”

“It wasn’t much of a competition if we’re being honest,” Emma said. “So, come on, M’s. I know you’ve got plans. And color schemes. And more plans. Let’s hear ‘em.”

“Blue.”

“Blue?” “The color scheme,” Mary Margaret said. “I was thinking blue. And next spring. Here.”

“Here?” Emma repeated, earning a look from Mary Margaret. “Sorry, sorry,” she muttered. “I just wasn’t expecting that.” “Yeah, here. And small. Like as small as possible.”

“People aren’t going to be happy about that.”

“People can deal,” Mary Margaret said in a very un-Mary Margaret voice. “We’ll do something in Storybrooke later, but our lives are here . I’m not trying to throw some town-wide ball for my wedding. I just want to marry David. I’d do it later this afternoon if I could. I don’t really need anything more than that.” Emma took a deep breath – stunned slightly by the romance of it all – and then she had an idea. “Why don’t you?”

“Why don’t I what?” “Marry David.” “I think that’s the plan,” Mary Margaret said, holding up her left hand and the ring there as if it was proof.

“That’s what I mean,” Emma continued. “Get married this spring. We can still follow all your plans. Even get an entirely blue color scheme set. It’ll just happen sooner.” “You think we can pull that off?” “I don’t see why not. I mean it’s not an immediate elopement, so it’ll have some structure. But you’ll avoid the entire wedding-weekend extravaganza and get what you want and then we can go home at some point and let people shower you with gifts.” Mary Margaret stared at Emma for a beat, thoughts nearly making noise as they raced through her head. She took a few steps in the small kitchen. “That could work,” she said softly, still pacing. “I mean that could really work.” “I don’t see why not.”

“You’re a genius.” “Just your friend.” “And maid of honor,” Mary Margaret pointed out, before turning back around and practically crushing Emma in a hug.

“That too.” “You sure you’re ok with this?”

“M’s,” Emma said slowly, leaning back. “Of course.”

And she was.

Really.

She was slightly nervous about where she was going to live in a few months, but she’d cross that bridge when she got to. Or she’d ignore it completely.

Emma wasn’t entirely sure yet.

Either way – she was going to be ok.

Mary Margaret hugged her again – tightly – and Emma was just about to complain about her oxygen intake when she heard the front door slam as David all but ran into the middle of the kitchen.

He stared at them for a moment before starting to talk – quickly.

“Did I miss something?” he asked. “Looks like I missed something. Wait, don’t say anything yet. I have news. Or I might have news.” “Are you having a conniption?” Emma asked, staring at him questioningly. He was practically jogging in place.

“Nervous energy.” “About?” David held up an envelope and Mary Margaret gasped quietly. “What is that?” Emma asked.

“My results.” “From the detective’s exam?” David nodded. “Well, open it!” David nodded again, but didn’t move to open the envelope. Mary Margaret looked slightly terrified. Emma sighed dramatically, walking towards him and pulling the letter out of his hand.

“Hey!” David yelled. “Don’t rip it!” “If you don't open it, I will,” Emma threatened, holding the envelope just out of his reach.

David groaned, squeezing his eyes closed and Emma waited. “Do it,” he said.

“You sure?” “If I do it, I might actually rip the letter in half. Do it.”

Emma nodded once and pushed one finger along the end of the envelope. David’s eyes were still squeezed tightly closed. Mary Margaret – finally – moved, reaching forward to grab his hand and it looked like he started to breathe again.

“Ok,” Emma muttered, ripping open the envelope. “Ok. Ok.” “Emma,” Mary Margaret said. “Just read it.”

“Ok,” she repeated, earning a glare from Mary Margaret. “Sorry. Sorry. Let’s read it.”

Emma pulled the paper out of the envelope – surprisingly thin for all its importance. Maybe the city should rethink its stationary budget, less money on DOE missives to reporters and more on NYDP promotions.

“One police plaza...commissioner William Bratton...blah blah blah,” Emma said quickly as David groaned. “Wait. Wait! Wait!”

“God, Emma, read the results,” he said sharply.

“You passed.”

“What?” “You. Passed,” she said again. “Congratulations, Detective Nolan.”

David let out a sigh – a mix between a laugh and a rush of air that had Emma smiling and Mary Margaret teary-eyed. “Really?” he asked.

“The fact that you think I would lie to you about this is troubling.” “I don’t think that.” “Here,” Emma said, handing the sheet of paper over to him. “Look for yourself.”

David took the letter from her hand and stared at it for several moments, tugging Mary Margaret into his side. She rested her head on his shoulder, a mix of pride and slight terror on her face. “You did it,” she whispered.

“I guess so.” “There’s no guessing, David,” Emma said sternly. “That’s legit. Straight from the commissioner’s desk.” “I don’t know about straight from his desk,” he argued, not looking up from the letter.

“Whatever.” “There’s a ceremony later this month,” Mary Margaret added, pointing at the bottom of the letter and a date Emma had skipped over entirely.

“This is for real,” Emma said, flicking David’s arm and getting his attention.

“It is.” “This is also good,” she added.

“It is,” Mary Margaret agreed. David and Emma stared wide-eyed at her for a moment, both taken aback by her declaration.

She had always been supportive – to a fault – but she had always been nervous about David’s career path. To hear that she thought this was a good thing was an almost unheard of development.

“Yeah?” David asked, slinging his arm around her shoulders and kissing the top of her head.

“Just don’t do anything stupidly heroic and get yourself hurt and we’ll be fine.” “I promise, babe.” “Good.”

“You guys going to tell me what you were talking about before?” David asked. “Looked like you were formulating a plan.” “Formulating has such a horrible connotation,” Emma said. “Let’s just say we were thinking.” “About?” “A wedding,” Mary Margaret answered. David’s arm dropped from her shoulders and he spun slightly, a small smile forming on his face.

“Yeah?” “Well, elopement, actually. That seems like a better word, right Emma?” she asked.

“I think that’s what they would normally call it.” “You want to elope?” “I think I would consider it.”

“I would too,” David said immediately.

“Really?” Mary Margaret asked.

Emma was just as stunned. “Your mom wouldn’t be upset?” she asked, glancing at David as she leaned against the kitchen counter.

“Probably,” he admitted. “But no more than Mary Margaret’s dad. They’d get over it.” He turned towards Mary Margaret, looking at her seriously and Emma suddenly felt like she was interrupting something .

“I just want to marry you,” David said without a hint of hesitation in his voice. “If we can do that sooner rather than later, I’m all for that plan.”

Mary Margaret nodded enthusiastically. “I like that plan.” “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

Emma stared at her friends for a moment, biting her lip – mostly so she wouldn’t cry at how damn romantic it was – and wrapped her arms tightly around her middle. Mary Margaret and David hadn’t moved an inch, just stood rooted to the spot staring at each other like they were slightly stunned to see the other one there in front of them.

“If you guys don’t kiss each other right now, I’m going to have a fit,” Emma said.

“Well we can’t have that, can we?” David said, throwing a sarcastic glare at Emma. She made a face at his back as he stepped towards Mary Margaret and kissed her – Emma was absolutely interrupting something now.

She retreated out of the kitchen, walking back down the hallway and pulling her phone out of her back pocket.

The phone was to her ear and ringing before Emma had really considered what she was doing. Killian picked up on the second ring.

“Hey, love,” he said softly – he sounded tired. “I was just going to call you.”

“Yeah?”

“In between BP and the game,” Killian continued. “I had a few minutes.” “Well, I’ve got fairly breaking news.” “Knicks news?” “Life news.” Killian laughed quietly and Emma – not for the first time – felt like he wasn’t telling her something. “Life news sounds like something big.” “Two something bigs.” “You’re stalling, Swan.” “I’m trying to draw out the suspense a bit,” she said, as she walked into her room and collapsed against the small mountain of pillows on her bed. “Keep it exciting.” “Well, you’ve caught my interest. Let’s hear your news.” “David passed his detective’s exam.” “And how is Mary Margaret taking that?” Killian asked quickly. “He’s been worried about the way she’d react.” “I always forget that you guys talk about the precinct. He barely ever brings it up at home.”

“Because he’s afraid of how Mary Margaret will react.”

“She was surprisingly calm, actually,” Emma said. “I think she’s almost ok with it. Almost.”

“Almost is better than not at all,” he laughed. “Was that the second big thing? Mary Margaret?” “Nuh uh, bigger than that.”

Emma heard people talking in the background and someone yell something about updating the Twitter feed and Killian sighed audibly into the phone. “You ok?” Emma asked.

“Sure.” “Killian…” “Tell me the other big news, Swan.” “You sure you don’t have to go?” “You trying to kick me out of this conversation, love?” he laughed.

“I’m not. I’m trying to make sure you don’t have to be somewhere else.” “I’m talking to you,” Killian answered. “Whatever they want me to do can wait.” Emma pressed her lips together tightly before continuing, ignoring every other question she wanted to ask Killian. She told Mary Margaret she wouldn’t push.

“What do you think you’re doing at some point in May?” “Probably watching a baseball game.” “You think you can make it back to New York for like a day? Maybe two?” “You asking me out, Swan?” “This is, officially, your invitation to David and Mary Margaret’s wedding and my request for you to be my plus-one.” He didn’t say anything for a moment and Emma knew he was doing something with his eyebrow. “Still with me?” she asked after a few more moments of prolonged silence.

“Still here,” he muttered.

“That was the other big thing, by the way.” “Yeah, I picked up on that.” “And?” “And they’re getting married in May?”

“Well, I don’t know about May exactly,” Emma said. “This all got decided in the last couple of minutes.” “Efficient.” “Would you believe that they actually want to elope? David’s mom is going to lose her mind.”

“If she reacts like did over even the chance that I changed her radio presets, I’m not sure I’d want to be around when she finds out.”

“You willing to be in on the secret?” Emma asked.

“Of course.” “Just like that?” “If you’re in on the secret, then I’m more than willing to be.” “I like that,” Emma said softly.

She could hear him smile. “Me too.”

Someone yelled Killian in the background and Emma heard the sound of doors slamming and cleats on the ground.

“You gotta go,” she said – a statement, not a question.

“Yeah,” Killian answered. “They’re going to do infield.” “Baseball has so many rounds of warm-ups. Seems unnecessary.”

“Not every sport can start with a layup line, Swan,” he said.

“Probably only basketball actually.”

“True.”

Something was wrong. She knew it. And Emma knew that he knew that she knew it. He just wasn’t going to say anything about it.

She knew that too.

Emma could wait. She could be patient. Probably.

She could at least be encouraging.

“Go run the Boston Red Sox,” she said, filling the empty space in the conversation as quickly as she could. “They sound like they need you.” “To update their Twitter feed and send releases.” “Doesn’t change the fact that they need you.” “True,” he sighed and Emma bit her lip. “Tell Mary Margaret and David I’m in on the elopement secret. I’ll be there.” “I’m holding you to that.”

“I promise, Swan,” he said – all trace of sadness gone from his voice. He sounded like him .

“Good,” Emma answered. “Go save Twitter.”

Killian laughed and the noise against the phone made Emma certain he was nodding at her. “I’m not running the Red Sox nor am I saving Twitter, but I appreciate your enthusiasm. I’ll talk to you later, ok?” “Ok.”

David looked incredibly official in his dress uniform.

He looked like a grown up. A grown up who was going to go out and fight crime for a living.

Emma wasn’t nearly as audibly worried as Mary Margaret was – she wasn’t the one marrying him after all – but she couldn’t help but be concerned that he would do something stupidly heroic, because that was exactly the kind of thing he would do.

She didn’t cry during the ceremony – Emma left that up to Mary Margaret, but she did feel something dangerously close to pride as David stood at attention with the rest of the promoted officers.

The picture the three of them took after the ceremony was sitting in a frame on her desk.

“You’re putting pictures on your desk now?” Will asked, walking up behind her and practically scaring her out of her chair.

“God, Will, walk louder next time.” “Sorry,” he muttered. “So who’s the guy? Boyfriend?” Emma stared at him speculatively, raising her eyebrows. He knew it wasn’t. Everyone knew the guy in the picture wasn’t her boyfriend.

Kathryn – despite her assurances that the story wasn’t really all that exciting without a scandal – had made sure to inform the entire New York Record that Emma and Killian were very much dating and had been for quite some time.

“That’s her,” Emma pointed at Mary Margaret, “fiance. Definitely not my boyfriend.” “He’s a cop?” “You’re one heck of a reporter.” “I am asking a legitimate question.” “He’s a detective now,” Emma said, looking up at him. “Got promoted last week.” Will let out a low whistle and made a face that was somewhere between impressed and sarcastic. Emma made a face. “You just come here to stare at the pictures on my desk?” “Nope,” he answered, popping his mouth on the final letter. “I came here to let you know that someone is looking for you.” “If it’s Jefferson I’m going to pull my hair out at this desk.” “It’s Milah Gold.”

Emma almost fell out of her chair again. “What?”

“Yup,” Will nodded, crossing his arms and looking at Emma seriously. “Came onto the floor a couple of minutes ago. Said she wanted to talk to you and only you.”

“Jeez,” Emma muttered, hand brushing over her chain. Will’s eyes glanced down and he narrowed his stare slightly. Emma dropped her hand. “Where is she now?” “In the conference room.”

Emma sighed and rolled her head between her shoulder blades before standing up and sliding her arms into her blazer. She took a deep breath and Will looked at her warily. “Alright,” Emma said softly, doing her best to calm the nerves racing through her system. “Let’s do this.” Will nodded encouragingly at her and Emma turned on her heels working her way towards the conference room.

Milah Gold was sitting at the end of the conference table, legs crossed perfectly so one heel hooked behind the other. Emma took another deep breath, steeling herself for whatever was about to happen and knocked on the door.

“Mrs. Gold?” she asked, as Milah’s head snapped up. “Will said you wanted to see me?” “You’re Emma?” “Yeah.” “Come in,” she said, pointing towards a chair near her. “Sit down.” “Thanks.” Emma sank down into the chair, resisting the very real urge to ask 800 questions all at once.

They stared at each for a few prolonged minutes of near-painful silence before Emma settled into journalist-mode. She was going to get some answers.

“Why did you want to see me, Mrs. Gold?” she asked.

Milah looked at her appraisingly for another second and smiled sadly. “You can call me Milah.” “Ok,” Emma agreed. “Why did you want to see me Milah?” “You’re straightforward. No wonder Killian liked you.” Emma’s eyebrows shot up and she bit back several immediate – and vaguely biting – responses. “I’m just curious.” “I have no doubt.” “Ok…”

“I wanted to apologize.”

Huh. Well that wasn’t what Emma had expected.

“For?” she asked. Milah spread her hands out, gesturing to the entire office. Emma shrugged. “I don’t know that this was specifically your fault.” “I did try to warn him.” “And you did. I know he appreciated it.”

“Somehow I don’t feel like I changed anything for the better though.”

Emma tried not to sigh. “It is,” she argued, as much with herself as the woman sitting in front of her. “It wouldn’t have ended well for Killian here. He knew that and he understood that.”

“He deserved better than that.” “Yes,” Emma said, not even blinking before she agreed. Milah smiled again.

“Can I ask you something?” she asked.

“Sure.” “You’re serious about this? About Killian?” Emma’s mouth dropped open a bit – she wasn’t the straightforward one, that appeared to be all Milah’s territory. “Yeah, I am,” she answered after a few more moments. “Very.” “That’s good.”

“Can I ask you something?” Emma continued, crossing her arms and sitting up a bit straighter.

“Sure.” “Why did you leave?” “Right into the deep end, huh?” Milah laughed.

“Figured you weren’t really one to beat around the bush.” “I’m not.”

“Then…”

Milah pursed her lips tightly and stared at Emma – like she was trying to understand her or something – and took a deep breath before answering.

“Robert found out.” “I kind of figured that.” “And he made some threats. He wasn’t as powerful then as he is now, didn’t have nearly enough money, but he could have made Killian’s life very difficult for him, made it nearly impossible for him to get anything besides a job at that paper.”

“So you did what, exactly?” “Offered to come back. Walk away, break all ties and give up on the plans. Robert wouldn’t blackball Killian and things would be fine.” “Didn’t exactly go according to plan,” Emma pointed out, trying to keep the accusation out of her voice.

“Why do you think I wanted to warn him about Robert this time?” “You were trying to make amends.” “Or something like that. It didn’t seem to work again.”

Emma didn’t know what to say.

It hadn’t worked. Again.

And now Killian was by himself in Florida, going crazy over Twitter feeds and Instragram likes and he wouldn’t talk to Emma about it.

“You don’t have to try and disagree with me,” Milah said. “I know it’s true. But I’m trying to fix it again.” “Maybe you should stop doing that,” Emma mumbled before she could think about stopping herself. “Leave Killian alone.” Milah’s eyes widened for a moment, but when Emma met her eyes she looked more impressed than anything else. “You really do care,” she said, sounding a bit amazed.

“More than anything.”

It was what Killian always said to her – more than anything – and Milah’s lips ticked up at the words. “Good,” she said. “Then you can help me fix this.” “I don’t know what you think I can do. He went to Boston on his own. He got that job on his own. Because he didn’t want to get fired by your husband.”

“I know that, but that’s what I’m trying to tell you – we’re leaving.” “What?”

“We’ve been here for four months. Robert puts on a good show, trying to look big and important, but he wants to go home. And,” Milah added, eyes practically flashing at Emma. “If we stay any longer this whole newspaper will realize he’s having an affair with Belle in news.”

Emma wondered what kind of world she had stumbled into when she decided to get a job at The New York Record . This wasn’t real life. It couldn’t be. People simply could not be this dramatic this consistently.

And yet, here she was, sitting in a conference room talking with her boyfriend’s ex- whatever , discussing her husband’s affairs and how to get Killian back in New York.

At least that was what Emma thought was going on.

“So, you’re just going to leave and you think that’ll make Killian walk away from the Red Sox and do what?”

“He’ll come back for you,” Milah argued, sounding very certain for having only met Emma a few minutes before.

“He didn’t stay because of me.” “And I would bet this entire stupid newspaper that he is miserable.” Emma shrugged. “He’s not going to come back to The Record .”

“He can’t come back to The Record ,” Milah said, waving her hand in the air again. “Robert’s made sure of that at least. But there are other jobs in New York. He’s always wanted to be in New York. This is his home.” “I’m not disagreeing with you,” Emma countered. “But he’s done what he thinks he has to. I don’t know what you expect me to do.” “Get him to come home.” “He got an apartment in Boston. He’s putting down roots.” “I heard he kept his apartment here too.” “Where are you getting your information?” Emma gasped, trying to decide if she should be impressed or slightly upset that Milah knew so much.

“Have you ever been on the lifestyles floor? They know everything.” “I’ve heard,” Emma groaned.

“They said you two have been together for quite some time.” “Couple of months.” Milah shook her head. “More than that.” “I wouldn’t have labeled it as together from the get-go,” Emma admitted. “But it was something like that.” “Can I ask you another question?”

“I don’t see why not.” “Why didn’t you go with him?” “To Boston?” Milah nodded. “A whole slew of reasons actually, least of all my job. I couldn’t walk away from that. Killian knew that.” “I’m sure he did.” Emma narrowed her eyes, certain she was missing something in this conversation. Milah didn’t say anything else and Emma’s nerves returned in full force.

“He’s not going to come back, you know,” Emma said after a few moments. “We’ve already had this conversation more times than I can count.” “I think Killian might surprise you. It is so obvious how much he loves you.” Emma jerked back quickly, gaping at her. “I saw him for five minutes, after seven years and you know what the first question he asked me was when I told him about Robert?”

Emma shook her head. “He wanted to know if he was going to cut jobs. Said there were important people at The Record who didn’t deserve to get screwed over by Robert. He didn’t ask about his own job once.” “There are plenty of people at this paper,” Emma argued quietly.

“Ah, you forget. I’ve been spending time on the lifestyles floor. It took a few hours to figure out that there was one important person here, at least as far as Killian was concerned. You.”

Emma opened her mouth to say something – anything – but Milah shook her head. There was, apparently, more.

“Robert was going to do it. He was going to cut jobs. He found out Killian was sports editor here and he was determined to cut apart the section. It was all he talked about throughout the sale. But then he bought the paper and the next day Killian walked into the office – right in the middle of a meeting with Isaac – and demanded to talk to Robert.

They were in there for hours , but in the end it just came down to Killian’s job. He walked away. Robert said he wouldn’t cut any of Killian’s staff.” Emma didn’t know what to say.

It wasn’t true.

It couldn’t have been true.

That wasn’t what he had told her.

She shook her head slowly and tried to come up with some kind of intelligent sentence. “That’s not what happened,” Emma mumbled.

Milah smiled sadly at her again. “I promise, Emma, that’s exactly what happened.” “But,” she sputtered. “He told me that he wanted to walk away. To make sure that Gold couldn’t take his job away from him. He was trying to maintain some sort of control.”

“And he was.”

Emma’s head was spinning.

Milah was right. He was maintaining some control. What had he told her? I am taking control of my options before they all get taken from me.

He traded his job for them.

He traded his job for her.

Emma’s hand gripped the ring around her neck instinctively. She felt Milah’s eyes widen as she stared at her. “Is that…” she trailed off, gaping at Emma’s clenched hand.

“Yeah,” Emma whispered.

Milah’s shoulders dropped and she exhaled loudly. “You have to get him to come back, Emma. Somehow.”

“I don’t know how to do that.” “If you love him as much as he loves you,” Milah said, nodding towards the ring. “You’ll figure it out.”

“You knew this whole time?” Emma asked. “That he walked away for us?” “For you,” Milah corrected her immediately. “And, yeah, I did. I wondered if he ever told you.”

“He’d never do that.” “Yeah.” “When are you leaving?”

“End of the week,” Milah said. “I am sorry about all of this, Emma. Everything. I know it may be hard to believe, but I really do want Killian to be happy.” She wasn’t lying.

“I know you do,” Emma answered. “So do I.”

Milah nodded, but they were interrupted before she could say anything else. Jefferson walked into the conference room, eyes landing on Emma immediately.

“Emma!” he said quickly, not noticing Milah at all. “I was looking all over for you. Wanted to touch base on the live-chat for tomorrow’s game and the column on Sunday.”

She took a deep breath and nodded quickly. “Yeah, sure thing,” she said. “I just need to make one phone call before we do that. Can I meet you in your office in like 10?” “Sure,” he replied, flashing an enthusiastic smile and, finally, noticing Milah. “Oh! Mrs. Gold. I didn’t see you in here. How are you?” “I’m fine, Jefferson, thanks.”

He glanced nervously between the two of them before landing on Emma. “I’ll see you in a couple of minutes?”

She nodded, standing up and grabbing her phone off the conference table. “Absolutely.”

Jefferson backed out of the conference room – gone as quickly as he came – and Emma shook her head.

“He’s very enthusiastic,” she said, glancing towards Milah in explanation.

“He’s also terrified Robert will fire him if he doesn’t keep the numbers where they were while Killian was in charge.”

Emma bit her lip – still trying to wrap her mind around the afternoon. “Thank you for telling me. I know you care about him too.”

“I’m glad I met you, Emma,” Milah said. She wasn’t lying about that either.

Emma nodded once. “Me too,” she answered, meaning each letter, before walking off the sports floor and heading out towards the sidewalk on 8th Ave. She stepped into the sea of people, trying to find somewhere she could think. And hear herself on the phone. Emma walked around the building, yanking her phone out as she went and tapped his speed dial, leaning up against the side of the building.

“Hey,” Killian said when he answered. He sounded tired.

“Hey,” Emma answered, voice barely above whisper.

“I can’t hear you Swan, where are you?” “On the sidewalk.”

“Why are you just out on the sidewalk?” “I wanted somewhere to talk.” “And you picked 8th Ave.?”

“I wanted to talk to you without anyone listening. And I figured the tourists weren’t going to eavesdropping on my conversation.”

“You alright, love?” “I love you,” Emma said suddenly, blurting out the words without much thought or warning – just like she had on Thanksgiving.

He laughed softly and it was the first time he sounded genuinely happy in weeks. “I love you too, Swan.”

“Good. That’s good.” “Were you not sure?”

“No, I was,” she said quickly. “I just wanted to make sure you knew too.” “I do,” Killian assured her. “What brought this on?”

“I just wanted to make sure you knew,” Emma repeated.

“And?” “And what?”

“Come on Swan, I know there’s more. Let’s save some time and you just tell me now.” Emma sighed, leaning her head back against the side of the building. “I know you’re upset,” she said slowly.

“I’m not upset,” he objected – far too quickly.

“Killian.”

“What?” His voice was sharp and Emma shut her eyes tightly, sighing again.

“Talk to me.” “We decided not to do the pushing thing.” “I’m not pushing. I’m asking my boyfriend why he’s been upset for the last two months. That seems fair.” Killian made some sort of disgruntled noise in the phone and Emma knew she had won. “Talk,” she said.

“I’m fine.”

“Liar.” “That’s a very pointed opinion.” “And accurate,” Emma argued. “Come on, don’t get mad. I know there’s something going on. You don’t have to lie.” He didn’t say anything for a few moments, but Emma could hear him take a deep breath. “Talk to me,” she added, a bit softer than before. “You can.” “I know that.” “Then, please, tell me what’s going on.” “It’s not what expected.” “What isn’t?”

“This job. PR. The entire Boston Red Sox organization.” Emma sank against the building, her entire body slouching as she fought off her reaction to the disappointment in his voice. “Yeah, I kind of figured,” she said softly.

“Smart.” “I just know you.” “I know you do, Swan,” Killian answered. “And I know you’ve been worried this whole time. You were right you know.” “About?”

“Everything. It isn’t writing and it’s just all promotion. Everything has to be positive, everything has to have some spin and it is so damn hot here, I can’t even think sometimes.” Emma let out a strangled laugh at his final complaint, heart seizing a bit at the thought that he was upset about the weather.

“I can’t believe you’re mad about the temperature,” she said, shaking her head.

“More the other things if we’re being honest.” “Yeah?” He didn’t answer – just groaned, his frustration getting the better of him. “You could come back,” Emma said quietly, absolutely certain he wouldn’t.

“That’s not an option, love,” he answered, just as quiet as Emma. She wondered quickly how he had managed to hear her when he couldn’t before.

“Tell the Red Sox to fuck off. And kept their Floridian humidity.” “They do come back to Boston eventually.” “And they play in New York a lot,” Emma added, doing her best to sound hopeful.

“Twelve times,” he said. Emma said.

“And you’ll probably need somewhere to stay.” “You think the very wealthy Boston Red Sox won’t provide me with a place to stay, Swan?”

Emma frowned, insecurity washing over her suddenly. That hadn’t been happening very often anymore, but the feeling hit her quickly. “Oh,” she muttered. “Yeah, yeah, that does make sense.”

“Emma,” he said suddenly and her eyes widened, head snapping up. “That’s not what I meant.” “What did you mean?”

“That the very wealthy Boston Red Sox will provide me with a very large, very expensive hotel room that I would be very interested in sharing with you.” “Oh.” “That’s it?” he asked and Emma could hear him smirking.

“That sounds nice.”

“Nice?” he repeated skeptically.

“I’m standing on the middle of the sidewalk,” Emma reasoned. “I can’t provide a detailed list of adjectives on the middle of the sidewalk.” “You said the tourists wouldn’t be eavesdropping.” “Killian,” Emma whined.

“Yes, Swan?” Emma sighed and Kilian just laughed into the phone. “It’s almost over,” he continued. “They’re almost done with spring training and then I’ll be back. Not home, but back-ish.” Emma pressed her back against the stone behind her when he called New York home and focused on keeping his good mood in tact. “Back-ish is better than Florida,” she said.

“I think so,” Killian agreed. “And you’ve got games in Boston.” “And clothes, too.” “A whole side of the closet if you want.”

“I don’t know if I have enough clothes for two closets in two different cities.” “We’ll make it work,” he said and Emma heard the determination in his voice, certain he was saying much more than just a few words.

“I’ve got faith.” “Yeah?” “In you.” Killian took a deep breath and Emma wished he was there, wished she could kiss him and tell him she knew , she knew what he did and he didn’t have to give up anything else for her. “Thank you Swan,” he said.

“I love you,” Emma said again.

“I love you too. And, for the record, I’ve got faith in you too.” “Really?”

“Boatloads,” he said and Emma scoffed. “I’m serious, Swan. It’s going to be ok. This was my choice, right? I’ll make it work.” Emma sighed and wrapped her arms around her, trying to stay warm. “You’re very determined. And very stubborn.”

“Just when it comes to you.” “Jeez,” Emma groaned.

“That’s romantic, love.” “Yuh huh.”

Someone yelled for him in the background and Killian sighed. “Duty calls, Swan,” he said, sarcasm coming through the phone in waves.

“Go,” Emma answered, doing her best to sound supportive. “I told Jefferson I’d meet him to talk column ideas 20 minutes ago.” “Skirting authority?” “I don’t know that I really see Jefferson as an authority.” “Hey,” Killian said suddenly. “You’re doing great, you know. The columns are fantastic. And you almost a made a basket in that last video.” Emma smiled. “Thanks.” “Go talk to Jefferson, love. Don’t want you getting in trouble.” “I’ll do my best to stay in line.” “Good. It’s going to get better Swan.” “I believe you.” “That’s all I ask.”

#cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs au #cs #ypblag #explanationsssssss #it's taken about 800 years to get here

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welllpthisishappening · 8 years ago

Text

You Play Ball Like a Girl (42/?)

“Alright,” he said quietly, sitting up a bit straighter, like he was trying to muster some courage. “You want to do this now? We can do this now.” “Do what now?” Mary Margaret asked. “You’re not telling me what’s going on.”

David stood up quickly and raised his hand to someone on the other side of the restaurant. There was, suddenly, music in the background and Emma bit her lip tightly – mostly not to laugh, but also to stop herself from crying.

Also on Ao3 if that’s what you’re into and tag’ed up for your reading convenience on Tumblr.

The restaurant was absurdly fancy. Emma tried to turn her laugh into a cough as they walked in and Mary Margaret gasped quietly next to her.

“What is going on?” she asked, tugging on David’s shirt sleeve. “This isn’t supposed to be the fancy night.” Emma laughed out loud at that. “Oh my God, M’s, you did not just call your date the ‘fancy night’”

“What else am I supposed to call it?” “A date. Obviously.” “Guys,” David said quickly, pushing on both of their backs slightly. “You’ve got to actually walk into the restaurant. We’ve got a reservation.” Emma made a significant face at Mary Margaret and muttered fancy at her, earning a rather dramatic sigh. They walked in anyway and David moved towards the maitre de, talking about something that vaguely sounded like it included the words the plan .

“You know something,” Mary Margaret accused.

“I know absolutely nothing,” Emma objected. “Or mostly nothing.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.” “It’s nothing, M’s.” “Mostly nothing.” “Come on,” David whined, glancing over his shoulder as they were led to their table. This was an absurdly fancy restaurant. Emma wondered quickly how David was actually planning on affording this – and, for one terrifying moment, thought she might actually have to pay for her part of this dinner – but he shot her a confident look, almost as if he was reading her mind.

She supposed it was easier to pay for the fancy dinner when you didn’t have to pay for the ring.

There was a bottle of champagne sitting in an ice bucket that Emma was certain was silver when they finally sat down at the table. Mary Margaret kept trying to catch her eye, but Emma kept her gaze trained firmly at her hands in her lap.

Mary Margaret would be able to read her and Emma was not about to mess this up.

David would kill her if she did.

Some member of the wait staff poured them champagne and Emma drank half her glass in one gulp. David coughed pointedly and she put the glass back on the table, making a face.

“Is someone going to tell me what’s going on?” Mary Margaret said, voice matching the exasperated look on her face perfectly.

“Nothing,” Emma and David said in unison. That didn’t help their cause.

Mary Margaret raised her eyebrows and tilted her head in disbelief. “You’re both big, fat, liars. You know that right?” “I resent that implication, M’s,” Emma muttered, taking another drink of champagne.

“David,” she continued, staring at him.

“What?” “You going to continue to lie to me or you going to tell me what is going on?” He opened his mouth to answer her – likely to say nothing again – but Mary Margaret held up her hand. “If you say the word ‘nothing’ to me again David Michael Nolan, I will stab you in the arm with this very expensive salad fork.” Emma laughed – loudly and embarrassingly in this very expensive restaurant – and did her best to diffuse the situation. “No need to resort to violence, M’s,” she said quickly, glancing at David, who looked very nervous again. “How’s your dad doing? You haven’t said since the coup.” “It’s not a coup if it’s just another member of the same family taking over power,” Mary Margaret pointed out, eyes not leaving David’s face for a moment.

“That’s true. But, my question still stands, how’s your dad?” “Fine. He’s fine. You know who might not be fine though?”

Emma shrugged and bit her lip. This was not going according to plan. She wasn’t entirely certain what the plan was, but she was fairly positive this wasn’t it. “Who?” “You and David if you don’t tell me what’s going on.” No wonder Mary Margaret was such a good teacher – no one would ever dare break one of her rules. Emma looked at David again – now appearing almost in pain, slumping slightly in his very expensive restaurant chair – and he shook his head slowly.

Emma did her best to be encouraging.

It was cheesy and romantic and absurdly over-the-top. It was also so David and Mary Margaret, Emma could hardly believe this hadn’t happened before.

“What is happening?” Mary Margaret asked, slowly and softly. She knew. She just didn’t quite believe it yet.

David reached into his pocket and pulled out a box, gripping it tightly in his hand. He pushed the chair out of the way forcefully – Emma was nervous he was actually going to knock it over – and kneeled down in one quick motion, that always seemed much longer in movies.

Mary Margaret’s eyes widened – as big as saucers – and Emma totally wasn’t crying. Allergies. Or something. In this absurdly fancy restaurant.

“So, I kind of had a plan,” David said, looking up from his position on the floor. “But you’re also kind of impatient, so we’re deviating from the plan a little bit.” “I’m not impatient,” Mary Margaret objected. “I just wanted to know what was going on.” “Well, what is going on, if you haven’t figured out quite yet, is me asking you to marry me.” Mary Margaret sighed and Emma rubbed at her cheeks furiously, ignoring the mess of emotions she was practically drowning in. “Are you asking?” Mary Margaret said softly, tears falling down her cheeks as well.

“I figured the kneeling was a give away.” Mary Margaret tilted her head and David laughed softly, snapping open the ring box and earning another sigh as the light shone off the stone. “Is that…” Mary Margaret asked, slowly.

“My grandmother’s ring,” David answered, nodding. “Yeah. I, uh, I asked my mom for it when we were home for Christmas.”

“You’ve had that since Christmas?” “Yeah.” “And you’re only asking now?” David made some sort of noise that vaguely sounded like disbelief and Emma practically guffawed on the other side of the table. “M’s!” she hissed, nodding towards David who was still very much on the floor.

“Mary Margaret,” David said, seizing back control of the situation. “Can I ask now?” “Sure.” “I’ve wanted you to have this ring since I was 17 and I realized you were the most important person in the world. And the only person in the world who could probably deal with me for the rest of time. I’ve been carrying it around for weeks because I’ve been trying to work up the courage to actually do this. And also because I couldn’t get a reservation here until now.” “I didn’t need a reservation.” “You deserved one.” Mary Margaret’s shoulders drooped and she was bordering dangerously close to weeping now. Emma couldn’t really breathe.

“Mary Margaret,” David said, those earlier nerves all but gone in his voice. “Will you marry me?”

“What do you think?”

David opened his mouth – no doubt to request a slightly more concrete answer – but Mary Margaret didn’t give him the chance. She leaned forward and yanked on the front of his jacket, pulling him back up and standing to meet him.

And then she threw her arms around him and kissed him.

Emma absolutely did not cry.

She might have wept a bit.

But she didn’t cry.

The entire restaurant exploded into applause and Emma was certain neither one of her friends heard any of it, far too wrapped up in each other and their own happiness to care. And Emma was happy for them.

She absolutely was.

She was also something else – it wasn’t jealous, not really. It was more worried. Worried about what happened now. And where she would live once Mary Margaret and David got married. And what would happen to the three musketeers when two of them were legally tied to each other for the rest of their lives.

Emma made it through dinner with a – almost entirely genuine – smile on her face and she even posed for the photo of the three of them with Mary Margaret holding up the ring in the middle.

But then she got home.

And she walked into her room by herself and Emma was hit with such an incredible feeling of loneliness that she nearly buckled at the knees.

She was the worst friend in the world.

She couldn’t stay in that apartment, not that night, not when everything was going to change and she was terrified of being left on the outside looking in when it came to friends who loved each other and a boyfriend who didn’t live five blocks away anymore.

So, Emma did what she did best – she left a note on the counter and she ran, she was just a bit surprised by where she ended up.

It was nearly four in the morning by the time she stepped out of the cab and pressed the buzzer, belatedly hoping it was the right apartment.

No one answered at first and Emma pressed the button again, grimacing slightly at the noise in the background.

It was incredibly late. Or early.

There was silence for a few more moments before Emma heard a voice on the other end. “What?” he snapped through the intercom.

“Hey,” she said, too tired to come up with another word.

“Swan?”

Killian sounded much more awake now. Emma pulled her lips behind her teeth and nodded, knowing full-well he couldn’t see her. “Yeah,” she said. “Hey. Again.”

The buzzer sounded quickly and Emma yanked open the door, hitting the elevator button. He had told her what floor – God, what was the floor. Six. It was totally six. She hoped it was six.

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open slowly and Emma looked up, coming face-to-face with a very shirtless, very pants-less, underwear-only Killian Jones.

“Why aren’t you wearing any clothes?” Emma asked, standing stock still in the elevator.

“Why are you here?” “Didn’t answer my question.” “Didn’t answer mine.” Emma sighed. “David and Mary Margaret got engaged. Like a couple of hours ago.” Killian blinked at her for three seconds before taking a step towards her, half in the elevator and half out, before he kissed her softly, letting the ends of her hair fall through his fingers before his hand landed on the ring underneath her shirt.

He pulled away and smiled at her – and it was so absurdly nice that Emma almost started to weep again. Killian reached his hand up and grabbed her bag off her shoulder, slinging it over his own and lacing Emma’s fingers with his.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said softly. “I missed you.” Emma closed her eyes softly, smiling and realizing she had run exactly where she belonged.

“You’re not a bad person, you know,” Killian said softly.

Emma jerked slightly, rolling onto her back and silently wondering how he had even realized she was awake. “You were breathing faster than normal,” he said, meeting her gaze easily. He still hadn’t put a shirt on. Or pants. “I was nervous you were going to start hyperventilating.” “That’s weird.” “Romantic.” “Tell yourself that.”

“I’m pretty certain I just told you that.”

Emma sighed and rolled her eyes, head flopping back on the pillow dramatically. Killian grinned at her. “You going to actually tell me why you showed up on my doorstep at four this morning? Or should I try and figure that out too?” “If you can figure out when I wake up and when I don’t, then I bet you can figure this one out too.” “I’d like to actually hear it from you.” “Not happy to see me?” Emma was – mostly – teasing, but she wasn’t sure Killian had picked up on the joke. He stared at her, eyes serious – and absurdly blue – and pushed his lips together tightly.

“That is not even close to what is happening,” he said slowly, hand trailing up her thigh and giving her goosebumps.

“What is happening?” “You’re not telling me why you’re here,” he muttered, lips ghosting over her jaw. Emma bit back a sigh. “Although I am very glad that you are here.” “Yeah?” she said breathlessly – embarrassingly breathless.

“I could prove it if you want.”

Emma felt like she had an electric current running through every single one of her veins – and maybe her arteries, she wasn’t very good at biology – and bit her lip tightly. “That does sound good,” she said softly.

He smirked at her and raised one eyebrow slowly. “Just good?” “You’re the one who wanted answers.” “So give ‘em.” “Right now?” Emma sighed. He moved his hand and pulled his face back, both eyebrows up now and that absolutely ridiculous smirk practically plastered on his face.

“If you want.” She rolled her eyes, but she gasped when h is fingers trailed back up her body and toyed with the chain around her neck, moving the ring up and down slowly as he lifted his eyes back up at her. “You’re a bit all over the place this morning, aren’t you love?” “I’m tired.” “You can go back to sleep you know,” he said. “You don’t have to be to the Garden until later, right?” “We should probably talk.” He made a face, twisting his mouth slightly in impressed surprise. “Emma Swan willing to talk? What’s the occasion?” “David and M’s got engaged.” “And you ended up here.”

“That ok?” Emma asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?” Emma tried to shrug, something that proved rather difficult while still laying down – not to mention Killian’s hand firmly resting on her collarbone.

“I don’t know,” she said tensely. “Just making sure. It was early. Or late. You know, depending on your point of view.” “My point of view is that I wanted you here,” Killian answered, tugging lightly on the chain as if to prove his point. “No matter what time it is. I’m just worried about you.” “Why?” That eyebrow needed to stop. He needed to stop. “Swan,” he said strongly, tugging again. “Eventually you’re going to have to believe that I actually want you around, indefinitely. I don’t want you to run – from anything – but if you are, I’m pretty happy to have you running towards me.” Emma pushed her head farther into the pillow, trying not to swoon so early in the morning. Instead she pulled her body closer to Killian’s and wrapped her hand around his neck, resting her forehead on his.

“I just...wanted you.” His answering smile would have stopped traffic in the middle of Times Square. “You can’t just say things like that, Swan,” he muttered, repeating the words she had told him so many times.

“Why not?” “Because I’ll never let you out of bed.”

Emma’s stomach flipped and she tried to move her body farther into the mattress. She failed. Instead, she just pushed her legs up against Killian's, working a groan out of him that her considering staying in bed all day.

“Swan,” he said sharply, grabbing her thigh. “You’ve got to stop that if you actually want to talk.” “We could talk later.” He shook his head against the pillow. “Nuh huh. You offered to talk. I’m seizing this opportunity when I can.” “I told you, they got engaged.” “You know,” he said slowly. “I seem to remember having this conversation with you months ago, love. We talked about the ring and the engagement and that whole idea of some sort of future.” “And now it’s happening.” “The future’s not anything to be afraid of, Swan.” “I’m not a big fan of change.” “Nothing is changing.” “Everything is changing,” Emma cried, nearly yelling the words in his face. “And I am not coping very well. I was mad, Killian. I was actually mad about them getting engaged! My two best friends in the entire world, the people who have been with me through everything and I was mad about their happiness. They followed me to New York. They made sure I had friends in Storybrooke. M’s refuses to let me starve and I was mad that she was going to get married and leave me.” “Mary Margaret isn’t leaving you,” he objected. “David isn’t either.” “It feels like that.” “You’re allowed to be upset, Swan. It isn’t surprising that you are.” “I am a horrible person.”

“As previously mentioned, you are not a horrible person.”

“I really was mad.” “I know you were, love,” Killian said, toying with the ends of Emma’s hair again. “But it’s not going to all be bad just because it’s changing.” “I’ve yet to experience a change that isn’t bad.” Killian sighed and Emma knew he realized what she meant – she was dancing around him and them and other changes she wasn’t particularly coping with very well.

“Mary Margaret would understand,” he continued. “She’s probably texted you ten times already, wondering where you went and making sure you’re ok.” “I left a note.” “Ten text messages at least.” “Yeah probably,” Emma admitted.

“They’re not going to kick you out of their lives.” “But they’re going to have lives.” “I don’t follow.” Emma bit her tongue forcefully, hard enough to hurt – so she wouldn’t say something that she’d regret. Like divulge deep, personal information and childhood fears that had lingered for the last 28 years of her life.

It hurt.

Her tongue and the worries.

“I think we’ve moved well beyond the secrets stages, don’t you?” Killian asked, one side of his mouth pulled into a sad smile. “You can talk to me.” “I don’t know that you really want to know.” His hand dropped back to the ring around her neck – like he was reminding her what he’d given her, what he had shared and promised – and Emma got a bit of courage she didn’t ever think she’d have.

She nodded once, psyching herself up and started to talk.

“They’re going to get married and get an apartment and maybe move out of Manhattan. And they’ll settle into lives , real lives, picture-perfect lives that’ll have kids and PTA meetings and M’s will bake for every occasion. And it’ll be so painfully adorable and wonderful. It’s all going to happen. That’s what they’ve been waiting for their entire lives. David told M’s he knew he wanted to marry her when he was 17. Seventeen, can you even imagine?” “I was a bit preoccupied with baseball when I was 17,” Killian answered, smiling softly at Emma. “Can’t say I was planning a wedding.” “They were! Or at least considering it. Because they knew. They knew then that this is what their lives would end up.” “I’m missing the part where this makes you a horrible person, Swan. Or where it’s something I wouldn’t want to know.” “I’m jealous,” Emma admitted softly, the words cutting into her heart. She grimaced at him, eyes meeting Killian’s slowly. “So jealous my whole body hurts. That’ll happen for them because that’s who David and M’s are, but that’s not who I am.” “You don’t know that,” Killian answered. His hands hadn’t stopped moving once, tracing over every inch of her skin as if he were trying to keep her talking.

“I’ve got a pretty good idea.” “You’re very certain. Things happen, love, change happens, but it isn’t always bad. And just because Mary Margaret and David have settled into their lives, doesn’t mean you automatically have to settle into yours.”

“You’re missing my point,” Emma said, straining over every single syllable. Killian shrugged. “I want that life. I want that with...it doesn’t matter. It won’t happen.” Emma’s breath stuttered in her throat for a moment – she had almost said I want that with you , before cutting herself off. Killian stared at her speculatively, waiting for her to continue and sighing slightly when she didn’t.

“Nothing’s set in stone, love.”

“Feels like it.”

Killian sighed again and Emma could see the realization hit him. “Hey,” he said softly, lifting her chin up with his thumb. “I’m glad you’re here. I want you here. Just about always.”

“Just about?” “Well, I didn’t want to come off as an overly emotional stalker.”

Emma let out a laugh – mixed with much more emotion than she was expecting this early in the morning or this soon after waking up – and smiled at him. “I just don’t want to be by myself again,” she whispered softly.

“You’re not,” Killian said. It sounded like a promise. “Not ever again.” “You can’t just say things like that,” she muttered, closing her eyes, and heard Killian laugh before he pressed a kiss on her head.

“What if I mean it?” “I’d try really hard to believe you in this apartment that isn’t five blocks away from mine.” “Change isn’t always bad, love. The future isn’t something to be afraid of. You just have to trust me.” “You really think that can work?” “You don’t think so?” Killian asked and Emma’s whole body felt heavy with the sadness in his voice.

“I’m not sure.” “I guess it’s even worse than I thought.”

“How so?” Emma whispered.

“You don’t trust me.” “I want to. A lot. And I do, mostly. But I also know you’re in Boston and I’m in New York and you left , Killian. And now M’s and David are going to leave eventually. And once they do, once that future starts, everything is different.” “We’re not different, Swan.” “A little bit.” “Evolving,” he said, doing his best to smile.

“I do trust you,” Emma said softly, hand pressed flat against Killian’s chest. She felt his breath stutter underneath her. “I just...I want…” He wrapped his fingers around Emma’s hands and stared at her. “Me too.” “Yeah?” “Enough to make you run away in an emotional outburst of overwhelming romance.” Emma let out another shaky laugh and scrunched her face slightly. “Hey, this time I ran to you.”

“I know you did, love. I’m glad.”

“Me too.”

“You could get a bit more sleep, Swan,” he said. “It’s still early enough.” “Or I could not do that.” His smile inched across his face as slowly as his hand trailed down her spine. Emma was fairly certain she had goosebumps everywhere . “What exactly did you have in mind, love?” Emma gripped his shoulders tightly, pulled her body flush against his and kissed Killian as hard as she possibly could. The future might be absolutely terrifying and overwhelming and absolutely uncertain, but the present was going to be a lot of fun.

Emma hated Boston.

She hated the crisscrossed streets and the cobblestones and the accents. She hated the obsession with Dunkin Donuts and ducks and anyone whose last name was Adams. She hated the memories of this city more than she ever would have thought she could.

And yet...she loved her job.

Emma was more exhausted than she had ever been in her entire life since taking over the Knicks beat, but she was good at it and – ridiculous video filmings aside – she was enjoying every single minute of it.

There was something to be said for being the only girl on press row, the only dress in the locker room and the only New York reporter who got personally acknowledged by three quarter of the Knicks roster.

So, Emma hated Boston – despised it with every fiber of her being – but she was good at what she did. Really good.

And she was happy.

Legitimately happy in Boston.

Surprise.

Emma got off the T and raced down the station steps, tugging her bag up on her shoulder and hoping she was going the right direction.

This city never made sense.

She glanced around the block – the same street she had shown up on the night before – and walked down the sidewalk, pressing the button on the apartment building intercom when she realized she was in the right spot.

He didn’t say anything, just buzzed her into the building and Emma made a face as she pulled the door back behind her. She tapped her foot impatiently as the elevator moved up and walked down the hallway towards Killian’s front door.

It was locked.

Emma shook the lock slightly and sighed, moving back to knock on the door. “Killian!” she said, leaning back to lean on the doorframe. “You want to maybe let me in?” The door swung open and Emma gaped at him slightly. His hair was a disaster , sticking up in every single direction, and he was still in gym clothes – a Red Sox t-shirt on with black shorts. She bit back a laugh.

“You ok?” Emma asked, still leaning on the door.

“You’re early.” “Fast writer,” she shrugged.

“Should have taken that into consideration when planning.” “Planning?”

Killian nodded, smiling at Emma with so much enthusiasm that it actually caught her by surprise. He swung the door open even wider and that surprise settled into every corner of Emma’s being.

There were candles – actual candles – and a tablecloth and, well, a table. That hadn’t been there when she left for her game.

She could smell the onion rings as soon as she walked in, dropping her bag in the corner and stepping out of her heels.

“Your whole apartment is going to smell like onion rings for days,” Emma muttered.

Killian glanced down at Emma out of the corner of his eye and smiled. “I’m willing to take that risk.” “What’s going on?” “I made food.” “There’s a tablecloth.” “I made fancy food.” “Fancy food?” Emma laughed, nudging her shoulder into his. “Onion rings are fancy food now?”

“They’re name-brand.” Emma was certain her smile took up more than half of her face. She shook her head slowly and walked around Killian until she was facing him – back turned towards the living room and the brand-new table.

“You didn’t have to do all of that,” she said, putting her hands flat on his t-shirt.

“I wanted to.” “Why?”

Killian sighed and pulled Emma’s hands down, wrapping his fingers around hers. “You’re really asking that?” She shrugged. “I think I just did.” “It’s Valentine’s Day, Swan.” “So?” “Aren’t you supposed to do something vaguely romantic on Valentine’s Day? Aren’t those the rules?” “I honestly have no idea.” “Well, this is the vaguely romantic,” he said, nodding back towards the living room. “Complete with onion rings.” “Romance would be nothing without onion rings.” “Of course.” “I didn’t do anything though,” Emma said softly, resting her forehead on Killian’s shoulder.

“That’s not true.” She made a noise in the back of her throat and shook her head. “It’s not,” Killian continued. “You’re here. You came here. In the middle of the night. If that’s not vaguely romantic, then I don’t know what is.” “You think running away is romantic? That’s kind of a twisted outlook.” “No, that’s not what I’m saying.” “What are you saying then?” “You came here , Swan. To...well...to me.”

Killian looked at her, brushing Emma’s hair off her shoulders and wrapping one hand around the back of her neck. “I missed you,” Emma mumbled. It was the first time she had admitted that out loud and she could almost feel the metaphorical weight lift off her shoulders. He smiled at her and kissed her softly. “That so?” he said, barely moving away from her lips.

“Yeah.” The buzzer on the oven went off and the two of them jumped away from each other as if they had been shocked. Emma sighed. “Sorry, love,” Killian said, laughing softly and turning away to pull the onion rings out before they burned. “You hungry?”

“Starved.” “No good food at the Garden?” “I try not to eat at games. It’s never good food.” “That is true.” “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” “Do you miss it?” Killian stared at Emma, taking a step towards her and tugging on her hand as he pulled her towards the couch. They sank down and Emma noticed that he didn’t let go of her hand once they sat down.

“Of course,” he said simply. “But this isn’t that bad. Plus, having you here makes it a bit better too.” “I won’t be here forever though.” “I know that,” he sighed.

His shoulders dropped and he stared at her feet. Emma suddenly felt something – so strong and so sure that out of all of the things that had surprised her in the last few hours, this one practically made her whole head spin.

She could do this.

She could trust him.

She did.

“Hey,” Emma whispered. Killian’s head snapped towards hers and he raised his eyebrows expectantly. “Listen for a sec.” “What?”

“I um...I believe you.” “I don’t understand, Swan.” “I believe you,” Emma repeated. “And, well, I understand.” “That so? Because I’m still not sure that I do.” Emma sighed and made a face. She wasn’t good at this. “I get why you had to leave. And it wasn’t fair for me to get so upset. I wrote the book on running away. But I believe you. This can still work.” Killian’s mouth ticked up and his eyes practically flashed at her. “I know it can.” “I trust you.” He didn’t say anything, just smiled at her and moved so quickly he was kissing her before Emma had even blinked. She pulled herself closer to him, wrapping her arms around Killian’s neck and trying to pour every single one of her emotions into the movement.

“That’s all I wanted,” he said softly.

“That’s all?” “Well, what I wanted most,” Killian laughed.

“Sorry it took so long to catch up.” “As previously discussed, Swan, I would have waited as long as it took.” “I want it. A lot,” Emma said softly.

She didn’t say anything – didn’t actually use the word future – but she knew that Killian understood what she meant. And she knew that he wanted it too – even if he ran away to Boston.

Because she ran away too – to him.

“It might not be easy, Swan,” Killian said, hands moving up and down her arm slowly.

Emma shrugged. “Not much ever is.” “And you’re good with that?” “If you are, then so am I.” “I am,” Killian said and the confidence in his voice was enough to give Emma goosebumps. “It might not be Mary Margaret and David levels of perfection, love, but I think it’ll be worth it. I hope so, at least.

“You are,” Emma answered. Killian’s eyes widened and Emma felt his breath hitch before he smiled at her.

“So are you.” “Hence the name-brand onion rings.”

“Of course,” Killian nodded, laughing quietly. “And the grilled cheese.” “There’s grilled cheese too?” “There will be eventually.” “You’re something else.” “Good?” “Even better,” Emma assured him.

“You’re not going to be alone, love,” Killian said softly. “Not again. I promise.”

He kissed her again and Emma couldn’t find a single reason to doubt him.

#cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs au #ypblag #not quite as many words but like a ridiculous amount of FEELINGS

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welllpthisishappening · 8 years ago

Text

You Play Ball Like a Girl (41/?)

Killian shrugged and Emma felt her hand ghost over the ring underneath her shirt – just out of the phone-camera frame – as she did her best to smile. “Your writing is fantastic no matter what,” he said quickly. “But I like seeing your byline.” “You’re stalking me aren’t you?” she asked. He picked up on the teasing tone of her voice quickly and narrowed his eyes.

“You’ve figured me out, Swan. That’s what I’ve been doing this whole time. The long con, as it were, just to ensure my continued stalking.”

Living the dream on Ao3 with just, like, an obscene amount of words and tag’ed up on Tumblr from the start. This is so long

“I made the team.”

Emma almost choked on her hot chocolate and gaped at Henry – sitting calmly on the other side of the table.

“What?” “I made the team,” he repeated, a small smile creeping across his face.

“But it’s only the end of January.” “Doesn’t change the facts,” Henry continued. The smile was absolutely enormous now. “Turns out they actually need a right fielder. Like desperately. And apparently they think I can hit, so that helped my cause a bit.” Emma put her cup down, pushing it a few inches away from her so she wouldn’t inadvertently knock it over. “Of course you can hit. Any idiot coach would be able to see that. You spent enough time in the cage.”

“You’re bordering dangerously close to stage-mom territory,” Henry pointed out, raising one eyebrow at her in a move that was so Killian, Emma was certain her heart was about to explode.

“Supportive,” she said. “There’s a difference.” “Of course.”

“So, you going to actually tell me why they’re deciding the team in January?” Emma asked. She couldn’t do the eyebrow thing , but she was fairly confident in her ability to get her sarcasm across. “Or you just going to lord that information over me all day? I paid for your drink kid.” “And, you know, you’re the reason I’m on the team,” Henry added quickly, ducking his eyes.

“That’s not true and you know it.” “Ehhhhh….”

“Tell me what your coach said. And how awesome you are.”

“They had a week of workouts and they went really well. I hit great and I moved ok in the field. So they cut it down to like 20-25 guys and we’ll do winter workouts as a team until the season actually starts in March.” “See, awesome.” Henry shook his head – the smile still plastered across his face – and took a drink of his own hot chocolate. “They didn’t have the best year last season, so they’re hoping to kind of turn things around. If we make a run at a city title, I think I might be able to attract some schools. Maybe some prep stuff, get a scholarship.” “You’ve got it all figured out,” Emma said, pride practically pouring off her.

“I’ve been talking to Killian.” Her eyes widened immediately and she almost choked again. “Really?” Henry shrugged. “I mean, I know he’s not here so he can’t help with practice and stuff like that, but he said he still wanted to make sure I knew he was in my corner or something like that. There were a lot of sports metaphors.”

“That doesn’t surprise me in the least,” Emma said, shaking her head, ignoring the ding of her phone. It was probably Jefferson. Wanting to film. Again.

Emma couldn’t do anymore videos. She couldn’t . The comments on the last one were bad enough.

“You want to check that?” Henry asked. “It’s been going off like non-stop.” “Not non-stop,” Emma muttered, flipping the phone over as if that would make it stop beeping.

“I really don’t mind. I don’t want you to get in trouble at work.” “I am entitled to my breaks,” Emma said, sounding a bit petulant even to herself. Henry laughed. “And also I’m avoiding my editor.” “The guy who took over for Killian?” Emma nodded. “What’s wrong with him?” Emma made a face – she wasn’t going to complain about work to an 18-year-old that she had just bought hot chocolate. She still had some standards. So, instead of going into detail about Jefferson and his video suggestions and how bad she was at playing horse on camera, Emma waved her hand dismissively and changed the subject completely.

“How’s school going?” she asked.

“What?” “School. You go to school, right?” “I go to school.” “Well, then how’s it going?” “Are you checking up on me?” Emma shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just curious as to what you’re doing other than shagging fly balls in the outfield. So, how’s school going?”

“It’s going fine.” “Fine?”

They had delved into teenage boy territory rather quickly and Henry didn't seem all that interested in talking about life in high school hallways. Emma was nothing if not persistent. She’d dealt with plenty of sources who didn’t want to answer her questions.

So she just changed her approach. “Bet it’s weird being back after last year,” she said.

“Kind of. A lot of my friends had graduated already. That’s why I wanted to make sure I got on the team. Built-in friends, you know.” Emma nodded understandingly and ignored the near-deafening sound of her heart breaking. This kid deserved so much more than what he got. “More homework than usual?” “Nah,” he said quickly. “And I don’t mind some it actually.” “Really? What do you not mind the most?” “History.”

Henry’s face brightened up immediately and Emma shook her hair off her shoulders. She had hit on the right topic. “Yeah? That was David’s major too, you know, when we were in school? He loved that kind of stuff.” “He told me that.” “What's? When?.” “A while ago,” Henry said evasively. “Did he have a favorite part?”

Emma made a face, taken aback slightly. She didn’t have an answer. Or at least not an immediate one. Because she was fairly certain Henry had just lied to her face.

Emma also was never much for history. Or giant textbooks that cost $80 to buy. She didn’t need textbooks for her classes – just a ridiculous amount of notebooks.

“That’s a really good question,” she said. “Ummm maybe the American Revolution? I don’t know, I always kind of tuned out when David would start going on his rants about battles and all of that.” “That’s my favorite too.” “Really?” “Yeah,” Henry nodded enthusiastically. “I actually signed up to take a couple of AP exams later this year – you know, so I could get some credits before college? And one of them is the U.S. history exam. I’m almost even excited to take that one.” “You’re excited to take an exam?” “It’s important Emma,” he said, dragging the words out dramatically. She made a face. “That’s the story of how we all got here.” “That so?” “Ask David,” he added, sounding incredibly sure of himself. “He’ll tell you.” “I have no doubt, but I am not going down that road, kid,” Emma laughed. “I’ve spent half my life listening to David wax poetic on history and I don’t know that I can agree to do it again. Even for you.” Henry laughed loudly, drawing a curious glance from Jerry behind the counter. There weren’t any other customers in Josie’s and the sound of his laughter seemed to ricochet off the walls.

She hadn’t been in the building in a few weeks – a combination of an absurdly busy schedule and the sheer determination to wallow just a little bit.

Emma brought Henry that in the afternoon without a second thought and the sound of him laughing in the middle of the empty coffee shop was enough to make her wonder why she had avoided the hot chocolate so strongly over the last few weeks.

Life went on.

It had to.

“You should ask David about the Revolution,” Emma said. “I bet he’d talk your ear off. Maybe even give you some flashcards he saved from school.” “Wasn’t that 20 years ago?” he asked, eyes dancing with amusement.

“Rough.”

“I’m mostly kidding.” “It’s the mostly that worries me,” Emma said, making a face and downing the rest of her hot chocolate. “You know Killian’s in Boston too,” she added – the words only making her chest clench slightly . “That place is like chock full of history. Get him to send you a piece of the Freedom Trail or something.” “He does.” “He does what?” “Well he hasn’t actually sent a piece of the Freedom Trail yet, because I’m fairly certain that’s illegal, but he’s sent some pictures of major stuff. You know Faneuil Hall and the state house and even like the inner-workings of Fenway and stuff. That’s the coolest part. He sent me a video of the other day from behind the scoreboard, you know like back behind the Green Monster where they put the numbers up?” “I’m familiar with the Green Monster,” Emma said, unable to hide her smile completely.

“It was awesome,” Henry continued, voice speeding up the way it always did when he talked about baseball. “And, and, he promised that he’d get David Ortiz to sign something for me once spring training starts.” “Didn’t you grow up in New York? What happened to the Yankees and playing right field in the Bronx?” “That’s all still happening,” Henry said quickly and Emma smiled at his maybe – maybe – inadvertent suggestion that he was ready to suit of for the Yankees. “I’m just saying, the inside of Fenway? Super cool.” “I guess it is super cool,” Emma admitted, shrugging dramatically and working a short laugh out of Henry.

“It totally is and you know it.”

Emma sighed and shook her head, unable to completely wipe the smile off her face.

It was cool.

But it was also a whole slew of other emotions that she wasn’t particularly interested in discussing with Henry. Or anyone. Ever.

“Make sure Killian gets something from Mookie Betts too,” Emma added. “Ortiz is great, but you’ve got to make sure you get your own position too. Take advantage of that while you can.”

“I don’t want to make him do too much.” “Nah, it’s spring training,” Emma argued. “And it’s not for a couple of weeks anyway. You know Killian, I’m sure he’s got a whole list of guys he’s going to get signatures from for you.” “You think?” “Absolutely,” she said, not even a note of sarcasm in her voice. She was certain, positive that Killian would do whatever he could to make sure Henry got all the positives of this brand-new job, especially if he couldn’t be there for winter workouts and shagging fly balls at Chelsea Piers.

Henry didn’t look too convinced.

“Ask him,” Emma said, nodding towards Henry jacket hanging on the back of the chair. “I’ll bet you another round of hot chocolate that he’s got an entire list.”

He pressed his lips together, disbelief written across his face and Emma nodded towards his jacket again. Henry sighed and twisted around in his seat, pulling his phone out and tapping quickly across the screen.

It took less than a minute for him to respond.

Emma smiled at that – he always had his phone.

“What’d he say?” she asked, leaning her elbow on the table.

“He’s totally got a list,” Henry said, sounding more than a little awed. “How did you even know that?” Emma shrugged. “Good guess.” He narrowed his eyes at her and Emma knew he didn’t believe her at all. “If you say so,” Henry said. “But I’m not an idiot and I’m not 10 years old either. I know what’s going on.” Emma eyed him – wondering what exactly she had gotten herself in to – and twisted her mouth slightly. “What are you getting at, kid?” “I know you’re upset, Emma.” Her eyes widened and she took a deep breath slowly through her nose, trying to maintain some sense of control in this very out-of-control situation. “We’re not talking about this,” she said quickly, hoping she didn’t sound as angry as she was.

Well, she amended, less angry and more frustrated – and genuinely surprised by how well this kid had read her.

“Why not?” “Because you’re 18 and this so has absolutely nothing to do with you at all.” Henry crossed his arms tightly throwing his phone onto the table – he hadn’t answered Killian – and stared at Emma. “I miss Killian too,” he said evenly and Emma tried to take another deep breath. She failed.

Emma sighed and shook her head slowly. “We’re not talking about this,” she repeated and Henry groaned loudly.

“You told me that I had people now,” he said quickly, voice with a distinct edge that Emma had never heard before. “Well, shouldn’t that work both ways? Shouldn’t you get some people who want to help you too?” “I appreciate that kid, I really do, but this isn’t something we can talk about. We can talk about baseball and autographs and every American Revolution fact you can throw at me, but this is just me, ok?” Henry groaned again, but Emma could see he had given up. “Fine,” he muttered.

“So,” Emma said, trying to defuse some of the tension. “Who’s on the list?”

Henry picked up his phone again and glanced down at the screen, laughing softly to himself. “Looks like the entire Red Sox roster if I’m being honest.” “Of course it is,” Emma said softly, shaking her head and ignoring that stupid thing her heart was doing. Henry grinned at her for a moment before her phone dinged again. Emma’s fingers clenched at the noise – a now almost-immediate reaction to the near-constant texts she was getting from Jefferson.

“You should really answer your text messages,” Henry mumbled and Emma rolled her eyes at him, but flipped her phone over anyway.

She had almost been right – there were eight new messages, six of them were from Jefferson, one was from Ingrid, but the most recent one was from Killian.

Emma was smiling before she even realized it and glanced up to find Henry looking at her expectantly. “I answer my text messages,” Emma said, sounding as much like an 18-year-old as the one in front of her. She didn’t even read any of the eight messages on her phone before looking back at Henry. “Or, you know, I will.” “Yuh huh.” “C’mon kid, I’ll buy you some hot chocolate so you won’t freeze on the train.” “But you were right about the list, that’s not how the bet works.” “You really going to argue your way out of hot chocolate?” Henry’s shoulders sagged, but there was a hint of a smile on the corners of his mouth. “Nah. Not when you’re buying it.” “I am.” “Then I’ll take hot chocolate for the train.

She didn’t answer any of Jefferson’s texts – it wasn’t the most professional thing to do, but it was also her day off and she just couldn’t think about being on camera again in the next few days.

The Knicks weren’t traveling that week – unless you counted two games in Brooklyn, which Emma saw as more of a public-transit nightmare than actual travel – so Jefferson was on full-on, all-video all-the-time mode.

He hadn’t written a single column yet.

Emma wasn’t entirely convinced he actually did any editing. She was fairly positive he handed most of the stories off to Will – if the enormous bags under his eyes that had formed over the last few weeks were any indication.

Gold had been noticeably absent from all of this over the last month – reportedly spending most of his time holed up with Isaac, Sydney and George about the future of The Record – although Emma had heard a few rumors that Milah was making the rounds on the floors week by week. She had spent the last few days in lifestyles and – per Will’s latest round of gossip – was supposed to descend on news come February.

As far as Emma was concerned, she hoped both of the Golds stayed as far away from her desk as possible. She wasn’t quite sure what she would do if she saw Robert Gold in person – probably something stupid like try and punch him – and she had no idea what to do if she met Milah.

Emma would have been content if neither one of them ever stepped on the sports floor, but she wasn’t exactly holding out hope that they wouldn’t.

She was on borrowed time and she knew it.

Her phone dinged again as she walked up the steps to the apartment and noticed it was Ingrid texting, it would seem, in all caps.

STORYBROOKE. NEWS. BIG.

Emma made a face at the lack of proper sentence structure and tapped the call button, pushing the phone against her ear with her shoulder as she leaned down to unlock the door. Ingrid answered before it finished ringing once.

“Look who’s come out of hibernation,” she said and Emma could hear the smile in her voice. “I wasn’t hibernating,” she argued. “I was busy. Like absurdly busy.” “Well, you’re missing out on some seriously breaking news.” “That so?” Emma laughed, sliding her arms out of her coat and tossing her keys on the door side table. “What’s going on?” “Are you sitting down?” “Should I be?”

“You might want to.” “I don’t know whether to be nervous or not.” “Not. Decidedly not. It’s not a bad thing, well, not for us.”

“You’re really selling it,” Emma said, sinking into the far side of the couch. “Alright, so spill, what’s breaking?”

“Cora’s leaving office.” “No!” Emma shouted, sitting up straight and nearly ramming her knee into the coffee table. “What? When? How did this happen?” “I’m glad to see that journalism degree didn’t go to waste,” Ingrid laughed. “You hit all the high-points with your questions.” “Which you didn’t answer.” “It’s very scandalous,” Ingrid continued and Emma did her best to hold in her laugh, determined not to interrupt the story. “Money stolen and insufficient funds to repair the clock tower heading into the annual clock tower repair and something about the cost of Regina’s wedding and the movement of accounts.” “No!” Emma couldn’t stop yelling. “Are you telling me that Storybrooke, like the town itself, paid for Regina’s entire wedding?” “Well, maybe not all of it,” Ingrid said, “but rumor has it a good chunk.” “How did this happen? How did they find out?” “Something about an outside source and someone being slightly jealous of the pomp and circumstance of Regina’s wedding.” “An outside source?” “Ok, are you really sitting down for this?”

Emma nodded, well aware that Ingrid couldn’t see her. “Cora has another daughter.” “Holy shit!’ “Emma!” “Sorry,” she muttered, feeling like she was 18 for the second time that afternoon. “Oh my gosh?” “Better,” Ingrid said. “So, anyway, turns out Cora has another daughter and she’s somewhere out there in the world and very, very angry and also able to start IRS investigations of small-town funds.” “This is the most insane story I have ever heard.” “Is it? Seems about par for the course for Storybrooke.”

“Who’s going to take over?” Emma asked, suddenly. “Like as mayor? Oh God, are they going to stage elections? Can I send in an absentee vote?”

“You can’t.” “Why not?” “Because they’ve already named a new mayor.” “Who?!” “Regina.” “Oh my God,” Emma groaned, sliding down the couch. “For real? How does that even happen?”

“Did you know Regina was working for the town this entire time? Apparently she’s next in line before they do normal elections in November.” “Ok, scratch that, this is the most insane part of the story. Regina was working for Storybrooke the whole time?” “Haven’t you ever wondered what she did for all these years?” “Almost always, but I just figured it was something big and fancy and important. Or her mom gave her money all the time.” “All of those things might still be true.” “What is Mr. Blanchard doing?” Emma asked, pushing her hair back. “He’s got to be a little surprised by all of this.” “You know, I don’t think he is, honestly,” Ingrid said slowly. “I think he’s trying to stay as uninvolved as possible.” “Jeez.” “Exactly that, yeah.”

“I’m glad I sat down.” “I told you you should.”

“Well, thanks for looking out for me,” Emma said. “And for not stealing money from the town of Storybrooke.” “I’ve always done my best to keep up a good example for you and Elsa.” “Job well done.” Ingrid laughed into the phone and Emma leaned against the side of the couch, almost collapsing into the sound. “Thank you for the approval, Emma,” Ingrid said, still laughing as Emma’s eyes closed softly.

“Hey,” she said softly. “You know you’re the best, right?” There was silence on the phone for a moment, but it didn’t take Ingrid long to respond. “Where’d that come from?” “Nowhere special,” Emma replied evasively. If she had been sitting up, she probably would have waved her hands slightly. “I just thought you should know.” “I appreciate that.” “And you did set a good example, by the way, about, well, everything.” Ingrid was silent again and Emma felt her nerves clench in every single one of her muscles. This had sort of come out of left field.

She was making sports puns on her own now.

“I love you, Emma,” Ingrid said, voice full of the kind of sincerity Emma had always wanted when she was a kid. “I just want you to be happy.” “That’s a work in progress.” “He’ll come back,” Ingrid added and Emma’s head jerked slightly.

“What?” “Killian. This isn’t going to last. I’m sure of it.” “It’s not just like some internship, Ingrid. It’s a job. A whole new life.” “Yuh huh.” “You don’t sound convinced.” “That’s because I’m not,” she said, the confidence in her voice shooting through Emma’s entire body like a live wire. “It’s a feeling. Intuition or something.” “Intuition?”

“Or something,” Ingrid repeated. “I just can’t believe that a guy who would come here – before you were even dating – and then drive to Storybrooke on Christmas Eve would just be willing to walk away from you.” “He’s not,” Emma argued quietly. “Not really.” “I know the semantics of it, Emma, but I’m just telling you what I think. I think he’s going to surprise you. He’s going to come back.” Emma sighed. She couldn’t do that. She couldn’t let herself even think that.

“I know you’re not an optimist, Emma,” Ingrid continued, “but this is different. He doesn’t even want to be doing PR.” “I know that.” “So then I’ll be optimistic for both of us.” Emma made a face and tried not to sigh again – that would have been overdramatic. “Ok,” she said.

“Deal,” Ingrid responded. “I’ll keep you posted on the latest in-town developments.” “I appreciate that,” Emma smiled, curling back into the corner of the couch.

“Call some more, too.” “I can do that.” “And the stories are fantastic. I’m proud of you, Emma.” “I know. And I appreciate that. I’ll call again later this week.” “I’ll hold you to that,” Ingrid said before hanging up the phone.

She fell asleep on the couch. Like she was 800 years old.

Emma woke up with a start and a horrible crick in her neck, jerking up at the sound of her phone blasting through the empty apartment.

She briefly wondered where Mary Margaret was before remembering that she and David were at some sort of police event uptown. No wonder she had fallen asleep on the couch. The apartment was silent except for her phone and the sound seemed even louder because of it.

Emma groaned, twisting her neck until it cracked, and grabbed the offensive machine, practically glaring at it for having the audacity to wake her up.

Killian.

She had never answered the text message – overwhelmed with Storybrooke gossip and Ingrid’s optimism and the ability to sleep just about anywhere.

He was facetiming her. Emma groaned again, but swiped her finger across the screen anyway, rubbing under her eyes with the heel of her hand as she held her phone in the other.

“Hey,” she mumbled and his eyes widened slightly at the sight of her.

“Are you in a cave, Swan?” “What?” she asked, realization dawning on her quickly. The lights were all off. “Oh, yeah, no, no, I’m not. Hold on.”

Emma stood up, dropping the phone on the couch. She heard Killian’s laughter as she jogged towards the other side of the living room and flicked on the light.

“Back,” she said, picking up her phone again and doing her best to smile at the screen. “Sorry about that.” “You were asleep,” he said – a statement not a question. Emma shrugged. He’d know if she was lying. “I can call back if you want.” “No, no, no,” Emma said quickly. “This is fine – good even. I’m glad you called.” One of his eyebrows lifted up and he smirked at her and it wasn’t even fair . She missed him a lot.

“I was worried.” “About?” “You, obviously.” “I’m sorry for not answering, I was doing my best to avoid my phone.” “Why?” he asked and Emma realized it was a different room than the one he’d been staying in. It was bigger. In fact, it was, quite clearly, more than one room.

“Where are you?” Emma asked, ignoring his own question entirely. “That doesn’t look like the hotel.” He’d been staying in a Red Sox-provided hotel room for the last three and a half weeks – overstaying his welcome by several days – as he tried to find some kind of apartment in downtown Boston.

It hadn’t been going well.

Emma told him he was being far too specific – determined to find the perfect apartment in a matter of only a few days – but nothing had been good enough. She hadn’t pointed out that nothing would be good enough because it wasn’t his apartment five blocks away from hers – mostly because she didn’t feel like arguing.

So, the team had given him an extra two weeks in the hotel with the stipulation – demand – that he find somewhere else to live by the end of the month.

It was January 25th.

“Oh,” Killian said quickly, glancing around the room. He looked guilty. “It’s, uh, it’s not the hotel room.”

“Did they kick you out?” “No.” Emma narrowed her eyes, but he didn’t say anything else. “Then where are you?” “An apartment,” he said, looking anywhere except the phone he was holding. “My apartment?” “Was that a question or a statement?” “Statement. It’s mine. Signed the lease this afternoon.” That’s what the text message was all about.

Emma raised her eyebrows and opened her mouth slightly in surprise. “Oh,” she muttered quietly, feeling her lower lip stick out slightly.

“It all happened kind of fast.” “So I can see.” “Yeah, well when you’ve got deadlines looming and all that,” he muttered, the smirk returning to his face and Emma felt some of the disappointment she had been feeling at the look of Killian’s brand-new apartment dissipate.

Some. Not all.

“You love deadlines,” she accused, making a face.

“They’re just an efficient way to get things done.”

“And, look, you did something!” she said, waving one hand in the air in mock-celebration. He laughed, running his hand through his hair.

“You want a tour?” “Sure.”

She didn’t. She wanted him to come home and come back to work and film these stupid videos with her.

Emma didn’t say anything, didn’t point out that the brand-new apartment meant one very specific thing – he was putting down roots in a city that did not include her. Ingrid’s optimistic plan now seemed more improbable than ever.

Killian stood up quickly and turned, phone in hand, towards the back of the room. “So, this is mine,” he said quickly and Emma got the distinct impression he was trying to sound enthusiastic. “Bedroom, window,” Emma laughed at the play-by-play of furniture and heard Killian click his tongue in disapproval. “Closet,” he continued, swinging open the door and Emma saw a small pile of clothes in the corner.

Her clothes.

“Are those my shirts?” she asked, hoping her laughter covered up the way her voice caught in her throat.

“Hmmm?” “My shirts,” Emma repeated, shaking the phone for evidence. “In your closet.” “Where else would they be?”

That brought her up short. “I don’t know,” she muttered. “I just wasn’t expecting them to be in your closet already.” “I’m nothing if not efficient, love.” “So I can see.”

He made some sort of noise in the back of his throat and walked down the hallway towards the living room. “It’s big,” Emma commented, taking in the small phone-provided view of the large area and enormous window that looked out on Boston Harbor.

Emma let out a low whistle and Killian chuckled softly at her reaction. “I figured if I’m going to be in Boston, I might as well do it right. I’ve always kind of wanted to live by the water.” “Your apartment looked at the East River.” “Yeah, but I’m basically living in the ocean now, Swan.” “Is that the ocean?” “Some of it.”

“Huh.”

“Anyway,” Killian continued, turning the phone towards the kitchen off the side of the living room and the enormous island in the middle. It looked a bit overwhelming without anything on it and the granite – was that granite – practically gleamed. “That’s the kitchen.” “I never would have realized.” “Swan.” “Killian.”

He flipped the camera back around and Emma stuttered slightly at the look he shot her, a mixture between amusement, disbelief and – maybe – disappointment. That was when she noticed the small stack of newspapers sitting just behind him in the corner of the kitchen.

“Are you hoarding things already, Cap?” she asked, turning the camera back on herself so he could see her sarcasm. He grimaced at her.

“Swan,” he repeated, drawing the four letters into one ridiculously long sigh. Emma’s face settled into some sort of neutral – and she hoped, innocent – look and shrugged. Killian sighed and shook his head, hand firmly back in his hair. “No, I’m not hoarding. I am buying.” “Buying…” “Newspapers, obviously.” “ Globe ? Herald ?” “ Record .” “What? Really?” Killian nodded slowly and sank onto a seat in the living room – Emma briefly wondered how he already had furniture and then remembered that the entire Red Sox organization was involved and probably made sure he’d signed on to a fully-furnished apartment.

“Really,” he said.

“Why?” “Can’t seem to bring myself not to,” he said softly, like he was admitting to something heinous. “And I’ve been reading your stuff.” “You can do that on the internet.” “It’s better in print.” “My writing is better in print?” Killian shrugged and Emma felt her hand ghost over the ring underneath her shirt – just out of the phone-camera frame – as she did her best to smile. “Your writing is fantastic no matter what,” he said quickly. “But I like seeing your byline.” “You’re stalking me aren’t you?” she asked. He picked up on the teasing tone of her voice quickly and narrowed his eyes.

“You’ve figured me out, Swan. That’s what I’ve been doing this whole time. The long con, as it were, just to ensure my continued stalking.” “That’s devious.”

“Dastardly.” Emma rolled her eyes. “I can’t come up with anymore adjectives that start with ‘d.’”

“Capped out at two, huh?” “It’s been a long day. And you did wake me up.” “I’m sorry about that Swan, although I am glad you got at least some sleep.” “It’s been getting kind of better.” “Yeah?”

“Kind of.” Emma’s hand was now gripping the ring, pulling the chain out from under her shirt and holding the metal band tightly in her hand. “You been ok?” “Of course, love,” he said quickly. Lie. “I’m always fine.” “Good.” “So,” he said pointedly, turning the conversation from the wallowing Emma was certain it was headed to. She appreciated that. “I’ve noticed something. In my stalking, as it were.” “And what is that?” “The New York Knickerbockers play the Boston Celtics in two weeks.” Emma felt the smile creep across her face and tugged on the chain again. “That’s true,” she confirmed. “Rumor has it they’re actually playing in Boston.” “I’d picked up on that as well.” “Practically an investigative journalist.” Killian made a face and Emma kept smiling. “PR specialist,” he corrected.

“Specialist? Is that a new addition to the title?” “You’re distracting me, Swan. And yes.” Emma twisted her face into something that resembled impressed and raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to continue.

“It would make my stalking just a bit easier if we were in the same city, love,” he said, eyes flashing up at her. God , she had missed the banter and the flirting. And him . Mostly him. “It would open up my whole schedule.” “Should I be trying to make things easier for my stalker?” “Fair,” he agreed. “But maybe a bit easier for your boyfriend and a guy who loves you a bordering on ridiculous amount?” “That so?”

Emma’s entire body was on fire. Or melting. Or both. It didn’t matter.

“Absolutely,” Killian answered. “I have an apartment now, you see, and you wouldn’t need a hotel. I’m sure Jefferson the new sports editor would love to know he didn’t have to pay for a hotel.” “You want me to tell Jefferson the new sports editor that I’m staying with you instead?” “Why not?” he shrugged. “We’re not breaking any rules now. Not even coming close.” “The office will implode.” “I’m just disappointed I won’t be there to see it.” “No,” Emma objected. “You’ll be in Boston.” “With you. In two weeks.” “So confident,” she muttered, shaking her head. “In you, love, always,” Killian responded easily. “Tell Jefferson whatever you want, Swan, I honestly don’t care. But you’ll be here and I’ll be here and you could spend an extra day here if you wanted.” “You’ve got a plan,” Emma accused.

“I’ve been thinking about this a bit. Stalking rules and whatnot. I’ve got to pine over you non-stop and try to woo you with date ideas in a city you hate.” “I will have to work at least a little bit, you know.” “I don’t doubt that, Swan. But you’d at least be here. I promise to feed you at least once, make sure you get some sleep and kiss you until you can’t see straight.” “That a promise?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’ll tell Jefferson not to book the hotel,” she said quietly and it seemed like his entire body relaxed on that tiny phone screen. He looked back up at her, blue eyes meeting hers and smiled so wide that Emma’s breath hitched.

“Good.” “Kathryn’s going to lose her mind.” “I expect a direct play-by-play of the conversation as it happens.” “More like an ambush.”

“I know, love,” Killian laughed softly. “And I’m sorry you’ll have to face that on your own. But if there’s anyone who can deal with Kathryn, it’s you.” “So much misplaced confidence.”

“Someday you’re going to believe me.” “We’ll see.” “Get some sleep, Swan. It’s almost late.” “I’ve been busy,” she argued, trying to maintain some of her pride after falling asleep on the couch.

“I know, love. I know. I’m the one buying all the newspapers after all.” “Stalker,” she said once more, smiling through through the insult. “Oh, hey, tomorrow, remind me to tell you about all the Storybrooke gossip Ingrid updated me on today.” “Granny poison someone?” “Of course not, but it’s just as dramatic.” “You’re a gossip tease, Swan.” “I’m just trying to make sure you come back for tomorrow’s conversation.” He stared at her for a moment, eyes going serious for a second and Emma wondered what she’d said to warrant that kind of look. “You don’t have to ply me with smalltown gossip, Swan. I’d come back no matter what.” Emma felt some kind of rush of something move down from her heart to the pit of her stomach and she bit her lip tightly – mind wandering to Ingrid’s intuition from hours before.

Maybe he would come back.

Or maybe she’d go to Boston in two weeks and have a few days of actual sleep and that would be enough. For now.

“I love you,” she said, whole body practically pulsing with emotion.

“I love you too, Swan. Get some rest.” “I’ve got to film again tomorrow, but I should be done around five-ish.” He nodded once. “I shouldn't be done too much later than that. I’m a proper 9-to-5’iver now, so I’ll call you later.” “Good.”

Emma woke up the next morning with a blanket wrapped over her – courtesy of Mary Margaret, post-date – and Killian’s ring in her hand.

It spread like wildfire.

Emma had taken no less than two steps out of Jefferson’s office – a week after her conversation with Killian – telling him that she didn’t need a room in Boston because she had a friend to stay with, before she felt six different pairs of eyes stare at her in the middle of the sports office.

God .

Will raised his eyebrows as Emma walked back towards her desk and smiled.

“What?” she spat.

“Nothing,” he replied evenly, shrugging slightly. “Nothing at all.” “Yuh huh.” “I haven’t said a single word at all, Emma,” Will continued.

Emma eyed him, one side of her mouth pulled up. “Sure,” she said, walking back to her desk to find Kathryn already standing there. Emma groaned and rolled her head between her shoulders, steeling herself slightly.

Her hand tugged on the chain quickly and she pushed the ring back under her shirt quickly – that was a conversation she certainly didn’t want to have with anyone on The New York Record payroll.

“How did you get down here so fast?” Emma asked, ignoring Kathryn’s wide-eyed stare and sliding into her chair.

“James sent several people messages. He can hear just about everything that goes on in that office since his desk is only a few feet away.” Emma shut her eyes softly and shook her head. Of course. Her phone made a nose and Emma glanced down at the screen, reading the teased message there.

Deep breaths, Swan. Tell Kathryn to stick her nose….

She smiled again – Will must have texted him. Figured.

“So,” Emma continued, sighing over the two letters. “You’re getting your information from James now? No more Walsh updates?” Kathryn stared at her – something flashing in her eyes and Emma actually thought it was frustration – before answering. “I’m just talking to my friends, Emma.” “Of course.” “And I hear you’re going to be staying with one of your friends when you go to Boston next week.”

“You’re going to have to explain how that is any of your business.”

“I knew it!” Kathryn yelled, making Emma jump slightly. “I knew it! I knew you were dating him! This whole time.” “Congratulations,” Emma spit out, venom in her voice. She could feel the anger pulsing in all four of her limbs and wouldn’t have been surprised if there had actually been sparks shooting out of her fingers.

“How long?” “Going to need a few more words.” “How long have you been dating?” Emma groaned, but didn’t tell Kathryn to shut up. She didn’t disagree or argue or do anything except shake her head slowly. This was going to end now, absurd gossip be damned.

“A couple of months,” Emma said.

“So you were together at the party then? When I asked you?” Emma nodded and Kathryn screamed again, hands clapped dramatically over her face. “What is your deal?” Emma hissed. “This is not that exciting, I promise. It doesn’t even involve you. I don’t understand everyone’s fascination.” “It is a big deal, Emma! Killian was a big deal.” Emma tried not to roll her eyes again and Kathryn continued, hands moving quickly in front of her. “You’re going to stay with him in Boston?”

“Isn’t that obvious? I mean, that’s why you’re down here right?” “I’d really love to hear it straight from you.”

“Yes,” Emma said suddenly, surprising herself a bit. “I am. I am staying at Killian’s apartment and we’ve been dating for months and everyone at this entire stupid newspaper can talk about it now. I honestly don’t care anymore.” Kathryn made a face, stunned silent by Emma’s rather emotional declaration. “Emma,” she said slowly. “I can’t believe you.”

“Why?” “After all those months of asking and knowing – you two weren’t exactly doing a very good job hiding anything, long stares across the sports floor and disappearing to God knows where for that one weekend.” “Maine,” Emma interjected quickly.

Kathryn shook her head dismissively. “You kept telling me nothing was going on! And everything was going on!” “I’m going to repeat myself one more time here,” Emma said slowly. “That wasn’t any of your business. It’s barely any of your business now, but things are different now. Talk about it, don’t talk about it. Like I said, I don’t care what the rest of this paper does. I’m happy. Killian’s happy. That’s all there is to it.”

Emma huffed and stared at Kathryn, waiting for some kind of witty retort. It never came. Instead, Kathryn just looked a little stunned.

“Look at you,” she muttered.

“Look at me what?” “All defensive about your relationship.” “I’m not defensive,” Emma groaned. “You’ve finally got your story now Kathryn. Go tell everyone who’ll listen, I’m sure you’re dying to.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I’m dying . I don’t know, it’s not quite as interesting now that there’s no scandal involved. It’s not like he’s your boss anymore.”

Emma laughed sardonically, shaking her head in disbelief. Of course. They weren’t news anymore.

At least not to Kathryn.

Apparently living in two different cities and dealing with new owners and ex-love interests and all those pesky emotions wasn’t interesting enough.

Everyone knew now and not many people cared.

“Are you done now, Kathryn?” Emma asked, not even caring what she sounded like. “Because I’ve actually got some work to do and media availabilities to get to. So if we’re finished talking about my relationship, I’d like to get back to that.” “Sure,” Kathryn said quickly, glancing around the office floor – likely looking for the next gossip tidbit to pick up – before she walked away from Emma’s desk without another word.

Emma rolled her eyes again and leaned forward to grab her phone, swiping open the message and reading the rest of it.

Deep breaths, Swan. Tell Kathryn to stick her nose where it actually belongs. And find something more interesting to talk about than us .

She smiled at her phone and started typing back quickly.

Turns out we’re not all that interesting anymore . Her phone dinged back almost immediately.

That so , he wrote, What changed? You’re not my boss anymore. There’s no scandal. No scandal means no gossip.

I have to admit I’m a little disappointed.

Of course you are. Because you didn’t have to deal with it.

Her phone rang two seconds later. “Hey,” Emma muttered.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with it, Swan.” “I told you, I didn’t really. They don’t seem to care much, honestly. I think everyone knew already. Even Jefferson didn’t seem particularly surprised when I told him that I didn’t need a hotel.” “What did you tell him exactly?” Killian laughed.

“That I was staying with a friend.”

He laughed again, the sound of it making Emma smile before she could think about it. She leaned back against her chair and pulled her hair over her shoulder, making sure it didn’t get caught in the chain around her neck.

“I was trying to make sure I didn’t start some sort of gossip hailstorm,” she said quickly. “I didn’t realize no one would care.”

“I care,” he answered, still laughing slightly. “For whatever that’s worth.” “Eh...it’s enough,” Emma teased and – not for the first time – she wished he was back there, leaning on her desk and smirking at her.

“At least tell me that you told Jefferson you were staying with an important friend.” Emma groaned. “I’d even settle for one of your best friends, Swan, if we’re going to go with titles like that.” “First of all, you’ll have to fight M’s for that title. And, second of all, we both know that I only said that to make things less awkward. Jefferson one hundred percent knew that I was talking about you.”

“I appreciate the effort to make things as not-awkward as possible, love. But we both know that Mary Margaret would win that duel every single time.” “True,” Emma admitted. “Although I think you’d make a valiant effort.” “Good to know.” “So you’re really ok with this?” “This being?” “Everyone knowing that I’m staying in your apartment next weekend.” “It was my idea, Swan,” he pointed out. “I’m just double checking.” “No need, love,” Killian said. “It was my idea and, like you said, I don’t think we were really fooling that many people.” “Not so great at the whole under the radar thing.” “Eh, it’s the thought that counts.” “I’m not sure if that sentiment really works in this particular situation.” “It’s the thought that counts,” he repeated, drawing a laugh out of Emma.

“I’ll give you that one,” she admitted. “But only because you’re my friend.” “That’s all I ask.”

“Hey, did you happen to look at a calendar next week?” Emma asked.

“What about it?” “It’s Valentine’s Day.” “Yuh huh.” “And that’s something you were aware of?” “I was, but I kind of figured…” he trailed off, and Emma knew exactly what he was going to say. She wouldn’t care. She didn’t. Really. Just the irony of spending her first weekend in Boston since her time at the house landing on Valentine’s Day weekend with her brand-new boyfriend wasn’t lost on her. At all.

“No, you’re right,” she added quickly. “I was just pointing out. I’m going to be M’s and David’s third wheel on Friday night.” “I highly doubt that’s what they’re considering it.” “Happens every year. We do a thing the night before Valentine’s Day and they do their own thing on the actual holiday or whatever it is.” “You are chock-full of tradition, Swan.” She almost told him that she wished she could include him in all of these ridiculous friendship traditions, but she didn’t because that would require her to actually talk about things like that and Emma had done more than enough of that for one afternoon.

“I’ve got to go to go to availability,” Emma said instead, grabbing a pen and forcing it into her ponytail. “I’ll talk to you later?” “Of course. I was supposed to be in a meeting three minutes ago, so I should probably show up.” “The professionalism is astounding.” “It was my meeting, love. They can’t do anything until I’m there anyway.” “Good to see the ego hasn’t taken a hit since the move.” “Never.”

“Bye, Killian.” “Bye, Swan.”

Mary Margaret looked gorgeous .

Emma would have argued that this was always the case, but in this particular instance, it almost seemed a bit superfluous. Because her best friend looked perfect.

Something was going on.

“Aren’t we just going to dinner?” Emma asked, gaping at Mary Margaret in the mirror before glancing down self consciously at her own dress. She wasn’t meeting the apparent dress code of the evening.

“David just told me to look ‘nice,’” Mary Margaret shrugged. “Whatever that means.” Something was definitely going on.

“He didn’t say why?” Emma asked, tugging a bit on the waistline of her outfit. Mary Margaret shook her head. “Do you think I should maybe bow out?”

Mary Margaret looked stunned, spinning around to look at Emma and crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “Why would you do that?” “You look fantastic,” Emma said, as if that completely explained everything that was going on in her mind.

“Thanks. So do you.” “Nuh uh. You are like other level right now. Like straight up Her Royal Highness Mary Margaret of Storybrooke, status.” “Where exactly are you going with this?” “I have a few suspicions,” Emma said warily.

“Such as?” “Where’s David?” “You’re suspicious of David?” “Maybe. That didn’t answer my question.” “He’s in the living room.” Emma didn’t say anything else, didn’t even acknowledge Mary Margaret’s answer before turning on her heels and walking down the hallway.

David was, in fact, sitting in the living room, slumped in the corner of the couch a vaguely nervous look on his face. He looked like he was going to be sick. Emma dropped down next to him, resting her still-bare feet on the edge of the coffee table and flicking his arm. He jumped and shot Emma a glare.

“What’s going on?” Emma asked pointedly.

David just actually looked green. “Nothing,” he said quickly.

“You’re a very overdressed liar. Why didn’t you tell me to dress up?” “You are dressed up.”

“Not like M’s.” “Yeah?” Emma nodded and smiled at the slight crack in David’s voice. She hadn’t heard that in years – not since he came to pick Mary Margaret up for prom and was terrified because Mr. Blanchard had made him promise to be home by midnight.

“I told her she looked like a princess.”

“That is awfully sentimental for you, Emma,” David laughed, turning his head towards her and smiling. He looked a little less nauseous now.

“More honest than anything,” Emma shrugged. “Something I know for a fact that you aren’t being.” “I hate that lie detector test you have.” “You love it. You wish it worked for the New York Police Department.” “And have Mary Margaret worry about you too? Absolutely not.” “I know you’ve got a plan.” “And what if I do?” Emma looked at him, raising her eyebrows in silent question. “Because maybe I do,” David added.

Emma smiled, trying to settle into the role of supportive friend as she ignored the ball of anxiety she could feel forming in the pit of stomach – and maybe right in the middle of her heart. “I kind of figured you had a plan,” she said. “And you’re sure you want me to be part of that plan?” “Why wouldn’t I?” “Seems like the epitome of third wheel.” “You’ve never once been that Emma and you know it.”

Emma sighed and shook her head. “I’m only going to come if you want me there.” “I do. And so would Mary Margaret. You know, once she realizes, what’s going on.” “Don’t do something stupid like put it in the dessert or anything ok?” “I promise not to put the ring in the dessert,” David promised. “If only because my mother would kill me. It is an antique after all.” “Of course.”

David smiled at her – he didn’t even look remotely nervous anymore. “I’m going to let Mary Margaret know we’ve got to go. We’ll miss our reservation otherwise.” “Sure.”

Emma watched him walk away and took a deep breath, wondering exactly how she was going to do this. Everything was going to change and – out of all the things she hated – Emma hated change the most.

David was going to propose to Mary Margaret.

#cs fic #cs ff #cs au #cs fanfic #ypblag #this is....so long #oh my god #i am so sorry internet #there are so many words here

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