#With Chris though? Rose probably got curious when not looked after by him or K

[castaccio]

I know people dislike the implications of Shadows of Rose, but consider:

The spirits watch over Rose for her whole life. (Read Left to Right)

[welllpthisishappening]

The Fine Art of Going Viral

Listen, hockey children are my greatest weakness. Cute hockey children who do not know how to actually skate are, somehow, even worse. Better? It doesn’t matter. Several different people sent me this video (heyo @optomisticgirl @shireness-says and @peglegsjones and...my husband) and @distant-rose listened to me plot this and I wrote 4.5 K of Matt Jones mic’ing up his younger brother at practice and turning him into a social media sensation. Emma and Killian are not pleased. 

The Rangers keep losing in OT and it’s going to ruin our draft pick, so I’m going to keep writing hockey fic to make myself feel better. 

“Let me get this straight, you mic’ed up your brother?”

Matt didn’t answer, which was, honestly, even more of an answer than actually responding to the question and Killian was only a little frustrated that he was kind of impressed by the whole thing.

“While he was at practice?”

More silence.

Killian lifted his eyebrows, a move that usually worked better than it had in the last five minutes of, mostly, one-sided conversation and the video was everywhere. It had thousand of hits and even more retweets and reblogs and Emma had already seen it picked up by several different news outlets and more than one Rangers blog.

David had sent him a link.

He hadn’t actually watched it yet.

“Matthew. I asked you a question, kid.”

“Yeah, I know,” Matt mumbled, the words barely that when he didn’t actually open his mouth very wide. “And I mean…we did it before practice. Technically.”

Gravity made sure Killian couldn’t shift his eyebrows anymore, but his mind latched onto we and it didn’t really surprise him that this was a group effort. The whole lot of them – next-gen Rangers as the tabs liked to proclaim them when they made it in the tabs and they’d all done a very good job of trying to keep them out of the tabs as much as possible – were impossibly close, even if they weren’t all that close in age.

Killian was dimly aware of a group text that was almost constantly dinging, updates and plans and he had been a little worried that Matt and Peggy’s phones were going to explode when Roland set up that game-winner in overtime earlier in the week.

He should have expected that Matt had cohorts.

He just needed to figure out who.  

“How?”

“What do you mean how?”

“I mean, how, Matthew,” Killian said, hooking his foot around the nearest chair in the kitchen and crooking his finger. “Get off the counter.”

Matt sighed – although if that was from the demand to get off the counter or the use of his full name again, Killian wasn’t entirely sure. As it were though, he was mostly focused on figuring out where his oldest kid had gotten enough video equipment to tape his youngest kid at hockey practice and how his middle kid inevitably fit into all of it.

And possibly Roland Locksley.

Or Lizzie Vankald-Jones.

He was fairly sure Henry didn’t have anything to do with it.

That was why they let him take Chris to practice. And pick Matt up from school. He was responsible. An adult. Some kind of quasi-cousin, almost-uncle, thing. He was, at least, some type of authority figure.

He wouldn’t have gone along with this.

“Now,” Killian said, voice low and decidedly paternal when Matt didn’t move quickly enough. He huffed, sliding off the counter with more drama than a thirteen-year-old should have possessed and his eyes widened when he heard the footsteps coming around the corner. “You might want to sit down,” Killian suggested, nodding towards the chair on the other side of the table as Emma moved into the kitchen with a phone in her hand. “This could take awhile.”

Matt winced.

“Mom—“ He started, shifting his weight between his feet and waving his arms slightly and his eyes still hadn’t returned to their correct size yet.

Emma shook her head. Matt’s jaw snapped shut almost audibly. “Where’d you get the microphone?” she asked, stopping next to Killian and he didn’t think she tried to lean into his hand when it moved to the small of her back, but it happened anyway and that was kind of nice.

Matt flushed.

“Matthew,” Killian muttered, working another disgruntled groan out of his kid and a soft laugh out of his wife. HIs eyes flickered up towards hers, a smile tugging at the end of her mouth. “Answers, kid.”

“It’s really not bad. It was just...well, we thought it’d be kind of funny. Did you—did you watch the video?”

“How’d you get the microphone, Matthew David?”

He’d never actually sat down, so it was incredible when Matt’s whole body seemed to just fold into itself, slumped shoulders and hanging arms and Killian was fairly positive his hair actually got longer, just so it could fall across his forehead. “You’re going to get mad.”

“We’re already a little mad,” Killian said, and it could not have been good for Matt’s teeth if he kept clacking them like that. The video was already all over the internet. “Chris is four. He should not be on the internet.”

Something, something gone viral or some other phrase that was absolutely horrible and disgusting-sounding and the whole video had lasted for nearly five minutes. They must have edited it, somehow.

God, he was really getting frustrated with how impressive the whole operation was.

“But—“

Killian shook his head deftly, Emma hissing when his fingers gripped hers too tightly and he mumbled a quick apology into the bend of her elbow. “I just—I don’t understand what would even go through your mind to do this,” Emma said. “And, seriously, how.”

Matt’s neck appeared to have given up on trying to support his head. “You keep asking the same question.”

“That’s because you’re doing a very good job of avoiding answering it.”

“If I say media training are you going to ground me?”

“Oh, you’re going to get grounded no matter what you say,” Killian muttered, Matt’s face paling slightly. “But if you want to dig yourself into an even deeper hole by making poorly-timed jokes, be my guest.”

Matt yanked his lips behind his teeth, eyes falling to his feet and Killian was fairly certain he heard him mumbled captain voice under his breath. It was difficult to hear when his shoulders were so slumped, though.

“So,” Killian continued, “it’d probably be in your best interest at this point to tell us several things. Why you did what you did. Why you thought it was even remotely a good idea after Mom and I have spent half a lifetime trying to keep you guys off the internet—“

“—Ru already yelled at me for that.”

“God, when did she find time for that?” Emma mumbled, half to herself and the scope of this entire project was drifting dangerously close to epic. “How are we coming in second in the disciplining our kid race?”

Killian’s laugh lacked a distinct bit of humor – mostly because he couldn’t get the phrase viral video out of his head. “Nothing about this entire thing makes any sense, that’s why. Lucas didn’t tell me about it yet.”

“Probably because she was too busy chastising Matt.”

“Well, all her hard work about media training-related jokes has clearly been for naught.”

Matt hadn’t gotten much of the color back in his cheeks yet, but there were bits of pink on his skin and he had one eye squeezed shut when he lifted his head up. There wasn’t an actual word for whatever noise it made. It sounded uncomfortable, like it was scratching at the sides of his throat. “And she’s really mad at Rol,” he mumbled, Emma’s shoulders rolling back quickly like she’d been shocked.

Killian was very glad he was sitting down.

They should have made some kind of flow chart for all of this. And named it Kids are the Worst or something.

“Oh my God, what does Roland have to do with it?”

“He’s the one that posted it. More followers.”

Killian cursed, Emma rolling her whole head back so she could stare at the ceiling like that would help. “Of course, of course,” she grumbled, starting to pace a small semi-circle and glancing at Killian. “Should we be getting updates from Roland Lockley’s social media pages?”

He rolled his eyes. “If that’s what it comes to, then I think we’ve crossed a line we can’t retreat from, love. I’ll give you very good odds that he’s getting glared at by Gina now, anyway.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s a very good point.”

Matt was silent again.  

“Ok,” Killian sighed, dragging his hand across his face. Matt hadn’t blinked in hours. “You’ve still got questions to answer, kid. And how did you get Chris to agree to it? I’m very curious about that.”

“Incredibly,” Emma amended. She moved half an inch to her right, letting his fingers tug lightly on the back of her shirt and Matt made a noise that was distinctly un-human when she perched on Killian’s thigh.

He hooked his chin over her shoulder.

“That’s not even fair,” Matt grumbled. “You’re double-teaming me.”

Killian didn’t have to see Emma’s smile to know it was there. “Must be because you’re such a scoring threat. Dad’s going to keep using your full name if you don’t tell us the truth, kid. Who got the microphone? Roland’s on the road, so…Dylan? Lizzie…somehow? Leo? Was it Leo?”

“Mom, Leo is eleven. That’s like asking if it was Mar.”

“Was it your sister?” Killian asked.

“Henry,” Matt mumbled.

Emma nearly fell off Killian’s leg. He tightened his arm. “No!”

“Swan,” Killian muttered, a soft reprimand because they were being authorities and he wasn’t all that pleased he was wrong. He hadn’t actually watched the video yet.

Emma clicked her tongue, the ends of her hair brushing over his cheek when she rolled her head. “Ok, ok, I’m—just, honestly, Henry? Really?”

Matt nodded seriously, suddenly looking a bit more confident than he had now that he’d given up a 27-year-old for getting sound equipment to mic up Chris during hockey practice. Chris was four. Chris could not really skate.

It was probably a fairly hysterical video.

“Henry,” Matt promised. “He—I don’t know, he knows someone who works somewhere and it was—you’ve really got to watch the video. C is—he’s so bad at skating. And he talks all the time.”

“Matthew.”

“It’s true!”

Killian narrowed his eyes. “Did you take the video?”

“No.”

He couldn’t wave his hands when he was trying to keep Emma from falling onto the kitchen floor and Matt couldn’t seem to stop moving and the whole thing had dissolved into farce much quicker than Killian expected it to. They should have brought Peggy into the kitchen too.

Maybe Chris.

Chris really was not the best skater in the world.

“Matthew.”

“Ok, that part was actually Leo, but that’s only because he’s got really good hand-eye coordination and he could hold his arm steadier than me and—” He cut himself off when he noticed the look on Killian’s face. And, presumably, Emma’s face. She was better at the face thing than him. “He met us at the rink.”

Killian had no idea what to do with that.

“Leo Nolan, who, as previously discussed, is eleven years old met you at Chelsea Piers because you what? Asked him to help film your brother on the ice? Why?”

Matt blinked, eyes darting between Emma and Killian more than once. “I just…I just explained. His arm is better, but don’t tell him that, he never shuts up about it anyway.”

“That’s not an answer, Matthew David.”

Emma groaned, letting her head fall back until her hair was everywhere. Killian didn’t tell her to move. He was too busy trying to temper his frustration and control his breathing and—

“We spent a very long time trying to make sure you guys didn’t get headlines. Tried to keep you out of the spotlight and that’s obviously going to change some now with you playing, but Chris isn’t there yet. He’s a little kid, Matthew. He gets what you got. He gets to be…” Killian bit his tongue when he tried to say the word normal because it had never really been normal, road trips and tabloid-invented nicknames and Roland Locksley was setting up game-winning goals in OT now, so the headlines seemed inevitable, but none of them had ever gone viral before and he assumed Mary Margaret had not appreciated her eleven-year-old kid taking the 7-line crosstown to get to the Piers.

Some of the texts he’d been ignoring on his phone were probably from her.

And David.

“Your brother is four,” Killian repeated, voice dropping low and fingers curling around Emma’s hip. “What was the point, Matthew? To play him as a joke? He shouldn’t be the best skater in the world yet.”

Matt got paler. That was, honestly, also impressive. His jaw dropped and his eyebrows furrowed and he almost had the gall to look annoyed, which was actually more surprising than the Henry thing or the fact that this had been a group effort and his eyes were barely more than slits when he looked at Killian.

He looked exactly like Killian.

A few seconds before checking someone.

“I wouldn’t ever do that to C,” Matt whispered, but with an intensity that left little room for doubt even from a slightly angst-filled teenager who turned his younger brother into an online sensation. “Never.”

Killian tilted his head – and he couldn’t actually glance at Emma when she was still sitting on his leg, but he felt her tense and they both knew that voice. That wasn’t a lie.

“I wouldn’t,” Matt repeated. “Not to C. And it wasn’t—it wasn’t a joke, it was—you really should watch the video, Dad.”

Killian opened his mouth, not sure what he was going to say, but his head snapped to the sound at the front door and the slightly nervous knock and it had only been a matter of time. Emma’s shoulders shook when she laughed.

“It’s open, Henry,” she called, not bothering to look away from Matt and it took a few seconds for the footsteps to make their way into the kitchen.

He’d taken his shoes off.

“Hey,” Henry said, dragging out the word until it felt like an official statement from front office. Matt was very preoccupied with the floor again. “So, uh…Gina called me.”

Emma laughed again.

“And how’d that work out for you, exactly?” Killian asked knowingly. Henry gritted his teeth.

“Not great, honestly. So, uh…I’m here to apologize. In person. Like a grown up.”

“A grown up, huh?”

“Something like that. Did you watch the video?”

“No,” Matt answered despondently, and Killian clicked his tongue at the sound.

“We didn’t,” he said. “It’s been a little hectic here, you see?”

Henry hummed, taking half a step closer to Matt like there was strength in numbers or extensive video plans. “I’m sorry you guys didn’t know before Rol posted it. That’s—well, apparently there’s been some discussion about that too, but, uh…you should really watch the video. It’s not heinous.”

“High praise.”

“It’s not, Killian. It’s—“ He took a deep breath, exhaling it with enough drama that Killian wondered if, maybe, they’d overreacted slightly. He needed to cal Robin. And answer David’s texts. And ground his kid. “It’s really actually pretty nice, but Matt and I didn’t think Rol would be some kind of social media celebrity, so really it’s his fault and—“

“—It’s because he’s so popular on Instagram,” Matt grumbled, eyes widening when he realized he’d rejoined the conversation.

Killian’s eyebrows were going to be stuck in the middle of his forehead.

“No practice,” he said, waving the hand not still wrapped around Emma’s middle when Matt opened his mouth to object. “I can’t do anything about yours because the United States will probably kill me if you don’t show up, but nothing with me. Nothing with the team. No going to Tarrytown, no film. If I see a tablet in your room in the next two weeks, I’m pulling sticks out of there, got it?”

Silence.

Except Henry breathing. He sounded very nervous. Gina must have yelled very loudly.

“Got it?”

Matt nodded.

“Good,” Killian said, turning his attention back to Henry. “I can’t do anything about you, you’re not actually our kid.”

“And I get the very strong impression you’ve already been reprimanded enough,” Emma added.

Henry rolled his eyes. “I’m going home after this. That’s—well, that wasn’t really up for debate. I think she and Robin want to talk to me and Rol together.”

“How’s it feel to be thirteen years old again?”

“As weird as you’d expect it to be.” Emma hummed, and Killian didn’t have to move to know her lips had quirked up slightly. Matt was still frozen to the kitchen floor. “And,” Henry continued, “you should really watch the video at some point. It’s…well, I doubt it’s going to go anywhere now, but it’s not as bad as you think it might be.”

Henry’s phone buzzed, as if it had been waiting for a lull in the conversation and he snapped his jaw when he saw the name on the screen. “I’ve got to go,” he muttered, clapping Matt on the shoulder. “Listen, I know we messed up, but it’s…seriously, Toph is pretty entertaining on the ice. You know he never really stops talking.”

“So we’ve heard,” Killian said.

“Right. Well, he got McDonald’s out of the deal after practice, so, trust me, his psyche hasn’t been messed up or anything.”

“Sure.”

Henry sighed – and Killian knew he resisted rolling his eyes again, but his phone was also ringing incessantly now and it was suspiciously quiet in the rest of the house. He was fairly certain Peggy was eavesdropping at the other end of the hall. “Am I allowed to see your kids again?” Henry quipped.

“Obviously,” Emma muttered. “Plus, you’re the only one who ever actually volunteers to babysit.”

“We do this again, though, and we’ll actually ground you,” Killian warned.

Henry grinned. That felt wrong. And…not.

What a weird day.

Peggy ran into the kitchen, colliding with Killian’s side and yanking on Emma’s hair, a mess of limbs and words and Henry’s smile got louder when she jumped towards him. He lifted her up. “I’ll keep that in mind,” Henry promised, pressing a quick kiss to Peggy’s hair. “I got to go, kid, but I’ll see you day after tomorrow, right?”

“What’s the day after tomorrow?”

“We’re going to take pictures on the High Line,” Peggy cried. Directly into Henry’s ear.

“If I don’t go deaf before then, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Killian echoed. “Alright. Go, before you lose practice privileges too.”

“I don’t think that’s really an option.”

“You want to test it?”

“I mean…”

Killian laughed. “Exactly.”

And he had every intention of watching the video, he did, but life was life and Chris had another hockey practice and Matt had made the U14 team and they couldn’t keep him from that practice even if Emma was very quick to point out that maybe suggesting the United States was going to kill was us wasn’t the best move and Peggy had some book report due that, apparently, required glitter.

And a trip to the High Line.

And, suddenly, it was a two days later and Chris was still an internet star and Killian hadn’t seen the video, jogging on a treadmill with Ariel a few feet away and several TVs on and he had to grip the sides of the stupid thing to make sure he didn’t fall off.

Because his kid was on the TV in front of him – speaking words that were incredibly familiar.

“How is this still being talked about?” Killian asked, Ariel laughing from her own treadmill and she didn’t slow down when she wiped the sweat away from her face.

“Cap, are you kidding me? It’s the cutest thing in the world.”

“What?”

Ariel stopped running. She nearly fell on the floor. “Wait, wait, wait, wait, did you not watch it yet? Killian, this has been not he internet for a millennia!”

“Ok, that’s not true at all.”

“Days! Actual days!”

He rolled his eyes, hitting a few buttons until the machine under him slowed and the video was still playing.

“One, two, one, two, one, two.”

The mantra echoed in Killian’s ears and his brain and, possibly, his heart because Chris was counting every time he skated and it wasn’t really skating. His blades came off the ice whenever he moved, more steps than gliding anywhere and he’d taught him that, and told him to count when you move so it’s easier the very first time he’d gotten on the ice and the realization that it had stuck made his breath catch audibly.

Ariel laughed. She was sitting on the treadmill now.

“Told you,” she muttered, eyes flitting back to the screen when Chris kept talking. He really never stopped.

“I’m going to have a nap.”

“No, Chris, you can’t just lay down on the ice.”

He laid down anyway, stick still clutched in his hand and head flat on the ice with his legs splayed out wide. Killian refused to be held accountable for whatever sound he made.

God, he hoped he wasn’t as close to crying as he felt.

“One, two, one, two, one, two.” He bobbled slightly, keeping his balance with the blade of his stick. But he didn’t fall down. “One, two, one, two, I did it! I did it!”

“Oh, I didn’t hear that part before,” Ariel mumbled, glancing at Killian with slightly glossy eyes. “Did you tell him that?”

Killian nodded numbly. He wasn’t sure if he was still breathing anymore, only a little frustrated when the video cut off, but that was the nature of TV and he jumped when he heard Emma’s sneakers behind him.

She was holding her phone.

“Reese’s finally wore me down and got me to watch the video,” she explained with a shrug. “You know he falls over at one point and just decides to…crawl on the ice?”

Killian’s laugh flew out of him, smile stretching across his face on instinct and—“Ah, shit we’re going to have to apologize to Matt, huh?”

“Eh, I mean…there was still the filming thing and Rol’s incredible social media presence.”

“It’s because of his Instagram and Scarlet’s dog,” Ariel reasoned. “Also, don’t tell Scarlet that.”

Emma saluted. “I think we’ve established a solid parental base for turning our kids into internet celebrities while also acknowledging that it’s pretty goddamn cute. Here,” she added, pushing her phone towards Killian, “look at this.”

“Watch out everyone!” He didn’t even try to stop. He crashed over, approximately, three kids, two sticks and collided directly with the boards. “I win!”

“Oh my God,” Killian muttered.

There were more footsteps. Of course there were. “That was my favorite part,” Ruby said, leaning against the open door of the gym and Ariel rolled her eyes at their disregard for the workout schedule. “Did I apologize yet for not instructing any of your kids on how to use the internet?”

“I don’t think that’s really your fault, Lucas.”

“Eh, Scarlet’s been a dick about it.”

“That’s doesn’t surprise me either,” Emma muttered. Chris was still running into the boards in the video.

“Seriously, do not tell him about the dog,” Ariel said again. Chris mumbled something else, a string of words Killian was fairly sure he understood, but desperately needed to hear again and maybe they should really apologize to Matt. “Oh, no, what was that part?” Ariel asked. “Was that what I thought it was?”

Emma rewound the video.

That was a very old sentence.

“I’m going to go so fast. Matt fast. Like Matt.”

“God damn,” Ruby said, a catch in her voice and Emma’s head fell onto Killian’s shoulder. “That’s the cutest thing i’ve ever heard. I mean he shouldn’t have put it on the internet, but—“

“—He’s thirteen,” Emma reasoned.

“Yeah, yeah, young and whatever. Cap, you’ve got to teach that kid how to go fast.”

Killian wrapped his arm around Emma’s waist. “It’s a work in progress, Lucas.”

And it was – two weeks later, after the grounding and the lack of film and there hadn’t been a single tablet sighting in Matt’s room the entire time because the video was cute, but it was also agains the rules, all four of them standing on the ice in Tarrytown with sticks in their hands and one, two on their lips.

Peggy refused to be kept off the ice.

“You’ve got to keep your feet on the ice, C,” Matt called from the other side of the rink, standing in front of the goal with his weight resting on the front of his skates. “You’re going to fall over otherwise.”

Chris, very promptly, did just that.

Killian rolled his eyes, ignoring the shouts from the peanut gallery of cell-phone sporting family members in the stands. He looked at Emma instead, a smile tugging at the ends of her mouth.

“One, two,” she yelled.

Killian skated forward, tugging Chris up by the jersey with his name and number on it because that was just how it worked and it took them a moment to get him back on his skates. “Alright,” he said, crouching down and brushing some of the ice off the fabric. “Matt’s right. You’ve got to keep your blades on the ice. Here,” he added, holding his hand out, “move your hands down your stick. Try and follow Pegs because she’s got the right rhythm, ok?”

Chris nodded – as if he understood the word rhythm in regard to skating – and Peggy beamed at the compliment. “I can do it, Dad.”

“I know you can. Just…if you fall, don’t lay on the ice, ok?”

“It’s cold.”

“I know that too, kid. That’s what I’m saying.”

Killian ducked his head, a quick kiss to his son’s cheek and squeeze of his shoulder and Chris didn’t seem to appreciate either of those things.

“C’mon,” Matt groaned, swinging his stick like he actually played goalie. None of them were wearing pads. “You’ve got to take the shot, C!”

“Just follow me, Toph,” Peggy said, the smile lingering on her face as she started drifting towards the blue line and Chris only stumbled a little.

They moved slowly, Killian still crouched at center ice, and it was far from the best goal he’d ever seen. It wasn’t even really a shot, Peggy mock-screening the net and getting in Matt’s way and he didn’t try to move. He stood stock-still with his legs wide open and a five-hole that was more like a twenty-hole at that point.

Chris pulled his stick back though, just enough power to get the puck to move and Killian had a very strong suspicion that he saw Peggy’s wrists move. She knocked in.

Directly through Matt’s legs.

And it didn’t matter.

The cry they both let out as soon as the puck crossed the goal line made it seem like they’d won a gold medal or a Cup or something better than both of those things combined, tossing sticks in the air and jumping up and Chris kept yelling I did it over and over again.

Matt moved quickly – far quicker than Chris ever would, honestly – bending his knees and catching his brother around the middle, all limbs and shouts and—“What a shot, C,” Matt grinned. “You did great!”

It took them awhile to get off the ice, all three kids complaining and whining and that probably shouldn’t have been a good thing, but the video had been deceptively cute and it wasn’t trending anymore, so that was probably for the best. And Killian knew Emma had recorded the whole moment as well, but that video never saw the light of internet day, something that was just theirs and them and a collective unit that was better than hits or social media presence and eventually, years later, when Chris had hung up his skates and Matt had gotten even faster on the ice, he flicked his wrists right in front of the net at the Garden, tipping the puck in five-hole against a goalie Killian never knew the name of.

And Chris had shouted, the phone in his pocket buzzing because they’d never gotten rid of the group text.