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welllpthisishappening · 7 years

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Tripping Over the Blue Line (28/45)

It’s a transition. That’s what Emma’s calling it. She’s transitioning from one team to another, from one coast to another and she’s definitely not worried. Nope. She’s fine. Really. She’s promised Mary Margaret ten times already. So she got fired. Whatever. She’s fine, ready to settle into life with the New York Rangers. She’s got a job to do. And she doesn’t care about Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers. At all.

He’s done. One more season and he’s a free agent and he’s out. It’s win or nothing for Killian. He’s going to win a Stanley Cup and then he’s going to stop being the face of the franchise and he’s going to go play for some other garbage team where his name won’t be used as puns in New York Post headlines. That’s the plan. And Emma Swan, director of New York Rangers community relations isn’t going to change that. At all.

They are both horrible liars.

Rating: Mature Content Warnings: Swearing, eventual hockey-type violence AN: Hello, hi, hey there, the angst might have arrived. Maybe. Possibly. As always, I can’t thank you guys enough for your response to this story and your messages about this story and just generally being fantastic. @laurnorder, @beautiful-swan & @distant-rose have made this a million times better. Also living on Ao3, FF.net & tag’ed up on Tumblr.

There was a list somewhere.

She’d written it down. She just couldn’t remember where it was. Or everything that was on it.

There were a lot of things on it.

Emma pulled her lip between her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember everything that was on the list – All-Star game and post All-Star event and getting Killian and Robin to sign several different All-Star branded items so they could auction those off at Casino Night and she had to get to the restaurant before the game to make sure that everything would run smoothly before the final event of the weekend and they didn’t even get to stay another night in LA because the whole Rangers contingent had to be on the red eye back to New York so they could get ready for the post-weekend roadtrip.

Killian and Robin were supposed to take a different flight because it might be the most hectic day in the history of days, but the New York Rangers were actually kind of cheap and there was no point flying two All-Stars across the country only to have them get on the team plane back to western Canada.

The list was sitting on the windowsill of her hotel room.

Emma let out a small whoop of excitement, grabbing the sheet of hotel-provided paper and everything she’d just remembered was on it – plus one.

Zelena was supposed to call that morning.

In fact, Zelena was supposed to call in five minutes. To talk about something – the text message from Merida announcing Zelena’s intentions hadn’t been very specific. And that might have been why Emma was so scatterbrained, something that felt a bit like dread creeping up in the back of her mind and the pit of her stomach and she hadn’t really slept the night before, bed far too big and far too empty to be anything except decidedly uncomfortable.

She tried not to think about that.

Emma clicked her tongue, shifting her weight back and forth on her feet and, well, she could stage a phone call with Zelena while getting hot chocolate from the breakfast cart in the hotel lobby.

Absolutely.

She was a professional.

She could multi-task.

She slid her feet into her heels and her arms into her blazer and stuffed the list into the back pocket of her pants, stepping out the door of her hotel room with something that she hoped vaguely resembled confidence.

The lobby was packed – front-office personnel and hockey players and a whole table of public relations people that Emma knew by face and team affiliation, all of them with phones pressed up to their ears and matching looks of stressed out on their face.

The break in All-Star break, was, apparently, a very big lie.

And her phone went off before Emma had even taken a step towards the coffee cart, not even certain there was hot chocolate there.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath, backing up into one of the slightly quieter corners of the room. Emma shook her head once, glaring at the coffee cart like it had personally offended her and licked her lips once before swiping her thumb across her phone screen. The smile on her face felt a bit unnatural. “Hey, Zelena.” “Emma,” Zelena said sharply and that feeling of dread in the back of Emma’s mind was knocking so hard it was making it difficult to see straight. She pushed farther back into the corner, shoulder blades hitting against the wall and she was going to make her lip bleed if she bit it any harder.

“Mer said you had something you wanted to talk to me about?” Emma asked, wincing slightly at the uncertainty in her voice.

She was a professional.

This would have been better if there was some sort of hot chocolate-coffee hybrid in her hand to counteract the nerves.

And, just like that, there was.

There was a hand in front of her and a smile in front of her and the smile on Emma’s face didn’t feel quite as forced when she pulled the cup of hot chocolate out of Killian’s hand.

“You ok?” Killian asked softly and Emma was certain she didn’t imagine the way he kept his fingers against hers, lingering over her wrist and the laces there.

She nodded quickly, taking a sip of hot chocolate before she could dissolve into a list of all the reasons she wasn’t ok. Or how exhausted she was – because she hadn’t fallen asleep until somewhere in the realm of three in the morning, going over the list and the bullet points and how cold it was without him there.

“Fine,” Emma muttered when Killian quirked one eyebrow, nodding towards the phone pressed between her ear and her shoulder.

“What was that?” Zelena asked on the other end, voice just as sharp as it had been a few moments before.

“Nothing, nothing, Zelena, go ahead.”

Killian’s other eyebrow shot up his forehead when he heard Zelena’s name and Emma tried to brush him off, hand waving through the air because this totally wasn’t a big deal and she totally wasn’t worried and he totally didn’t buy it for a second.

He caught her hand mid-swipe, fingers lacing through hers and he actually had the audacity to wink, lips caught up in that vaguely infuriating smirk. Emma rolled her eyes, but she didn’t let go of his hand and if that was as telling as she thought it might be, Killian didn’t acknowledge it, just squeezed her fingers even tighter.

“Zelena?” Emma prompted, noticing the silence coming from New York. “What’s going on?” “I’ve got some bad news,” Zelena answered and her voice still had that measured tone, like she was trying to make sure she hit every single word as she said them.

“About?” “Your game.”

Emma’s shoulders sagged immediately and she knew what was coming before Zelena even finished, had known for the last few days that this was the possibility and the likeliest outcome and the Garden couldn't turn down money.

Even if that money came from some manufactured pop concert.

It would sell tickets. Hell, it would probably sell out the entire fucking arena.

Emma’s charity game wouldn’t sell out the entire fucking arena. It’d sell to season-tickets and maybe a few casual, if not ridiculously wealthy, fans who wanted the chance to see Killian Jones, Metro All-Stars captain and captain of the New York Rangers, coach a hockey game.

She blinked quickly – frustration and anger turning towards slightly more melodramatic emotions before she could stop herself – and Emma refused to meet Killian’s gaze, even when she could feel his eyes tracing over her face.

“Who?” Emma asked and she knew she’d practically snapped the words into the phone.

Zelena made a noise in the back of her throat. “What do you mean who?” “Who’s taking my fucking spot?” Killian squeezed her hand tighter, thumb tracing a line across her wrist and Emma’s lip was actually bleeding at this point. “I asked a question, Zelena,” Emma continued, frustration and disappointment turning quickly to anger almost immediately.

“So I heard.” “And?” “And I’m still your boss, Emma. That tone’s not going to fly with me. So take a deep breath and refocus and then ask again.” Emma ran her tongue over teeth only glancing up when she felt Killian’s free hand pull the now-forgotten cup away from her. “It’s fine, love,” he said softly and there was that word again. This wasn’t fine. This was the opposite of fine.

This felt a bit like failure.

She took a deep breath and tried to nod, but if felt like every muscle in her neck had stopped working completely. “Who took my spot, Zelena?”

“Does it really matter?” “A little.” “Some singer with choreographed dance moves and sparkly dresses and there’ll be several thousand screaming teenagers and their slightly put-out parents in the Garden on March 5. They made it official last night. They added the date on for a second show since the first one sold out. It’s all about the green or something, I don’t know, I just got an e-mail at midnight.” “Last night? Seems awfully convenient that this happened when I wasn’t actually in New York.” Zelena sighed and Emma was certain she was probably rolling her eyes as well – if the situation had been switched Emma probably would have rolled her eyes too. She was being ridiculous. She understood the business, even understood the money and this is why they hadn’t completely publicized the date.

But they’d done enough.

It was out there – there were sponsors and Henry’s house knew and, if the text messages Emma had gotten over the last few days were any indication, had already started the voting process on what they’d use the money for at the house. The waivers were, almost, all in and while Bobby Flay was out, Liam Neeson had recorded that voiceover and, God, Liam Jones was going to come of retirement for this.

What was she going to tell Liam?

What was she going to tell Killian?”

Emma tried to take a deep breath and came up decidedly short, trying to find a way to back farther up against the wall – that didn’t really work either, head hitting up against plaster and paint and it mostly just hurt.

“Fuck,” Emma mumbled under her breath, sliding down the wall. She was sitting on the floor and Killian still hadn’t let go of her hand, eyes a bit wider than usual when Emma met his gaze, her arm pulled up in some impossible way.

“You did your best, Emma,” Zelena said and it felt like she was coddling her just a bit. The anger flared back through Emma in a flash, rushing through every one of her veins and arteries and every inch of her skin until she was convinced she was more feeling than anything else. “It just didn’t work out.” "Wait, what?” “It didn't work out,” Zelena repeated, trailing over each word slowly as if Emma didn’t actually understand their meaning.

“No, no, that’s not what I meant. You mean to tell me that after all of this, the planning and the celebrities and the fucking insurance waivers, we’re just not going to do this? That’s bullshit, Zelena and you know it. And don’t even bother telling to me to watch my tone. I’m not one of the teenagers coming to this concert.”

Killian made a noise in the back of his throat – something that sounded like a mix between disbelief and amazement – and he was smiling at her with a look of wonder when he crouched in front of her.

“You’re going to hurt your knees,” Emma muttered, finger trailing its way along the back of his neck absently.

“My knees are fine, Swan,” he promised. He sat down anyway, twisting around until he was next to her with his arm around her shoulders and they probably painted some kind of ridiculous picture in the back corner of this very expensive Los Angeles hotel lobby.

Zelena still hadn’t answered.

“What happens now?” Emma asked. “Because I’ve got a house full of kids who are ready for this game and a team full of players who are ready for this game and I’m not about to just brush over it for some pop star, no matter how sparkly her dresses might be.” Zelna scoffed, but there was an air of understanding in the noise and Emma felt like, maybe, she was making a bit of headway in this conversation.

“What do you want to do?” Zelena asked. That felt like a bigger question than Emma was prepared for. And maybe she wasn’t quite out of control as she felt like she was.

Killian pushed the hot chocolate cup closer to her, smirk back on his face and some of Emma’s anger receded at that.

“What are my options?” Emma asked.

“Eh,” Zelena sighed. “Not many if I’m being honest. We’ve already told the season tickets?” “As soon as we got Liam we told season tickets,” Emma muttered bitterly and Killian’s arm tightened. “There are a good amount of people excited about this, Zelena.” “I know. I know and it’s a good idea, Emma, really, but an idea is only that until you’ve got a place to hold it.” “I did.” “And now you don’t. So, if you want to still do this, we need to come up with some sort of contingency plan.” “Of course I still want to do this!”

“Contingency plan, Emma.” “Tarrytown?” Emma suggested, glancing at Killian out of the corner of her eye. He shrugged, fingers moving up and down her arm. “I mean, it’s not very big, not compared to the Garden, obviously, but we could at least get a good chunk of season tickets in there.” “You could make it season-ticket only,” Zelena added, but Emma was shaking her head before she’d even completely processed the words.

“No, no, we’re not doing that. The point of this was to help a bunch of kids, Zelena, not give season tickets another show.” “It’s hardly a show, Swan,” Killian muttered. “It’s a serious game.”

She rolled her eyes, but her head had found its way a bit closer to him and she was halfway towards leaning against his shoulder when Zelena spoke again. “Ok,” she said, sounding every bit as annoyed as Emma felt. “So we keep it open to the public and the GD kids. Were you bringing in more than just that one house?” “That’s up to Aurora,” Emma said. “And that’s all on my desk. You can probably get Mer to show you later today if you want.” “It’s the All-Star break.” “That doesn’t seem to make a scheduling difference to the Garden.” Zelena actually laughed and Emma downed the rest of her hot chocolate, tapping her thumb impatiently on the side of the now-empty cup. “We can figure out a location tomorrow,” Zelena continued, brushing over Emma’s less-than-professional comments quickly. “Tarrytown seems like your best bet now, but we might be able to do something a bit more city based as well. Nine o’clock work for you tomorrow?” “Sure,” Emma said, resigning herself to another night of lost sleep. “I’ll, uh, come up with some location ideas and find out if Aurora knows how many GD kids are set in stone yet.” “And a revised budget.” “What?” “A revised budget,” Zelena repeated evenly. “If we’re not doing this at the actual Garden anymore, it’s going to be fewer people and that would, presumably, mean it won’t cost as much to feed them or gift bag them.” “Are we using gift bag as a verb in this situation?” “A revised budget, Emma. Nine o’clock tomorrow. My office.” “Sounds good.”

Zelena made a noise that sounded as if she was nodding and the line went dead before Emma could sigh over how decidedly not good this entire situation was.

She didn’t even bother putting her phone back in her pocket, fingers racing across the screen as she started typing out instructions to Merida, vaguely aware that her assistant probably already had a better handle on the situation than Emma did while sitting in a Los Angeles hotel lobby.

Merida’s answer was almost immediate – she’d probably been in Zelena’s office.

We’ll be fine, boss. It’s going to be totally fine.

That word. It was going to make Emma’s eyes go permanently cross.

She heaved a sigh, head, finally, falling against Killian’s shoulder and she could feel his lips brush across the top of her hair, arm tightening a fraction of an inch around her.

“What did she say?” Killian asked.

Emma didn’t answer – or at least didn’t answer the question he asked. “You have a pen?”

“What?”

“A pen,” she said, pushing off the floor so she could grab the crumpled up to-do-list out of her back pocket. Killian’s eyes narrowed when Emma tried to flatten out the sheet of paper on her knee, grumbling slightly when it didn’t work.

“You brought a list, but no pen, Swan?” Killian asked, tugging the paper out of her hands.

“I didn’t think I’d have to be adding to the list,” Emma admitted. Jeez. She should just start typing things out on her phone. Or carrying pens with her regularly.

“Here,” he said, twisting slightly to push his hand into the pocket of his jacket. He was carrying a pen. Emma tried not to put too much weight in that. It was more difficult than she would have imagined.

“You just carry pens in your jacket? What happens if it breaks?” “I’d imagine I’d get ink on the inside of my jacket pocket. Why are you questioning this, Swan? You needed a pen.” “That’s true. You’re just like some kind of Boy Scout or something.” “I hardly think that’s true,” he laughed, moving his eyebrows quickly like that proved that point. It kind of did – particularly when Emma’s fingers brushed against his and she was certain she actually saw sparks.

She swiped a line over the list of everything she had to do that day and started jotting down new ideas for a charity game that, just a few minutes before, had almost been entirely planned – Tarrytown, city, budgets, GD kids, tell Henry, no don’t tell Henry.

“You don’t have to do either one of those last two, Swan,” Killian said softly, leaning forward to stare at the brand-new list. “What?” she asked, surprise finding its way into all four letters. “Why not? If this doesn’t…”

Emma cut herself off, tongue darting over her suddenly dry lips and she couldn’t quite bring herself to look at Killian. She pulled her head back up, staring at the sheet of paper in front of them and everything she had to do.

It felt a bit like a flood.

Or maybe an avalanche.

Certainly some sort of vaguely horrible natural disaster.

“Don’t do that, Swan,” Killian muttered.

Emma took a deep breath, lungs feeling like they were going to burst with the amount of oxygen in them. “It might not work,” she whispered. “We were supposed to get the Garden. We had the Garden and now we don’t have anything.” “That’s not true at all.” “You were sitting here weren’t you?” Killian nodded and Emma could almost feel everything starting to come unhinged. Her breathing was getting a bit erratic. “Then you know that’s not true at all. We’ve only kind of half told season tickets that this was a thing and we haven’t even made it public yet. We were supposed to have a month! We were supposed to have a full month to promo between Casino Night and the game and the Garden was supposed to give me my day and not back out like a bunch of assholes.”

She groaned – or maybe growled – and rolled her head between her shoulders, trying to find the best way to crack it so it wouldn’t feel like a rubber band about to snap in half. “Tarrytown’s not big enough,” Emma sighed. “And no way are season tickets going to take a train upstate for some charity game, even if you promise to do photo op with every single one of them.”

“So don’t do it in Tarrytown,” Killian countered, as if that were the most obvious answer in the world.

“You know of some other practice facility that the Rangers are just hiding in Manhattan, then?

“I don’t, no, but I do know of several other rinks in Manhattan. Including one with signed photos of both Liam and I on the wall.” “For real?” Emma asked and she probably shouldn’t even be surprised at this point. His picture was on the side of Madison Square Garden.

Killian shrugged. “We did play hockey in the city, love. And if we’re both going to be part of this, then I can’t imagine a situation where they say no.” “Who?” “The Piers,” he said, like it was the most obvious answer. “Hopper still works down there, still runs the youth league there. He can make it work. Or, rather, he will make it work.” Emma considered that for a moment, considered the earnest sound of his voice and the ridiculous amount of blue in his eyes whenever he looked at her, staring straight at her and her close-to-bursting list with the kind of certainty that made her almost believe this might work.

No, she thought quickly, not almost.

This could work.

As long as she wasn’t the most stubborn person in the entire world.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re rescuing me?” Emma asked, tugging on the zipper of his jacket. “I thought we opted against the rescuing.”

“I’m not,” Killian promised.

“Then what’s happening here?”

Killian pressed his lips together tightly, a straight line that almost matched up with the tension lingering in Emma’s neck. It felt a bit like the night before and the morning before and maybe the dread in the back of her mind was partially because of the nerves etched into the corners of his face.

Emma trusted Killian, implicitly and completely and in some kind of overwhelming way she still didn’t entirely understand – it’s because you love him, more than anything, her mind supplied helpfully – but there were still a few walls and maybe a slightly still-there foundation that gave her pause.

He wanted to help and she was absolutely the most stubborn person on the planet.

“Killian,” Emma prodded, pushing her finger into the front of his team-branded shirt. “What’s happening?” “You said we,” he answered.

“What? Was that supposed to make sense?” He sighed, but the smile was almost back. “Yesterday, when we were at fan event number two, you said we were going to win a Cup.”

Emma’s mouth dropped open, breath rushing out of her in a somewhat terrified rush. She hadn’t entirely realized she’d said that. She’d thought it – had considered them some sort of hockey-playing, hockey-organizing, Stanley Cup-winning unit for the last several weeks – but she didn’t know she’d actually given voice to the idea of a we until it became blatantly obvious that Killian had thought of nothing else since she’d said it.

“That wasn’t on purpose,” Emma mumbled, hoping to save a bit of emotional face. It didn’t matter. He totally knew what she meant.

“Yes, it did,” Killian argued. “It meant...everything. This isn’t a rescue, Swan. This is me knowing someone who can help and wanting to help and acting like some sort of we.” “I like that.” And it wasn’t quite enough, but it also was enough in some sort of we type of way. “It’s just...” Emma sighed, scrunching her nose when she couldn’t think of the right word.

“What?”

“It just seems like a lot of maybe’s and hopefully’s. That’s not really my strong suit.” Killian made a noise, shaking his head quickly. “It is, Swan, but there’s still plenty of time and you’ve still got a month to promo. And as for maybe’s and hopefully’s, I’ve learned never to question yours.”

Emma groaned again, but mostly so this entire jam-packed lobby wouldn’t hear the way her heartbeat picked up. “That’s quite a line, Cap.” “And true. We’ll call Hopper and we’ll get the day at the Piers and you can send out official invites next week and promo at Casino Night in some sort of attempt to make Casino Night seem almost bearable.” “Hey,” Emma laughed, knocking her knuckles against his chest. “I’ve planned all of Casino Night. It’s going to be awesome. Plus, I might have gotten my dress already.” She’d done it for the reaction, for the slightly open mouth and wider-than-usual eyes, and it had worked perfectly, Killian twisting around to stare at her in disbelief. “When?” he asked.

“Couple of days before we flew out here. It’s probably sitting in a box in Reese’s loft at this point.”

“And you never thought to mention that before?” “You haven’t gotten your outfit yet?” “It’s a tux, Swan. I call a store and they give me one that fits and I show up at Casino Night.” “Yeah, mine took a bit more work than that. It’s got fringe, you know, matches the theme and everything.”

His eyes did something wholly unfair considering they were still sitting in the lobby and sitting on the floor, but he ducked his head anyway and kissed her quickly. Emma sighed against him, forehead falling forward to rest against Killian’s like she couldn’t quite bring herself to pull away completely.

“A we, Swan,” Killian muttered.

It sounded like a promise.

“This is nuts,” Emma said, standing in one of the corporate boxes in the Staples Center, leaning forward slightly to glance down at the ice.

“Haven’t you been up here a ton of times?” Liam asked, glancing at Emma over his shoulder as he propped his feet up on one of the tables in the room. There was more than one table and at least two of them seemed dedicated to food.

Elsa clicked her tongue and widened her eyes meaningfully, but Emma couldn’t even bring herself to be frustrated.

They’d called the Piers that afternoon – Archie Hopper’s excitement at the prospect of hosting a Rangers charity event paling in comparison to even the idea of the brothers Jones returning to the ice in Chelsea – and it took Killian less than ten full minutes before he’d negotiated an entire space and a guaranteed rink and a three o’clock appointment for Emma on Monday afternoon.

It was going to work.

It was going to be fine. And the fan event was all on schedule for post-game, the restaurant on the other side of the street already decked out in more RANGERSTOWN merchandise than Emma had even imagined existed.

It also helped that Killian Jones, captain of the Metropolitan Division All-Stars, looked very, very good in his brand-new uniform. And may have been caught kissing Emma Swan, New York Rangers director of community relations, fan experiences and events by Robin Locksley in the Staples Center locker room twenty minutes before puck drop.

Robin took a picture and sent it to Will – who had possibly broken Emma’s inbox with the influx of scandalized messages – but Emma couldn’t wipe the smile off her face and she was almost positive she didn’t imagine the nod towards the suites just after the anthem.

She was happy.

“It’s ok, El,” Emma said quickly, sinking into one of the open chairs just behind the windows of the suite. “And, no, Liam, I didn’t really come up here much. The press stuff is up another level, that’s where Ruby is now, and my office was in a totally different building. It’s a pretty different set-up than it is in New York.” Liam nodded thoughtfully, glancing away when a whistle blew on the ice and making some sort of disgruntled noise when he realized Killian was still on the bench.

“He’s the captain of this stupid team,” Liam grumbled. “He should be out there.” “It’s three-on-three,” Elsa said reasonably, tugging one of the twins onto her lap when they tried to dive bomb towards the food table. “His shifts are going to be shorter.” He sighed, but he couldn’t argue, eyes widening just a bit when Killian swung his legs over the boards.

Emma tugged on her laces almost unconsciously, fingers twisting up in the material as she all but pressed her head against the glass, watching Killian weave his way through the distinct lack of defense three-on-three created.

God, he could skate well. Emma was half convinced he could do anything well, but skating was definitely up there and a distinct lack of defense only served to make that blatantly obvious. He moved before the Pacific All-Stars moved and then he kind of made them look like not-so-All-Stars, shooting almost as soon as he’d crossed the blue line.

“Show off,” Liam mumbled, but there was a pride in his voice that would have been obvious even if Emma was sitting next to him.

“Literally two seconds ago, you were all mad about him not being on the ice and now you’re mad about him scoring?” Elsa laughed, making a face at one of her sons when they started to fuss at being forced into a seat.

“There’s a way to these kinds of things,” Liam explained. “He could have stick-handled some more. Added a bit more finesse.” “That’s never been KJ and you know it.” Elsa glanced at Emma, eyes a bit more meaningful than her voice had been. “He just kind of barrels into things sometimes, you know,” she explained. “Shoots because he’s open and not because he should.”

“That’s ok,” Emma said and Liam made some kind of disbelieving noise behind her.

“Yeah?” “Yeah,” Emma promised. “He was...open or something.” Elsa’s smile widened and her eyes darted to Liam and Emma tried to remember how to breathe when she stood up, phone practically shaking in her pocket from all the incoming text messages.

Killian’s shift was over.

And the Metro had won its semifinal.

“Hey,” Liam said, nearly leaping out of the chair to follow Emma towards the suite door. She lifted her eyebrows, leaning against the open door frame and ignored the text messages she was certain were from – in order – David, Mary Margaret, Henry and a very put-out Ruby who had flown straight into overprotective mode when she heard what happened to the charity game. Emma had to stop her from calling Zelena to yell.

“What’s up?” Emma asked, silently cursing herself for how lame that sounded. She was nervous. She didn’t need to be nervous. She texted Elsa with something that almost resembled regularity now. She’d beaten Liam at Christmas air hockey.

There was no reason to be nervous anymore.

She was part of a we.

Liam shuffled his feet, hands pushed into his pants pockets and maybe Emma wasn’t the only nervous one in this conversation – he was practically radiating with it.

“Hopper’s really excited to see you too,” Emma said, desperate to find something to fill the silence with. Work. Work was a good filler. “I think he actually started jumping up and down when Killian called.” “Doesn’t surprise me at all,” Liam laughed.

“And thanks again for doing this. I mean, coming to the game and agreeing to play and sign that stuff. I already told my assistant and she thinks you might go for the most when they auction it off at Casino Night.” Liam laughed louder, brushing his hair out of his eyes in a move that was so Killian that Emma was certain her heart had actually beat its way out of her ribs. “Ah, well, make sure you mention that in front of Elsa later tonight. Give me something to brag about for the next couple of weeks.” “Is that what you wanted to talk about?” “No, no, I, uh, Killian is absolutely going to kill me if he knows I did this.” Emma had been waiting for it. She kind of thought she’d checked off this particular relationship box with Elsa and the kitchen at Christmas, but she supposed Liam deserved his chance at an overprotective speech and she was pleasantly surprised to find there was no urge to run away. It was something else entirely – determination.

“I’m not...I’m not going anywhere,” Emma said. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”

“It’s not.” “I don’t understand.” “He’s not going anywhere, or at least he doesn’t want to. That’s what I’m saying.”

Liam made a face, pushing his tongue against the side of his cheek and he shrugged. Emma’s fingers moved towards her laces out of habit, dread reappearing in full force in the front of her mind and the back of her mind and every single inch of her body.

They hadn’t really talked about free agency.

They hadn’t really avoided it either.

It just hadn’t really come up, not in any kind of in-depth conversation that was anymore than her promising he’d get resigned in bed the morning before – far too focused on the actual season and we and a scoring skid and trying to survive a whole weekend in Los Angeles.

Emma knew he’d considered it, there was no way he hadn’t, but she’d never once even thought about the possibility of Killian Jones….not captain of the New York Rangers. That sentence didn’t even make sense.

“They’re going to resign him,” Emma said and it felt a bit like arguing. “He’s the captain of the team.” “One that just signed Robin Locksley to a max deal last season.” “That’s totally different.” “There’s cap space involved, Emma,” Liam reasoned. “And I bet they want to lock up Phillip the Rookie with the way he’s been playing, not to mention the deadline coming up and what might happen if they trade for someone to make a Cup run.”

“Who would they even trade for?” Liam shrugged again and Emma resisted the urge to punch him in the face. “A defenseman who can stop shots on the PK?” “Scarlet will be back for the west coast swing.” “For real?” “It’s kind of my job to know these things.” “Fair enough,” Liam admitted and he was almost laughing again. He still looked nervous. “I’m not warning you against anything one way or another and, like I said, Killian would cross-check me into several different boards if he knew I was doing this, but it’s not one hundred percent certain. I just...you guys should be ready for that.” Emma dropped her hand back to her side – laces resettling on her wrist – and took a deep breath. “They’re going to resign him,” she said again and Liam looked a little disappointed.

And he didn’t say anything else before her phone went off again, demands from Ruby to get downstairs before the start of the championship game because there were fans down there that had won that contest and she didn’t know how to properly entertain them.

She remembered the way, could probably get through the Staples Center with her eyes closed and she was more than halfway to the visitor’s locker room, foot hovering just above the landing between the second and third floor when a door swung open and she heard someone shout her name.

Emma groaned – she actually groaned, feet hitting the landing with a soft thump and she tried to move around him, but Neal sidestepped her, blocking the top of the next flight of stairs with almost practiced ease.

She should have taken the elevator.

“What?” Emma snapped, glancing down at her phone when it started to vibrate again.

“You look busy,” Neal said.

“Which, you’d think, would mean you’d want to get out of my way.” “What’s going on, Emma?” “I have a job?”

Neal laughed softly, crossing his arms lightly and there was a newspaper sticking out of the back corner of his pants pocket. Ruby was sending a text every three seconds now.

“How’d the pizza go?” Neal continued, seemingly undeterred by the sounds Emma’s phone was making.

She sighed, not even bothering to look up as she fired off a quick reply to Ruby. “For real? I’ve got to go, Neal. I’ve got contest winners waiting for me in the locker room.”

“Not Jones?” “Oh my God.” “Fair question,” Neal shrugged, smiling slightly when Emma looked up. She shouldn’t have looked up.

“No it’s not,” Emma countered. She tried to move again and Neal followed suit, stepping to his right as soon as she moved to her left like he could read her mind or something. “God, get out of the way, Neal.” “What are you guys going to do at the deadline?” he asked and Emma rolled her eyes towards the ceiling.

“I don’t have time for this.” “I’m serious. If he’s out here, how’s this going to work?”

Emma froze. And maybe stopped breathing. Her eyes went wide and Neal lifted his eyebrows as he tugged the newspaper out of his pocket and handed it to Emma slowly like it was a royal proclamation or something.

Jones’ing for LA: Rangers winger set to head west, reports

She definitely wasn’t breathing, hand shaking just a little bit the longer she stared at the headline.

No.

That wasn’t true. He would have told her. He would have said something.

Emma shook her head, pushing the paper back towards Neal and she yanked her hand back when his fingers brushed against the back of her palm.

“That’s not right,” Emma said, but her voice lacked the conviction she wanted it to.

Neal shrugged. “It’s in the paper. It was on TV too.” “What?”

“Yup,” he nodded, folding out the creases Emma had put in the report. “Got asked about coming out here. He said no, obviously, but we’re not the only team that’s expressed interest.” “Wait, wait, wait, expressed interest? The Kings have reached out?” “As far as I know.” “So you don’t know then.” He shrugged again and Emma couldn’t stop herself from sighing. Her phone was probably going to explode at this point. “I’ve heard things. Gold’s interested in getting him out here.” “Gold?” Emma repeated and Neal nodded. The stairwell was spinning.

“He’s quoted in the article,” Neal said, like that proved something.

“I don’t care about the article.” “I’m just telling you what I know Emma.” She should have asked more questions. She should have texted Regina or maybe pushed Neal down several flights of staircases just for being such an enormous ass, but Emma remembered Liam’s voice and the warnings and the maybes she’d finally started to ignore.

They were back.

“I’ve got to go,” Emma said and for the second time in as many conversations she didn’t wait for a response.

She felt like she moved in slow motion for the rest of the night.

It all got done – the ridiculously long to-do-list got crossed off and accomplished and the fans were packed in the restaurant across the street from the Staples Center, toasting a Metro Division victory like it actually meant anything more than bragging rights and several thousand extra dollars to players with multi-million dollar contracts.

Multi-million dollar contracts that might not be in New York. She hadn’t really considered it and now that the story was there – existing on her phone now as Emma nearly stared a hole into the screen – she couldn’t quite think of anything else.

Ruby kept chancing glances her direction, the worry in her gaze only serving to irritate Emma even more as she tapped her fingers on the side of her glass.

There wasn’t much to do at an event like this. There was food and Rangers highlights on the screen and Rangers players willing to take photos with fans.

All Emma had to do was watch. And stew. Definitely stew.

She read the story for what was undoubtedly the thirty-second time that night, tracing over the now familiar sentences and words and reports.

Gold had been quoted – something about wanting some speed and Killian’s experience and how, after last year’s disappointment, they were determined to make a run at a Cup, certain they could do it if Killian Jones was also on the roster.

It made Emma’s stomach flip.

He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t just leave. She knew it. She was certain.

And he should have told her anyway.

“You look at that thing any harder and your phone might think you actually hate it, love,” Killian said, stepping towards Emma and resting his hand on her crossed knees with a familiarity that made her stomach flip for a totally different reason. “What’s so interesting?” “Story,” Emma answered, voice short and tone clipped and she almost felt bad when Killian lowered his eyebrows in confusion.

He ran his tongue over his lip, eyes narrowed just a bit and his hand hadn’t moved off her knee yet. Left hand. It was his left hand.

Jeez.

This couldn’t just be easy. She couldn’t just be mad or disappointed or whatever adjective she was – furious, that tiny, insecure voice in the back of her head provided, and maybe just a bit certain she’d been waiting for this.

She’d been waiting for the moment it would all blow up in her face.

She was a pessimistic fool.

“Swan?” Killian continued, nudging the side of his hip against her still crossed-legs. “What kind of story?” Emma didn’t answer, just pushed her phone towards his hand. He laughed softly at the move and then he didn’t laugh at all, eyes widening when he saw the headline before turning to slits as he read through the rest of the story.

His hair was still a bit damp from post, but he ran his hand through it anyway, tugging a bit tighter than usual when he reached the longer-than-normal ends at the back of his head. Emma hadn’t moved an inch, hadn’t blinked or taken a deep breath and the room was spinning again, even perched on top of a stool in the corner of this bar.

“None of this is true,” Killian said softly, holding her phone out in front of him.

“No?” Emma countered and there was the edge in her voice she’d been waiting for. Took it long enough to show up.

“You think it is?” “I have no idea what to think. I mean Gold got quoted in it. I could probably recite it verbatim at this point. You’re like some prize he wants to win at a fair or something. He’s talking about you like you’re the best player in the entire league.”

Killian lifted one eyebrow and Emma didn’t even try and stop herself from rolling her eyes. “Jeez,” she sighed, “you know what I mean.” “I do, love,” he said and his voice was just as soft as ever. This nervous version of Killian Jones gave Emma pause.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Emma asked.

“I don’t know.”

Emma tilted her head, eyebrows pulled low as she tugged herself towards the edge of the stool she was perched on. Her fingers found Killian’s belt loop again, tugging him closer to her and she tried to smile. “Did you talk to Gold?” “He wouldn’t talk to me.” “What do you mean?” Killian tapped his thumb against her wrist, the pad of his finger tracing over the slightly worse-for-wear laces. They’d taken some kind of emotional beating over the last forty-eight hours. “You want to take a walk, Swan?”

“Sure.” Her hand found his when when she followed behind him towards the door and out onto the street – fans still piling out of the Staples Center and lingering in the square outside the arena.

“C’mon,” Emma muttered, tugging Killian towards a side street that might have been more of an alley if they were going to get technical. “It’ll be almost quiet over here.”

It was definitely an alley – a dumpster a few feet away from them and a very distinct smell that Emma would probably just refer to as Los Angeles if asked – but it was a bit quieter and bright enough that she could still see the anxious look on Killian’s face.

“No LA?” Emma asked.

“Of course not,” Killian sighed and he sounded a bit disappointed that Emma could even bring herself to say the words. Well, welcome to the club.

“What did you mean before? About Gold not wanting to talk to you?” Killian sighed and his hand was going to get stuck in his hair at this point. “That whole article is a lie, Swan. I don’t know what Gold’s playing at, he wouldn’t want me in LA, no matter what he’s been quoted saying,” “Explain that.” “Remember when you asked if I knew him?” Emma nodded and there were several boulders sitting in the pit of her stomach at this point, she was sure of it. “I...do. I’ve never actually talked to him, but I know him.” “That doesn’t even make any sense.” “She was married,” Killian said, rushing over the words as his eyes fell to his shoes. “She was married and she didn’t love him and he didn’t care. And, I mean, there’s no proof or anything that doesn’t just show I’m slightly crazy, but he kept calling and he wouldn't sign the papers and she was still married when she died.” Emma moved before her mind had entirely caught up with her, hand finding Killian’s and she could hear him exhale when her fingers laced through his. “Milah?” she asked.

“Yeah.” “Milah was married to Gold? The same Gold that fired me? That ruined everything and left me on Reese’s couch?”

“I don’t think he ruined everything, Swan. Not now, at least. I mean, well, I hope not.”

He was babbling and the words were barely audible, more muddled syllables that didn’t quite match up with the way his mouth was moving and that seemed to infuriate Emma even more. She pulled her hand away, yanking her fingers back away from Killian and he sighed softly when she moved, eyes closed lightly as Emma crossed her arms. “You knew,” Emma said and it sounded exactly like the accusation it was. “You knew I got fired. You knew what happened here. Why didn’t you say anything?” “It didn’t seem important.” “What? Are you fucking kidding me?” Ah, well, there was the anger. It had taken its sweet time showing up, but now that it had arrived, Emma was nearly shaking with it, the disappointment that had lingered in the pit of her stomach for the last hour and a half shifting into something that felt like fury.

Liar.

“Swan,” Killian sighed. “None of it is true. I’m not going to Los Angeles. I’m not going anywhere.” “You don’t know that for sure.” “No,” he admitted, rocking back on his heels and his fingers pressed into the back of his palm. “But that’s a distinct work in progress.” “What is that supposed to mean?” Killian eyed her meaningfully and Emma didn’t move an inch. Fury, it seemed, was enough to cement her feet to the ground.

“It means that I’m trying to stay in New York,” he said and she didn’t miss that little extra bit of edge in his voice.

Good. That was good. Let him be mad.

She was furious.

“Trying to stay in New York?” Emma repeated skeptically. “Were you not before?” Killian’s eyes widened and Emma felt her breath catch in her throat. “That’s it, isn’t it?” she continued, half shouting the words in the otherwise abandoned alley.

“I’m not going anywhere, Swan,” Killian said again and it sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as her.

“Were you going to leave?”

“Emma,” he sighed, closing his eyes again and taking a step away from her. “That’s not what was happening.” “Were you?” “Swan.” “Killian,” she shouted, glaring at him as soon as his eyes met hers again. “The truth. Were you trying to leave New York?” He rolled his head in between his shoulders, glancing up at the distinct lack of stars downtown Los Angeles provided. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I was.” Emma licked her lips, trying to remember how crucial oxygen was to maintaining consciousness and she pushed her back up against the side of the building behind her until the stone pressed against her spine.

“Why?” Emma asked.

“Why was I trying to leave New York or why am I no longer trying to leave New York?” “Either or.” His shoulders moved when he took a deep breath, but his eyes met Emma’s and it looked as if he were trying to will her to understand. “I was alone,” Killian said. “I was here and there wasn’t anyone else here and I didn’t want that anymore. I was tired of the set-ups and the pity and all of that. I figured I’d make one more run at a Cup and then I’d go.” “And Regina knew that?” “Yeah,” Killian nodded. “She thought it was the worst idea in the world, but she knew.” “Where did you want to go?” “Colorado.” Of course. Of course he wanted to go to Colorado and Liam’s warning suddenly made a bit more sense. It also left Emma feeling just a bit closer to empty than she could remember feeling since she’d landed at JFK all those months ago.

God damnit.

“I’m not going, Swan,” Killian continued and his voice had turned to pleading at this point. “I’m not.” “But you wanted to.” “And I don’t anymore.” “Why? I mean, El’s pregnant again and there are rumors about you leaving now. Have you talked to other teams?” “I haven’t talked to anyone. But, well, there’s been some other teams trying to talk to me.” “Who?” Emma asked, almost painfully aware that he still hadn’t answered her first question. He still hadn’t told her why.

“Most of the Central. Gina claimed the Stars were interested, some pitch about looking good in green. And, uh, Colorado.” “And you said, what, exactly?” “I think the fact that I’m still wearing Rangers gear is a pretty solid answer.” Emma nodded slowly – in through her nose, out through her mouth. “No Los Angeles?” “No,” Killian said, taking a step back towards and both of his hands fell on her shoulders. “No. He’s lying, Swan. Every single word in that story was wrong. I don’t...I don’t want to leave New York.”

“Why?” Emma repeated. She rolled her shoulders as she spoke, but Killian didn’t move his hands. If anything his grip tightened.

“You, Emma. I told you that. It’s you.” She blinked and she couldn’t move if she tried, Killian’s hands heavy on her shoulder and his gaze somewhere between intense andoverwhelming and breathing was suddenly much more difficult than she ever remembered it being.

“I love you,” he continued, thumb tracing out a small semicircle over the front of her jacket. “More than anything and I wasn’t ready for it and I didn’t expect it and neither one of those things matters because it’s changed everything.”

There was no oxygen in that alley, Emma was positive.

There were only blue eyes and emotion and Emma’s lip pulled tightly in between her teeth.

“I”m not leaving, Swan,” Killian said. Good. That was good. Back to nicknames and easy and she wasn’t sure what she would do if he called her Emma again. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Sure.” “Swan. I’m not. I am here and I want to be here and one story in...what paper was that even?” “The Times.” “One story in the Los Angeles Times isn’t going to change that.” She wanted to believe him. Part of her did believe him. Part of her loved him more than anything – no, that was wrong. All of her loved him more than anything and, well, that might have been the problem.

Because it was a contract year and nothing was certain in the NHL and he might be Killian Jones, Metro All-Stars captain and captain of the goddamn New York Rangers, but he was also a hockey player and he had to have a team to play for.

And somewhere in the back corner of her mind, that small, abandoned girl that Emma had been able to ignore every time Killian glanced her direction, reared her ugly head and shouted that believing in anything that wasn’t completely certain was simply setting yourself up for disappointment.

Get out before you get hurt.

“You don’t know that,” Emma whispered.

“They’re going to sign me,” Killian argued and she could feel every inch of him when his hands moved from her shoulders to her hips. “If we win a Cup, it’s a no-brainer. There’s no reason to think they won’t.” “You can’t promise that.” “I just did.” “It’s not your call, Killian. It’s not even Regina’s call. It’s a front office and there’s budgets and cap space and if you get a good offer you can’t just ignore that.” Killian lowered his eyebrows and it almost looked like something cracked – eyes dulling just a bit when his hands slammed back against his sides. He looked a bit stunned. “What are you saying, Swan?” “That if you get a good offer you should consider it.” He opened his mouth only to close it almost as quickly and the dull eyes sparked a little bit. He didn’t just look disappointed. He looked angry.

And Emma suddenly realized what he might look like just before he checked someone.

“You don’t mean that,” Killian said softly. “You said you thought they’d sign me. You said we were going to win a Cup.” “I’m not on the team, Killian.”

“That’s not true.” “It is,” Emma sighed, tugging her hair back over her shoulder. “I’m not even really in the right job. I’m not community relations. I’m PR.” “That hasn’t mattered. You’ve done more than whoever was community relations before you. You planned this whole weekend in a couple of days.” “And got my marquee event cancelled.” “We fixed that.” “No,” Emma argued. “You fixed it. I don’t need that.” “We’ve been over that, Swan, it wasn’t a rescue. I wanted to help. I wanted to help you, that’s all it was. That’s all it’s been since you showed up in the hallway. It has just been you.” Emma shook her head slowly and the walls that had been rubble just a few hours before felt a bit stronger, like they were shifting back into place as soon as her eyes met Killian’s. Or maybe that was just her heart cracking.

She was a sentimental mess.

“It shouldn’t be,” she said. “This...isn’t some kind of group project.” “No, it’s not. It’s just us.” Emma opened her mouth – words sitting on the tip of her tongue, explanations and, maybe, apologies and she didn’t know what she was thinking, a jumbled mix of emotions that seemed tinged with disappointment no matter which way she turned.

She’d been certain. She’d believed in some kind of way she never thought she could. She’d forgotten all the reasons she shouldn’t.

She knew he loved her, knew she loved him right back and then some, but NHL front offices wouldn’t care about either one of those things.

And, maybe, neither should they.

“Uh, Em,” Ruby yelled, a shadowy figure and flash of red highlights moving cautiously towards the front of the alleyway. “There’s some kind of fan thing happening inside. They want to take pictures with Jones and they kind of look like they’re about to storm out here if he doesn’t make a return appearance inside sooner rather than later.”

Emma exhaled and Killian didn’t even try and mask his groan, squeezing his eyes closed in frustration. “Yeah, ok, Rubes,’ Emma called back. “We’ll be there in a second.” She could, somehow, hear Ruby’s heels when she moved back towards the restaurant and neither Emma nor Killian moved.

“Better not keep them waiting,” Emma said after what felt like an eternity of silence. “Last thing we need this weekend is a fan riot.” Emma took a step to her right, but Killian tightened his grip on her hip and the wince he let out when he flexed his hand felt like it shot straight through her core. “This is going to work, Swan,” he said and there was something just a bit desperate in his voice. “I promise.” She nodded once before walking back into the bar.

#cs ff #captain swan ff #ouat ff #cs #csbb #blue line #neal is the worst #and will continue to be the worst #and the los angeles times is getting played

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