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welllpthisishappening · 5 years

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The Period of the Long Change (9/15)

It’s quick. One second she’s standing there and everything is fine and then Emma looks up and it’s not. It’s awful. And the lights are too bright and there are too many rooms and too many opinions and her phone won’t stop ringing because everything seems to be changing all at once. She’s never been great at coping with change. But, maybe, if she can just figure it out and stay right where she is, with Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers, at her side, it’ll be alright.

It’s slow. One second he’s standing there and everything is fine and then Killian’s breath catches and it’s not. It’s terrifying. And the noises are too loud and there are too many questions and he can’t find the right answers to any of them, not sure how to cope with everything changing all at once. That’s never really been his forte. But, maybe, if he can just figure it out and stay right where he is, with Emma Swan, director of New York Rangers community relations, at his side, it’ll be alright.

It’s another season and another challenge and Emma and Killian are both struggling to get over the boards.

Rating: Mature Word Count: Honestly every chapter here is like 8K and change. AN: Is it a fic I wrote if my characters aren’t, at some point, eating Shake Shack? Probably not. Thanks for sticking with this one still, guys. It’s the best. You’re the best. Here’s some public displays of true love for your efforts.

Also on Ao3 and FF.net and Tumblr if that’s your jam.

“You’ve been ignoring my calls again.” Emma tried not to sigh, she did, but the noise seemed to fall out of her and Merida winced from the doorway. “That’s not true, Tink,” she mumbled. It was an awful lie. The words felt like they were rotting her tongue or something far less disgusting.

God, that was an awful thought.

That had kind of been the trend for the last seventy-two hours though and Emma was, totally, ignoring the four messages Tink had left Merida in those same seventy-two hours and that just seemed like a kind of aggressive sell.

She was supposed to have until the end of the month.

She didn’t have to worry about this yet.

Not when she had so much else to worry about.

Maybe she shouldn’t have let Killian watch Peggy before his presser that afternoon. His ribs were still kind of bruised when she’d changed the ACE bandage that morning and Ariel’s expression had been nothing short of incredulous when Emma asked, demanded, to learn how to do it.

She figured it wasn’t much more than twisting and turning, but those twists and turns were unexpectedly difficult and that was kind of a trend too.

Emma wished her goddamn mind would shut up.

And she knew Killian wanted to watch Peggy for the same reasons Emma had taken Peggy out of daycare that one day and she couldn’t really argue when he started making faces at her, letting her fingers grip his and tug on the front of his shirt and he was supposed to bring her to the Garden before the presser anyway.

It was fine.

It was all fine.

It was...hopefully fine.

The rest of the season and maybe more.

Emma couldn’t breathe.

“Boss,” Merida muttered, nodding towards the phone Emma was still, somehow, holding and Tink was still, somehow, talking. Emma wasn’t entirely sure how she was still standing. Her whole body felt heavy and exhausted and Aurora had apologized for the banner incident, but she had no fewer than eight-thousand questions about Phillip’s ceremony the next night and it really was not that complex.

It shouldn’t have been that complex.

Emma needed to sit in a dark room with absolutely no noise and no hockey and no errant thoughts for the rest of the afternoon.

She didn’t have time.

Tink was still babbling in her ear.

“You might want to at least acknowledge that you’re still on the phone,” Merida suggested, taking a step into the office and there was no longer enough room for two people. “Here,” she added, dropping a plastic container on the few inches of desk left and Emma couldn’t quite believe she flinched at, what she assumed, was a salad from Prep.

“What is this?” she asked softly, doing her best not to talk into the phone. Tink wasn’t babbling anymore. She was rambling. Loudly.

Emma was supposed to have until the end of the month.

Fine fine fine fine fine.

“It’s food, boss,” Merida grinned. She shook her hair off her shoulders, the bags under her eyes visible and they just had to get through the rest of the week. Phillip’s ceremony would last fifteen minutes, tops, he and Aurora would stand on the ice and they still needed to get his dad a jersey, but he wasn’t getting into the city until later that night and there was, apparently, some kind of ridiculous snow storm in Québec City so that was another thing. There was a list for all of it somewhere.

Probably under the salad.

“Did we ever find out if Rook’s mom was coming to this?” Emma whispered, and Tink hadn’t taken a breath in years. That couldn’t have been healthy.

Merida shook her head. “Aurora said she was trying to get in touch, but it keeps going to voicemail.” “And we’ve got no other way to contact this woman? Where does she even live?” “Phillip said Montréal. Maybe.” “Maybe?”

Merida’s eyes widened in warning when Emma’s voice hitched and Tink stopped talking rather abruptly. Emma winced. “Am I interrupting you, Emma?” Tink asked, and Emma bit back her immediate yes, constantly because she hadn’t been lying before.

She kind of wanted this job.

Or thought she could want this job. Or, at least, consider the possibility of this job.

But then she thought about the travel and what might happen if – when – Killian came back next season and she’d waited so long for all of this, was so goddamn happy when things weren’t so goddamn stressful and even, sometimes, when they were and Merida kept trying to force feed her slightly shitty salads that weren’t as good when she wasn’t pregnant.

And Emma knew it was because Killian kept texting her to remind her.

She didn’t really want to go to the presser later. She didn’t want to cry in public like that. That would have been embarrassing.

“Emma,” Tink said lightly, but there was an edge there that made it almost too obvious that the end of the month wasn’t quite as honest as it probably should have been.

“I’m here,” Emma promised, rolling her eyes when Merida snickered under her breath. “And I haven’t really been ignoring your calls. I’ve just been incredibly busy.” “Dealing with injuries?” Emma inhaled, teeth digging into her lower lip. Merida’s eyes looked like they were going to fall out of her head. “No,” Emma said. “And, quite frankly, that’s not any of your business.” Merida’s face was going to get stuck like that.

Emma waved an impatient hand through the air, nearly knocking over the half-finished travel mug of coffee she’d brought with her that morning. Merida didn’t move. Her mouth didn’t close either, just kept hanging open with a look that was stuck somewhere between stunned and impressed and they needed to track down Phillip’s mother.

She couldn’t just show on the ice the next night.

That’d ruin the entire ceremony and Aurora would never let Emma hear the end of it.

“Professional,” Merida mumbled, perching on the edge of Emma’s desk and her hair nearly brushed over the travel mug.

Emma really needed to move that.

She shrugged, twisting her lips and trying not to laugh like an absolutely crazy person because she was almost entirely convinced that’s what she was at this point and she was more or less waiting for Zelena to arrive at any moment and demand another meeting.

“Phillip really doesn’t know where his mom is?” Emma asked softly, leaning away from the phone like that would make sure her voice didn’t carry. Merida shook her head. “How is that possible? Where is he even?” “I think Ruby has him answering questions for several different features so we can try and distract from--” She cut herself off, the muscles in her throat moving when she swallowed down the words and Emma’s heart promptly fell out of her body, landed on her covered-with-paperwork rug and immediate shattered into several thousand pieces.

At least.

She wished she’d brought Peggy with her to work.

She wished Killian had brought Peggy to work. And talked to her. Preferably before he beat up some AHL asshole who didn’t even get suspended.

“He got fined,” Merida said, like that made a difference and Emma wasn’t aware that Killian was going to get fined too. Or maybe already had. She hadn’t really talked to Regina. She was too busy tracking down Phillip’s relatives.

Emma didn’t make a noise, just kept twisting her lips and nodding until she almost fell into a rhythm. Merida’s expression shifted, a little softer and a bit more understanding and she’d probably fly to Montréal to find Phillip’s mom sooner rather than later.

Maybe after she made sure Emma ate the salad from Pret.

“Actually,” Tink said archly, and Emma had almost forgotten she was still on the phone. She was becoming a professional in ignoring. That probably wasn’t a talent she could put on her résumé. The league wouldn’t appreciate that. “That’s something that’s exactly my business.” Emma’s eyes flashed to Merida, a wry smile on her face as she pushed a plastic fork towards her. “How do you figure?”

“If he wasn’t hurt he’d likely have been suspended for several games, you know that, right?” “Obviously.” “And the fine will be fairly sizable. We can’t afford to have a name like that attacking teammates.” “Ok, you know that’s not even remotely what it was.” “Was it not?” Tink countered. “From all accounts, Husinger simply expressed his opinion in the newspaper.” “He said he was glad that Killian got hurt,” Emma yelled, and there went the travel mug. She gritted her teeth, jumping up and squeezing her eyes shut as Merida mumbled promises that it would be fine, but those very specific words had lost all meaning in the last few weeks and Emma was worried she was going to snap her phone in half.

Or do permanent damage to her hand.

“That’s not what he said, Emma, and you know it,” Tink said. Her voice had leveled out again, a picture of professionalism from Toronto and maybe she knew where Phillip’s mom was and if she was planning on coming to the Garden on Wednesday night and if she had a jersey or not.

They all had to wear jerseys.

Zelena had been adamant about that.

“I really don’t care,” Emma muttered. She knew it was petty. She knew it was immature. She knew it was goddamn unprofessional and she wanted this job, but she couldn’t get those few sentences out of her brain or her mind and she really did not want to go to this presser.

Merida smiled at her, ducking into her eye line because she’d never sat back down, but she wasn’t really staying still either. Matt probably got that from her.

“I’ll ask Phillip about his mom again,” Merida promised. “And talk to Aurora.” Emma shook her head, but she’d seen that look before and she was fighting a very noble and losing battle. “You don’t have to do that,” she mumbled, ignoring Tink’s return to babble.

They hadn’t cleaned up the coffee yet.

It was staining the carpet. And several stacks of papers.

“Aurora definitely knows,” Merida shrugged. “She’s just been worried about the ice--”

“--The ice?” “She doesn’t really have good balance. I guess she’s worried about falling over and ruining the ceremony or something.” “She realizes that there’ll be carpet, right? She doesn’t actually have to step on the ice?” “I really don’t think she knows that, no. And if she does, then I don’t think she cares. But she’s mentioned it, like, sixteen times and sent an e-mail about it.” “Did I get that?”

Merida flushed, making it difficult to see where her hair stopped and her face started and Emma’s laugh bubbled out of her. Tink sighed in her ear. “I will answer you in a second, Tink, honestly,” Emma said, but the guarantee was still a bit of a lie and she needed to ask Ruby for links to those stories about Phillip. They could send them to season tickets.

That’d be another good distraction.

For her and the season tickets.

“Mer,” Emma said, dragging out the name until it felt a bit like an accusation. The flush get deeper. Redder. She wasn’t going to be specific about the adjectives. “Are you filtering my e-mails? Is that what’s going on?” “Not in, like, a menacing way,” Merida muttered.

“Is there a menacing way to do that?” “I mean, probably.” “So how are you doing it then?” “In a way that I know you’re stressed and ignoring…” She nodded towards the phone, and, that time, it was Emma’s turn to flush. She chewed on her lip. “That,” Merida continued. “And everything that’s been going on with Cap and Phillip’s disappearing mother and how insanely annoying Aurora’s been about all of this and, well, it might be a great job, but…” “But?” Emma pressed. She put the phone down on her desk, ignoring the way Merida’s eyebrows jumped.

It took a moment for Merida to answer, but once the words started they never seemed to stop and Emma wondered how long she’d been holding it all in.

Probably two weeks and three days.

Emma was a little worried about the state of her heart. It might have still been sitting on the floor.

“But,” Merida repeated. “This is your team as much as it is Cap’s and I know how much this whole thing has messed with your head and you’ve been working your ass off for Casino Night and some ridiculous points ceremony that Phillip doesn’t even want because the spotlight freaks him out and he only agreed to all those features so it’d distract from everything else and probably because Rubes threatened him.” “She didn’t have to do that.” “Aw, c’mon, boss, don’t be that dense. Of course she did. This whole roster would do it. In a heartbeat or an instant or whatever the shortest measure of time is.” “Instant probably works.” “Then that,” Merida smiled. “And I know it’s the whole league and you’d still be in New York, but…” She sighed, huffing out air that felt especially thick and Emma was crying in public again. Kind of. She wasn’t sure what her office counted as. “It’s your team too, boss,” she repeated.

Emma’s heart thumped painfully in her chest.

She wasn’t sure when it got back there, but the specifics weren’t important and she picked up the phone. She could almost hear Tink’s frustration.

Which, honestly, was pretty impressive since she’d never seen Tink in person.

“I don’t have an answer for you right now, Tink,” Emma said, trying to keep the professional in her voice. Merida nodded encouragingly. “You told me that I had until the end of the month and you’re right. There’s some stuff going on here that I didn’t entirely expect and am dealing with, so if you’ve given me a deadline then I think it’s only fair you stick to that.”

Tink hummed, displeasure obvious in the sound and that was only kind of obnoxious. Emma’s head jerked up when she heard footsteps moving towards her office, willing it not be Zelena or, God help her, Aurora.

Unless she knew where Phillip’s goddamn mother was.

It wasn’t either of them.

And she didn’t expect to see David standing in her open doorway, two bags of food in his hands and the fluorescent light of the hallway glinting off the badge on his hip.

Merida practically beamed.

“What are you doing here?” Emma asked. Tink might have growled at her.

He shrugged and grinned, taking a cautious step into the room and she was immediately hit with the distinct smell of grease and processed cheese and he was playing dirty. “Was in the neighborhood,” David said. “How do you move in here without killing yourself?” “It’s a very specific type of dance.” “Let the record show I’m not going to make a comment on that because I know you’re absurdly stressed out. And also not eating. So I’m going to go ahead and believe that’s the reason for whatever your face is doing.”

“My face is fine.” “You should probably tell that to your face.”

Merida laughed again, pulling her lips behind her teeth to stop herself and Emma rolled her eyes. She wasn’t done with Tink.

“Still there?” she asked.

“The whole time,” Tink hissed.

Emma took a deep breath through her teeth, pulling in the air slowly like she was worried anything more would do damage to her lungs. “Of course,” she said. “You gave me the end of the month to think about it. I’ve still got a job to do here with this team, you have to understand that, don’t you?” “Of course.” “Then I think it’s only fair we stick to the deadline. I don’t think you want me making this choice without actually thinking about it, do you?” “Oh that was good,” David mumbled, finding a spot on the floor and sitting cross-legged as he pulled out far too many wax-paper-covered cheeseburgers and what appeared to be three milkshakes. “I couldn’t not get one for Mer,” he explained. “God, who do you think I am, Em?”

Emma nodded, smile tugging at the ends of her mouth and some her anger disappearing and Tink had said something.

“Of course I don’t,” Tink responded, answering a question Emma almost forgot she’d asked. “I want you to want this job, Emma. The league wants you to want this job. But if we’re second on your list, then, frankly, that won’t be good enough.” “That’s not what I said.” “Then it won’t be hard to tell me which way you’re leaning. There are other names and other people who’d check each other to get this position.” “Did you just make a hockey joke out of this?” “Occupational hazard.” Emma scoffed. She was never going to eat that salad from Pret. Merida wouldn’t mind. It looked like they’d put avocado on it anyway. “Of course,” Emma said. “Listen. I have no idea. And I don’t know that I’ll have an idea before the end of the month. Or, at least, until after I get through today and tomorrow and Casino Night. I’ve got a team to worry about still, Tink, and it’s...well, it’s my team and my home and I’m not going to stop that. Even with an incredible job opportunity. So either you can accept my indecisiveness right now or you can keep getting your calls ignored because my assistant is trying to preserve my mental stability.”

It was supposed to be a joke, so she appreciated the laugh she got from Toronto, but Emma’s chest still felt tight and her heart wasn’t beating regularly and she hoped David didn’t want any of those cheese fries because she was going to eat all of them.

Shake Shack cheese fries almost made her care less about onion rings.

They were probably magical.

Or incredibly fried.

“I suppose that’s fair,” Tink said. “I’d rather not be at fault for ruining your mental stability.” “A fact I really do appreciate.”

“It’s got to be the end of the month, Emma. They want to make a move. They want you, but they won’t wait.” “I’ll be honest and tell you that this eponymous they is kind of freaking me out.” “Yeah, well, welcome to the league offices, I suppose.”

“Are they always this menacing?” “Constantly,” Tink admitted. “I hope your husband’s press conference goes well today. I know New York media can be ruthless.” Emma nodded, leaning forward to grab a fry when David offered her the container and he grinned at whatever face she made. “We’re kind of used to that now, actually,” she muttered. “Face of the team or something.” “Face of the league, actually. You might want to remind him of that before he starts punching AHL kids with absurd egos at practice again.” “Noted.” “The end of the month, Emma.”

Tink hung up before she could answer – a habit that was only slightly annoying and Emma had to try and make sure she didn’t get processed cheese under her nails. David was still sitting on her floor. “Mer, I’m probably not going to eat this salad,” Emma admitted, working another laugh out of her and a bigger smile out of David and he’d totally blown off his lunch hour.

“Yeah, I kind of figured that,” Merida muttered, grabbing the plastic container and dumping it unceremoniously in the garbage. “They totally fucked up the avocados anyway.” “How do they keep doing that?” “Pret is the worst.” “A very quick judgment,” David mumbled through a bite of cheeseburger. Emma gaped at him.

“You couldn’t wait two seconds?” “You were on the phone and glaring at open air and I’m starving. I’m here to feed you and also check on your mental stability or whatever you told whoever you were talking to, but I’m not going to miss out on Shake Shack either.” “Did you actually go to Shake Shack?” “Was that not obvious?” “The one on 42nd?” David shook his head. “The one on Broadway. God, Emma, be more aware of your closest Shake Shack.” “I’ve had some other things on my mind, you know. I just yelled at a very important league worker about those things.” “Eh,” Merida countered. “It wasn’t really yelling. It was, like, a very specific type of discussion. Forceful, sure. But certainly not yelling. Your voice didn’t get any louder.” “That’s true,” David agreed. “Totally monotone.” “Is that a good thing?” Emma asked.

“Probably not. Why do you think I brought the Shake Shack?” “There’s really a Shake Shack on Broadway” “For, like, at least a year,” David said, amusement flashing in his eyes and Emma didn’t know if she appreciated that or not. She ate more french fries.

“No way, really?" David nodded, wide-eyed and smiling. Merida laughed behind her hand. “There’s no reason to be rude about it. I don’t really go that far east.” “It’s a block away, Em.” She groaned, an objection without voicing it and he must have rearranged his lunch hour. “You just going to stay up there or you going to come hang out on the floor where, clearly, the cooler people are?”

“It’s just you down there.” “I don’t think I need to repeat myself.”

“You’re far too certain of your own coolness,” Emma muttered, but she pushed out of her chair and moved several piles of papers, resting her chin on her tugged-up knees. David did something ridiculous with his eyebrows, a pretty God awful attempt to imitate Killian that he didn’t even try to mask.

“See if I tell you about the cookies Mary Margaret made that are possibly in the bag behind you.” “Possibly? And I think you just did.” “It’s all part of my interrogation technique. Lull you into a false sense of security.” “And then do what, exactly?” “Make sure you’re ok,” David said easily, but there was a note of sincerity in his voice that made Emma blink a few times and Merida was suspiciously quiet. She’d cleaned up the coffee without Emma noticing.

And probably took her phone.

She hoped she took her phone.

“I’ll tell Rubes to find you later, boss,” Merida announced, grabbing the travel mug like she was going to go wash it or something equally absurd. That was absolutely what she was going to do. Emma tried not to cry on her office floor.

It didn’t really work.

“I can do that,” she argued, but Merida was already shaking her head and David was trying to force a cheeseburger into Emma’s hand. “God, how many of these did you order?” “Too many, honestly,” he admitted. “I think the lady behind the counter thought I was nuts when I went to pick them up.” “You ordered ahead at Shake Shack? Can you do that or did you badge-flash?” “First of all, it’s weird that you used that as a verb. And second of all, obviously or this wouldn’t have been possible. I really don’t have time to stand in line all day.” “But you’ve got time for whatever this is?”

“A quest, Em, obviously.” “Oh, obviously,” she grumbled, Merida trying to walk out the door without anyone noticing. “Hey,” Emma called. “You really don’t have to find Rubes later. I can do it. But maybe we can track down Phillip’s parents and tell Aurora not to worry about falling over? Or get her to practice after the walk-through finishes today.” “There’s no walk-through,” Merida said quickly, breath catching when she realized what she said. Emma blinked.

“What? Why not? We are playing a game tomorrow, right?” “It’d make that ceremony really difficult otherwise.” “So why no walk-through? Arthur couldn’t have been happy about that.” Merida wavered, rocking back and forth slightly and she kind of looked like Peggy working to keep her balance. She hadn’t weebled in days. Emma hoped that wasn’t a sign. And knew that wasn’t a verb.

“Mer,” David cautioned, but he snapped his mouth shut when Emma turned on him. He was still holding a goddamn cheeseburger. “Don’t try and turn me to stone, Em, you’re not as good as Regina is at that.” “Yeah, well, I’m not entirely sure Regina isn’t magical, so that doesn’t count at all.”

Merida froze, meeting Emma’s gaze when she jerked back around and lifted her eyebrows, not bothering to ask the question. “I don’t think you’re the only one getting quest’ed, boss,” she whispered. “Although David’s kind of more impressive, since he’s working on his own.” “Mary Margaret’s still in school,” David reasoned.

“And Ruby mentioned she’d try and get here before the presser, but she thinks Cap is going to be late, so…” “Why would Killian be late?” Emma asked sharply.

“Was that not obvious? I thought you’d get there without needing more context clues.” Emma rolled her eyes. “I don’t, really. But I just...God, you guys are all stupid, you know that? Without any concept of proper relationship lines.”

She wished she’d gotten more venom in her insult, but it wasn’t really an insult and both David and Merida knew it. And Mary Margaret couldn't leave school early again.

Emma would have been legitimately pissed off about that.

“Yeah, well, none of us really got that memo,” David muttered. “And we’re all trying real hard to be the most worried. We’re pretty sure we’ll get a medal or something.” “We’ve done the medal thing already.” “That was funny!” “Not lost all my humor quite yet,” Emma said. David sighed. “Did you guys bet on it? Whatever the plan was?” “Quest, Em. We did this. It’s a quest and it’s meaningful.” “Didn’t answer my question, Sergeant.” David opened his mouth, only to close it just as quickly and Emma grinned like she’d won something. “You don’t know that yet. And don’t tell Mary Margaret, I think she’s trying to get me to agree to some party at the restaurant when the test results come in.” “Then that ship has sailed already. If she’s trying to get you to agree, then she’s in the late stages of planning. You just have to show up.” “I have to pass the exam.” “You already did,” Emma guaranteed, and David stared at the half-finished burger in his left hand. “So stop being stupid about it.” “Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled. “Don't forget your milkshake, Mer,” he added. “I got whatever the special shake was from this location.”

“Pie oh My,” Merida grinned. “There’s like...actual blueberries in there.” Emma didn’t know who to look at. Or gape at. She’d eaten far too many French fries already. “Wait, did you know that there was a Shake Shack on Broadway? What the hell have we been doing for the last six years?” “It hasn’t been there for six years, boss. And, mostly, Cap keeps harping on the salad thing, so it’s really his fault.” Merida grabbed the shake from David, smile still bright and shoulders as not tense as Emma had seen them in weeks. “Have fun intervening, David. I’ll find you when I know where Phillip’s mom is, boss.” Merida was gone in a flash of red hair and loose shoulders and Emma’s shake was chocolate. She’d definitely taken her phone.

Emma turned back towards David slowly, lips pressed together and he met her with a far too knowing grin. “I’m still not using the word intervention,” he promised. “It’s really a quest for your happiness.” “That kind of sounds worse. I’m not unhappy.” “But worried.” “Yeah,” Emma admitted, appreciating his quick blink when she agreed so quickly. “Weren’t expecting that, were you?” “Not really, no.” “Keeping you on your toes.” She, finally, grabbed one of the cheeseburgers in the bag and there were chicken sandwiches in there as well. That did something absurd to her heart, a fact that could not be healthy since her heart had been going through several different and rather aggressive wringers in the last few weeks.

“I’d rather we stay still for a few minutes, honestly,” David muttered. “The whole point of this was to try and calm you down.” “I don’t need to be calmed down.” “Yeah? You get your blood pressure checked, recently? What’s the deal with Phillip’s mom?” “If I tell you that she’s disappeared you’re going to think I’m insane.”

David shook his head, a contradictory sound in the back of his throat. “Nah, not insane. Clearly exhausted, but not insane.” “God, you have so many opinions. It’s rude.” “Do you not actually want this job?” Emma dropped her cheeseburger on her knee. She hoped she didn’t burn her leg. “What?” she snapped. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what those words mean in that very specific order, Emma.” “Ok, do not dad me,” she growled. David didn’t blink. He didn’t smile either, but he didn’t blink, just kept staring at her like he was waiting for that very specific reaction.

And Emma knew he was.

She groaned, rolling her head between her shoulders until it almost felt loose and she needed to get downstairs. She didn’t want to go downstairs.

She was the world’s biggest coward.

“I’m not dad’ing you,” David sighed, sounding like those words in that specific order pained him. Emma glared. “I’m friend’ing you. God, can we stop whatever this is? I hate it.” “Did you take your whole lunch off for this?” “Nah, I took several hours off for this on the chance that you did want to avoid Killian’s presser as much as I know you do.” “That’s presumptuous.” “We’ll circle back around to the friendship thing in a second. Now, c’mon, I’m serious about this job. Do you not actually want to do it? Is that why you’ve been avoiding it?” “You shouldn’t even know this job exists,” Emma challenged, and David had the good sense to look almost ashamed.

“And you should know that Mary Margaret is very bad at keeping secrets. Particularly when they concern that pesky mental well-being of yours. You’re also doing a pretty God awful job of trying to deflect around this. We can get Rubes up here to rehash media training if that’d help.” “I’m not the one with a season-ending presser in fifteen minutes.” “No, you’re the one avoiding it. And the job offer.”

Emma’s whole body sagged with the force of her sigh, but David had always been good at precisely this thing and listening to her and resolutely refusing to let her ignore anything. Even if, sometimes, his timing was a little terrible.

She’d eaten all the French fries.

That couldn’t have been healthy.

“That’s not what it is, really,” Emma muttered. “The avoiding the questions or the job offer. I...I told Killian I might want it, but it’s not that simple.” “Why not?” “You have eighty-two days off to spare so I can go down the list?” “Not really.” “Yeah, I figured,” Emma chuckled. She exhaled, a burst of feeling she wished would just leave her alone at this point. “It’s not that simple,” she repeated. “We’ve got kids and his head and I mean...it’s my team too, isn’t it?”

David nodded. “Of course it is. You tell him that?” “When have I had time?” “That’s a garbage answer, Emma and you know it. What are you so scared of?”

She blinked, head tilted and anger rushing through her quick enough it nearly stole all the oxygen in the room. David still didn’t move, staring straight at her with an expectant look on his face and they’d known each other far too long.

That felt like cheating.

“Is everything an acceptable answer?” Emma asked softly, regretting the words as soon as they were out of her mouth.

David moved.

And the plans for the silent auction were sacrificed to the cause, toppled over in a mess Emma was only slightly concerned about, but that disappeared as soon as David’s arms wrapped around her and she started crying into his shoulder again.

“You know, between me and Mattie, I’m not sure who’s doing more damage to your clothing,” Emma mumbled, mouth brushing against his precinct-required button-up. “God, you’re going to have to go home and change.” “Nah, it’ll be fine. I’ve got hours, Em. I planned for this.” “Another crying jag?” “Two in the last few days isn’t really that bad of a proportion.” “Is that the right word?” “I honestly have no idea. Math was never my strong suit.”

She let out a watery laugh, sniffling and not objecting when David brushed the tears off her cheeks. “Change is not really my thing,” Emma admitted, working a slightly strangled noise out of David. “And I know...God, I hope this isn’t it. It shouldn’t be. Not like this. Not on our own terms. That’s not fair.” “It’s not,” David agreed. “But the world doesn’t always agree with that.” “Yeah, well, the world can suck it.”

He nearly cackled, head thrown back and eyes closed lightly and Emma leaned into the kiss when he brushed it over her hair. “That’s the Emma Swan attitude I’ve been waiting for,” David mumbled. “You’ve got to fight back, Em.” “We tried that already and it ended in a very large fine that even Regina wouldn’t go into detail about because she’s scared of my reaction.” “If you’ve got Regina worried about your reaction, then you’ve clearly reached another plane of emotions. That’s almost impressive, if not a little terrifying.” Emma leaned against him, smiling into fabric and he’d never taken his shoulder holster off. He’d probably terrified the security guard downstairs. “I’m not sure if that was a compliment.” “Totally was,” David said. “And Killian wasn’t fighting back for just himself. Also you used we without thinking about it.” “The opinions never cease, do they?”

David shrugged, taking an over exaggerated bite of cheeseburger and it shouldn’t have been as endearing as it was. “He shouldn’t have done it. Obviously. But I kind of get why he did and I get why you’re mad. The whole thing sucks and makes sense and, for what it’s worth, I don’t think you should take the job.” “No?” “No.” “Why not?” Emma pressed, voice turning a little desperate. That was disappointing. David handed her another container of French fries.

“You’ve got to figure that out, Emma. My opinions are only that. It’s your life and your choice and your team.” “That was heavy handed.” “I’m not as good at the hope speeches as Mary Margaret is.”

Emma laughed, but she was still, inexplicably, smiling and eating French fries and it wasn’t the worst intervention. As those things went. “That’s not true,” she disagreed. “Your promotion party is going to be ridiculous. Reese’s will probably get Eric to make sixteen entrées.” “That’s excessive.” “A dozen appetizers, David. A dozen!”

He hummed, memories almost visibly flitting over his eyes. “Ah, but you changed all of that didn’t you? Made a choice and picked something that was yours in your own kind of way?” “Shit, David, that wasn’t even trying.” “Worked though, didn’t it? Sometimes heavy-handed is your only option. And you’re kind of ridiculously stubborn.” Emma clicked her tongue, but there was no point in arguing when David so clearly knew he was right. “If I tell you that it did are you ever going to let me forget it?” “Not for the rest of your life,” he said immediately, and she needed to stop crying. David smiled. “Although, if Killian does something stupid like that again, I’ll absolutely arrest him.” “Noted.” “C’mon, get your laptop and we’ll watch the presser on the live stream.”

Emma ate the rest of her cheeseburger before the presser started, Ruby standing at a podium with a pinch between her eyebrows like she was already asking the New York media contingent to ask something stupid.

Killian was standing slightly to the side, tie and shirt and pants that were also kind of unfair, but probably only to Emma and his fingers kept fiddling with his ring.

“In through your nose, out through your mouth, Em,” David muttered, lacing his fingers through hers when she started yanking on her laces. She grabbed her ring with her other hand.

“As most of you have heard already, Rangers captain Killian Jones suffered a concussion that went undiagnosed in a game against the New Jersey Devils in December,” Ruby started. “Both the Rangers and Devils front offices are looking into the oversight, and while we were hopeful that Jones would make it back for a potential playoff push, that is no longer the case.”

The horde moved, hands jerking into the and recorders thrust forward, like that would make any difference and Emma didn’t remember starting to chew on her lip, but she could taste blood again. It didn’t really go with cheese fries.

Ruby’s glare got sharper.

The reporter in the front row put his recorder down.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Ruby muttered, David laughing softly and that wasn’t part of the pre-presser speech. “This is the official statement from front office. You should have all gotten the brief already, but now you can hear it straight from me. Cap isn’t coming back this season. End of story. Put that in your lede. That’s it.” A reporter raised his hand again. Ruby sighed. “Yeah, what, Zach?”

“Is Cap going to talk?” “I’m standing here, aren’t I?” Killian asked, and both Ruby and Emma rolled their eyes. David laughed again.

“I can see that, Cap. But sometimes you’re just kind of a...figurehead. You know?”

Emma squeezed David’s hand, working a not-so-quiet hiss out of him. “That was shit, wasn’t it?”

“My hand or that asshole reporter?”

“Your hand,” David chuckled. “No, of course the reporter. God, Killian looks like he’s going to kill him right there on camera.” “Checking face.” David mumbled an agreement, letting go of Emma’s hand to wrap an arm around her shoulders and there was something to be said for the steady feel of him against her. That was more heavy-handed.

“Zach, that’s not--” Ruby growled, but Killian moved, standing next to her with narrowed eyes and Zach from wherever visibly recoiled in his seat.

“What’s your question, Zach?” Killian asked brusquely. Ruby shook her head. Her eyes were going to get stuck mid-roll.

Zach’s gaze darted around, like he was looking for fellow media support, a bit disappointed when he didn’t get a single thing from colleagues who were also trying to meet deadline and up their Twitter follower count.

“There’s been talk about what happened, Cap,” Zach said. “And the fine.” “If you want to know how much the fine is, you can get that from the league. That’s public.” “No, no, I don’t really care about the amount.” “Ask a question, Zach.” He nodded, patronizing and obnoxious and Emma exhaled like that was a challenge. Or she could go downstairs and check the asshole herself. They really wouldn’t have been able to afford that fine. “Well, you got hurt in the fight, right?”

Killian didn’t answer, just pressed his lips together. But his cheek was still bruised and he couldn’t really stand up perfectly straight because Victor said that might do something to his ribs and there was a whole new medicine schedule to remember.

“Alright,” Zach sighed, clearly re-examining his interview approach. “So if you’re not going to talk about the fight, then maybe we could get some clarity on what to expect from the rest of...everything.” “Be more specific,” Killian said softly. It didn’t sound like a threat, but it would have been impossible to miss it, a glint in his eyes that Emma only saw when they were down in a playoff series or giving up too many power-play goals and their own power play had looked horrible the night before.

“The Rangers messed up, didn’t they? Missed your symptoms and didn’t stop the fight--” Zach held up his hands when he saw Ruby open her mouth. “I know, I know, Lucas, that’s off the record or unconfirmed, but I mean...Cap’s not usually quite that bruised and battered.” “Get to your goddamn question,” Ruby hissed, and none of this was going according to plan.

Zach grinned. “Fine, fine, fine. Do you think you’ll back on the ice next season, Cap and do you think it’ll be with the Rangers?” “The second part of that question doesn’t make sense,” Killian said. “I’ve got a source that there could be some discussion about moving you around.” “Well your source is an idiot because I’ve got a no trade. I’ve always had that. I’m only ever going to play for this team.” Ruby closed her eyes, retreating away from the podium and Zach appeared to have lost all the blood in his face. Emma licked her lips.

“This is my team,” Killian said, resting his forearms on the podium. That was dumb. He glanced around the room, eyes moving from reporter to reporter and Emma hoped he wasn’t looking for her.

She knew he was looking for her.

“It’s been my team since I got here,” Killian continued. “Because I grew up here. I started playing hockey in this city, bought up my first stick from a place on 89th and learned how to skate, pretty horribly at first, on a tiny patch of ice in Central Park. I learned how to play at the Piers and got my first penalty there. Roughing. Two minutes.”

He took a deep breath, eyes not quite glossy, but getting there and the entire room was frozen. Emma didn’t breathe. She couldn’t. She didn’t want to.

“And something kind of fit with this game,” he said. “I’d...you guys have done the stories. It was a goddamn depressing childhood and hockey didn’t fix that, but it certainly helped. It was...everything. This game and the feeling I got on the ice and how good I was at scoring.” The room laughed.

Emma laughed.

There were tears on her cheeks.

“So I kept scoring and Team USA noticed and Minnesota noticed and of course I went there because I was pretty great at scoring, but I really only ever wanted to be as good as my brother.” Killian flashed a smile, glancing at the cameras in the back of the room, and Emma felt her heart twist. “Liam was,” he exhaled, teeth finding his lip and fingers brushing over the tattoo on the back of his wrist, the same one two of three other horsemen shared. “He was better than me. So much better than me. But, uh, well, you guys wrote those stories too. Everything that happened happened and Liam couldn’t play and I hurt my hand and I thought it was over. It had to be because it…” Emma couldn't wipe her tears away quick enough. That was ridiculous.

And Killian’s smile was shaky at best, voice getting gruffer the longer he talked. His hands moved to the edge of the podium, knuckles going white when it he gripped it because everyone in that rom knew there was more.

“It didn’t didn’t end, right?” Killian asked, shrugging slightly. “The game was still there and still as important as it always was because I thought it was all I had. But, well, then something crazy happened.” Someone called what from the back of the room and Emma’s breath hitched at the force of Killian’s answering look. It was like he was stunned someone had to ask, but was glad they did and she’d never heard his voice turn that way, pride and feeling in every single letter.

“I met my wife,” he answered. “And hockey wasn’t everything anymore. It was important, but it was...a job again. The way it should be. Because it’s a game. And as much as I want to win, as much as we both want to win, she’s...she’s even more competitive than me.”

David kissed Emma’s head again, tugging her tighter against his side when her shoulders started to shake.

“It can’t only be about winning,” Killian said. “I’m not even biased when I tell you that we’ve got the two greatest kids in the world. They’re…” He exhaled, shaking his head slightly like he couldn't believe he’d talked that long. Emma couldn’t remember the last time she’d taken a deep breath. “They’re the greatest kids in the world, quote me on that. So I wanted to win for them. I still do. Desperately, if I’m being honest. Which is how we ended up here.

I lost sight of how important everything else was because I thought the only thing I could do to earn it was to play. But that’s...I mean, that’s insane, right?” No one answered his question. Emma might have nodded. “Don’t answer that,” he mumbled. “That was rhetorical. It’s insane. Hockey isn’t everything. My family is and there aren’t enough press conferences to apologize for not remembering that. So, to answer your question, Zach. I don’t know. I want to come back. I want to play for this team and win for this team and my kids. Because my kids deserve a goddamn Stanley Cup parade.

But I’m done risking everything that matters to me for that. And if some kid wants to take my spot on this roster or with this city, then he’s more than welcome to try. You guys got any other questions or we good here?” No one answered. “I think we’re good here, Cap,” Ruby muttered, holding her arm out and Killian nodded as walked away from the podium.

Emma exhaled.

“I’ll totally still arrest him if he does something stupid again,” David mumbled, and they split another burger before she heard the footsteps.

She didn’t turn at first, could feel him staring at the back of her head hard enough that it was nearly enough make her jump up and sling her arms around him and kiss him until he couldn't see straight, but Emma didn’t move.

It probably wasn’t fair, was almost sort of teasing, but she figured, in the grand scheme of things, it sort of made them even.

“Swan,” Killian said softly, and there went any sense of teasing. She wasn’t entirely prepared for the softness in his voice, like a name that was entirely his now was the single most important thing he'd ever said.

Emma spun, met with blue and eyes and slightly parted lips and she thought she noticed him sag slightly when she looked him. Like he’d been holding his breath too.

“Hey,” she muttered. “You’re...I thought you’d still be downstairs.” “I wanted to be here before the presser, but, uh, some stuff happened and I’m--” “--Here now.” Killian nodded. “You have a couple minutes to talk, Swan?”

“Yeah,” Emma whispered. “Yeah, of course.”

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #captain swan fic #cs fic #blue line change #listen killian jones loves emma swan a lot #like #it's a lot

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transalfiesolomons · 5 years

Note

I’ve had to deal w a lot of transphobia the last few days, you have any trans headcanons to spare? 🌸💀

You’ve come to the right place friend. I hope you’re cool with an unanticipatedly large dump of ‘em (specifically on Alfie and Michael) below the cut

(oh I should mention up front these are all modern au)

(a quick caveat with this. I talk a little bit about the intersection of being trans and being Jewish and while I try to be as culturally sensitive as possible, I am not myself Jewish, so if anyone reading this has something to add or to correct please please do not hesitate to do so)

(there’s also probably some sentence fragments and thoughts that trail off because i’m a fool who can’t proofread)

me: hey just do a few happy ones

also me, 3,000 words later, basically having written two fics: ah,

Alfie –

Alfie Solomons spends a lot of his childhood chasing on the heels of older male cousins, refusing to be cooped up inside with the women of the family. He knows there are things that his cousins will never let their single little girl cousin know or see, condescendingly protecting her from a world that is her birthright just as much as it is theirs.

He grows up hearing about the “family business” without ever seeing it or knowing anything about it, other than sometimes the police came to rough up family members and make arrests and hurl slurs while they did so. But whether this had anything to do with illegality on his family’s part or just people hating Jews, Alfie never really figured out, only that after such raids his cousins are quieter and afraid and those are the times a place for Alfie opens up among them, a desire to hold family close.

When he was younger, growing up around his father’s extended family in Camden Town, Alfie had pretty constantly railed against not being able to do what his male cousins did and also pretty constantly did that stuff anyway, which garnered him both amusement and consternation from his family who only occasionally attempted to stop him.

The men in the family paid him absolutely no attention, which he felt was wrong for some reason but could never find the words to explain why until much alter in his life, until after he stumbles over the word “transsexual” in a medical diary while waiting for a physical exam and until after he first applies the word to himself. Both of which come when he is already an adult. But even before he knows, it complicates a lot of his life, especially when he came to gender roles in worship. Even after he turned 13, he was not allowed to be part of a minyan which felt wrong until someone explained that it was because he’s a girl and only men can be part of a minyan which felt even more wrong but he didn’t push it because there’s a look on his mother’s face when he asked why that told him this was just one of those things (and there were many, admittedly) that just wasn’t up for debate.

II.

Alfie makes the realization that he’s trans when he is 27. Five years into his enlistment in the British Army, sitting on Basra air base in 2004 during the British-to-American turnover, twiddling his thumbs and sweating his ass off watching supplies be loaded and unloaded on the airstrip. Two months from home for good and suddenly skin-crawlingly aware he doesn’t recognize what he sees in the mirror anymore as himself. He remembers that word then, thinks back to not understanding it at the time, thinking it was strange and wrong, and he spends the rest of the day rolling it (and rolling he, him, his) over on his tongue until its stone-heavy and nearly wrung of meaning.

It’s a sudden and stomach-swooping realization, a long-time-coming clarity that still bowls him over with the sheer force of it.

His last month there, he buzzes his hair just to see how it would be, what it would feel like under his hands. When asked why - and he goes from a regulation cut, but just barely regulation to as short as the clippers will allow him without just shaving his head, so he is asked quite a lot - he claims that the heat just finally got to him and he couldn’t take it anymore. His face is too soft then, a roundness in the cheeks he’d never shed from childhood, to allow him to pass with just a buzz but it gives him a modicum of personal comfort to run his hands over his scalp and feel that soft prickle under his fingers.

He comes home and out-processes from the military and almost immediately jumps into figuring out where the fuck to go from here, pouring over what few online resources he can find and feeling more and more adrift from himself every day. He doesn’t fit into the common narrative of “knew all along” and he doesn’t exactly feel “wrong” in his body (frankly, he’s proud of it) so it’s a long time before he’s able to truly accept that he is transgender and not actively losing his mind and that there isn’t something wrong with him.

His place as a trans man and his decision to transition put him not necessarily at odds with but in a weird position with his Jewishness. So much of Judaism is split along gender lines: where you sit in temple, what you wear, how you’re addressed, what prayers you lead, what prayers you say, if you can lead prayers at all. It causes a radical reevaluation of where he stands in relation to his faith and to g-d but in the end it wholly reaffirms both his faith and how he feels about himself.There are actually two (incredibly progressive) rabbis that help him - one who reaffirms his identity as a trans man and as a Jewish man and another who tells him in Halachic terms that he can get gender-affirming surgery if it is something he wishes to pursue.

The cool thing about realizing when he did is that Alfie doesn’t have anyone he has (or wants) to come out to - his mother had died some years before, he was estranged from his only (half) sister, he was only ever rarely in contact with any member of his maternal family (spread out between Russia and Israel), and he’d lost contact with his paternal family after his father died when he was eight and his mother moved them away from Camden Town out of fear. He had no close friends or relationships due to his “inability to relate to others” and “aloofness” (the army’s words) and his being “an utter sociopath” (his XO’s words). The not so cool thing is the not inconsiderable amount of loneliness he feels when transitioning alone, celebrating milestones like his first year on T alone, especially when recuperating alone from surgery with only his dog to keep him company (and the complications he didn’t consider - like having to take the dog on walks when he could barely get off the sofa.) But that’s, uh, that’s what alcohol is there for right?

(Already fit from military training, he dedicates a lot of time during his early transition to weight training and a continuation of the hand-to-hand he learned in basic.)

III.

His father’s family (the little that’s left of it after a brutal turf war between the Jews and the Italians over a decade ago) reaches out to him when he’s 31, after the murder of his uncle by a small Italian gang of upstarts who took old age for infirmity and, in his cousin’s words, “paid dearly” for it. The invitation is for his uncle’s funeral, but he ends up staying in Camden Town afterwards, working for his cousin who has assumed control of the gang after his father’s murder. Alfie very quickly garners a reputation for just vicious brutality against people that cross the gang.

Alfie considers it strange that his cousin invites him back, considering, well – but no one (including his cousin) actually seems to remember him well enough to remember that he was a girl child once. People remember that he is his father’s child but apparently not what gender he was assigned at birth. People remember him roughhousing with the boys, not that he was reprimanded for doing so because he was not “one of the boys.” It begs the question of how his cousin tracked him down but Alfie supposes there may only be so many Solomons in England. And it’s weird but it’s also incredibly welcome. Gifts and horses and mouths.

Alfie’s assumption of control of the Solomons Gang right out from under his cousin (who was never fit for the job anyway) is an incredibly nebulous affair that followed very closely on the heels of his uncle’s death. Like, before shiva is even over close on the heels of (which is an exaggeration, but it makes him out to be all the more ruthless, really). Legitimately no one but Alfie knows how exactly any of it went down other than it has a body count somewhere between 2 and 15 people. He describes it to this way as a coup de grace. What that means, no one is even kind of willing to ask.

IV.

He’s outed twice: once by a man in his own gang (a few years after he gains control) and once not long after by a competitor who thinks it will cost Alfie everything. It doesn’t go the way either of them wanted.

His boy does it internally, digs up his service record and his discharge papers and starts to spread the “truth” in an effort to undermine Alfie and possibly gain control of the gang himself. He doesn’t live long past the first wave of rumors and it’s fairly quickly forgotten, just a power-hungry man trying to start something he couldn’t finish.

The competitor spreads it among his supplies and allies, many many of whom have negative reactions and cut ties with the Solomons gang. This costs him the most, at least in the short term - suppliers, support, respect, a modicum of safety - but he doesn’t let it intimidate him. And because it never destabilizes him or truly threatens his leadership of the gang (who actually stand by him, not because they’re supportive but because he’s already proven to be incredibly volatile and unpredictable but also fair to and protective of those loyal to him), he gains a lot in the long term.

(By the time Tommy comes into the picture when he’s 39, there’s been so much turnover in the ranks of nearly every gang and blackmarket business that barely anyone knows and the ones that do either don’t care or just don’t feel like its worth acting on.)

The second time someone internally tries to use his being trans against him, his boys doesn’t even flinch because, cis or trans, Alfie terrifies them. He’s 5′9, built like a brick shithouse, like an American Bulldog, probably 16 stone of mostly muscle, deadlifts twice that, and he punches like a freight train hauling cinder blocks and he terrifies them.

There’s not a person in this world that can make Alfie Solomons ashamed of who he is.

Michael –

Polly spends so much of her life scouring the country looking for her stolen daughters, devastated beyond the ability of words to convey - after searching for twelve hard, long, lonely, terrified years - to find one daughter dead (buried in a country she has never been to and will never see, she can’t even visit her baby’s grave) and the other seemingly wiped from the system after her (private) adoption, no record or her past six years old.

She hits roadblock after roadblock, denied access to privileged and private information she has no legal right to access anymore. It’s helpless, desperate work and it almost breaks her because how could her eldest daughter just disappear?

It’s Tommy who eventually gets access to the records, who digs and digs (and bribes and threatens, but Polly probably doesn’t need to know about that part but probably does anyway, she knows her nephews too well to expect anything different, especially Thomas) until he hits pay dirt. The gender recognition certificate, the legal name change barely half a year ago, the parental consent forms for treatment of gender dysphoria.

It’s a week after he finds it all that he shows her, having mulled over how to tell her and finally settles on just laying it all out. He slides her the folder over breakfast and drinks his coffee – black, two sugars, a Shelby staple – while she reads what she initially thinks are some financial documents or some other Family Business™ family business.

He watches her face morph from shock to confusion to hope to awe and around to the same kind of fond exasperation she looks at him and his siblings with, the closest to love-comfort-softness that Polly gets.

And somewhere in that mix of emotions he knows there is a tug of grief (and it stings, it will never stop stinging, that grief, but for once it isn’t aimed at him), grief because she has lost both of her daughters, grief that is outweighed by the joy of having gained a son, just like the joy of gaining a nephew that outweighed the grief of losing a niece all those years ago.

“Michael,” she says, awe unmistakable. Traces a hand along the papers with as much tenderness as if they were the face of her lost son, soon soon so soon to be found again and brought home to them.

(Michael, she thinks later, of course he’d somehow pick a family name. It’s only right and it’s perfectly right, she wouldn’t have chosen any different.)

II.

They wait to reach out until after Michael turns 18, until he has been legally emancipated from his adopted parents. And the wait kills Polly but she understands it, given the circumstances. It’s Tommy that reaches out, somewhat awkwardly, a voicemail left on a cellphone. Perfunctory, because how do you explain the weight of a history like their family’s over voicemail, with a rushed callback number just before the cutoff tone.

And Michael, for his part, two years on HRT and attending uni in London and happy as hell and finally free from parents who were tepidly accepting (at least enough to help him medically transition) but suffocating in their palpable discomfort, jumps at the chance to meet Tommy.

It’s validating that his birth family has reached out to him and even more validating that, to have found him at all, they would have had to found out that he was trans. And to have reached out, they would have had to accept that fact or at least grapple with it. To have reached out, they would have had to want to see him and that’s reason enough to want to meet Tommy. That’s even reason enough to forget that his parents haven’t spoken to him since the day he moved out of their home, to forget that they looked relieved when he left.

III.

And two weeks later they’re sitting across from each other at a coffee shop in north London, a hipster hole in the wall place with good pastries - Michael’s suggestion. They both order coffee – black, two sugars. Michael doesn’t understand why that’s funny to Tommy.

Tommy sits across from him, eyes a shade of blue so startling it’s both hard to maintain eye contact and to look away at all, and offers Michael a a chance to rejoin the family he barely remembers he lost and it almost breaks Michael in half, because he didn’t expect any of this to be so easy. Except it’s not easy, of course it’s not, there’s a weight between then the heft of many people, fathers and brothers and sisters and daughters, but Tommy carries that weight somehow better, with a straight-backed pride Michael finds he would like to learn. To carry the weight of his past like a talisman and not an albatross.

“What does my mum think,” Michael asks just before they say goodbye, standing there on the sunniest day London has seen in months, on the corner outside Warren Street station. He’s put off actually asking this question, unwilling to hear the answer. Unwilling to have another parent see him as a disappointment. “Of me? Of… me.”

Tommy doesn’t speak for a long time, pulling drags and exhaling slowly. When he does speak, he doesn’t look at Michael and Michael can’t help the way his stomach drops to his feet in bitter, sickening anticipation of some kind of rebuff, some kind of confirmation that this will be hard. Instead, Tommy smiles, just slightly, the corner of his mouth blink-and-you’ll-miss-it twitching, and says “You’re her son. She loves you.”

Like it’s just that easy. And for the Shelbys, it kind of is. Family is family, all baggage included. (Ride or die, bitch.)

And Michael isn’t really given to strong emotions (another Shelby staple) but he carries that answer with him for days after, holds it in his body like a physical thing, right next to his heart tucked protectively behind his ribcage. Her son, her son, her son.

(He finds out later that Tommy himself is trans but that is not for some time - it’s definitely one of the last pieces of the puzzle for him, that last missing piece of sky that completes a nearly two decades long year search for who he is and where he belongs. But it’s not for a while yet.)

IV.

He meets his birth mother on a stormy day two weeks after he first meets Tommy. He stands on a curb in Small Heath with an address on a scrap of paper, hastily scribbled while on a confirmation call with Tommy (who does not and will not text, the neanderthal) when he arrived in Birmingham.

She’s not at all what he expected (smaller, thinner, stress-worn. but he has her nose he thinks, and her chin, the curls in her hair) but he supposes he isn’t what she suspected either so they’re at least on equal footing.

Her home smells of incense and perfume, the tea she brews is stout-dark but bright-sweet, her hands are soft and warm on his back when she hugs him and with tears threatening to choke him, his forehead on her shoulder, he thinks oh, I remember this.too

#i've been in a similar situation vis a vis transphobia recently so I relate and i'm very honored you came to me #i hope things get better for you friend #and i hope these help in their own small way #and if you ever wanted to talk or vent (anon or not) i'm absolutely here to listen #peaky blinders #trans posts #Anonymous #self made man au #(that's the tag!)

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