#and el's idea of a perfect date was to take him to the skate rink i-

[mikesbasementbeets]

max & rainbows in season 2

[welllpthisishappening]

Tripping Over the Blue Line (12/45)

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: I have no excuse whatsoever for how absurdly long this is. Fair warning, it is absurdly long. But with fun hockey traditions! As always, I can’t thank you guys enough for reading this or scream the praises of @laurnorder, @beautiful-swan & @distant-rose enough.  Also living on Ao3, FF.net & tag’ed up on Tumblr.

“Five hole,” Killian yelled from the far end of the ice, tapping his stick impatiently as he waited for the rest of them to get back in position.

“Phillip the Rookie just did that one,” Jefferson argued, tossing a water bottle over his shoulder. It crashed to the ice – as much as a water bottle could crash to the ice – and Arthur groaned audibly from the bench.

“It doesn’t count. You saved it. So I get to do whatever I want.”

“You did save it, Jeff,” Arthur called, finally looking up from the binder he had propped up against one knee, leg stretched out so his foot was nearly dangling off the boards. “Those are the rules.”

“See,” Killian shouted. He twisted his stick in his hands, shifting back and forth on the few inches of ice he was standing on, handling through some sort of imaginary obstacle that wasn’t there. “Now, come on, five’er and we make Scarlet pay for drinks later on tonight.” Killian glanced over at the bench in just enough time to see Arthur practically leap up – falling into near-perfect time with Will’s groan from the far circle – and he laughed loudly, pushing his stick underneath the puck until he was bouncing it on the blade.

“If any of you even so much as looks at a drink that is anything other than water tonight,” Arthur muttered, voice barely audible, but just as obnoxious as the whistle he still had around his neck, “I will personally murder each and every one of you.” Killian laughed, eyes moving towards Robin when he came to a stop next to him – dousing the top of his skates with ice. Arthur might have to wait in line to murder his team behind the building-ops crew.

They’d absolutely destroyed the ice.

Two weeks after he and Emma had gone to B&H and Killian realized she drank more cinnamon in her hot chocolate than any actual hot chocolate, he couldn’t seem to stop smiling or skating. The second part was slightly newer, just a few days removed from medical’s ok on his generic upper-body injury and they’d made him wear a no-contact jersey for the first few practices.

Emma laughed for what felt like hours afterwards, tugging on the bright red fabric and muttering how it made him looking a stop sign on skates,  but she’d stopped saying much of anything when he kissed her.

He kept the jersey, promising Kristoff he had no idea what happened to it after the final practice he’d been forced to wear it and that was probably against the rules too.

Killian kept doing that.

So, technically, they hadn’t been on that real date yet – there was a season on the immediate horizon and Emma had opening night to get ready for and, more often than not, Killian found himself sitting in one of the chairs in her office after practice, feet propped up against the front of her desk while she shuffled through paperwork and permits and responses from season-ticket holders about how well she was relating to the community.

He almost wasn’t dreading it, the event and the questions and the forced interactions with fans who’d also have questions about his free-agent status and, probably, a better understanding of the Rangers’ cap space than some of the beat writers who covered the team.

He was, almost, excited about opening night and the look on Emma’s face when she saw how well it all played out because, if there was one thing Killian was certain of, it would all play out perfectly.

She’d put in too much work for it not to.

They hadn’t been on that date yet, but they’d lost track of time in her office the night before and the rest of the building was probably completely abandoned at that point, closing in on midnight when Emma’s eyes widened at her laptop screen.

She mumbled an apology about making him stay so late and rushed around the side of her desk, all green eyes and slightly parted lips and they lost track of time a bit more, seconds feeling like minutes and minutes feeling like hours and he would have slept on that goddamn floor if it meant she kept her hand in his hair and her body next to his.

Five weeks – and two weeks after deciding to stay as under the radar as they possibly could – and it felt like something.  Killian tried not to think about that too much – tried not to remember that he still didn’t know what Emma had told Henry or why the ends of her mouth ticked down whenever he talked about Anna or El or asked a question that was anything more than what food they should get delivered to her office.

He still didn’t know enough.

And Emma hadn’t offered any of it.

He tried not to dwell on that.

“Come on, Cap,” Will called, banging his stick on the ice and even Arthur looked a bit frustrated that he hadn’t moved yet. “If you’re going to call your shot, you’ve got to actually skate. Locksley’s going to turn to stone if you don’t get going.” “Not to mention I’d like to, eventually, get uptown,” Robin muttered, glaring in Killian’s direction.

He’d taken his helmet off – visor a bit unnecessary when they weren’t really practicing anymore. It was a long-standing game across the roster, judged, as per usual, by a grumbling Arthur who found the whole thing a lot more entertaining than he’d ever actually let on.

The rules were simple – call your shot, take the breakaway pass and get around the defenders to score. If you scored, you got the chance to gloat and...that was about it. If you didn’t score, you got mercilessly mocked until the final person got off the ice and, at the moment, Phillip the Rookie was the latest to face the metaphorical firing squad of the New York Rangers’ front line.

They were two days out from the opener – and the next practice wasn’t much of a practice, mostly just pointed glares from both Ariel and Victor about the state of this team’s collective muscles and Arthur’s not-so-quiet grumbles when they couldn’t recite every single play the Islanders had.

The Islanders hadn’t even made the postseason last year.

Killian wasn’t worried. He’d be back on the ice and Emma’s event was going to go off without a hitch – or maybe some other adjective that didn’t make him sound several decades older than he was – and they’d completely fucked up the ice by running breakaway drills and shouting at each other like they were playing pickup.

Building ops was going to kill them.

“Before we’re dead, Jones,” Arthur said and the rest of the them started tapping their sticks on the ice in a simultaneous move that would have been impressive if it wasn’t also the most obnoxious thing he’d ever seen.

“Fine, fine, fine,” Killian yelled, dropping the puck back on the ice. “Alright, five’er and, uh, if I make then Phillip the Rookie’s got to buy coffee before film tomorrow afternoon.” “That’s pretty lame,” Will said. “Come up with a better idea then.” “You make it five-hole and Phillip the Rookie has to buy coffee and donuts for film tomorrow afternoon. Requirements, however, dictate that both of them need to be freshly made.” “The donuts too?” Phillip asked, leaning on his stick as if he couldn’t quite support his own weight anymore, eyes darting across the ice. No one said anything. “It’s going to be the middle of the afternoon.” “Better hope Cap misses his shot then.” “I’m not going to miss my shot,” Killian promised, shooting an apologetic glance Phillip’s way.

“We’ll only know if you actually take it,” Arthur muttered. “They’re going to kick us out soon anyway.” “We’re an NHL team,” Jefferson said, laughter creeping into the edge of his voice as he tapped each side of the goal with his stick. “They can’t just kick us out of our own arena.” “They can and they will. And we’ve got to get uptown anyway or the combined forces of Ruby and Ariel will kill us.” “I thought you were going to kill us,” Killian said.

“Shoot the goddamn puck, Jones.” He saluted and he could see Arthur’s overly dramatic eyeroll even from several feet away. “Here,” Killian said, sliding the puck towards Robin’s outstretched stick. He grabbed it, tugging it towards him and skating towards center ice as Killian shouted instructions at his back. “Wait until I’m at the blue line.” “I’ve passed you the puck before,” Robin yelled, not even bothering to turn around. “I know what I’m doing.”

Killian shifted on his skates again, digging his toe into the ice and they’d have to zamboni the whole rink twice to make up for the all the grooves they’d put into the surface over the last few hours. He was vaguely aware of movement on the bench when Arthur's whistle went off, but he didn’t actually see her until he was at center ice, puck on his stick and Will closing in and he needed to spin out of the way.

He almost lost his edge, half a moment away from from collapsing at center ice as soon as he caught a glimpse of blonde hair and another flower-patterned dress and she was absolutely smiling.

He didn’t fall – which was probably for the best because Will would never have let him live that down – but Killian had lost half a step when he blinked, trying to refocus his energy on that tiny bit of space in between Jefferson’s legs when he crouched in front of the net.

There was barely anything on his shot and he groaned as soon as he pulled his hands back, already certain he wasn’t going to score.

He didn’t.

It was probably the easiest save Jefferson had made in his entire life.

“What the hell was that, Cap?” Jefferson asked, tugging his mask off and staring at Killian like he was the rookie.

He kind of felt like one.

And he could feel Robin and Will staring at him, eyes practically boring into the back of his head like they were looking for an answer to Jefferson’s question.

That wasn’t going to help with under the radar.

“Lost my edge,” Killian mumbled, skating towards a still-red Phillip the Rookie and clapping him on the shoulder. “Lucked out, Rook, I guess I’m buying the coffee and the donuts tomorrow. You’re officially off the hook.” Phillip seemed to breathe for the first time since they’d gotten on the ice hours ago and he nodded numbly, staring at Killian with a very specific type of look on his face. He wished he’d stop doing that – staring at Killian like some sort of hockey hero or something absurd.

“Thanks Cap,” Phillip said softly, eyes falling back down to his skates. He thought Killian had done it on purpose.

That was probably for the best. That, almost, made sense.

And if it got Phillip the Rookie to relax, at least a little bit, then it was absolutely worth it because the kid could skate, but he hadn’t quite gotten over the whole idea of playing with his ideals thing yet.

They should probably stop calling him Phillip the Rookie.

“This ice is garbage anyway,” Robin added, tapping his stick against the back of Killian’s heels. “I’m surprised you didn’t kill yourself falling into that one particularly impressive chasm in front of the goal.”

Killian nodded slowly, shooting Robin a look that he, at least hoped, looked thankful. “Well, whatever,” Jefferson said, leaving the water bottle behind him when he skated towards the bench. “As long as we get some form of food for film tomorrow. And you don’t suck that much on Friday.” “A fantastic pep talk,” Killian mumbled and Jefferson somehow managed to shrug through the mountain of pads he was wearing.

“If you are all done making me question staging a walk-through tomorrow and not actually making you run shooting drills like you’re nine, then you should probably get off the ice,” Arthur called, nodding towards the wide-open door in the boards.

Emma was still on the bench – sitting next to Arthur with her phone in one hand and a notebook in the other and there was a pen stuck just above her ear, jutting into her hair. And he was absolutely staring, smile inching across his face before he could actually consider any of the reasons he shouldn’t be doing either.

Under the radar was going just as well as not wanting to kiss her and caring about three weeks. It didn’t matter. It was five weeks now anyway.

“Hey Emma,” Will said, not even bothering to slow down when he collided with the boards. She glanced up at him, eyes narrowed just a fraction of an inch as she shook her hair off her shoulders, making sure to pull the pen away before it landed on the ground.

Killian was still staring.

“Hey,” Emma asked cautiously. She handed Arthur the notebook or it might have actually been another stack of papers, the coach’s fingers flipping through them quickly as Will leaned over the boards.

“What’s that?” He nodded towards the papers in Arthur’s hands and Emma’s eyes got even more narrow, barely any green, and Killian could feel Robin eyes on him, moving from teammate to teammate.

“None of your business,” Arthur muttered, not even looking up.

Will made a disappointed noise in the back of his throat, shrugging slightly and he wasn’t even remotely deterred, pressing through whatever awkwardness he’d single-handedly created. The doors at the far end of the ice opened and there were zambonis and building ops and they were supposed to be uptown in an hour and a half.

The list of people set to kill this entire team seemed to be growing by the minute.

“You going later?” Will continued, nodding towards Emma. “We’re all going to go. All of us. Whole team. You know you’re supposed to wear team merch again. Any idea whose number you might pick?”

Killian barely suppressed his groan, skating towards Will’s side and shooting him a glare that didn’t do much to slow down whatever metaphorical train they’d apparently gotten on in the last few minutes.

“I work for this team, don’t I?” she asked and Killian’s smile was a grin now, bordering dangerously close to taking up most of his face. Will stuttered at that, not entirely ready for his sarcasm to be met with sarcasm.

“Rumor has it.” “Then, yeah, I’m going. And Ruby’ll kill me if I don’t.” She glanced over Will’s shoulder, gaze meeting Killian’s and she absolutely knew he’d missed because of her, several internal organs constricting as soon as her eyes landed on him. “And,” Emma added. “I heard a very interesting rumor about you too. One that might make tonight rather interesting for you.”

Will shifted his shoulders and Arthur, finally, glanced up up from the pile of papers resting on his knee, something tugging on the side of his mouth. Killian bit his tongue. “What?” Will asked, glancing over his shoulder at Killian like he had an answer to the question.

Emma sat up a little straighter, shifting forward on the bench and she rested her chin in her hands, propping her elbows on her knees. “I heard, from a reliable source, that you still haven’t been able to define your relationship yet. And, for what it’s worth, in the great, big rumor mill of this team, I heard the puck is, decidedly, in your zone. So maybe you should be less worried about whose number I’m going to wear and ask your whatever to be your girlfriend and wear your jersey to the restaurant and the opener.” Killian nearly fell over again.

Robin was hysterical, head thrown back towards the giant screen hanging over center ice and even Phillip the Rookie started laughing, trying to hide the noise behind his hand. It didn’t really work.

Emma’s smile got wider, eyes flashing towards Killian and he ran his hand through his hair, pressing his skates into the ice until he was certain he’d created another divot.

Will’s mouth was hanging open, shoulders moving quickly and he didn’t come up with a response quickly enough because Emma was standing up already, hand held out towards Arthur. He put the stack of papers back in her hands, muttering something that sounded like it better not rain and Emma clicked her tongue, nodding towards Will with a smile on her face.

He knew that smile.

She’d won.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Will shouted, trying to get over the boards and failing miserably, skate almost sticking in the wood. Arthur grabbed his shoulder, pulling him over the bench as Will continued to sputter to a still-victorious Emma. “Who told you that?” Emma shrugged. “Must have just picked it up somewhere.” “You said reliable source!” “Well, then I guess you’ll just never know will you? Remember how I made that vaguely horrible hockey pun?” Will made a noise in his throat that might have been a groan or a sigh or maybe just a general sense of discontent and Robin was still laughing.

“The hockey pun might have been horrible, but it’s also true,” Emma continued, shifting the stack of papers from her hands until they were resting on her hip. “So stop asking about my jersey choices. Got it?” Will grumbled again and even Arthur looked impressed, lips pursed as he glanced between his defenseman and Emma.

The zamboni was actually on the ice now.

“Alright,” Arthur said sharply. “Off the ice. Like minutes ago. Med will lose its collective shit if one of you gets run over by a zamboni.” “Such a good coach,” Killian laughed, skating by Will and taking a step over the boards. “So concerned about our safety.” “And the status of the zambonis,” Robin added. Arthur blew his whistle in his ear.

“Eight o’clock,” Arthur said. “At the restaurant. Team-branded because Ruby continues to make ridiculous rules. Do not even think about drinking before during or after dinner. You leave the restaurant at eleven. You go home and you sleep.” “You’ll see us all in an hour, Arthur,” Killian muttered, leaning up against the hallway wall, balancing precariously on one skate. Emma moved in front of him, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye as she moved and if he didn’t fall over it was, absolutely, some kind of miracle. “You don’t need to dole out all of these instructions now.” “I am doling out instructions because you’re all children and if I didn’t, Scarlet would probably show up at the restaurant in that ridiculous onesie they sell for $125 at the store in Chase Square.” “Hey,” Will shouted. “Come on, at least give me some credit. I’m going to wear a t-shirt.” “And jeans?” “Arthur!”

“I’m just saying, if you’re going to get a girlfriend by the end of the night, you should probably wear a pair of jeans. And maybe get better at pulling the puck out of the corner with a guy on your back. No one wants a boyfriend who can’t get the puck out of the corner.” And it must have been a miracle because Killian hadn’t fallen over and Will was speechless for the second time in as many minutes.

Maybe this season would be ok.

Will stalked back to the locker room, followed closely by Robin who kept muttering something that sounded like it was trying to be supportive and Arthur nodded in Killian’s direction, smile still tugging on the ends of his mouth.

“Eight, Jones,” he said again. “Make sure Scarlet wears something almost acceptable, ok?” “Sure, Arthur.”

“Good.” It sounded like more than the word, like some sort of knowing something and that didn’t make any sense at all because they were decidedly under the radar – except of course when he was tripping over the blue line and smiling like a complete lovestruck idiot because Emma had taken down Will in the middle of the arena.

Huh.

He didn’t let his mind linger too long on the word, didn’t consider it for the ten steps it took him to get down the hallway to find Emma standing just outside the door to the film room, arms crossed lightly over her chest with a smile on her face and he didn’t think about it when his pulse started thudding in his ears.

And possibly behind his eyes.

And he was still smiling at her.

“You didn’t miss on purpose did you?” she asked, glancing up at him and that was hardly even fair.

He pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, coming up just a few inches in front of her and Emma didn’t blink, just stared at him expectantly. “You look like you already know the answer to that question, Swan.” “Ah, but it’s so much more fun to hear it out loud.” So, they hadn’t gone on a date or done much more than a vaguely overwhelming amount of wholly unprofessional making out in that one chair in her office, but they were getting very good at this whole flirting, banter thing and she hadn’t really stopped smiling in the last two weeks either.

It wasn’t pushing.

It wasn’t the definition she’d claimed Belle deserved but it was...something.

Comfortable.

And she knew she’d made him miss.

“I wasn’t expecting you to just show up on the bench,” Killian said softly, taking a step towards her with the sole intent of touching that incredibly flowery dress. Emma eyed him meaningfully, making a noise in the back of her throat. “What?” “We are in the middle of the hallway, Jones.”

“And?” “And we’re not exactly trying to broadcast this. Something you need to get better at by the way because you can’t just keep missing wide-open breakaways like that. They’ll stage some sort of captain mutiny.”

“That’s not how that works, love.” “Even so.” “Even so, unless you’re suggesting you’re just going to show up on the bench on Friday night, I think that the status of my breakaway ability is safe.” Emma scoffed. “I think, Jones, you just promised me a breakaway goal.” He blinked once and opened his mouth, certain some sort of witty remark and equally sarcastic banter was just on the tip of his tongue – it wasn’t. It disappeared at the look on her face and her slightly nervous smile and Emma Swan was flirting with him and that was a much bigger deal than the status of his breakaway ability.

And, five weeks into this whatever,  he’d lost all control of the situation and started thinking and considering very specific words that had no place in a relationship with secrets and enough nervous energy to power the entire east coast.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Killian said and he didn’t care about the hallway or whoever was walking behind him, just tugged on the side of her dress until his fingers had wrapped around her waist and they were both pushed into the tiny space in front of the film room door.

“You really didn’t miss on purpose? Save Phillip the Rookie from having to buy donuts?” “And coffee.” “That too.” Killian shook his head. “I was more than willing to let Phillip the Rookie provide us with several dozen donuts. It was just bad ice.” “Yuh huh.” “That’s what I told Jefferson. Why would I lie about that?” “No idea.”

He lifted his eyebrows and she hadn’t actually moved his hand away from her waist, just shifted a bit underneath his fingers, trying to roll her shoulders against the door and ducked her head when footsteps sounded behind Killian.

“Why did you come down here?” he asked, curiosity getting the better of him and he needed to get out of this practice gear.

“Not happy to see me?” “That’s not even remotely what I said.” Emma rolled her eyes, finger looping through the laces on his jersey. “I had to talk to Arthur about opening night and some sort of pep talk, rally call that he does every season and you guys ran late doing whatever it was you were doing, flexing some sort of competitive muscle or whatever.”

“Breakaways,” Killian mumbled, leaning a bit closer to her and he’d rationalized it easily – something about making sure no one saw or gossiped and it absolutely didn’t have anything to do with how much he just want to kiss her. “We were practicing breakaways.” “You’re going to be late for Ruby’s pre-opener extravaganza. Do you guys really do this every year?” Killian nodded, humming in the back of his throat and this team was far too obsessed with tradition and friendship and interfering. There were too many rules. “We could blow it off,” he said quickly, not even bothering to think about what he was actually suggesting.

“What?” “We don’t have to go.” “We have to go.” “Who says?” “Ruby literally told me she would kill me if I didn’t go. She actually said those words to my face. One human being to another. And what would happen if we didn’t go?”

Killian made a face and Emma rolled her eyes. “Probably get a few moments actually by ourselves because this team is a cesspool of ridiculous.”

“Cesspool of ridiculous?” “Exactly that.”

“We have to go,” Emma sighed, tugging on laces again and he was absolutely moving so she wouldn’t choke him and not so he could duck his head and kiss her.

Absolutely.

She made a noise when his lips caught hers and that was going to do dangerous things to his ego two days before the season opener and, well, he had promised a breakaway goal. “Under the radar,” Emma mumbled, but it was only half an argument and her hand moved away from his laces and into his hair, tugging tightly until he made a noise.

“If we’re going to go to this stupid thing, I need to get out of this gear,” Killian said, voice laced with innuendo and he didn’t even bother to pull away from her mouth. Emma rolled her eyes, sighing dramatically and tapping the toe of her shoe against the side of his skate. “Hey, did I mention you were pretty fantastic before?” “When? During the making out in shadows?” “Under the radar,” Killian mumbled, earning a soft laugh out of Emma and she still hadn’t moved her hand out of his hair. “And, while I am consistently impressed at your ability to excel at kissing, Swan, that’s not exactly what I was talking about.” “What else was there?” He took a moment to be slightly impressed at that and Emma was still staring at him expectantly. “Telling Scarlet off,” Killian said. “He’s been asking for it for weeks and you were...something else, Swan.” She was fantastic and sarcastic and, very clearly, as much a part of this team as any of them at this point – even if she still didn’t seem to realize it completely. That was a work in progress, a goal as much as the breakaway he’d inadvertently promised.

“Charmer.” “Gentleman. That was a compliment, by the way.” “Yeah, I picked up on that,” she said, hand flat against his chest and the ‘C’ just underneath his shoulder. “Do you have to wear team-branded later too?” Killian arched one eyebrow and Emma made a face, lips twisted in the same frustration he was certain he felt whenever he was forced into one of these team-wide events with rules and curfews and a distinct lack of alcohol and he wouldn’t even be able to kiss her in front of anyone there.

They should definitely blow it off.

They absolutely couldn’t.

“That seems like cheating,” Emma accused. “You can just wear your own jersey.” “And have Kristoff want to kill me as soon as I show up in the restaurant?” “There’s a lot of bloodlust on this team, isn’t there? Everyone’s always facing some sort of certain death if they don’t do something.”

“Ah, well, hockey’s a violent sport.” “What are you going to wear?” Killian shook his head slowly. “You’ll just have to wait and see, love.” “What?” “You’re the one who wanted to go.” “I never said that! I said we had to go and not going would be some sort of flashing neon sign about…” She waved her hand in the distinct lack of space between them and Killian nodded in agreement.

“What are you going to wear? Practice jerseys?” “Speaking of flashing neon signs.” “It’s just a suggestion, love,” he said, moving his eyebrows quickly and maybe that was starting to work now because Emma actually laughed. “You can’t wear the t-shirt again. As disappointing as that is.” She smiled again, the look of it shooting straight to his core and he was rocking back and forth on the edges of his skates. He was still wearing skates. “You’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?” “Ah, that’s not even fair, Swan.” “Them’s the breaks. Or whatever.” Killian laughed, lips landing on her forehead quickly and instinctively and he squeezed her hip tightly before taking a step back into the hallway. He needed to get into the locker room and uptown and figure out a way to not brush his fingers across Emma’s hand or over her back the second she walked into the restaurant in an hour.

Less than an hour now.

“Go,” Emma said, tapping on his jersey. “I’ll see you uptown.”

And she moved before he did, ducking around his arm and shooting him a smile before she walked back down the hallway.

“What the hell is that?”

Killian leaned back against the door as he did his best not to slam it shut behind him and grinned at Regina, something resembling hysterics threatening to overtake him just a few feet into the restaurant.

“It’s a shirt, Gina. Sweater. If you want to get technical.” “It says Christmas on it. It’s October.” “Semantics.”

Regina rolled her eyes, but there was something in her gaze and she was, very clearly, trying not to laugh as well. Will, however, wasn’t even trying – laughter practically attacking Killian from the other side of the restaurant as he pushed through the ridiculously large crowd packed into the room.

“Where did you even get that?” Will asked, Belle just a few feet behind him, sporting his jersey and her own smile.

“They sold them on some fan site last Christmas and Banana bought it for me. She thought it was hysterical.” Strictly speaking it was hysterical – Killian hadn’t admitted it last Christmas, making a face at Anna when she actually fell back against the carpet in the Vankald’s living room, her entire body shaking with laughter, but he could admit it there in that ridiculously overcrowded restaurant and he’d mostly done it for the look on Regina’s face.

The shirt was a distraction.

And it was working.

“It’s the ugliest sweater I’ve ever seen in my life,” Regina muttered, taking a step towards him and tugging on the end of it. She was smiling.

It was the ugliest sweater in the world – all blue and white lettering and there were actual candy canes stitched on and Killian had never actually worn it before, but he was being forced into this stupid, yearly tradition so he was going to wear the ugliest sweater he could find, even if it said All I want for Christmas is Locksley on it.

“How much did it cost?” Will continued, laughing as Roland slammed into his side.

Killian shrugged, reaching down instinctively to grab the six-year-old around the waist and, eventually, someone was going to have to teach this kid how to walk. The problem with being raised by an entire hockey team, however, was no one was particularly concerned with walking when there was skating to teach and stick-handling instructions and Roland was better on ice than he was in sneakers.

“You’d have to ask Banana,” Killian said, eyes darting around the restaurant as he tried to make sure he didn’t actually drop Roland. “You’ve got to stop kicking me, mate,” he muttered, shifting Roland on his shoulder. “Where’s your dad?” “Getting onion rings,” Roland said, voice mumbled with his face pressed against the sweater. “With Emma.” He was actually fairly proud at his ability to keep his face even, not even lifting his eyebrows or reacting any more than a quiet hum in the back of his throat. “What do you say we go get some onion rings and show off my very fashion-forward sweater to your dad, huh?” “Onion rings?” “Onion rings.” Killian hitched Roland up again, balancing him on his shoulder and Regina rolled her eyes – or maybe widened them and her mouth was half open with warning, the quiet be careful halfway out before he just grinned at her and turned around, letting the six-year-old work his charms without even having to say anything himself.

“You want to come, Gina?” Roland asked.

Regina must have nodded because Roland kicked again and Killian let out a soft grunt when a well placed shoe collided with his ribs. And Ariel must have had some sort of sixth sense because he heard the gasp before he even saw her or the flash of red hair in front of him, eyes wide with disbelief.

“Are you for real, Killian?” Ariel gasped, hand falling on Roland’s back immediately. “They, literally, just cleared you.” “You’re not supposed to start yelling about the state of my medical well-being until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest, Red,” Killian argued. Will ducked his head towards the ground – so Ariel wouldn’t see him laughing, the stupid traitor – and Ariel sighed as dramatically as she could, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling.

“Give me my kid,” Regina said, tugging on the sleeve of Roland’s t-shirt and Killian hadn’t noticed he was wearing his number. He shifted his shoulder again, nudging Roland up until he had his hands wrapped around his waist again and feet back on the ground.

It was an 85th anniversary jersey – the one they’d given him two years ago and the jersey had been enormous then, far too big for a four-year old to wear without tripping over and wasn’t much better now. Especially for the sleeves. The sleeves were still too big, fabric draping over the back of his palms and threatening to overtake his hands completely.

“Nice jersey, Rol,” Killian said, hand ruffling hair and Regina groaned at the movement. Roland grinned and laughed and maybe this whole, stupid tradition wouldn’t actually be that bad.

And maybe he should work on figuring out what the hell he wanted.

“How are you feeling though?” Ariel pressed, hardly aware of whatever mental battle Killian was staging in the middle of her husband’s restaurant. “Honestly.” “Fine,” he answered quickly. It was almost true. His collarbone was still tinged a bit purple, but it had been green before, so they seemed to be moving in some sort of positive direction as far as whatever collar his skin should be. And it hurt to shoot – but it always kind of hurt to shoot, so Killian just shrugged and Ariel didn’t argue anymore.

“Hook,” Roland said, tugging on the side of his sweater. “Can we go get onion rings, now?” “Yeah, yeah, of course, mate. You coming, Gina?” Regina nodded and they pushed through the same crowd Ariel had just worked her way through a few moments before, moving back towards the corner of the bar and the seat Killian hadn’t actually been in in nearly two weeks – far too preoccupied with a different seat several dozen blocks downtown.

Robin had four plates in his hand, balancing onion rings with actual fries and sliders and he groaned as soon as he saw Killian. “What is that?” he asked, nodding towards the sweater. “Did Anna buy that?” “We clearly spend far too much time together,” Killian said, grabbing Roland and moving him onto one of the chairs in front of the bar, far too aware of Emma’s eyes. He didn’t look immediately, something about under the radar and keeping his face even and both of those things would have been decidedly impossible if he looked up and saw her wearing his number as well.

Again – wearing his number again.

Robin laughed, sliding the plate of onion rings towards Roland without even having to be asked. “Yeah, well, it’s an FA season, maybe they’ll deal you somewhere else and we can get some breathing room and I won’t know your sister bought the ugliest sweater in the world just to make fun of me.” It was supposed to be a joke.

Robin was laughing, shoulder shaking with the effort of it and even Ruby chuckled, as if the idea of Killian anywhere except New York or in a jersey that wasn’t decidedly bright blue, was a laughable offense.

They didn’t see Killian’s eyes dart towards Regina or how she lifted one eyebrow perfectly in response, mouth set in a thin line that practically screamed every single opinion she had on the subject about his potential trade of free agent status.

Emma noticed.

He could see it – gaze finally landing on her and she was wearing his number, an actual jersey this time, that fit about as well as Roland’s, fabric hanging off her shoulders and halfway down her thighs and his whole body tensed at the sight.

She stared straight back at him, eyes going slightly narrow when he didn’t laugh right away, and Killian shook his head quickly, like he was trying to wake himself up. “Idiot,” Regina mumbled, quiet enough that only he could hear as she reached around Roland to grab an onion ring.

“Hey,” Eric said, oblivious to everything that was going on in the corner of his bar. “Long time no see, A’s been worried you’re not eating.” Killian groaned, hooking his foot around one of the chairs and he did his best not to actually look at Emma when he answered. It didn’t matter. She was talking to Ruby, fingers tugging on the untied laces of her jersey – and he needed to figure out where she got a jersey because it didn’t actually look like the ones they sold in the stores. Those ones were just a bit too blue and a bit too stiff and this one looked a little worse for wear, the ends of the laces not perfectly formed anymore and the ‘C’ on her shoulder was just a bit dingier than usual.

It looked like it had been run up against the glass.

“Killian,” Eric continued and he shook his head again, making a noise in the back of his throat as if that proved he was still there and some sort of active participant in the conversation. Robin pushed the plate of sliders towards him. “You are eating, right? Because I’m not joking, A’s been legitimately worried.” “I am eating,” Killian promised, grabbing one of the sliders like that proved his point. “Should I be offended that it’s not here?” “No.” Eric made a face, but didn’t push the issue anymore and there was a sound from the front of a restaurant, chairs scraping on the ground as Arthur climbed onto one and tapped the side of the glass in his hand with the edge of a knife.

They did this every year.

Or, rather, they’d done this every year since Ruby had shown up and Ariel had started dating Eric and then Arthur had shown up and started making motivational speeches at this yearly event like they were some sort of army going off to battle for on-ice glory.

They kind of were.

Hockey was, at its very core, a very dramatic sport and there wasn’t a more dramatic team than the New York Rangers – all of them far too invested in winning and competition and none of them could seem to butt out of each other’s lives.

Emma still hadn’t moved away from Ruby, smile on her face not quite as strained as Killian’s had been, and he was absolutely staring again.

“Alright, alright,” Arthur shouted and the crowd didn’t really get any quieter as he tapped the side of his glass again. He groaned, rolling his neck as he handed the glass to his wife – Gwen wearing her own personalized jersey with ‘17’ emblazoned on the back – and reached into his pocket to grab something.

The whistle.

He blew the whistle and the roster snapped to attention, something vaguely Pavlovian about the whole thing, and Killian heard Emma laugh quietly just a few feet away from him. “God, Arthur,” Will yelled. “Do you just carry that thing everywhere?”

Arthur didn’t answer, just glared at Will and no one said anything else or questioned the whereabouts of the whistle. “Alright,” he repeated sharply. “Now we’re two days out from the opener and we all know how last year went.” There were a few jeers from the crowd, but they were silenced as quickly as Arthur could shoot them another glare. “This year is going to be different. We’ve got more talent than anyone in the entire fucking league and the best rookie prospect on the entire goddamn continent.” Regina had her hands over both of Roland’s ears and it didn’t really matter, but he wasn’t really listening either – far too focused on eating an entire plate of onion rings on his own.

“Arthur, there are kids here,” Killian shouted, falling into overprotective so quickly it nearly made his head spin.

Arthur opened his mouth to argue, but then he saw the look on Regina’s face and muttered a quick apology, scuffing his foot against the top of the chair he was still standing on. “Anyway,” he said, doing his best to keep the attention of his team and front office staff and the one kid in the crowd. “We’re going to do something good here this season. I know it. As long as we don’t screw it all up to start on Friday.” He stopped talking and the crowd waited for more, waited for the encouraging part of the pep talk and it never came – Will actually started to boo.

“That was the worst speech I’ve ever heard,” Emma muttered, stepping into his space easily, like she wasn’t wearing his jersey or smiling at him and Killian hummed in response. He couldn’t come up with another word.

“He’ll be better at opening night,” Robin promised. “He doesn’t have to try as hard with the fans. He’s always been kind of shitty at that sort of thing when it’s just the team.”

Regina groaned and Robin sighed when he realized what he’d said – Roland still completely oblivious to anything that wasn’t his now empty plate of onion rings. “Jeez, mate,” Killian said, pushing the plate towards a clearly amused Eric. “Maybe you’re the one we should be worried about not eating.” “Rude, Jones,” Regina hissed, nodding at Eric when he held up a bottle of wine.

“You know it’s supposed to rain on Friday,” Will said, pushing his way into the conversation with ease and Killian was almost impressed at how quickly he’d worked his way across the restaurant.

“We’re ready for that,” Emma promised, glancing towards Killian. They were. He’d watched her order the tents two days before, demanding blue and white and workers on 34th Street on Friday afternoon even if it actually didn’t rain. “We could probably withstand an actual hurricane if it happened at this point.” “I doubt it’ll hurricane,” Will said reasonably.

“You know you’ve got to wear a suit,” Robin mumbled, eyeing Will meaningfully.

“What?” “How could you not know that?” Emma asked. “That’s, like, a league-mandated thing. You’d have to wear one even if there wasn’t an event before.” “I just figured I could wear whatever for the event.” Emma shook her head. “Suit.” “That’s stupid.” “A solid argument on your part. Doesn’t change the fact that you’re still going to have to wear a suit. And probably sign a ridiculous amount of autographs.” “Nah,” Will argued. “That’ll be Cap. He’s everyone’s favorite, after all.” Will nodded towards Emma’s jersey and she rolled her eyes – a picture of indifference in the middle of the restaurant and maybe they were getting better at this.

He didn’t even try to brush her hair off her shoulders.

“Is Hook your favorite, Emma?” Roland asked and every adult in a five-foot radius froze immediately. “On the team, I mean.” Emma blinked twice and took a deep breath before she answered, smile on her face and hair moving just a bit when she shook her head. “Nah,” she said quickly. “You know he missed a wide-open breakaway in practice today?” “What?” “Barely even got his shot off.” Roland’s mouth hung open – as if he’d just heard Killian had missed the game-winner in a Game Seven – and spun on his chair, nearly careening off the side of it before Regina reached out to keep him steady. “Hook,” he shouted. “You never miss those!” “Blame your dad, mate,” Killian said. “It was a terrible set-up.” “Ah, now you’re just making excuses,” Emma muttered, one side of her mouth tugged up into a smile and this was good. This was distracting. If they kept them distracted, kept the entire stupid roster thinking they were just friends and following some sort of stringent blue line of rules and regulations, they’d leave them all alone.

Maybe this could almost be easy.

Killian scoffed, keeping his hands pressed against his side so he didn’t inadvertently run his hands through his hair. Emma clicked her tongue and made a face, laughing softly again and if that didn’t shoot straight from his ears to his feet and settle somewhere in the very middle of his being, it would have been the biggest lie he ever told.

“You know, Jones,” Emma continued, “I think you’re a bit too confident for your own good. Better make sure Kristoff keeps your skates sharp on Friday so you don’t lose your edge again.” He tilted his head, eyes widening just a bit and Emma’s smile got even bigger. She glanced towards Will again, eyebrows lifted and face set with determination. “A suit on Friday,” she said again. “Or I’m not letting you in.” Killian laughed before he could stop himself and Will stuttered a bit when Belle appeared on his side, hand falling on the front of his jersey. He’d worn his own jersey. “I don’t think we’ve had a chance to meet,” Belle said, throwing her hand out towards Emma. “At least not officially. We were too busy trying to set you up with Killian before. I’m Belle.” “It wasn’t a set-up,” Robin argued, but it didn’t sound very genuine.

“It absolutely was. I’m sure Emma knew as well as Killian did.” “I did,” Emma confirmed. “Your intentions were in the right place, just don’t do it again, ok?”

Regina hadn’t stopped staring at Killian in hours,  he was convinced, and Will sighed dramatically. “For real?” he asked, head snapping back and forth between Emma and Killian. “I thought…” “Nope,” Emma said, popping her lips on the final letter. Will glanced at Killian, disappointment on his face and good, this was good – this was absolutely part of the plan. Under the radar. And a bit of harmless lying.

It wasn’t like he wanted to kiss her everywhere or shout something vaguely romantic from the roof of the Garden and his mind drifted back to words and ideas he shouldn’t even be considering – especially not around teammates or an agent who knew he wanted to go to Colorado at the end of the season.

“Nope,” Killian repeated and even Robin looked a bit surprised.

“Whatever,” Will mumbled bitterly, drawing a laugh out of Belle as he shot Killian a very specific type of glare. “When we calling the leader?”

“Who’s the leader?” Emma asked, taking a step closer to the bar. Killian bit the inside of his lip to stop himself from reaching out for her hand. “Sounds a bit extraterrestrial.”

“Liam,” Regina explained, mumbling to Roland about one onion ring at a time.  “They all call Liam ‘leader.’” “Fearless,” Will added. “The fearless leader.” “Wait, wait,” Emma said quickly. “You guys all still talk to Liam?”

Will and Robin stared at her like she’d just asked them how to break into the White House or chart a course to the moon and Killian rolled his eyes. She really never had been on a team like this. “Of course,” Robin said slowly. “Why wouldn’t we?” Emma shrugged. “Just...an overwhelming amount of team.” “Ah, well, welcome to New York or something,” Will said, pulling his phone out of his back pocket and propping it up against an empty glass on the counter. “He said something about six o’clock his time and the twins’ll be occupied. Cap, you better figure out a way to get Anna too because I don’t want to hear about it for the next three weeks if she’s not around for the ritual.” “Ritual?” Emma repeated, voice cracking just a bit over the word. “What exactly are you going to do in the middle of this restaurant?” “Ritual’s a very strong word, Swan,” Killian muttered. He grabbed his phone though and Anna would absolutely text each of them every day for the next three weeks if they didn’t call her too.

“It’s super fun, Emma,” Roland said excitedly, bobbing up and down a bit on his seat for good measure. “There’s a puck and a whole speech and Uncle Liam makes them all put their hands on their hearts.”

Emma gaped at them, mouth hanging open and shoulders moving just a bit quicker than normal. “It’s because they all came to New York together,” Regina said and Killian was fairly certain he didn’t miss the edge in her voice, the way the words seemed to cut across his chest like she was reminding him of everything he was, maybe, walking away from. “A whole group of vaguely terrified professional hockey players who started this stupid thing to make themselves feel as if they had a little bit of control.” “Hey,” Killian said quickly, tapping on his phone screen and hitting Anna’s number. “It’s not stupid. And we started this way before we got to New York, Scarlet and Locksley are just tag-alongs on this.” Will’s phone lit up, Liam’s face taking up most of the screen and he was already smiling, the sound of the twins in the background making their way across the country and into that tiny corner of Eric’s restaurant. “Is it time?” Liam asked.

“Obviously,” Will sighed. “You ready?” “Well, you’re five minutes late, so, yeah, I’ve been ready for five minutes.” “Find a hobby.”

“And miss the ritual? Come on, where’s the puck?”

“I’ve got it,” Robin said immediately, dropping on the counter of the bar and Liam shifted a bit in the frame, making room for Elsa when she sidled next to him.

“Is Anna here yet?” Elsa asked without preamble, eyes falling on Killian like there was a magnet on his forehead. “She’s going to be pissed if we do this without her.” Killian grabbed his phone and Anna screeched when she saw Elsa on the other screen, somehow sounding as loud as if she were standing next to him instead of God-knows-where Alaska. They started talking and Elsa was asking Anna about photo shoots and Anna was asking Elsa about that bill she was trying to pass and Will grumbled loudly, pulling the phone out of Killian’s hand and earning a collective hey out of each one of his sisters.

“Alright,” he said intently, waving his hands like that somehow made him some sort of authority. “If you guys want to talk, you’ve got to do it on your time, we’ve got to do the ritual.”

“Jeez, Scarlet,” Anna muttered. “Relax.” “This is serious.” “And it’ll get done,” Liam promised. “Hey Gina, hey Ruby.” They both waved in response and Killian could see the look on Elsa’s face as obvious as if she’d just been hit with some sort of meteorite. It didn’t help that Anna gasped as well. She didn’t say anything – and Killian would probably have to write a ten-page manuscript to thank her for that – but her eyes were wide when they landed on Emma and the jersey she had on. Anna was laughing.

“Can we do this?” Killian asked impatiently. “We’re going to miss curfew if we drag this out any longer and I don’t know how well my data plan can hold up to get Banana in from wherever she is right now.” “Still Alaska, KJ, at least pretend you listen when I tell you things,” Anna said.

Killian opened his mouth to argue back and Emma was still breathing heavily, eyes darting from phone to phone and back to him and they probably should have just told everyone because then, at least, he’d be able to hold her hand. “Are we doing this or not?” Liam said and they all snapped to attention immediately.

“See,” Regina muttered, nodding towards Emma. “The leader.”

Liam nodded once, grabbing the stick thad had been resting just outside of the frame and holding it out in front of him. “Alright,” he started, “eight years ago we all stumbled back into this stupid city and laced up skates and tripped over ourselves on the ice. And we were God awful. Terrible. Embarrassingly bad. But, as with most things, we figured it out. We stopped tripping over that giant emblem at center ice and we didn’t stutter during post and we actually started scoring goals.”

He pointed the stick again and Robin lifted the puck like it was a trophy, hardly touching it, as if leaving fingerprints on it would somehow marr what it stood for. “And we inexplicably won a first-round series and made the backpages of the tabloids and, now, it’s up to you guys to keep the tradition alive, to score more goals and play fodder for terrible pun-influenced headlines and win a goddamn Cup.” Liam nodded once and his gaze fell on Roland, smiling at him from Colorado. “You ready, Rol?” Roland nodded once, sitting up a little straighter when Robin’s hand landed on his shoulder. “To the Cup,” he shouted.

“To the Cup,” the crowd repeated, voices all a bit jumbled with the addition of videos from Colorado and Alaska. Eric put a tray down in front of them – shot glasses almost filled to the brim and that was another rule broken, just like it was every year.

Liam and Elsa held up their own glasses on their screen and even Anna had found a water bottle to toast and they all downed their drinks in one, quick gulp of tradition and meaning and this year was going to be the year.

And the restaurant suddenly felt very small and there were too many people in there and they must have been breaking some sort of fire code, because Killian’s head felt like it was spinning.

Liam was smiling and they were all laughing and Robin had put the puck back in his bag underneath the bar – saved from that series-clinching goal their rookie season – but Killian couldn’t quite breathe, the weight of it all landing on his shoulders like an anvil. This would be the year – he was certain of it – and...then what? He’d still probably feel guilty.

One of the twins shouted something off-screen and both Liam and Elsa moved in tandem, while Anna announced she had to go climb a mountain and the ritual was over as soon as it began, leaving Killian with a fresh wave of guilt and confusion and Emma kept glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

He grabbed his phone as soon as Anna was gone, a quick see ya shouted at the lot of them, and Killian barely even heard Robin’s quiet what’s wrong when he moved out the door of the restaurant and sank onto the sidewalk just around the corner.

It took less than a full second for his phone to buzz in his hand.

She’s pretty, KJ.

He sighed – he should have expected it. She hadn’t said anything on video. There was, at least, that.

She was wearing your jersey too.

I was there, El.

Ooooh testy. Yeah, I figured as much. No one’s downed a vaguely against-the-rules shot quicker in the entire history of the world. Why? Why what? Why are you feeling guilty? You know Liam isn’t mad. He’s as excited about the season as the twins are and they basically sleep in your jersey now.

Fucking hell. Killian ran his hand through his hair and he probably should have brought a jacket when he ran out of the restaurant because it was October and weather in this city never made sense.

What happens if we win?

I hear you get a parade.

I’m serious, El. What happens if we win and he’s not there?

Well, he’d probably be there. He was there the last time.

That’s not what I meant.

Be more specific then.

What if we win and we get the parade and the trophy and our names on the Cup for the rest of time? How am I supposed to look him in the eye ever again? If this was the other way around I’d never forgive me.

Ah, well, you’ve always been kind of dramatic. This conversation is proof positive.

Killian didn’t answer at first, mostly because Elsa was always right and that must have been exhausting for her – so certain of whatever she had to say in moments like this, just a bit more frequent in the last five weeks.

He was a mess.

She was wearing your jersey, KJ.

“Killian?” He twisted around to find Emma standing a few feet away from him, arms wrapped around her waist and his jersey and lips twisted into something that almost resembled concern. “You ok?”

“Yeah, of course.” “You’re the worst liar in the world,” she said, sinking next to him and nudging his arm with her shoulder. “Seriously, what’s going on?” “Just preseason stuff,” he answered evasively and Emma sighed at the lie. “Ready to get on the ice and all that.” Emma hummed in agreement, lips pressed together tightly and she was staring at her shoes, playing with the ends of sleeves – his sleeves.  “Are you alright, love?” Killian asked.

“Fine.” “Look who’s lying now.” She made a face, rolling her eyes for good measure and he tugged her against his side, brushing his lips over her forehead before remembering they weren’t really all that far from the restaurant. “I think they almost believed us,” Emma muttered. “About the whole under the radar thing.” “We need to come up with another word for it. That’s kind of a mouthful and we’ve said it so many times it doesn’t even seem like an actual language anymore.”

Emma laughed softly and nodded against his shoulder, cheek brushing up against the ugliest sweater in the history of the entire world. “Yeah, that’s true. I just…” “What?” “You were right.” “That happens more often than not,” Killian said, working another laugh out of Emma. “What about this time?”

“Me lying.” He was still breathing, which was impressive since Killian was convinced his heart had actually stuttered for half a beat and he leaned back to find Emma staring at him, nerves practically rolling off her in that tiny alleyway. “What’s going on?” “Remember how I said I didn’t normally do this?” He nodded, thumb tracing against the back of her wrist. “Well, there’s a reason. I did. Before.” “I still don’t understand, Swan.” “I dated a guy on a team,” Emma said, rushing over the words so quickly he could barely even make them out.

Killian clenched his jaw tightly so he wouldn’t ask the wrong question or push into uncharted territory and no wonder she’d talked about HR. And then something sounded in the back of his mind and he actually heard what she said. “Wait,” he said quickly, not moving his thumb. “Did you just say we’re dating, Swan?”

She let out a shaky laugh, smile barely visible on her face as she shrugged.  “I mean we’ve done a good amount of making out in my office if that qualifies as dating.” “I don’t see why not.” “Well, there you go.” They didn’t say anything for what felt like hours or days and he’d probably missed the season opener at this point, fully content to sit in this alley with his hand wrapped around Emma’s wrist and that smile on her face. “It wasn’t a player,” she said quietly, taking him by surprise.

“What?” “The guy...he didn’t actually play for the team.” “Front office?” “Was communications. He’s all PR now.”

“Where?” Emma pursed her lips and for half a second he was nervous he’d pushed or stepped over that blue line that seemed to rule this relationship – and it was definitely a relationship, now, even if they hadn’t used that word specifically, the thought of it making his stomach flip and his pulse thud just a bit harder than usual.

She sighed softly, turning towards him until her knee bumped against his. “He’s in Los Angeles. Probably sitting behind my desk now.” “What?” “He took my job,” Emma said, frustration obvious in the set of her shoulders. “And that’s not why we broke up or anything, that happened before I even got to LA, but he was, apparently, in with the new owner and I wasn’t and, well, he’s a jackass.” “Obviously.” She laughed again, tugging on the end of her hair until he finally gave into that desire that had been sitting in the pit of his stomach as soon as he saw her in the back corner of her restaurant, reaching forward to wrap her fingers up in his and squeezing – tightly. “I just…” Emma muttered, teeth tugging on her lower lip. “I just can’t take a chance that I’m wrong about you.”

He stared at her, eyes narrowed slightly like he was looking at her for the first time and, well, maybe he was.

She still looked nervous, the edges of her mouth moving every few seconds, like she couldn’t quite decide if she wanted to smile, but she was staring right back at him, something on the edge of her gaze that felt a bit like hope.

And there were walls still, something Killian knew she still wasn’t talking about and there had to be a reason she’d never been to New York before or ended up in Minnesota for a year, but he could wait.

He would wait.

“You’re not,” Killian said softly and it sounded like the promise it absolutely was. Five weeks and it didn’t make any sense and he didn’t care.

“This job is important,” Emma continued. “And the last one didn’t end the way I thought it would and I already got enough charity from Ruby and I’m still sleeping on Reese’s couch and I can’t...I can’t deal with people thinking we’re…” “It’s fine, Swan,” he cut in, ignoring the way his stomach clenched at the uncertainty in her voice. “We’ll come up with another word for under the radar. I think we were rather convincing. The only person who seemed remotely aware of what was going on was El and she’s in Colorado.” “Is that why you came out here? Because they’re in Colorado and you’re here and still doing questionable pre-season rituals? “How’d you figure that out?” Emma shrugged, smile just a bit more cautious than it should have been. “Open book works both ways.” He moved an instant later, mouth crashing on hers and he appreciated the way she gasped against his lips before moving back towards him, her fingers carding through his hair. She rocked against him, free hand finding its way under the ugliest sweater ever made and her jersey was far too big because it kept getting twisted up in between them, making it all but impossible for him to hit skin the way he wanted to.

He wanted her a questionable amount.

“You know,” Killian mumbled, moving against Emma’s jaw and her fingers tightened in his hair. “This jersey looks awfully familiar.” “It does have have your name on it,” she said, voice shaking just a bit with the effort of trying to make sure it didn’t shake. He grinned, moving back down her neck and he’d, finally, managed to work his hand underneath the fabric of the jersey, almost gasping when he realized there wasn’t another shirt underneath.

“God, Swan,” he whispered and now he was the one with the shaking voice and slightly shaking fingers and they were still in a goddamn alley.

They never should have come to this stupid thing.

They should go on a real date.

“Your sister might not be the only one who has some sort of idea as to what’s going on,” Emma said and her voice felt like a live wire against him or in him or whatever.  He’d only gone to college for a year.

“Why is that?” “Because it took me no less than forty-five minutes to convince Kristoff that giving me an actual jersey was some sort of good idea.” He knew it. “This is a real jersey?” Killian asked, leaning back slightly. Emma’s fingers trailed across the back of his neck and her other hand had found a belt loop, tugging tightly until he moved forward and she kissed him again.

That was as much of an answer as he was going to get – it was the only answer he really needed.

The door of the restaurant slammed open around the corner and Killian could hear Arthur’s voice and Gwen’s heels and they snapped apart as quickly as if there was a live wire in between them. “We should probably go back inside,” Emma said and he didn’t even try to mask his groan at the suggestion. “Under the radar or whatever we’re going to call it from now on.” “If you wanted under the radar, love, you probably shouldn’t have worn my jersey. It makes it very hard to think clearly.” She moved her eyebrows quickly and she was smirking at him now, standing up and readjusting the jersey so it almost settled on her shoulders. “Maybe that was the point,” Emma said, widening her eyes meaningfully before turning back towards the restaurant and leaving Killian open-mouthed behind her.