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welllpthisishappening · 8 years ago

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Tripping Over the Blue Line (1/45)

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: GUYS. Oh my gosh. I am so excited to finally be able to start posting my CSBB and share this story that has absolutely taken over my life. This would be absolutely nothing without @laurnorder who is a pillar of word-reading support and fantastic’ness (which she would correct because that’s not a word) as well as @beautiful-swan who has made some absolutely gorgeous edits for this story. She’ll say it’s not true, but this story would not be finished without the flails of @distant-rose who is a goddamn delight. Happy hockey season!

Also available on Ao3 and FF.net.

It was cold.

Freezing cold.

Fucking freezing cold.

She should be used to it by now.

She wasn’t.

She was freezing – fucking freezing – goosebumps running up and down her arm and it was August for God’s sake, it shouldn’t be this cold. And she probably should have worn a jacket. Because she should be used to it by now.

“Emma?” She jumped at the sound of her own name, nearly snapping her neck in the process and turned to find a smile and a pair of slightly amused eyes and arms crossed tightly over a bright red dress. Ruby was wearing a jacket.

“How come you’re wearing short sleeves?” Ruby asked, taking a step into the office and the smile on her face didn’t waver as she navigated the slightly jam-packed floor, large piles of paperwork and plans and the physical embodiment of media relations stacked seemingly everywhere.

Emma rolled her eyes and ran her hands up and down her still goosebump-covered arms. She should have worn a jacket.

“Is it always this cold in here?” she asked, sinking into the one open chair in front of Ruby’s desk when the woman nodded towards it. The other chair was holding several boxes and the three chairs in the far corner – pressed up flat against the wall so they weren’t in the slightly more appropriate semicircle around the table – were barely distinguishable from the several dozen jerseys draped over them.

Emma narrowed her eyes, trying to make out names and numbers, but they were all piled face up, the diagonal letters across the front practically screaming at her and she could still feel Ruby’s smile and vaguely excited gaze on the back of her head.

She’d been back in the city for less than twenty-four hours, bags left haphazardly in the corner of Mary Margaret and David’s loft uptown, before her phone rang and Ruby demanded her presence at her office. Emma tapped her fingers on her knee the entire time she was on the downtown one, a nervous energy rushing through her veins and a distinct lack of a jacket on her arms.

She shouldn’t have been nervous.

Or cold.

She’d done this before.

She just hadn’t done it in New York. Or working with her friend. Or crashing on her other friend’s couch without so much as any idea when she’d be able to sleep anywhere else.

Emma Swan was in the midst of what most people would call the transitional period of her life, or what she would call the transitionalperiod of her life, because that made it all seem less concrete and a bit less terrifying and if she kept using that word it at least sounded as if she had a bit of control.

She didn’t.

She just refused to admit that.

Emma’s eyes didn’t leave the jerseys, tracing over patches and the one on top of a pile that had a ‘C’ emblazoned over its left shoulder. Her mouth twisted at the letter and what it meant and she must have sighed louder than she wanted to if Ruby’s tutting behind her was any indication.

“You’re going to do great,” Ruby promised and it wasn’t as if Emma hadn’t heard this before. She had.

At least a dozen times – and at least six of those times came from Mary Margaret in the few hours Emma had seen her before practically sprinting towards the subway and Madison Square Garden.

She was going to be fine.

It was just a transition.

She’d been to New York before. She’d been to the Garden before – had spent time in Ruby’s office last season when the Kings made their East Coast swing and Emma had figured out a way to get herself on the trip when front office brass was feeling particularly charitable. She’d even camped out on Mary Margaret’s couch then as well.

This was all normal.

Or it would have been normal if Emma hadn’t left Los Angeles in a bit of a professional huff, the restructuring of the public relations department leaving her decidedly on the outside looking in and without a job that matched up with the description on her business card.

It happened just after the end of last season, the loss in the Western Conference finals still stinging just a bit, even if Emma had never actually put a jersey on herself, and she’d been called into Isaac’s office two days later.

It had been quick – muttered apologies that didn’t really ring true and promises that she’d land on her feet and they’d provide her with all the references she could ever want. They hadn’t. They’d told her someone new had bought the team and wanted to bring in his own slate of people and the PR department was getting overhauled first and there wasn’t a place for her anymore.

She’d wallowed for a few days, called Mary Margaret on the other side of the country and complained about the entire city of Los Angeles and the smog and the horrible traffic, as if any of that had to do with the restructuring of its hockey team’s front office. Mary Margaret, to her credit, had listened to it all, agreeing when she was supposed to and gasping when she had to and even offered to fly out and make sure Emma actually ate real food at some point and stopped ordering from the Chinese restaurant around the block.

That’s what had woken her up.

Because if Mary Margaret could do that, if Mary Margaret could still find it in herself to believe in her, then the least Emma could do was believe in herself.

So she swallowed her pride and called Ruby.

And it hadn’t been nearly as hard as Emma was certain it should have been. Ruby had heard about the sale – even knew a bit about this Gold guy who reportedly bought the team and brought in his own PR staff – and she didn’t even try to mask her groan when Emma detailed the story, muttering something about asshole men underneath her breath.

It was enough to almost make Emma laugh.

Almost.

Her rent was very late.

“You’re going to come here,” Ruby said during that first conversation, as if that decided that and Emma found she believed her much quicker than she thought possible.

That was a little over two months ago and Ruby wouldn’t take no for an answer and Mary Margaret screamed so loud when Emma told her, that she was positive her eardrums wouldn’t ever entirely recover. They’d all come to JFK to pick her up, signs in their hands and smiles on their faces and it was...a lot.

Emma wasn’t used to a lot. She was used to being on the other side of the country and falling asleep in an otherwise silent apartment by herself and, God, New York City was loud and crowded and people walked everywhere and the subway still smelled like garbage. She tried to take a deep breath, lungs suddenly a bit too tight and vision swimming just a little in front of her and the letters on the jersey all started to blur together.

Ruby, for her part, hadn’t seemed to notice, still listing off all the reasons Emma was going to be fine and great and spectacular and she really should have worn a jacket because it was still freezing in there, the goosebumps making their way up her neck now.

She blinked once – in through her nose, out through her mouth – and the jersey got a bit clearer again, all blue and white and red. She was breathing easier, but Emma’s pulse picked up when her gaze traced over the letters again – RANGERS somehow finding their way into her very center and it felt a bit more meaningful.

She was doing this.

And maybe it wasn’t quite as transitional as she thought, a brand-new business card pushed against her palm and Ruby was grinning at her when she finally pulled her eyes away from the jersey.

“What is this?” Emma asked, already knowing the answer.

Ruby quirked one eyebrow at her and the grin got wider. “Mary Margaret didn’t tell you?”

“No,” Emma shook her head, eyes falling to the thin piece of cardstock gripped tightly in her fingers, hand trembling just a bit. “She didn’t really get a chance though. I mean, I woke up and I had to get down here and she had to get to work.”

It was still August, but it was close enough to the school year that Mary Margaret was getting restless about the state of her classroom and the positioning of desks and memorizing the names of every kid in her class before they even stepped in the room. Emma had woken up that morning, doing her best to keep the grumbling to the minimum when David handed her a mug of coffee, and she just hummed in response to the quick apology and explanation and sorry for just leaving before your huge interview.

She’d tried to explain it wasn’t an interview – the job had been, more or less, promised before she left Los Angeles – but Mary Margaret was already a whirl of teacher-like responsibility and David was close on her heels, loaded down with a tower of supplies that he could barely hold onto and Emma had given up fairly quickly.

Ruby clicked her tongue again and made a face. Emma got the distinct impression that she was missing something.

That kept happening. She was half certain she’d stumbled into this job while tripping over her own feet, infringing on something she wasn’t quite able to put a name to.

It was probably just nerves.

Or a string of letdowns and a distinct lack of self-confidence that Emma had spent the better part of her life ignoring.

Either one.

It didn’t really matter, she was still barrelling into everyone’s life.

Mary Margaret Blanchard – soon to be Mary Margaret Blanchard-Nolan – had been Emma’s first and best friend when they’d met at freshman orientation, a seemingly mutual nervousness regarding the next four years of their lives, somehow, binding them together quicker and tighter than anything.

Mary Margaret, despite her never-ending smile or inability to think of anyone as anything less than the absolute best, had just as much of a muddled past as Emma did – mother dying young and no siblings and there was a distinct air around her that Emma immediately recognized as soon as she looked her direction.

Disappointment.

It was disappointment.

And Emma understood it, years spent in the foster system and seven different families by the time she was eighteen, had robbed her of just about any of her belief in anything. She’d somehow gotten a scholarship out of the high school she eventually graduated from – a tiny building in Minnesota that she had to actually try to remember the name of – and the government seemed more than willing to loan her the rest of the money to try and make her some sort of productive member of society.

She’d only just finished paying off the loans when she’d gotten fired and there was something to that – Mary Margaret would have called it kismet or something equally as adorable – but Emma just figured it was repayment for the rest of the crap the universe seemed determined to throw her way whenever things were going relatively ok.

Mary Margaret had stood by her side for more than just those four years of college, had done more than share a dorm room with her or even hold her hair back more than she probably should have. She’d somehow become the most important person in Emma’s life – the one thing Emma felt like she could actually count on and that’s why she’d called her after the meeting in Issac’s office.

Even if it took a few days to get to that point.

Emma was painfully self-sufficient and while Mary Margaret had wormed her way into her life and her metaphorical wiring, there was still a deep, dark part of her that resented having to depend on anyone, like it was some sort of weakness she couldn’t quite afford.

Mary Margaret seemed determined to break it down, even now, nearly a decade after they flipped the tassels on their caps and stopped sharing a dorm room together.

And that determination had led Emma onto the downtown one train to Madison Square Garden that morning, because somewhere in between meeting Mary Margaret and falling asleep on her couch the night before, she’d also managed to pick up two other people who seemed focused solely on making sure this transition went as smoothly as possible.

David Nolan was the epitome of all things good and pure and charming and sometimes he made Emma want to roll her eyes, but that was mostly because he was so goddamn nice she was almost positive he couldn’t actually be real.

He and Mary Margaret had started dating sophomore year of college and it almost made Emma believe true love actually existed.

Almost.

More than almost.

They’d gotten engaged during the first round of the playoffs last season – and something in the back of her mind almost audibly groaned that she documented time that way – and Emma was maid of honor and she wasn’t nearly as upset about the dress she’d have to wear as she pretended to be.

David had flat out refused to let her stay in a hotel when she got to New York, staring at her as if she suggested eating at a chain restaurant in the middle of Times Square. “Are you insane?” he’d asked and Emma tried not to be offended by that. “You’re staying here.” And then he’d tugged her close to him and wrapped his hand around the back of her head like he was protecting her or something equally ridiculous and every argument Emma could come up with seemed to evaporate on the tip of her tongue.

Ruby, meanwhile, hadn’t shown up until after Emma graduated and Mary Margaret and David had moved to New York and they’d all been introduced when she’d come back to the city during the All-Star break six years before.

Ruby Lucas was, for all intents and purposes, a force to be reckoned with and Emma was nothing short of consistently impressed with her determination and her knowledge and her absolute refusal to take shit from anyone – particularly the front office of the New York Rangers.

Emma wouldn’t have been entirely surprised if Ruby had just informed management that she was giving her a job, not even allowing them to question the decision or give anyone else a moment to debate the possibility that this all felt a little less-than-by-the-book.

Ruby’d known Mary Margaret for years – grown up together in some sleepy little Maine town that, reportedly, always smelled like the ocean – and she’d fallen into her role with the Rangers through a series of events that Emma still didn’t understand. There was something about a public relations degree and proving someone wrong and learning the entire rulebook on her own as part of a dare.

And now she was the director of media relations and knew more about sports than, likely, anyone on the entire roster.

Emma was almost always in awe of Ruby Lucas.

So it shouldn’t have entirely surprised her that these three people – who she, suddenly realized, counted as the only people who reallymattered – had conspired to pick her up off her sorry-for-herself ass and haul her across the country and get her a job and a brand-new business card.

It shouldn’t have.

But it did. Because, much like forgetting to wear a coat when going to an arena filled with ice, Emma still couldn't quite believe that people cared about her.

Old habits and whatnot.

“Ok, so, it’s slightly different than you’re used to,” Ruby continued, seemingly unaware of the short trip down memory lane Emma had taken in that somehow freezing office. She tapped on the card Emma was still holding, lips pressed together tightly.

Emma glanced down and these letters, unlike the ones on the jersey, made her gasp audibly and the business card didn’t say what she expected.

It should have said public relations coordinator or something with communications in the title and it didn’t say either of those things.

It said Community Relations, Fan Experiences & Events.

“What is this?” Emma asked, not taking her eyes off the card as if she stared at it more intently, the letters would somehow shift around into a string of words she could understand.

Ruby scrunched her nose and huffed slightly, sliding down a bit in her chair until her hair fanned out over the back of it. “See, that’s why Mary Margaret should have warned you.” “I needed to be warned?” She shrugged. “You tell me.” “I don’t understand what’s going on. I thought I was going to work for you.” “You want to work for me?” Ruby asked skeptically, eyebrow raised and Emma rolled her eyes again. She didn’t. She didn’t, strictly speaking, want to work for anyone, had been in charge of the entire office when she’d been in LA, but that was months ago and she needed a job and she wasn’t entirely convinced she was qualified to do anything outside a hockey arena.

“No,” Emma mumbled and Ruby laughed knowingly, sitting up a little bit straighter. “I still don’t understand what this is, though. What does community relations even mean?” “Don’t forget fan experiences and events.” “Rubes,” she sighed, putting the card back on one of the few open spaces of desk in front of her. She tapped pointedly on the slightly raised lettering and waited for an answer.

“It means,” Ruby said slowly, “that I don’t have any room in my department.” “Then what am I doing here?”

Emma crossed her arms tightly, steeling herself for the argument and, this time, Ruby rolled her eyes, the weight of her sigh making her shoulders shake slightly. “It’s not like that,” she promised, as if she already knew what Emma was going to object to.

She probably did – something about charity cases and not being one and it wasn’t entirely true either because Emma didn’t actually have anywhere to go that wasn’t Mary Margaret’s couch.

“It’s not,” Ruby continued. “You’re absurdly qualified for this. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t. Even I’m not impressive enough to get you here without any arguments from up above.”

Emma considered that for a moment, lips twisted in thought and, possibly, a bit in acquiesce and, well, she really needed a job and she was happy to see Mary Margaret again and there was something to be said for working in New York and working for an original six.

It was like reaching some sort of hockey-related, public-relations zenith.

Or community relations.

Whatever that meant.

“I still don’t know what any of those words actually mean,” Emma pointed out, tapping the business card again, but her voice lacked a little bit of the bite she’d been expecting, the accusations falling to the wayside as soon as she met Ruby’s gaze.

Ruby grinned at her – wide and more meaningful than she looked when she first walked into the office. A victory. “It means,” she said, “that you are in charge of your own department, but you’re not going to be dealing with media or press releases or even post-game.” “What else is there?” “What does the card say?” “Community relations.” “Exactly,” Ruby nodded. “Exactly that. The team is huge on that, mostly because of everything the Garden does, but I mean, they call the fandom Rangerstown. People care and they want to meet players and go to events and spend money on jerseys and that’s all you now, Em. You kind of bridge the gap between team and fan. And you don’t have to deal with reporters or media requests.” Emma tugged on the end of her hair and Ruby’s smile, somehow, seemed to get even bigger and more triumphant and she knew she was a lost cause. And Ruby had absolutely played her – because there was no way she could turn this down, could walk away from an opportunity to prove just how important teams were and people were and that wasn’t fair at all.

Emma Swan had found her home in this stupid sport with ice and skates and none of it made much sense, but David had showed her one game when they were nineteen and she was, as they say, hooked.

He was going to be insufferable about this.

“Ok,” Emma muttered, eyes ducked towards her feet and she could hear the look on Ruby’s face.

“I know it,” Ruby said.

“Ha ha ha, good for you. So, Reese’s wasn’t really wrong, it was kind of an interview.” Ruby made a face, pushing the card back towards Emma who took it without a word, holding it tightly in between her fingers. “I have never understood that nickname,” she said. “It doesn’t even make any sense.” “It does,” Emma said and for what felt like the first time in months, she actually took a deep breath, the smile on her face genuine and there were butterflies in her stomach. “You’ve just got to think about it. Mary Margaret, M&Ms, Reese’s Pieces. Reese’s.”

She shrugged as if that was that and Ruby rolled her eyes again, but the smile hadn’t fallen off her face completely. “You know she didn’t actually go to her classroom today.” “What?” “Nope,” she said, popping the letter on her lips for good measure.

“What did she do then? David was practically drowning in school supplies when they left this morning.”

“Oh, well, maybe they went for a little while, but that wasn’t their end location.” “You’re very frustrating when you’re lording information over me.” Ruby laughed loudly, grin taking on some sort of characteristic that almost looked wolfish, and she nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, we’re going to have fun working together,” she said. “I’m not lording. I’m merely setting up for the big reveal.” “Which is?” “The surprise party she planned for you later tonight.” Emma’s mouth hung open and she probably should have expected that too because it was so Mary Margaret that she was a bit surprised it hadn’t actually taken place in Terminal C of JFK the night before, as soon as she stepped off the plane. Ruby crossed her arms lightly and her heel scrapped along the floor of her office when she pulled her feet up, that same knowing smile etched into every corner of her face.

“You telling me about this kind of takes some of the surprise out of it, doesn’t it?” Emma asked.

“Oh, yeah, absolutely,” Ruby agreed. “But you’d freak out otherwise, so I figured it was only fair. You already got one shock today and that seemed like enough.” Emma scoffed, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to argue and Ruby knew it and Mary Margaret probably knew it too. And she wondered when she’d stumbled into this quasi family of people who were willing to plan things for her and do things for her and knowher and it was such a difference from the way things had gone while she was in Los Angeles that Emma was almost certain her head was actually spinning.

“You’re going to be ok?” Ruby asked, leaning forward slightly. “Because she like planned this whole thing and even David got the night off and there are people coming.” “People?” “From the team.” “Players?” Ruby shrugged. “A few. The good ones at least. Some front office too. It’s mostly so you can meet them before the promotional stuff and camp starts next week.” “That makes sense.”

It did.

It made sense and Mary Margaret had planned it and David had gotten the night off and that in and of itself was impressive, Friday nights away from the precinct seemingly impossible for Detective Nolan.

Emma, however, was Emma and years of foster homes and four seasons with the Kings and going home to an otherwise empty apartment had turned her into someone who didn’t expect much of anything when it came to meeting new people.

She had her people.

She didn’t really need any more.

She’d go anyway.

“It does,” Emma said, half convincing herself and Ruby absolutely knew that too, lips twisted into something that looked vaguely understanding. “When?” “Tonight.” “No, I know that,” Emma muttered quickly and Ruby laughed, ignoring her vibrating phone. “I mean what time tonight.” “Eight. Enough time to get you upstairs, meet Zelena, show you your office, show you the rink, get you back uptown and something good to wear.” “I have clothes.” “Have you unpacked any of them?” Emma mumbled and Ruby widened her eyes meaningfully, pushing up out of her chair and grabbing her still-vibrating phone as she went. She stuffed it into her pocket, practically towering over Emma when she stood up, and the look on her face didn’t change at all. “I knew it,” she said. And Emma expected more teasing and more laughing and she was a bit taken aback when none of it came.

“What?” “You know this is good, don’t you?” Ruby asked, only pausing to groan over the sounds her phone kept making.

“Shouldn’t you answer that?” “Don’t try and change the subject.” Emma huffed and Ruby flipped her hair off her shoulders, ponytail hitting against the back of her neck with so much authority it could hardly be real. Emma didn’t argue anymore. “We all want you here, you know, that don’t you?” “That’s a distinct work in progress.” Ruby sighed, twisting around the back of her desk and her hand landed knowingly on Emma’s shoulder where she was still sitting in the chair, something that felt like emotions seemingly weighing her down. “Let’s get this out of the way right now, ok? You’re not encroaching, you’re not bothering, Mary Margaret has only talked about you coming here for the last two weeks. It’s almost getting annoying.” Emma laughed under her breath and Ruby’s gaze softened just a bit when she squeezed her shoulder. “You’re beyond qualified for this, Em. No one loves this sport as much as you do. I’m half convinced some of the guys on this team like the sport less than you do. You’re going to be good at this, absurdly good. Now, come on, Z wants to meet you. That’s what all the text messages are.” Ruby didn’t wait for a response, hardly paused long enough to let Emma jump out of the chair, glancing once more at the pile of jerseys behind her, before following her to an elevator and a schedule full of meetings and moments and more business card exchanges and maybe, if she was lucky, this wouldn’t be quite as transitional as she planned.

“You didn’t have to do this,” she said and it felt a bit like a broken record, which felt a bit like an antiquated statement and there was no point in saying it again because it didn’t really seem to be making any difference.

Mary Margaret brushed her off as quickly as Emma had been able to get the words out and she knew it didn’t matter – she would have planned this even if Emma had told her she didn’t have to before she’d walked through the restaurant doors uptown and pretended to be surprised.

“You need to work on your not already knowing face,” David muttered, appearing from the crowd that had been standing around the bar, three glasses pressed together in his hands. He nodded towards them and Emma grabbed her designated drink – the wine glass making it all a bit painfully obvious it was hers – and rolled her eyes.

“It’s been a long day,” Emma said, doing her best to rationalize and it wasn’t really a lie.

Ruby had, apparently, come up with a very stringent schedule that simply had to be followed, the end of the world imminent if they didn’t meet everyone they had to meet in a two-hour window.

Emma had been dragged from office to office, more business cards pressed into her hands than she was aware existed in the entire world, and she couldn’t quite remember who everyone was by the time she walked out the building later that afternoon.

Ruby had done her best to keep up a running commentary – ”Zelena Ovest,” she said before they walked into the first, and biggest, office of the afternoon. “VP of business operations, came into power after her mother retired and handed over the reigns to the desk and the budget.”

“Arthur Stylo, fourth-year coach, led them to a first-round playoff loss last year, which didn’t fly very well with the bigwigs upstairs, or Zelena, for that matter, but they’re giving him another chance this season before they officially throw him out.”

“Victor Whale, best athletic trainer in the league.”

He’d nodded towards them when they leaned through the open door to the gym and there were a few players in the back corner of the room, weights on shoulders and pressed above shoulders and Emma got a glimpse of dark hair and blue eyes before Ruby pulled her back down the hallway, muttering about the schedule and introducing her to a woman she thought was named Ariel along the way.

It had been exhausting and it didn’t end with names or job explanations or business cards, it ended in an uptown boutique with Emma trying to figure out how to breathe in an absurdly tight red dress that probably would have looked good if she hadn’t seen how much it cost.

Ruby hadn’t given her more than two seconds to worry about it – and that probably had to do with the schedule as well – muttering something about a new job gift and Emma had groaned loudly when she saw a card handed to a clerk and raised eyebrows and that, stupid, wolfish grin.

“How was it, though?” Mary Margaret asked, eyeing Emma over the top of her own glass. “Did you see your office, yet?” Emma shook her head. “We ran out of time. That’s apparently part of next week’s schedule now. One overwhelming day of new job titles and introductions was enough.” “Are you complaining again?” Ruby shouted, appearing out of, seemingly nowhere.

“I wasn’t complaining at all,” Emma argued. “I was just explaining your very detailed schedule.” “Trust me, once the season starts, you’ll live by that schedule.” “I know, I’m not exactly new to this.” “Exactly,” Ruby said. “But this is going to be different from LA. I told you about Arthur and the expectations and all of that. It’s not just him, it’s team-wide.” She crooked her finger towards Emma, eyeing her meaningfully and dropped her voice when she muttered the next few words. “They’re going for the Cup.” Emma lowered her eyebrows in confusion, glancing at Mary Margaret and David who looked just as lost as she was. “Isn’t every team?” she asked. “I mean, that’s kind of the whole point, isn’t it?” “Of course,” Ruby sighed. “But this is different. This is the Rangers and New York and some sort of ridiculous championship drought that has everyone constantly on edge. If they don’t win this year, there’s talk about gutting the entire front office.” “What?” Ruby hummed in response and it was probably better that they hadn’t gone over this in the office or as part of their very strict schedule, because Emma needed to take a very long drink of the wine in her hand.

“No one’s firing anyone now,” Ruby continued reasonably and Emma could feel Mary Margaret’s worried stare on the back of her head. “It’s just a possibility if things don’t go according to plan this season.” “And that plan is?”

“Winning the Stanley Cup.” “Ah, of course.” Ruby shrugged and Emma downed the rest of her drink in three, quick gulps, ignoring Mary Margaret’s quiet tuttbefore handing the empty glass back to David. “Detective,” she said pointedly, “I believe my glass is empty.” “So it would seem,” he laughed and he knew better than to argue because Emma had that glint in her eye and a rather pleasant buzz in the back of her mind and maybe she could actually breathe in this dress.

She just couldn’t let herself think about what might happen if she was forced out of another team, determined not to draw parallels to foster homes and families that didn’t want her anymore and it was going to be fine.

Everything was going to be totally fine.

If she got some more wine.

Soon.

“Have you had anything to eat yet?” Mary Margaret asked as soon as David was gone, bumping Emma’s shoulder in an almost painfully familiar way.

“No, Mom, I haven’t.” “There’s food.” “I have no doubt you got me food too.” “Well, I mean, I got the other people here food too, I’m not going to just feed you and let the rest of them starve.” Emma laughed, smiling at her friend and something in the middle of her shifted, like she’d finally rotated around and landed on the right axis and it didn’t really make any sense – she was still living on a couch for God’s sake – but it felt a bit like hope.

It felt a bit like coming home.

“Come on,” she said, tapping her fingers across the back of Mary Margaret’s wrist. “Lead me to the food.” The food, it appeared, was best at the bar because that’s where they’d ended up, perched on stools with tiny plates in their hands and David standing behind Mary Margaret. And it all felt a little bit like déjà vu, years spent in college perched on stools with David standing behind Mary Margaret.

They just had fancier hors d'oeuvres now.

“Everything ok?” Emma spun at the voice, nearly falling off the stool in the process, and was met with another smile and she nodded quickly.

“Great,” Mary Margaret answered, leaning across the small bar to rest her hand on the man’s arm. “Thank you so much for all the help, Eric.” He made a noise in the back of his throat, squeezing Mary Margaret’s fingers once before turning towards Emma. “So,” he said. “You must be the famous Emma.” “I don’t know about famous.” “No, no,” he argued quickly, but his smile didn’t waver. “Between my wife and Mary Margaret, you’re all I’ve heard about in the last twenty-four hours.” “Your wife?” “Ariel Havfrue. She’s here, somewhere, probably trying to get one of the guys to stick to a physical therapy schedule before the season starts.” “Ariel?” Emma repeated, trying to trace back through introductions until she was hit with a memory of green eyes and red hair and a very loud, fast-talking voice in the hallway on the thirty-first floor. “Oh,” she said, waving her hand through the air when she remembered. “I did meet her today. There were, uh, there were just a lot of people and names.” “I can only imagine. Well, as I said, you’re famous now, Emma, so I’m just glad the food is good.” Emma laughed and hooked the back of her shoe over one of the pegs in the bottom of the stool, chancing a quick glance at Mary Margaret who was smiling at her like this was all she’d ever wanted out of the entire world.

It probably was.

“Did you honestly close your whole restaurant for this, though?” Emma asked, scanning the crowd and they were all there for her and she was slightly overwhelmed all over again. Eric shrugged. “That’s...that’s very nice of you.” “Mary Margaret was adamant.” “Of course she was.” “I just wanted it to be good,” Mary Margaret said quickly. “Ruby and I figured it made sense to have it here because most of the team comes up here anyway during the week. Eric’s very good at keeping the roster fed.” Emma made a face that she hoped looked appropriately impressed and Eric scoffed, muttering contradictions under his breath. “That’s A’s fault,” he said. “I think she just hands out menus whenever she’s done with treatment.”

“I do not!”

Four pairs of eyes spun towards the shout and Ariel was standing in front of them, arms crossed tightly over her chest and a very specific type of look on her face. Eric sighed loudly, practically sprinting around the side of the bar to tug his wife to his side and kiss the top of her head. Her shoulders sagged almost noticeably and Emma got that same feeling in the pit of her stomach whenever David did something particularly adorable.

She knew what it was – had known since she was nineteen and Mary Margaret had detailed the highlights of their first date – and was just as stubborn now as she was then, just as determined to ignore it as ever.

It didn’t really work well.

This had been some kind of day.

“I don’t,” Ariel continued, muttering the words against Eric’s shoulder and Mary Margaret laughed softly. “Tell him, Mary Margaret.” “I’m staying out of this,” Mary Margaret said quickly, hands held up in front of her as she leaned back against David’s chest.

“How do you two know each other?” Emma asked, feeling as out of place as ever in the middle of her own surprise party and she tried to remember all the reasons she’d agreed with Ruby’s earlier promise that she wasn’t intruding on anything.

“Oh,” Ariel said, laughing before she even started the story. “Well, I’ve known Ruby since she started with with the team, but Mary Margaret and I just kind of...ran into each other? We didn’t even meet through Ruby.” Mary Margaret nodded in agreement. “Nearly collided into each other when David and I walked into the restaurant a few years ago and Ariel was walking out and it all just kind of snowballed from there.”

“They were the witnesses at our wedding,” Ariel added, smiling at Emma as she nodded in Mary Margaret and David’s general direction.

“What?” Emma gaped, eyes going wide and Mary Margaret just nodded, seemingly unimpressed with the idea that she hadn’t mentioned that – ever.

“Well, them and Killian.” “Killian?” Ariel nodded, scanning the crowd like this person would suddenly appear out of nowhere or materialize next to her and it must have been that kind of day, because she clicked her tongue when she found him and Emma’s eyes, somehow, got even wider.

It was the guy from the gym or the weight room and she should probably know the technical term for it now, but she didn’t spend much of her PR life in Los Angeles worrying about the gym or what the players were doing there.

“Killian,” Ariel shouted and his head snapped around quickly, eyebrows raised and a smirk on his face that Emma was already half convinced just existed there.

“What?” he called back, not moving away from the small crowd around him and he didn’t really look like a hockey player.

He wasn’t dressed up, but he wasn’t particularly dressed down either, dark shirt tucked into pants that were almost unfairly tight and and he was wearing leather in August and even if Emma hadn’t known who he was already, she would have taken one look at him and realized he was some sort of athlete. He was all black hair and far too blue eyes and long, lean lines that were probably just entirely muscle because Killian Jones didn’t look like a hockey player, but he was one.

The best one, if Emma was being honest.

And, of course, of course, because in the grand scheme of how this day had gone, of course she’d been staring at a captain’s jersey in Ruby’s office and Killian Jones, captain of the goddamn New York Rangers was, somehow, at a surprise party for her and Mary Margaret knew the physical therapist and they’d all gone to some wedding together and no one had mentioned any of that to Emma.

He’d spent his entire career in New York – named captain just before they went to the Cup finals – and there was more to the story, something about his brother and a season spent on the sidelines because of something that happened with that brother or...no, not with the brother. With someone else?

Emma couldn’t remember.

Damn it. His brother had played hockey, hadn’t he? David would know. David would remember and Emma was half turned towards him, question on her lips and halfway out of her mouth when Ariel shouted again.

“Come here,” Ariel said, rolling her eyes for good measure and the smirk got even more pronounced as he glanced towards the people closest to him – two other men and a woman Emma hadn’t actually been introduced to that afternoon. “I’ve got someone I want you to meet.” He moved through the crowd quicker than Emma expected, stepping into her space and she would have backed up if she weren’t still sitting on some sort of bar stool. Ariel glanced at Mary Margaret, smile tugging on the corners of her lips, and Emma tried not to look too frustrated with the growing suspicion that this was some sort of set-up.

“Killian,” Ariel said. “Emma Swan. Emma, this is Killian. He’s…” “I know who he is,” Emma interrupted, earning a quick eyebrow raise for her efforts and his smirk faltered for half a second as he rocked back on his feet.

“Ah, so you've heard of me?” he asked, hand pushed out into the small amount of space between them.

Emma nodded. “Kind of my job.” “Ruby mentioned something about PR.” “That was in LA. I’m strictly community relations here.”

Killian nodded, lower lip jutted out just a bit and he waggled his fingers when she didn’t immediately shake his hand. Emma tilted her head in response, eyes narrowed and this was definitely a set-up. “I’m not going to check you, or anything,” he laughed and there was a sincerity in his voice that she didn’t expect either.

“That’d be kind of weird,” Emma muttered and the laugh got louder and Mary Margaret had jumped off the stool entirely, tugging on the front of David’s shirt with all the tact of some sort of giant animal wandering through a china shop.

Or however that metaphor went.

“It would be kind of weird,” Killian agreed, twisting his wrist and Emma saw half a dozen scars across the back of his palm, criss-crossing over the skin and making their way up his slightly crooked middle finger.

Emma took it a moment later, fingers wrapped over the red and she could feel where the skin was just a bit rough underneath her touch. He was warm.

“It’s nice to meet you, Swan,” Killian said, glancing up at her and Emma had goosebumps for a completely different reason than when she’d been freezing cold in Ruby’s office.

#cs ff #ouat ff #captain swan ff #captain swan #csbb #blue line #IT'S ALL HAPPENING #it's been 800 thousand years #this is my fandom heart and soul guys #honestly

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