He woke up with a start when he felt something that might have actually been a pound of bricks land on his back. It happened three more times before he acknowledged it.
Killian groaned into his pillow, kicking at the edge of the bed and whoever his attacker was, not quite conscious yet and not quite able to think about anything except Emma and how easy it would have been to slip his hand underneath the bottom of her shirt or bring her anywhere that wasn't the door of her hotel room at the other end of the hallway.
Oh shit.
His hand. He hadn't even thought about, hadn't even considered it, just acted on instinct and the feel of her against him and she hadn't said anything.
Of course she hadn't. She wouldn't. Right? Maybe. No, it didn't matter.
He got hit by a pillow again.
"Are you kidding me, Hook?" Will yelled and he must have practiced that wind-up because there was no way he could just get that much force behind the pillow without taking a few swings first.
Killian cracked open one eye, trying to glare at his friend and the pillow might not have actually been filled with bricks, but it hurt like hell when it crashed against his face.
"What the fuck, Scarlet?" Killian growled, practically jumping out of the bed and that was, clearly, what Will wanted. The self-satisfied smirk on his face was infuriating. "What time is it? Why are you assaulting me?"
Will rolled his eyes. "That wasn't assault. That was a wake-up call. Of the very important variety."
"It's way too early for this."
"You just asked me what time it was."
Killian kicked him and it could have been fall semester, freshman year for how well this conversation had been going.
They'd hated each other at first – answering an ad on the internet was, after all, not the best way to find a roommate or someone to consistently pay the rent – but there weren't many other choices and Scarlet didn't have any sort of jarring details in the background check Liam made Killian pay for.
It didn't matter. They still hated each other for the first three months – things getting more and more passive aggressive until there was some sort of actual mountain of disgusting, dirty dishes sitting in the sink and the stalemate turned into something that was a little, a lot, immature and, eventually, something snapped and they washed the dishes.
That seemed like a turning point.
And this seemed like they'd just jumped back nearly a decade.
Will eyed him, the pillow still held threateningly in his hand and Killian sank back onto the edge of the bed. He didn't have the mental capacity to think about all of this at once.
He was going to go insane.
"What time is actually, for real, though?" he asked and Will dropped the pillow.
"Not even six yet. Your alarm's about to go off."
"Why do you know that?"
"Years of practice and experience. And we've got to to be down there by seven, you wouldn't make me get up before you because that would be asshole territory and I'd seance Liam so he'd come back to haunt you for that." Killian gaped at Will, considering his own plan of pillow-based attack, but there was, apparently, still more to discuss. "And, the most important part of this, you're totally going to go buy more coffee, so you've got to get up earlier for that."
"Nah, Emma's going to do that today," Killian said before he could stop himself and he barely saw Will move before the pillow was thrown across the room and hitting him squarely in the jaw. "Jesus Christ, Scarlet, enough with the goddamn pillow!"
"Were you ever going to tell me?"
Killian felt his heart stop – actually stop, he was sure of it. He didn't care about how medically impossible any of that was. The room seemed to spin slightly or maybe just shift on its axis and maybe that was just the entire world and he'd touched her with both of his hands.
Pressed up against the wall of an elevator.
In Philadelphia.
"That's not anything," Killian muttered, hooking his chin over the pillow and he could only imagine what he looked like. Will furrowed his eyebrows, confusion settling on him like some kind of weird, emotional cape. "It's...we're just friends. Co-workers. Kind of."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
His heart started again, picking up quicker than Killian could ever remember it beating and it was silent enough in that not-quite-comfortable hotel room that he was positive Will could hear it. "I...have no idea," Killian admitted, trying to keep his voice from sounding guilty.
He didn't have anything to be guilty about.
Right. Yes. Definitely. Absolutely not.
Just ethics and lines and it was getting more and more difficult to breathe with Will's confused stare practically boring a hole in his face and his phone vibrating on the table and if this were something different, some other timeline where things went the way he wanted, Killian would have told Emma Swan how much he wanted her.
Desperately.
"Ariel just called me," Will said sharply, nodding towards Killian's phone. "That's probably what's happening over there too."
"I thought it was early. It's not even six o'clock yet."
Will glared at him. "Can you at least silence that thing? This'll go easier if I'm not distracted."
"Oh, God forbid you're distracted," Killian mumbled, but he grabbed the phone anyway and then nearly dropped it. He had sixteen text messages from Ariel. "What the hell is going on?"
"The phone, Hook."
Killian kicked at him again – well aware that there was too much space and not enough space, which was weird to feel all at the same time, but he was starting to piece things together and Scarlet didn't know about Emma.
No one knew about Emma. And him. If there was an Emma and him. There had to be. Except those two weeks of radio silence and he hadn't really tried to talk to her either because there were rules and so much on the line and he was absolutely trying to impress her.
"You just barely hit your mark, Hook," Will continued and he actually got off the goddamn bed to kick at Killian's ankle. "Ariel was worried you wouldn't, I guess. She's been, wait for it, trying to get in touch with you since yesterday."
"It's Saturday."
"She is, also, apparently worried about you. Because you're a goddamn fucking idiot."
"Somehow I don't think that's exactly what she said."
"Paraphrasing."
"That's against the rules," Killian muttered, cringing at his own words and maybe he really was a goddamn fucking idiot. He needed to shower. "So...she told you about the thing? With Cora?"
"The thing with Cora," Will repeated skeptically, sounding like the words had insulted him or reached out and beaten him with a pillow. "You mean you taking your entire career into your own hands and hinging it on hits, like a complete…"
"Goddamn fucking idiot, yeah, I got that."
"I'm going to murder you," he warned, still standing and pacing and Killian couldn't remember the last time he'd actually seen Scarlet that worried.
No, that was a lie. He knew exactly when he'd seen Scarlet that worried and it all seemed to be a bit of a trend, falling back on moments and mistakes and rash decisions that left the city in some kind of metaphorical rearview mirror.
Killian remembered a string of curses and insults then – the pillow thing was new, but Will had tried to punch him then too, hauled off and connected on the side of Killian's jaw and told him Liam would be disappointed and it was the last thing he'd said before the door slammed shut behind him.
"That's aggressive," Killian said. He sighed when he realized his voice wasn't quite even and maybe he was more nervous about the deal with Cora than he let on because the story with Elsa had gone well, but the comments were...well, the comments were to be expected, he supposed, but they set his teeth on edge and they'd barely hit the number mark.
Apparently.
He hadn't looked.
A goddamn fucking idiot and absolute coward.
"Why?" Will demanded, coming up short mid-pace and Killian shrugged in confusion. "Why would you do that? And why does Ariel know? Does Gina know?"
Killian's eyes widened and his breath caught again and maybe that was terror shooting down his spine, but he could just make out his phone lighting up again and they really couldn't do this now.
They were going to be late.
"God, no, don't tell Gina," Killian said and it sounded like begging. Will stared at him like he'd been replaced by a humanoid replica of himself and it kind of felt like that. "You can't tell Gina, she'll...she's already got enough to deal with as it is."
"I don't understand. Why would you tell Ariel any of this? We barely know her."
"Doesn't mean she's a bad person by default. And she saw me talking to Cora. After the first story ran. I don't know, I just, I told her."
Will blinked, crossing his arms and Killian could hear him breathing. "Ok," he said slowly. "So you have the hit count and Cora...does what?"
"Keeps running the stories," Killian said simply. "She's the one that pulled the original one. Said she was only doing it because Gina agreed to a whole bunch of other shit when she brought me in, but she wasn't impressed by the hit count, so she yanked it and, well, Emma didn't…"
"Freaked, yeah, Anna told me."
"I'm sorry, what?"
Another pillow fell off the bed when Will dropped onto the side, eyes wide and hands moving quickly in front of him. "Nothing, nothing, we're not talking about that," he mumbled. "So you agree to the hit count and Cora agrees to run the stories. That almost makes sense. Why was Ariel calling me at not-quite six in the morning to make sure you knew you hit, then?"
Killian groaned and Will did an admirable job of almost looking patient while he waited for a response. "If I don't hit, I walk."
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Exactly what those words mean."
"No, I don't get it," Will shook his head. "Walk where? Up Broadway?"
"Don't be an idiot."
"I'm serious, Hook, you're not making any sense." It took three seconds, one vaguely loud gasp and another pillow whack for Will to understand what, exactly was going on. "Holy shit," he hissed. "You're serious? You told Cora that?"
Killian nodded. "Told her she could even actually rip up my contract. I felt like it added a flare to the dramatic, you know?"
"Why? Jesus, Hook, you just got back here! We've been...we've been trying to get you to come back here for fucking years and now you're just going to walk if you don't hit, what, a hundred thousand a story?"
"Two hundred," Killian breathed and Will hit him again. "God, you've got to stop that. I'm going to show up bruised to this thing. And did you say we, as in some kind of collective unit?"
Will made some kind of noise, something that sounded like a snarl or a particularly pissed off animal, and he took several breaths before looking at Killian again. "You're kidding me, right? You honestly don't know that?"
"There was no point in me coming back before. There was nothing for me in New York."
"Shit, Hook, pour some acid on the wound, why don't you? We were all here. You could have stayed at The Post, Gina could have gotten you something full-time or you could have just come to Mills from the start or kept the freelancing gig. There were a million and two reasons for you to stay in New York."
Killian shook his head, tongue pressed on the inside of his teeth and he couldn't quite bring himself to look at Will. It didn't matter. He kept talking anyway. "You missed it, Hook," Will said sharply. "Henry and Rol and you were so certain the entire goddamn world was out to get you that you refused to even consider the idea that your corner of the world was desperately trying to get you to believe in something again."
Will's shoulders heaved when he clamped his jaw shut, a muscle in his temple ticking and he glared at Killian like he was challenging him to disagree.
He didn't say anything.
And maybe that was because he was fairly positive he'd found a reason to stay in New York.
His phone lit up again.
"Why?" Will asked again, voice low and gruff and just a bit desperate and this conversation had fallen off the rails completely. "Why would you agree to walk? Again. You can't keep doing that."
"I'm not," Killian argued.
"Yeah, right. Ariel was certain you were some kind of journalistic goner. She could barely get the words out she was talking so quickly."
"The story is good. There's not anything to worry about."
"I know the story is good, but two hundred is a lot for a lifestyles thing and it's not like there's a ton of other sites that are desperately seeking long-form and…"
"Scarlet," Killian said sharply. Will gaped at him. "The story is good. The hits are going to come. I'm not going anywhere."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Are you done beating me up now because I'd really love to shower before we go downstairs."
Will nodded slowly, tossing Killian his phone when it started looking more like some kind of actual light than a communication device. "Tell A you're not getting fired," he grumbled. "She was honestly really worried. And I think she broke into the back side of the site to figure out the hits or something."
"She's a hell of a receptionist."
"No, she's not."
"That too," Killian laughed, some of the worry melting off him only to reform as some kind of emotional weight that threatened to tug him straight through the floor as soon as his eyes landed on the message in front of him.
6:15 am: If you were going to order some kind of breakfast sandwich and or baked good, would you have a preference?
He moved towards the bathroom, mostly so Will couldn't see whatever was happening with his face and that was a conversation Killian absolutely could not afford to have. There was another message – with a picture.
6:18 am: Ok, so you didn't answer promptly, which I'm assuming means you're either still asleep or not interested in breakfast choices. So you get to pick from the generic pastry selection that the rest of the team is getting. Your loss.
Killian felt the smile on his face as soon as he kicked back on the door and he could just make out the ends of her hand, holding onto a box of a dozen donuts and one bear claw and this had to work.
He needed the hits.
He needed to keep writing this story.
If only so he got to keep talking to Emma.
6:20 am: I'm awake, Swan, and impressed with your pastry selection. Any of those are fine, love. Thank you.
6:20 am: Donuts only. The bear claw is mine.
6:21 am: Noted.
6:23 am: I'll see you downstairs. With coffee. As an added bonus.
He didn't answer – thrown completely off schedule by a questionably determined receptionist and a friend who, despite what the pillow may suggest, had his best interests at heart and a space on his couch for the last two weeks and, most importantly, memories of how easy it had been to lace his fingers through Emma's.
The whole lot of them were sitting in four chairs in the lobby by the time Killian and Will managed to get downstairs – a mess of limbs and breakfast pastries and slightly sleepy smiles and his eyes found Emma as soon as he stepped out of the elevator.
"Hey," she said softly, barely able to move her head with Ruby draped over the arm of the chair she was sitting in. It didn't matter. He heard her anyway and, maybe, felt her too and it sounded as absurd in his head as it would have out loud. "Just barely coming in under deadline, counselor."
"That's still not the right term, Swan," Killian smiled and those magnets were back again.
He pressed his arms against his side, trying not to move too quickly or too desperately. Elsa was staring at him, gaze far too knowing and Ruby nearly knocked the box of donuts off the table they'd dragged towards their cluster of chairs when she jumped towards them.
"Leave the word arguments for later," she commanded, grabbing the box and pushing it unceremoniously into Killian's chest. "There are two very generic, plain glazed donuts in there because you don't know how to answer your phone."
Will clicked his tongue in disappointment, but he grabbed a donut anyway, hardly pausing to chew as he tried to keep the several cameras hanging off his shoulder from falling on the floor.
"That wasn't my fault," Killian mumbled, grabbing his designated breakfast pastry and trying to keep his eyes trained away from Emma.
She was looking.
And so was Elsa.
And the entire goddamn team.
"Yuh huh," Ruby muttered unconvinced. "Well, you guys are here now, although I don't know why Scarlet brought all that equipment with him. Scarlet, why'd you bring all that equipment with you? Zelena's going to kill you if you infringe copyright or however it works."
"'Scuse me?" Will asked, barely able to get the words out through a mouthful of donut. Killian squeezed his eyes closed and his feet were moving before he even realized his brain had decided that sitting on the arm of Emma's chair was something he was even considering.
"Hey, again," Emma said softly, tilting her head up to smile at him and he pushed his heels into the ground.
Be more obvious, Jones.
"I'm sorry I didn't answer quickly enough to dictate my own breakfast preferences," he muttered. Killian moved his arm, draping it over the back of the chair and nearly around her shoulders and it was absolutely to try and maintain his balance.
If only because he never quite felt steady when Emma was around him.
"That's alright," she continued. "I wasn't...well, you're not obligated to respond immediately. For breakfast preferences or, you know, anything else."
He tilted his head, fingers finding the sleeve of her shirt and Emma bit her lip when he brushed against her skin. "I realize it's not an obligation, love. I'm not suggesting otherwise."
Emma's mouth dropped open slightly and he was still touching her, right there in the middle of the goddamn lobby and no one seemed to have noticed. They were all talking about schedules and copyright infringement and how they had to pose for promotional photos later that afternoon.
"Jones," Ruby said sharply and Killian nearly fell off the chair.
"Yeah," he said, blinking quickly and his entire hand felt like it was on fire. Or crackling. Something less painful than that. "What?"
"Were you even listening to me?"
"Yes. Absolutely. Copyrights."
"Jeez, Hook," Will sighed, but he almost looked amused, shifting cameras again and grinning Anna's direction. "That wasn't even remotely convincing."
Killian shrugged. "It's still early. Alright, Lucas, what did I miss?"
Ruby glared at him – an unimpressed look that got a little more dramatic when she sighed. "Scarlet can't take photos today because we are on League time all day today. Emma had to get some kind of permission slip from Zelena to even let you guys down here. We go in there, get some ridiculous orientation on the League, like we're not all painfully aware how it works, then we come back out here, and wait our turn to take ridiculous pictures that they can then use to promo on the site."
She took another breath, pointing at the team-branded t-shirt the entire team had on. Killian hadn't even noticed that. "So, we show off our fantastic shirts and winning personalities and then we try not to starve because apparently no one knows how to schedule breaks in this place and…"
"God, there's more?" Killian interrupted and Emma elbowed him in the side.
"The last part is the most important part," she said.
Ruby hummed in agreement, the glare on her face seemingly permanent at this point. "Shut up," she snapped. "And then, last, but absolutely not least, we sit on some panel that's being broadcast live across several continents and we try and become the fan favorites of this entire, stupid tournament."
She exhaled, shoulders heaving again and nearly taking off Will's arm when he tried to push a camera in her face. "God damn it, Scarlet, what did I just say?" He took a picture. Ruby rolled her eyes and Killian was fairly certain he didn't imagine the way Emma seemed to lean back, maybe towards his side and they couldn't do that.
This had to be...he didn't care.
He just wanted and he could hardly remember what that felt like until it showed up in the form of blonde hair and green eyes and questions about breakfast preferences.
He was a goddamn selfish asshole.
"Did you listen to all that this time?" Ruby asked, staring intently at Killian. "Because I'm not going to repeat it all again."
"Absolutely, Lucas," he promised. "10-4, one-hundred percent, over and out."
"You're an ass."
"Ready and willing to learn the ins and outs of this game and this tournament so you all can take over the entire internet in the next few months."
"You think it's going to take a few months?" Ruby shook her head and the plan was almost blatantly obvious, the slightly predatory glint in her eyes making Killian lose some of that early-morning bravado. "Please, we sit on that panel today, we charm the entire goddamn world and, soon, those comments stop playing sexist crap and absurd questions about our knowledge and we set the brand-new standard of professional play."
"She's got a whole plan," Emma mumbled, but there something that sounded a bit like pride in her voice. "Although we really are going to charm the entire goddamn world on that panel. And every single asshole in that room who thinks we aren't going to win."
He believed her.
That wasn't enough.
He believed in her. And that felt like something much bigger.
"I've got no doubt, love," Killian said honestly, ignoring Ruby's quiet laugh when the nickname or endearment or the fucking honest to God truth seemed to just fall out of his mouth.
"Alright," Ruby continued and she was very coherent for whatever time it was. Nearly seven. It had to be. "Go team, or break or whatever. Let's go try and learn something we don't already know, huh? Scarlet, you can't bring those cameras in there, Zelena will honestly kill you."
Will tried to argue and the rest of the team was already moving towards the conference room and a line of tables Killian could just make out around the double doors. Emma didn't move.
"That's yours," she said, pointing towards the lone cup left on the table. "Just straight, because for some kind of ridiculously large city, there's a distinct lack of Starbucks and espresso options open at six in the morning near this hotel."
Killian laughed softly, leaning forward to grab the coffee. "That's not anything to rationalize, Swan. There's not an espresso quota to reach."
"Yeah, I just...wanted to get it right, I guess."
He turned at the sound of her voice – the question within the statement that she couldn't quite bring herself to ask. Maybe. Maybe this could work. And some tiny, dormant voice in the back of his mind seemed to roar to life and do several jumping jacks at even the idea of that.
"You had to get permission for us to be down here?" Killian asked and that wasn't the question he'd been planning on asking.
Emma blinked, stuttering over the top of her own coffee cup and she scrunched her nose before answering. "Yeah, well, it's a lot of fairly boring stuff. And most of it is just procedural, things that we have to get out of the way so the League won't get sued by overzealous teams who want to make more money or are pissed that this one's a blind draw for the teams that got in on the qualifier. That's what they're going to do now."
"Do what?"
"First-round pairs and bracket placement and if we get a five seed again, I'm actually going to flip a table. Or several."
"Scarlet will be disappointed he won't be able to photograph that."
"Luckily for him I don't know that I'm actually capable of destroying the furniture," Emma laughed, teeth pressing into her lower lip and he was still sitting on the arm of the chair. Her hand fell against his leg, sending a shock up Killian's spine that felt a bit like actual electricity. "Maybe I'll just see if I can find whatever champagne fountain they bought last night. Or buy out the shitty liquor supply at the Wawa around the block."
"Ah, that's where the breakfast pastries came from."
"Smart guy."
Emma didn't move her hand and his arm had worked around her shoulders at some point, tracing out patterns just underneath the edge of her sleeve and this was dangerous. Killian didn't care about that either.
"I, um…" Emma started, tugging her lips behind her teeth and he could feel her breathing underneath him. "About….yesterday, last night, I mean…."
Ah, there it was.
Idiot.
"Swan, you don't…" Killian mumbled, staring at his shoes and he hadn't expected it to feel so disappointing. Or overwhelming. He felt like he was drowning in the middle of a Philadelphia hotel lobby. "You don't need to explain it, love. I...know…"
She gaped at him, head snapping up and eyebrows pulled low and maybe neither one of them was particularly good at swimming through metaphors. "What's happening right now?"
"I'm apologizing?"
"What? Why?"
Killian felt the rush of heat in his cheeks, knew his eyes widened and Emma's hand on his knee felt like some kind of weight, tugging him even further below the waves or the feelings or the distinct drop in hits from one story to the next. "Because," he said and her lips turned up at the strangled sound of his voice. "Well, it's not...there are…"
He wished he could finish a sentence.
Or remember a single word.
"Rules," Emma finished softly and Killian felt his stomach drop. He nodded. "Yeah, that's..." She sighed, tongue darting out quickly to lick her lips. "I was trying to apologize. I shouldn't have...I don't…"
They were the worst conversationalists in the history of the universe.
"You don't need to do that, Swan," Killian mumbled, not sure what any of his organs were doing and his stomach was definitely still sitting on the ground and it felt like his lungs were filling up with something that could be emotion, but might have just been metaphorical salt water.
Emma nodded slowly and her breath caught when she realized she was still touching him – eyes falling on her hand and his knee and she yanked it back quickly, tugging it against her side and wincing when she managed to elbow herself in the side in the process.
"Right," she breathed. "No, I mean, that's...God, I can't think when you do that."
"What?"
"I don't know. Sit there. Or try and get me to drink water when I've had a ridiculous amount of champagne."
Killian laughed softly. Drowning. Definitely drowning. "It's different when it's free, Swan. The drinks don't count then."
"You're well acquainted with these rules, then?"
"Maybe," he shrugged, hit by a particularly aggressive wave. He'd lost track of the metaphor. Cliché? Analogy? It didn't matter. God, he wanted to kiss her. Or maybe date her. He'd never really done that. Not even... get a grip, Jones.
"Interesting," Emma muttered and it sounded like she meant it. "You are...confusing."
"Why is that?"
"Every time I think I've got a handle on you, you do like a ninety-degree turn and there's some other side there and I can't quite get a grasp on it. It's exhausting."
"Sounds frustrating."
"I mean, I'm not frustrated by you, if that's what you're suggesting. I just can't understand why you're doing this. There's no story that's worth all of this."
Killian tilted his head – far too aware of the waves and the emotions and he was barely keeping his head above water and he just wanted Emma to trust him. "Ah, see, that's where you're wrong, love," he said, rocking towards her "And I'm not just doing it for the story."
Emma blinked – something that looked like disbelief flashing across her face before it morphed into something else that Killian couldn't quite understand. "You're going to win, Swan," he continued. "The whole goddamn thing. No matter what seed or what happens today or who tries to talk to me about what he would consider a really fantastic sidebar."
She laughed, a quiet, shaky sound that seemed to work its way into the very center of him, some kind of flame that could probably withstand several different metaphorical tides. "I wanted you to be here," she said softly and the flame was a fire and an inferno and he couldn't keep himself from touching her if he tried.
He absolutely didn't.
"We…" She took a deep breath and stared straight at him – determination and certainty and maybe hope. "We understand each other, right?" Killian nodded. "And you were right. I don't, well, belief isn't my strong suit. It's never been, but this is a team and looking out for just myself has gotten kind of old."
"I just, well, you could be part of this too, you know what I mean?" Emma asked and he did. He knew exactly what she meant. And that's exactly why he'd agreed to hits and the job and why he'd kissed her back in the elevator the night before.
He was so far gone for her.
"What happens next," Killian muttered and it wasn't really an explanation or a response, but it might have been a promise.
She beamed at him, wrapping fingers around his wrist and tugging him back up next to her. "C'mon, they're going to wonder where we went."
There was already someone standing at the podium when they walked into the room – Killian's fingers trailing across Emma's back and it was like a dam had burst and he really needed to stop thinking of so many ridiculous water-based clichés.
"We saved you seats," Elsa mumbled when they snuck into the back corner. She shot them a knowing look and Emma eyed her meaningfully, but her hand found the back of his wrist under the table and the dam was on fire or going haywire with electric shocks and the woman at the podium was still talking.
"You know that's the first time I've seen Zelena," Emma whispered, groaning slightly when she realized there was some kind of PowerPoint presentation as well. "Oh, my God, what is this fifth grade?"
"Ninth, at least," Elsa shot back. "Make us high schoolers. And I didn't think she'd actually lower herself to come down here and explain the rules to us herself. I figure she'd just, I don't know, sit there and let some lackey pick our names out of a goldfish bowl."
"That's a very specific set of expectations," Will laughed on her other side. He had a notepad in front of him and a pen in his hand and his chair scraped loudly on the floor when he leaned back to stare at Killian. "How come you're not taking notes, Hook?"
"I literally just sat down, Scarlet," Killian hissed at the same time Ruby growled both of you shut the fuck up.
"Yeah, how come that happened? I got back up to the room, put the equipment away and still managed to get back here before the video game queen started barking marching orders at us."
"Oh, that's a good name for her," Emma mumbled in approval. Her hand hadn't stopped moving.
Anna snorted, drawing a glare from one of the teams in front of them and Killian couldn't remember if he'd actually brought a pen with him. He tried to tug his phone out of his back pocket and these were the noisiest chairs in the world, scraping loudly across the floor. "Oh my God," Ruby grumbled, dropping her head into her hands.
"No, pen, huh?" Emma asked.
Killian rolled his eyes, trying to smack Will on the shoulder and his arms were nowhere near long enough for that. "Scarlet," he snapped. Zelena was still talking, clicking through slides and the team in front of their table was still glaring at them, wide-eyed stares like they couldn't quite believe anyone would dare disrupt the moment. "Scarlet, give me your notebook."
Will shook his head, pen scratching over the paper while Zelena explained something that sounded like first-round rules. "Nah, be more prepared, Hook."
"Oh my God."
"Can't you just record it?" Emma asked, nodding towards his phone, but that was apparently one question too many because the room seemed to freeze and Killian could feel someone glaring at them.
Zelena Akers didn't look like the commissioner of a video game league, but Killian didn't look much like a longform feature writer and the team he had suddenly found himself apart of didn't look like the favorites to win that same video game league, and Emma's hand hadn't stopped touching him since they sat down, so it seemed like all bets were off when it came to should have beens and expectations.
"Is there a problem?" Zelena asked, voice cracking across the entire room and Ruby finally pulled her head out of her hands. Will kept taking notes.
"No," Emma said. She sat up straighter, rolling her shoulders and it was like she grew several inches right there next to him. "We're fine, Zelena."
Zelena quirked an eyebrow, brushing her long, red hair off her shoulder and nodded once before, clicking to another slide and the room seemed to explode when it, collectively, realized it was the bracket.
Emma shifted again, hand falling away from Killian's wrist and Elsa exhaled softly on his other side. "God damn," Ruby muttered and it only took him another two seconds to realize what had happened.
It wasn't a good draw.
It was, in fact, a complete shit draw.
They weren't a five seed. They weren't even a single-digit seed. They were a fourteen-seed and Emma was almost visibly seething next to him.
Killian laced his fingers through hers without a word and that was probably for the best because they couldn't get yelled at by Zelena again.
"Alright, alright, enough," Zelena snapped, eyes flashing at the crowd like she was daring any of them to argue again. "This was a blind draw and it was done this way because of that very reaction. There's no room for debate here. These are your matchups, this is your challenge and this is how it's going to work. So you play who you play and we'll decide on maps and positioning once we get to the first round next month."
There was more noise and more complaints and Emma squeezed Killian's hand tightly. Zelena tapped her fingers on the podium, frustration obvious in the movement "Auto-bid teams kept their seeds from the original bracket," she continued. "Qualifying teams were reseeded to make sure that talent was spread across the board. There will be no changes made going forward. Win and you keep playing. Lose and we sign your base salary check and you're out. There are, however, ways to make a bit more than your base."
The entire table moved at that – Will's pen sounding like an anvil when it crashed back onto the table and Emma was going to do dangerous things to Killian's circulation if she held onto his hand any tighter.
Zelena took another deep breath, surveying the crowd and smiling slightly when she realized she'd seized control again. "We've already seen a boost in subscriptions from streaming possibilities through the site and that number's going to go up if the stakes are a little higher. So let's raise the stakes a little bit, shall we?" The room mumbled again and her grin got even wider. Ruby rolled her eyes. "Win and there are a considerable number of zeroes waiting on a comically large cardboard check. More than we originally announced."
She clicked another slide and Anna mumbled oh shit under her breath as soon as the plan showed up on the screen. Zelena laughed softly. "The league is confident in this tournament and the interest," she said. "We want to reward our winners for that interest because this only happens if all of you," she surveyed the crowd, nodding towards them like some kind of benevolent video game ruler, "make it worth it. So we stream the events, we do promo work, you are on contract with us for the next nine months and whoever comes out on top at the end of that splits the, now, three million dollar prize. Five-hundred a player's not so bad for video games, right?"
Someone shouted something and none of them moved – a table full of video game players in matching shirts with their journalism contingent frozen by the sudden addition of even higher stakes.
Killian wished he'd brought a pen. If only to write down how much he suddenly had to lose if this didn't work.
Zelena kept talking and there were, at least, thirty more slides, but he barely paid attention to any of them, far too preoccupied with Emma next to him and the furtive glances Ruby kept shooting their direction and how Elsa kept twisting the end of her hair around her finger. Anna looked like she was going to fall asleep on Will's shoulder, Belle twisted around to rest her back against the chair next to her and Tink was the only one who didn't look particularly troubled by the sudden addition of a winner-takes-all, three-million dollar prize.
He didn't let go of Emma's hand until Zelena stopped talking. Or maybe the other way around. Killian wasn't worried about the specifics of it.
"Well," Elsa said as the teams started to file out of the conference room and back towards a schedule and a different conference room and, likely, an absurd amount of photo equipment that Scarlet would try and personally inspect at some point. "That makes things interesting doesn't it?"
"Has anything like that ever happened before?" Killian asked and he should have done some more research.
Elsa shrugged. "In major tournaments with major sponsorship deals, not in anything that's just getting off the ground."
"It means they care," Ruby added. "They want us to care too and they want people with twenty bucks and the ability to sign up for the League's own streaming service to be interested. They make this some kind of winner-takes-all bonus prize thing instead of just our salaries and whatever we can make off branding and suddenly it's like a real thing."
"Was it fake before?"
"You ask very frustrating questions."
"It's a talent, honestly," Killian grinned.
Ruby laughed, slinging her arm over Belle's shoulders and muttering something about vending machines and stalking their first-round team and it only took a few moments before the rest of the team followed, leaving Killian and Emma sitting at the table, fingers laced together in between their chairs.
"You alright, love?" he asked softly, thumb brushing over the back of her palm and she nodded before the question was even finished.
"Fine."
"Swan."
"Honestly."
"Emma."
Her head jerked to the side, eyes dark and close to furious and she yanked her hand out of his grip. "Don't do that," she said. "This is...that's so much money. That could change everything."
"It is," Killian agreed. "But it's not like the salary wasn't a lot of money either. You were always going to try and win whether there was some great, surprise prize at the end or not."
"God, you are infuriating when you're right."
Killian scoffed, ducking his head and leaning forward until the chair made noise again and his knee brushed against Emma's. "You want to flip the tables because of the seed?"
"I mean, a little."
"Just makes a better angle, Swan. Underdogs."
"I hate that phrase."
"More like a word, honestly."
"Stop being right all the time, it's stupid."
He grinned at her, resting his hand on hip and he nearly fell off the goddamn chair when Emma's hand landed on his prosthetic. "I'm intrigued by this banter thing we're doing, Swan. It almost feels like flirting."
"Does it? Weird."
Killian's eyes flitted back towards her mouth and, God, he could just make out the tip of her tongue against the corner of her lip and he wanted to be anywhere except the conference room of a Philadelphia hotel with another schedule looming over him and even more riding on this goddamn video game.
"Weird," he mumbled and they should really work on that repeating thing, but he'd worry about that when he wasn't busy kissing her.
He was willing to stay busy for quite some time.
In the grand scheme of the two times they'd done this – well, three, technically, he'd definitely kissed her at some point the night before and maybe on the fountain and maybe they'd done this more than he realized – the kiss in the conference room wasn't much more than a brush of lips and fingers on cheeks and it was over before it really started.
His body didn't seem to realize. It felt like his lips were tingling or something absurd and Emma's fingers were still wrapped around the plastic at the end of his arm, seemingly untroubled with the distinct lack of anything there and if he didn't realize he was absolutely falling before, there was no way to ignore it now.
Not when he felt like he was staring at everything all at once.
"You're way too good at that," Emma mumbled, resting her forehead against his and she hadn't used hotel provided shampoo because she still smelled like raspberries and a bit like coffee and maybe he was drowning in that too.
"Seems like a joint effort, love," Killian said softly. She smiled.
"Are you trying to prove a point by being right about everything? And we really need to go, Ruby's going to actually try and stalk that team and that's just going to end with Walsh complaining to Zelena about us. We'll probably get suspended or something."
He kissed her again. And she flinched slightly, but she didn't push him away either or do anything that felt like following the rules they'd never actually talked about.
"Come on, Swan, we can't let Lucas attack some video game monkey unprovoked. I'd be obligated to write about it then and there's just no good lede there."
Emma smiled.
Will did inspect the photography equipment – drawing the ire of at least three League employees and sending Anna and Tink into matching fits of hysterics that set the schedule back a solid ten minutes.
"You're a disruptive presence," Killian sighed when Will was chased back to the corner of the room and he was taking pictures with his phone. "God, put that away."
Will rolled his eyes, but he didn't argue and that seemed like a monumental victory. "I am documenting, Hook. What are you doing? Why aren't you writing?"
"Welcome to the twenty-first century." Killian shook the phone in his hand, not taking his gaze away from the screen and it wasn't easy, but they weren't supposed to be there and he was mostly trying to make sure he didn't forget anything.
"You got an angle?"
"Always."
"And it's some great state secret then?" Killian rolled his head onto his shoulder, staring at Will expectantly and only getting a grin in return. "I'm letting you sleep on my couch, Hook. I deserve answers."
"You demanded I sleep on your couch because you were too lazy to order an air mattress."
"Semantics."
Killian hummed, typing again and he probably should thank Will at some point because the hotel was expensive, but the couch wasn't quite comfortable and he hated Midtown. Even if Gramercy wasn't, technically, Midtown.
It was still too goddamn loud.
"The money," Killian admitted eventually. "It's obviously the money and the generic frustration of a fourteen seed."
Will nodded, smile tugging on the corners of his mouth like he was trying to prove how not impressed he was. "It's an ok angle."
"High praise."
The photographer shouted instructions at the team – demands for poses and things that felt decidedly cliché if not a bit problematic and Emma refused all of that quickly, the look on Killian's face drawing a questioning glance from Will. He tried to brush him off, but he was still trying to type and there was another team standing in the doorway a few feet away.
The guy from the night before was back – Neal something and that wasn't right. He'd been too distracted before to notice it, the weight of Emma's hand in his leaving Killian's mind just a bit muddled and he couldn't even remember Neal's last name now, but he was absolutely positive it wasn't what he'd introduced himself as.
"Hook," Will said slowly, leaning forward and Killian didn't answer. He kept staring at Neal trying to place him and finding himself more and more frustrated when he couldn't. "What exactly is happening with your face?"
"I don't know," Killian admitted. "That guy look familiar to you?"
Will followed his gaze and shrugged, lower lip jutted out slightly. "Nah, none of them do. Why?"
"He looks kind of familiar and he tried to talk to Emma last night." Will's eyebrows did something vaguely judgmental and Killian felt a flush of frustration shoot through him at that. "No, no, not like that. Stop. I think I've seen him somewhere before."
"You mean last night?"
"Why are you being an idiot?"
"You're doing weird things with your face, I'm just trying to make sure I don't get sued for copyright infringement if I take pictures again."
"Stop trying to take pictures," Killian muttered distractedly, barely hearing Will's quiet mumblings when he stood up and tried to get a better look at Neal whatever his last name was. It wasn't Cassidy.
It took one camera snap, another refusal by Emma to pose like that, god, we're playing the game too and Killian's knees nearly buckled when he realized.
It wasn't even Neal – it was the guy standing a few feet behind him, hands stuffed in his pockets and his eyes staring a crater into the floor and Killian recognized that nervous tick.
Jefferson Helm was a low-level lackey for the ring known in several award-winning articles as the Lost Boys and Killian wrote about how his testimony had helped the New Orleans police department bring in several mid-range lackeys and that had happened seven years ago and he couldn't be in Philadelphia.
"Hook," Will said, suddenly behind Killian and he nearly jumped when he heard his own voice.
"I'll be right back," Killian mumbled. He didn't wait for Will to argue.
There was an industrial sized coffee maker in the lobby and he nearly knocked the whole thing over in an effort to get some undoubtedly shitty caffeine into his system and it almost felt like the entire world was falling apart.
And he groaned at his own melodrama – and the scalding hot coffee that splashed onto his hand when he stopped paying attention to what he was doing.
"Killian," Emma said softly, a hand landing on his shoulder and he shuddered slightly. "Hey, what's the matter?"
He shook his head, trying to smile convincingly and he knew it didn't work as soon as his eyes meet hers. "Nothing, Swan," he lied. "Just needed some air and some silence from Scarlet."
"Did something happen with Neal?"
"What?"
"I saw him and his Peter Pan squad come in while we were finishing. He didn't did he? Because I might actually kill him. Or Ruby will."
"You have a very violent friend, love."
She laughed softly, but something in the shift of her shoulders made it almost painfully obvious that they'd transitioned from jokes to seriousand he'd left all of that – had shut the door on New Orleans and everything it took from him and one low-level lackey who'd, probably, already done his time was not going to change that.
Not when Emma Swan was standing in front of him.
"I uh…" she started, twisting her lips slightly and there was still coffee dripping off his hand. "Well, I wasn't totally honest with you before. Or didn't really explain anything the way I probably should have."
"You don't have anything to explain, love. We're not on the record."
"No, I...I mean this is kind of important. And explains Ruby's murderous tendencies." Killian widened his eyes, waiting for the explanation and Emma sighed softly, digging the toe of her shoe into the floor. "Neal and I, we, know each other. From a long time ago. After I ran and before I made it back to Maine and yesterday was the first time I saw him since all of that."
Fuck.
God fucking damnit. God fucking damnit and several other expletives that he couldn't think of when he was trying not to kiss Emma again in the middle of the lobby and work that vaguely terrified look off her face.
"And last night wasn't, well, I mean it wasn't totally a reaction to that," Emma continued, barely getting one word out before she started the next one. "But I should have started with that and I knew he was going to be here and on that team and Ruby hates him and David's been trying to come up with alibis so he can also murder him and make it look like an accident since the qualifying tournament and it'd be so him to say something to you or, I mean, he already did kind of right? You know feel free to cut me off at any point."
Killian smiled, that fire in the pit of his stomach flaring back to life as soon as he felt fingertips brushing across his forearm. "He didn't say anything, love. I really just needed some air."
"We're not exactly friends."
"Yeah I gathered that when you told him not to talk to you again. I do have one follow-up though."
"Of course you do," she grinned. "Go ahead, but rules are rules. That means I get my own question too."
"You keep mentioning this Peter Pan stuff. What's the name of the team?"
Emma made a face, eyebrows pulled low and the ends of her mouth tilted down and everything seemed to hinge on her answer. "Second Star," she said and Killian shook his head in confusion. She blinked at him – once, twice and he was probably still breathing, but the sudden lack of gravity in that hotel lobby made all of that a bit of a challenge. "That's the first time they're playing under that name. I can't believe he's playing with Jefferson though. I was certain they drifted apart years ago."
He really should just bring a pen with him everywhere now – for notes and lists and organizational purposes that might keep him grounded or sane. This was impossible. "He knows Jefferson?" Killian asked and Emma's face shifted again, falling back into confusion and concern and what looked a little bit like trepidation.
"Do you know Jefferson? That can be my follow-up."
"You don't need to waste your follow-up on that, Swan." Emma shook her head and he'd promised her honesty. He tried not to sigh too loudly. "I knew of Jefferson when I was in New Orleans. I've never actually met him."
"New Orleans," Emma repeated and it wasn't a question. "But...that was...shit."
"I don't think one thing has to do with the other, Swan. It's just a coincidence."
"You believe that?"
"Yes," he lied, blatant and obvious and maybe just a bit offensive, the word hanging there in the air in front of them.
He was starting to resent the entire city of Philadelphia a little bit.
"Ok," Emma said, hands falling back to her side. "We've got to go stream our panel thing. They're probably going to ask us more absurd and vaguely sexist questions."
"Probably."
One step forward, eight-thousand steps backwards with millions of dollars hanging over them and memories lingering in the background and he still couldn't come up with metaphors that didn't include some form of nature.
He stood in the corner during the panel, back pressed up against the wall with his recorder running in his pocket and Will's complaints aboutseriously, no pictures here, either ringing in his ears, determined to focus on now and this and maybe what happened next and as soon as Emma answered the first absurd and vaguely sexist question she got – we know how to play the game, strangely enough our gender doesn't dictate that and we're going to win this whole thing, quote that – Killian knew he'd managed to do it. At least for one moment.
Because what happened next was suddenly very simple – he fell in love with Emma Swan.