His hand was killing him.
No scratch that – his entire body was killing him, every single muscle and nerve ending and something in the general vicinity of his collarbone. It all felt like it was twisted and turned and pinched in a way Killian was almost certain was impossible.
Fuck.
Hans fucking Soyer.
He should have seen it coming – should have known as soon as the puck hit the ice and he went out for his first shift. Soyer wasn't concerned with preseason monikers. He didn't even seem particularly concerned with the fact that the Penguins had actually won the Cup last season, had beat the Rangers in the playoffs and left Killian on the outside looking in when it came to postseason glory.
Soyer didn't care.
He'd never cared.
He hit like it was Game Seven and, this time, he only seemed to be concerned with Killian – and taking out his knees.
Killian should have been ready for it. He was an idiot. Soyer had always been like that – hit first, ask questions later. Even at school. He'd set some sort of penalty-minute record at Minnesota during his sophomore season and walked around campus like that was something to actually be proud of.
He'd won the title with them – a fourth-line winger who'd come into Minnesota with Liam and barely saw any ice-time in the Tournament – and he declared after as well.
Only no one drafted Hans Soyer.
There was no press conference, no cheering family in the background or jerseys that inexplicably had his name on it as soon as he crossed the stage. That happened for Killian and Liam. It didn't happen for Hans.
He, eventually, got picked up – by the Flames on a bottom-of-the-barrel free agent contract that barely paid for an apartment in Calgary – and spent the last eight years bouncing around the league, racking up hits and penalty minutes and two-game suspensions handed down by the commissioner's office.
This was his second stint in Pittsburgh.
"Killian, I swear to God, if you don't stop moving so much on this table, I'm actually going to call El, get her to fly to Pittsburgh and punch you in the face."
He turned his head, shifting on the table again and Victor groaned loudly, rolling his eyes as he leaned back against the wall. "She's called me five times already," Victor added and, this time, Killian groaned. "The last one included the twins, so, you know, take that into account when you keep moving and threatening to hurt yourself even more."
He wasn't sure that was possible.
Everything hurt. All at once.
He didn't entirely remember the fight, just remembered throwing the punch and a right hook colliding with Soyer's helmet and the refs had tried to pull them apart. It was a goddamn preseason game. No one was supposed to fight in a preseason game.
But Soyer wouldn't shut up.
He kept talking and hitting and, aside from everything else, Killian was convinced there was a bruise the size of the entire state of Minnesota on the back of his leg from all the times Soyer had checked him in the calf.
And, for the most part, he'd ignored it.
It was a preseason game.
He ignored it for two periods. They were winning. It didn't matter. And then Soyer hit him again, knocked him against the boards and Killian could feel the stick in his back, even through his pads, and he heard the muttering, even over the crowd noise and the whistles.
"It was your fault," Soyer mumbled, pushing his stick up under the pads on Killian's back and he was practically hanging over his shoulder.
That was enough. He saw red and heard the rushing in his ears and his gloves were on the ice before he'd really even considered any other, vaguely mature, preseason -appropriate option. He hit him. Hard.
And Soyer hit back. Harder.
The whistles kept blowing and Killian could hear Robin and Will behind him, trying to pull him away before he did something stupid like get a major in a preseason game. Robin eventually got a hold of his shoulder, almost dragging him towards the box, but Soyer wouldn't shut up, was still shouting about Liam and the Cup and Killian might have actually lost his mind. He turned back around.
"It might have been my fault," he yelled, "but the league wanted Liam. This team's just taken pity on you, let you play goon for the fans."
It was a mistake. A bad mistake. One he normally wouldn't have made in any other circumstance and this was on TV. Roland saw. Fuck, Emma saw. He hadn't been thinking. He just wanted to hit Soyer again.
Hard.
He just hadn't been entirely prepared for Soyer to charge at him, hands in his jersey and tugging on his pads and Killian felt his back collide with the boards before he'd even completely come to terms with the idea of fighting again.
In a preseason game.
He'd gotten hurt in a preseason game.
"When did El call?" he asked, glancing at Victor who was still leaning against the doorway of the away team's training room, arms crossed and legs crossed and a disappointed look on his face. "And where's my phone exactly?"
"Which time? The first one was probably as soon as you got hit, on national TV, by the way. A whole audience of hockey fans saw you act like a complete idiot on national TV. Times two through four were while you were in the MRI. And time five was just now before I came in here to tell you about time five."
Killian winced. He shouldn't have said anything. He shouldn't have let Soyer get under his skin, but he had and five phone calls later, he'd absolutely freaked out El.
She'd never say it out loud, but he knew, every time he stepped on the ice, she worried. And he'd never actually been hurt on the ice before.
"Did…" Killian started, but Victor just nodded before he could even get the question out.
"Anna called three times. It was like they were alternating shifts on the phone or something."
"And Gina called me twice," Robin added, stepping into the tiny room and knocking his knuckles against Killian's shoulders.
"Jeez, Locksley," Victor sighed. "Don't hurt him anymore than he already is."
"The MRI came back already?" Killian asked, shifting on the table again so Robin could move next to him. He tossed his phone into Killian's lap and the stupid thing buzzed as soon as it hit his shorts. Voicemail. "Oh, and hey, did we win?"
"Preseason," Robin muttered. "And Rol's totally convinced you're dead, so call him back at some point."
Killian rolled his eyes, ignoring that particular piece of guilt-inducing information, and stared at Victor. "MRI?"
Victor shook his head. "Your collarbone's a disaster. Bruised to complete shit. But no concussion, at least as far as I can tell. We'll get the MRI tomorrow and more tests tomorrow, so actually show up at some sort of professional time or I really will call El."
"No concussion?" Robin repeated, voice as serious as Killian had ever heard it. He glanced at him, eyebrows drawn low and he hadn't really expected this level of overprotection. "Like, nothing?"
"Tomorrow," Victor said again. "We'll know for certain tomorrow, but I mean, I've got a degree and I don't think it's a concussion. Just your regular run of the mill upper-body injury. I bet Ruby's already got the release sent out."
"She's probably just got a template at this point," Killian muttered, running his hands through his hair. He needed to take a shower. They'd pulled him off the ice and gotten him in the machine and made sure his pupils still dilated properly, but they'd never actually given him five minutes to shower. "How long?"
"Be more specific," Victor said.
"Run of the mill upper-body. How long will that keep me off?"
Victor shrugged. "The results come back tomorrow."
"You sound like a broken record."
"That's because the answer's not going to change."
"Guess then."
"Killian."
"Guess."
Victor made a face, finally, walking in the room and there really shouldn't have been three people in there at the same time. "Probably the rest of the preseason," he said under his breath, as if he couldn't quite bring himself to say it out loud. "Maybe longer."
"Longer?" Killian asked, shouting the word and jumping off the table. That was a mistake. He clenched his teeth, hissing in the seemingly tiny bit of oxygen in the room and run of the mill upper-body also apparently hurt his entire body.
"Sit down," Victor said, taking a step towards him. Killian glared at him, but actually sat down, huffing slightly for good measure. He almost sat on his phone. It was buzzing again, a string of text messages threatening to send it careening onto the floor. "God, idiot."
"How long?" Killian repeated, grabbing the phone and silencing it before he threw it on the ground. "Will I miss the opener?"
"Cap, I don't know," Victor sighed and even Robin was shooting him disappointed glares now. "If I knew I would tell you. Honestly. But Soyer hit you and he hit you hard and A's going to have a conniption over scheduling PT training. She called me three times while you were getting MRI'ed."
"Does no one have anything better to do on this team than make phone calls during games?"
"Preseason games," Robin mumbled and Killian sighed, falling back onto the table with all the grace of someone who'd just been pushed forcibly into the boards of a hockey arena. "Also, you might want to answer that."
"What?"
"Your phone. El's calling again."
"If you don't answer, she's going to start calling everyone else," Victor pointed out when, apparently, Killian didn't move quickly enough. He grumbled under his breath – certain Victor was more right than he actually realized and almost surprised it hadn't started happening yet – groaning slightly when he moved and grabbed his phone.
He didn't even get a word out before the lecture began.
"Are you serious KJ?" Elsa hissed, each word sounding a bit more frustrated than the last one. He didn't let himself consider the nickname, the way she'd used that more than ever in the last two weeks or how her voice caught just a bit on the two letters. She shuffled slightly on the other end, like she was trying to shift the phone on her shoulder and her voice got a bit softer when she started talking to someone that wasn't actually Killian.
"No, sweethearrt, he's fine," she muttered. "Yeah, yeah, he knows you're asking. Ok, he knows you're both asking. Give me a few minutes, ok? I promise." Elsa moved again and there were footsteps in the background and Liam's voice as he tried to corral the twins before they could hear their mother screaming at their uncle.
"I'm fine, El," Killian muttered, all too aware of Victor and Robin still staring at him expectantly. "Honestly."
She sighed into the phone, not even trying to mask the sound. She did, however, try to mask the sniffle – it didn't work. "El," he sighed, running his fingers through his hair and wrapping them around his neck tightly. That was also a mistake. His neck, it appeared, was just as bruised as the rest of his body. "You can ask Victor. Generic upper-body. Not even a concussion."
"How long?"
"What?"
"How long will you be out?" Killian rolled his eyes and he should have expected the question. Elsa had watched as much hockey as Killian had ever played and she knew as well as he did which questions to ask.
"A few weeks. They'll know more tomorrow."
"MRI?"
"Already done." She hummed in agreement and they'd jumped from concerned to clinic so quickly it felt a bit like whiplash. "There's not anything to worry about, El," Killian muttered, but she was scoffing before the words were completely out of his mouth and he ran his hand over his face.
"What'd he say?"
"Who?"
"KJ!"
"Nothing, El," he lied quickly and it was painfully obvious how quickly she saw through it. Elsa scoffed again, the sound vibrating through the phone and he could hear the mattress creak when she sank onto the bed in her and Liam's room. "It was just normal on-ice stuff. He's always been a dick, you know that."
"Yup."
"El."
"It's totally fine. It's not like you're going to miss the whole preseason now or he's in the Metro with you this season and you've got to deal with FA stuff. It's fine. Totally fine." She paused, taking a deep breath and Killian knew she'd squeezed her eyes shut. "You know Gina called me the other day."
"Of course she did."
"Are you crazy?"
"About which part? Hitting Soyer and getting my ass kicked or wanting…." He cut himself off, eyes darting to Robin was who was staring at him with narrowed eyes and slightly tilted mouth, his own phone held loosely in his hand.
"You're not by yourself are you?" Elsa asked knowingly. Killian hummed in the back of his throat and he heard her shift again, the mattress making noise in the background and someone was knocking on the door – likely two someones. "Ok," she continued slowly, "both parts, by the way, they're both incredibly stupid."
"A rather pointed opinion."
"And the right one. C'mon, KJ, you can't be serious. I watched it. You turned around and yelled something at him! Why'd you do that?"
"He couldn't keep his mouth shut," Killian mumbled and Victor muttered something under his breath that was also a rather pointed opinion . "I'm fine, El. A couple of bruises, no concussion, a few weeks off and I'm back for the opener."
"Yuh huh." The pounding on the door in Colorado was getting more insistent and he could even hear Liam's voice now, shouting something about how he'd tried to keep them occupied and Killian laughed before he could stop himself, more than earning the glare that was likely on Elsa's face at the moment. "You know Charlie cried," Elsa continued, an accusatory edge in her voice that had gotten sharper the longer this conversation continued. "Like actual tears on his actual face."
"Yeah, well, Rol apparently thinks I'm dead," Killian sighed, pushing off the table and ignoring the combined gasps of Victor and Robin when he started walking towards the hallway. He also ignored the pain that shot through his spine and seemed to land in the pit of his stomach, settling there like a weight and making it difficult to actually move. He was finished having an audience for this conversation.
"You hit the boards hard," Elsa said, voice catching a bit and there was more sniffling again. "It took awhile for you to actually get up."
He'd been in the Paints more times than he could count at this point, could walk the hallways without even thinking about where he was going, but the one moment he needed to find a few inches of space that weren't surrounded by people and team staff and questions about how he was feeling, Killian had come up decidedly short.
"I'm fine El," he repeated again, sounding like the broken record he'd just accused Victor of being.
"So you've mentioned."
"It's true. It's just a rather painful reminder that I'm woefully out of fighting practice."
Elsa groaned and her laugh was shaky at best, but it was still a laugh and that had what he'd been going for in the first place. "Did you call Rol back and let him know you're not dead?"
"Not yet."
"You should do that."
"Aye aye, mom."
The laugh was genuine now and he could feel the smile inching across his face as he ducked into the doorway that was, somehow, devoid of people, leaning against the wall and gripping his phone just a bit tighter than normal.
"You're really ok?" Elsa whispered. "Like for real, for real?"
Killian nodded, fully aware that Elsa was on the other side of the country and not a few feet in front of him and he really was an ass. It had been a joke – a long-standing thing with him and Anna, calling Elsa mom whenever she dived into the deep end of overprotective. She'd practically perfected the dive when they were growing up.
She was the oldest and the most mature and Anna and Killian were the same age and not particularly good at listening to authority or coming up with plans that didn't, somehow, involve public transportation or breaking the rules.
He'd always been very good at breaking the rules.
And if they had been the Four Horsemen growing up, then Elsa was, undeniably, the leader – even if Liam had thought he was for most of their teenage lives. She still was.
She fixed everything. She always had the answers and the plan and that thing she did with the side of her mouth as if to say don't worry, I've got this and every problem any of them had seemed to disappear after that. She made sure Anna had somewhere to go on holidays when she wasn't traipsing the country – or the entire goddamn world – and she was Liam's rock after everything and she always knew exactly what to say when Killian was drowning in self-pity and guilt.
And he'd made her cry.
Ass.
"Like for real, for real," Killian promised and Elsa made a noise in the back of her throat. "Gina shouldn't have told you about the contract thing. It's not certain yet."
Elsa took a deep breath and the knocking had finally stopped – Liam's footsteps sounding down the hall and he might have actually grabbed both twins and dragged them away from the door at this point. "It's stupid," she said.
"I thought that was your opinion on fighting Soyer."
"Both things. When did you even come up with this?"
Killian shrugged, making an evasive noise and he didn't want to have this conversation, crowded into a dark corner in the hallway of the arena in Pittsburgh. He still hadn't showered. "KJ," Elsa continued. "When? It's got to have been brewing for awhile right, because you wouldn't just spring this on Gina without actually thinking about it."
He took a moment to marvel at just how well Elsa actually knew him before muttering an answer into the phone. "Oh," she muttered and he could practically see the lightbulb going off over her head. He moved farther into the corner when he heard footsteps nearby gear being dragged down the hallway and they were probably going to leave soon. "When you left, right? That's when you decided. I thought...I thought something was off."
She could probably read his mind at this point, Killian thought and he was a combination of amazed and frustrated all at the same time. Gina shouldn't have said anything.
He'd left Colorado a few weeks before the season started – a few weeks before the surprise party that wasn't a surprise party and Emma and, fuck, Emma. He hadn't even looked at his other messages.
She'd gone to Eric's, had been watching the game, had seen him collide with the boards and yell at Soyer and it seemed a bit too much to hope that she might have been one of the several dozen texts on his phone, but he hadn't even checked and his stomach was way ahead of his slightly more rational mind, leaping towards hope like it was going for gold in the Olympic long jump.
Killian wanted to go to Colorado.
He hadn't even wanted to leave when he did. He'd come up with the plan then, bag on his shoulder and car waiting in the driveway and a pair of kids strapped to his side like they were glued there.
Of course Elsa had known.
He'd come back anyway – he had a contract and a Cup to win and he'd run face-first into a sea of feelings and wants and making out with Emma Swan like he was sixteen years old and sneaking around so the Vankalds didn't find out.
Elsa probably knew that too.
"You can't do that, KJ," Elsa continued, unaware of whatever mental battle he was staging in the corner of the hallway. "Liam would kill you."
"It's not really Liam's call," Killian mumbled, bitterness sinking into his voice without his permission.
"But leaving New York? What if you don't actually win a Cup? You're just going to give up on everything there? That's insane. I mean you've got the team and your friends and mom and dad."
"They're your mom and dad, El. Not mine."
It was angry and childish and not entirely true in the grand scheme of things because Mr. and Mrs Vankald were as much Killian and Liam's parents as anyone could have ever been, but his whole body hurt and Gina shouldn't have said anything to Elsa and he couldn't seem to control his temper in a fucking preseason game.
Elsa clicked her tongue and Killian rolled his eyes, knocking his head back against the wall and running his thumb against his chin. "You should just hang up on me when I say shit like that," he muttered, working a quiet laugh out of Elsa.
"If I ask you a question right now are you totally going to bite my head off?"
"You're going to ask
no matter what, El, so I don't know why you're precursing it."
"What about Emma?"
He bit his tongue, tasting blood almost immediately and that was probably for the best since it stopped him from actually biting off Elsa's head through the phone.
Three weeks. It had been three weeks.
That was hardly enough time to change his entire life plan – or at least part of his life plan if Gina actually agreed to do her job and play agent and get him what he wanted. Three weeks wasn't anything.
It was a blink, half a moment, hardly even enough time to take a deep breath.
It also didn't seem to matter.
Three weeks and she'd inched into his life and his consciousness and, God, he hoped she'd texted him. He wasn't just an ass, he was a selfish ass who actually wanted Emma to be worried about him, wanted tangible evidence that she hadn't just been watching, but that she might actually care.
He cared. A lot.
And he was smiling again – wider than he had all night, crouched in the corner of this doorway like an idiot, thinking about Emma Swan.
Three weeks.
"What about her?" Killian asked, doing his best to keep his voice even and he knew he'd come up on the wrong end of that as soon as Elsa stared to laugh.
"You kiss her yet? Locksley thinks you have."
"Jeez, El."
"Anna doesn't think you have. She thinks you're chickening out."
"I haven't even told Anna."
"Grapevine or whatever."
Killian lowered his eyebrows, but he wasn't quite as frustrated as he expected himself to be. "That grapevine didn't happen to just be you, did it?"
"Would I do that?"
"I think you already did."
"She was asking," Elsa cried. "You kept dodging her questions and you wouldn't answer her texts and she's in the middle of nowhere shooting now. She deserves a bit of entertainment."
"Ah, so I'm entertainment for Anna now, huh?"
Elsa sighed. "Of course not. We both just want you to be happy, KJ. And you haven't...anyway, I just think you should be willing to let yourself want something. I know you and you told me her name. You didn't even tell Liam that."
She was right. Of course. It was a day ending in 'y,' so of course Elsa was right.
Except they hadn't actually talked about it and Emma had told Henry something and there was still something off , something he couldn't quite put his finger on or define and he couldn't bring himself to push.
Three weeks, after all, wasn't a very long time.
"We'll see, El," Killian said evasively. "It's just...it is what it is now."
"She go to Eric's?"
"She works for the team."
"Didn't answer my question."
"As far as I know."
"And you know this…"
"El." She made a noise in the back of her throat, a mix of confusion and interest and a, frankly, pitiful attempt at innocence and Killian couldn't even bring himself to sigh at the sound. "We're talking," he said quickly. "That's all."
"That's all?" Elsa repeated and she definitely sounded like Anna now. He wouldn't have been surprised if Anna had actually been listening on a third line this entire time. She would have shouted something by now. "Nothing a bit more concrete?"
Killian groaned, earning a glance from one of the staffers hauling a bag full of jerseys towards the bus and he was never going to get to shower now. "Three weeks, El," he said again. "That's hardly any time."
"Ok, ok, ok, just promise me one thing, please?"
"What?"
"Next time you play the Pens, punch Soyer right in the jaw. For me. Ok?"
He barked out a laugh, leaning forward at the waist and wincing slightly from the pain of his run-of-the-mill upper body diagnosis. She absolutely knew – she knew what Soyer had said and why he'd yelled back and, now, why he'd miss the entire goddamn preseason.
"You're a witch, you know that," Killian mumbled. He could hear Elsa smile.
"Nah, I just know you. I'll tell the twins you're fine, but expect Liam to call as soon as you land in New York and yell at you for being an idiot. And critique your fighting technique."
"Yeah, well, I haven't had to defend his honor in awhile."
Elsa mumbled something – that probably wasn't proper for the twins likely pressed on the other side of the door – but he knew she was still smiling. "Make sure you kiss Emma again when you see her too. She was probably worried."
Killian's mouth dropped open, breath rushing out of him in one vaguely enormous huff and that actually hurt too and Elsa was laughing when she muttered a quick bye KJ and the line was dead before he could even begin to come up with something else to say.
He did, eventually, get to shower, pushed back into the locker room by Will almost as soon as as Elsa had hung up the phone. There were even more messages by the time he'd gotten back out, phone battery dangerously low because the entire world, it seemed, wanted to make sure he wasn't concussed.
"I told Rol you weren't dead," Robin said, lifting his eyebrows when he stared at Killian in the visitor's locker room. "He's very relieved."
"I'll call him," Killian promised.
"Ah, it's late now. He's fine. And you're not actually dead, so crisis averted on that front. He'll see you tomorrow and he'll forget this whole thing ever happened. Although he might have something to say about your technique."
"He'll apparently have to get in line. El said Liam was disappointed too."
"See," Will said pointedly, sinking onto the edge of the bench without lifting his eyes away from his phone screen. "That's why you've got to leave the fighting to the professionals, Cap. You know if you hadn't gotten hurt I bet they would have given you a major."
"In a preseason game," Robin added.
Killian shrugged, tugging his sweatshirt over his head and ignoring the buzz of his phone on the top shelf of his locker. "Why'd you do it?" Robin continued, glancing up at the noise. "I mean, I know Soyer's an ass and he kept checking you all night, but that's not usually your thing. Scarlet's right. Leave the fighting to the pros."
He didn't answer at first, grabbing his phone and widening his eyes at the string of texts from Anna, ranging from angry to furious to disappointed that he was absolutely ignoring her now and Will's breath hitched audibly in his throat.
"He said something about Liam didn't he?" he asked knowingly and it wasn't like Will to be quite that perceptive.
Killian still didn't answer – and that was enough of an answer and both Will and Robin were standing and pacing and clenching their fists like they were going to go find Soyer that moment and punch him in the face, again.
"God what a fucking asshole," Will muttered and Killian cocked his head to one side, an agreement without actually having to repeat the words. His phone rang and Anna was getting even more impatient now and Will widened his eyes meaningfully. "Where is she even calling from?"
"I don't know, probably the tundra or something. She found service though."
"Better answer before she actually figures out a way to teleport through the phone."
Killian sighed, but somewhere in the middle of being frustrated about missing the rest of the preseason and Soyer's words and how bad he must have looked fighting on national TV, his pulse had started to thud just a bit unevenly, realization seeping into his veins – people were worried about him.
She didn't yell as soon as he answered, far more control than Killian realized Anna possessed, and he even got an apology in before she launched into her tirade, cursing him to a variety of different gods and a handful of various underworlds.
And he told her he was fine, promised not to do it again and even managed to find out where she was shooting that week, four hours outside of Ketchikan in Alaska, and Anna stopped yelling at him once he asked about her schedule.
They'd made it back to the bus – a half an hour drive to the airport and the private plane and Killian had never wanted to be back in New York more in his entire life – by the time Anna had finished detailing all the plans and the elevations of the several mountains she was planning to climb to get the perfect shot and he rested his head against the window next to him, doing his best not to worry.
It probably worked as well as it had for Elsa. And Liam. And probably Mr. and Mrs. Vankald.
Because if they were worried about him careening into the boards that night, then they were even more worried about Anna climbing mountains and taking pictures and it might have been her dream, but it also scared him to death.
"You'll be careful, right, Banana?" Killian asked, voice hushed so he didn't wake up the already dozing Robin in the seat next to him.
Anna groaned on the other end – and she probably rolled her eyes too. "I hate that nickname," she mumbled, but there was affection in her tone too.
He'd started calling her that the day they moved into the brownstone, butting heads with Anna almost immediately. She was loud and boisterous and she never seemed to stop moving and, well, they were the same age.
Even if Anna claimed she was the older sister.
So he'd come up with the nickname, because even eight-year-old Killian Jones was kind of an ass and he enjoyed seeing the look on Anna's face whenever he regarded her as a fruit. He wasn't quite sure when it stopped being an insult and something important, wasn't certain when she stopped scrunching her nose up at the nickname and, now, he called her that whenever he saw her, arms flung around his neck as she practically leapt on him.
"I'm serious Anna," Killian continued, shifting in his seat slightly. "I mean, mountains? There's got to be ice and snow and it's freezing probably, right?"
"KJ, you literally got thrown into the boards tonight and you didn't get up for hours. Hours! And now you're telling me I can't climb a couple of mountains. Think of the pictures."
"Ok, several things, it did not take hours for me to get up. And I'm not telling you that you can't climb the mountains, just to be careful. The pictures are, obviously, going to be awesome. That's not even a consideration."
Anna didn't say anything for a few moments and it might have been the longest she'd been quiet in the history of the entire world. "That was nice, KJ," she mumbled. "You're really ok, though? El said the entire preseason."
"I can be nice sometimes," he shot back, earning a laugh out of Anna. He pushed his head against the window again, condensation sticking to his hair and his forehead and Robin was halfway to snoring now. "And yeah, at least that, maybe longer."
"The opener?"
"I don't know."
Anna sighed softly. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be, Banana, it was my fault."
"You know what else El said?"
"I can only imagine."
"That you're spending some of your time in New York occupied with things that don't have to do with your FA status and you gave her a name."
"You two gossip way too much," Killian mumbled. "And only about half of that was true."
"Did she call you yet?"
"Who?"
"The girl you won't actually name."
Killian pressed his lips together. He still hadn't gotten the chance to read his text messages – the number seemingly growing by the moment and he'd been far too much of a coward to actually check and see if Emma was one of them.
Anna clicked her tongue disapprovingly in the background. "Oh you totally didn't check," she accused. "I bet she did. All worried and nervous. Did she go to Eric's?"
"You and El should coordinate these conversations better, I'm just repeating myself."
"It's not my fault you answered her before you answered me. That's just you being a jerk."
"That's true," he mumbled and Anna made a noise that sounded a bit like a mix between a sigh and a groan.
"Maybe you should call her."
"Who?"
"KJ!"
He smiled against the window, shifting his hand so his phone was pressed up closer to his ear and he nearly jumped out of his seat when it vibrated again. He'd talked to everyone major already – even sent Mrs. Vankald a text so she wouldn't worry too – there wasn't anyone left...unless. Killian pulled the phone away from his ear so quickly he was certain he'd dislocated his shoulder as well and he tugged his lip behind his teeth when he saw the name on the screen.
Swan.
"Anna, listen, I've got to go," he said.
"You make it to the airport?"
"Yup."
He could practically see her lowering her eyebrows as if she was sitting next to him instead of a now-definitely snoring Robin. "Oh," Anna laughed. "She's calling you isn't she?"
"I gotta go, Banana."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, shoved aside for the girlfriend. Whatever. See if I call to make sure you're ok after you get into a fight next time. I don't care."
"Be careful tomorrow, ok?"
"Always, KJ."
He pulled his phone away again to switch calls and, immediately, seemed to forget every single word he'd ever learned. "Killian?" Emma asked, nerves obvious in the tone of her voice and that seemed to snap him back to attention immediately.
"Hey," he said softly. "I'm glad you called."
"Really?"
The genuine surprise in her voice caught him off guard – he was fairly certain they'd cleared, at least, that particular hurdle. She had to know he cared, right? Of course. The tiny, persistent voice in the back of his head, however, reminded him rather quickly that they hadn't actually had much of a real conversation, usually too preoccupied with the kissing and then more kissing and Killian felt his breath hitch in his throat at the memory of her hand on his hip.
He should ask her out.
And then ask about her.
He wanted to know everything about her.
"Of course, love," Killian said. She didn't argue the endearment this time, breath rushing out of her quickly and loudly on the other end of the phone, like she'd been holding it for hours. "I, uh, I take it you saw the game."
"Did you talk to Roland? He's convinced you're dead."
"So I've been told," he laughed. "Robin took care of that. I was too busy getting MRI's and placating El."
Emma sighed again, hissing in her breath at the idea of an MRI and the bus ride to the airport probably wasn't the best place to have this conversation – the first time they'd actually talked on the phone since the GD event.
"I know it's fine," she muttered, sounding as if she was half talking to herself. "Ruby went into full attack mode as soon as you didn't get up immediately and I know...I know, like for a fact, you're not concussed. She called Victor and got the upper-body diagnosis and I think she's actually just got release templates saved on her phone because she did it all from the table in the restaurant at the same time we were all trying to promise Rol that you were ok and...I know. I don't...I don't know why I called."
She tapped her teeth together and Killian was certain it was the loudest noise he'd ever heard, or that might have been the rushing in his ears at the idea that Emma believed she shouldn't have called.
What a disaster.
"I'm glad you called, Swan," Killian said again. "Really. I probably would have called you...I just…"
He didn't have an answer – or at least an answer that didn't paint him as the coward he was, nervous to call a girl like he was a teenager and asking Emma to prom.
That was the problem. It all felt a bit teenage and he liked her – a lot – more than just someone he wanted to kiss every time he saw her. That too, but Killian wanted a lot more than he could remember ever wanting out of a three-week relationship that wasn't really a relationship since they kept dancing around the subject of actually talking about it.
"Yeah," Emma mumbled. "You didn't happen to check your text messages, did you?"
Killian's stomach fell on the floor of the bus, he was certain. He gulped quickly, not able to run his hand through his hair since that hurt too, but he muttered hold on a sec into the phone and swiped his finger across the screen, scrolling through his inbox to find two text messages from hours ago.
He clicked on Emma's name and it was probably for the best that he was in the back corner of the bus, sitting in the dark because Killian was fairly positive he'd jumped out of his seat or been struck by lightning or something equally absurd.
She was wearing his jersey.
Holy shit.
It had happened before – he was the goddamn leader in jersey sales every year and half of those were women and he knew there was a dedicated section of the fandom that really didn't care about the goals or the points or even the Cup, was just worried about he looked in his jersey – but none of those people had ever been Emma Swan and none of them had sent a picture wearing his jersey and Killian couldn't think straight.
"Fuck," he mumbled, not quite able to take his eyes off the screen. She was smiling, hair pulled up and eyes bright and the 'C' on her shoulder was almost painfully obvious. He tried to take a deep breath and it didn't really work, lungs apparently incapable of doing their job anymore, and Emma was still on the phone.
"Jesus Christ, Swan," he muttered. "That was…"
"Ok?"
"Better."
She let out a soft laugh that seemed to settle in the pit of Killian's stomach or in the space between his ribs and now he really wanted to get back to New York. "I just...they told me the rules and we've been…" Emma cut herself off, probably tugging on the ends of her hair for good measure and Killian was smiling like an idiot at this point.
"We have," he said, not sure if he was confirming something or just doing his best to make sure her voice stopped shaking.
He was glad she called.
"And I wasn't really sure what protocol was on being concerned, but, well, I was. So, there."
"So, there?"
"Yeah," Emma said. "That asshole kept checking you all night and he's always been like that, the league should have thrown him out years ago."
"Wait, wait, Swan, do you know Soyer?"
Emma clicked her tongue and Killian had sat up a little bit straighter. "Uh, yeah," she said slowly. "I mean, not personally, but...it's a long story."
Killian ran his hand through his hair, ignoring the pain and the far-too-tight wrap Victor had demanded he put around his chest before he even leave the locker room. "What are you doing tomorrow, Swan?"
"I have to work. Opening night thing in two weeks is slowly driving me insane. Did you know Scarlet can't eat gluten?"
"I did, actually. He complains about it, at least, once a week."
"Why? Don't you have to be at the Garden tomorrow?"
"Apparently there's more tests and MRI results to get back and they might know when I can skate again, but, uh, you want to get coffee or something?"
His voice stuttered over the actual question, groaning a bit on the uh and he was the captain of the New York Rangers, it shouldn't have been nearly this terrifying to talk to her. But then she'd been wearing his jersey and he hadn't actually stopped thinking about her in the last three weeks and Killian was, absolutely, in over his head.
Emma didn't say anything for what felt like several hours and for half a second Killian thought she was going to say no, something about the rules and smashing straight through them at this point, but then he heard her take a deep breath and he was positive she was nodding. "Hot chocolate," she said.
"What?"
"I'm not really a coffee person."
Every muscle in his body seemed to loosen at her voice, smile on his face threatening to overwhelm him completely at this point, and he hummed in agreement as the bus pulled up to the tarmac, half an hour coming to an end far too quickly.
"Hot chocolate it is then," Killian said, pointedly ignoring whatever it was his pulse was doing.
"Ok," Emma murmured. "That, uh, that sounds nice."
"Just let me know when you're not dealing with Scarlet's food aversions and we can go, ok?"
She laughed and he still hadn't stopped smiling, earning a very particular look from Robin when he finally woke up. "And maybe let me know when you land?"
"Of course, love."
"Bye, Killian."
"Bye."
He stuffed his phone in his pocket, standing up and grabbing his bag off the shelf above his head, ignoring whatever it was Robin was doing with his face.
"What?" Killian snapped as they walked up the steps towards the plane.
Robin shrugged, nudging him forward down the aisle. "Nothing, Cap, absolutely nothing."