He always woke up early.

It used to drive Liam insane – Killian waking up with the sun and there weren't really any birds in New York except for pigeons, but he woke up with them too, suddenly and regularly as if his eyes were pre-programmed to snap open as soon as the light fell across that tiny apartment above 125th Street.

And he'd leap out of bed – or the mattress on the floor in the corner, it was never really a bed – and he'd be ready to go as soon as his feet hit the floor, eyes bright and shoulders set and Liam would grumble about five more minutes and Killian never listened, shaking his shoulders instead and demanding he get up as well.

It was one room. Liam didn't really have any other choice.

He kept waking up early even when they moved downtown and he had his own room and a mattress and a box spring and a, frankly, absurd amount of pillows because Mrs. Vankald almost loved decorative pillows as much as she loved clichés and detested public transportation.

It was actually a good thing then – early-morning ice times and they didn't take the train to Chelsea Piers, but it still took, at least, twenty minutes to get uptown and Killian regularly found himself shaking Liam's shoulders again, demanding he get up and bring an extra bottle of Gatorade.

The practices were even earlier in Minnesota – sun barely up when Killian's eyes snapped open. Liam grumbled then too, muttering several choice words under his breath that should have frustrated Killian, but just made him laugh – loudly. Liam hated that.

He'd woken up before Liam on draft day, a bundle of tense muscles and nervous energy that didn't really feel entirely human, an out-of-body experience that felt a bit like a dream from the moment his eyes opened until he heard his name and crossed that stage and he was a professional hockey player.

Killian couldn't break the habit.

He rarely even needed an alarm – something in the back of his mind serving as a wake-up call far earlier than he actually needed, even as a professional hockey player who was a bit desperate to live up to expectations and, later, make amends for failing to meet those same expectations.

And if draft day had felt like a dream, then his whole career felt like some sort of alternate universe and the night before had felt like...impossible.

She hadn't left.

He'd asked her not to – and that was a bit desperate and felt a bit like pushing and stepping over that metaphorical blue line, but he couldn't quite bring himself to care.

He didn't care when he sent her the picture either, even when Will almost saw him in the back seat of the town car, falling into something that almost resembled flirting and he might have been thinking about her for the better part of the entire game – the color of her dress and the flash of her eyes when his hand landed on her back. That seemed important.

He didn't want her to leave.

He couldn't remember the last time he felt that, the last time anyone had stayed, fallen asleep pressed up against his chest and when Killian did wake up, without the alarm he absolutely forgot to set the night before, his arm was still wrapped tightly around her waist.

That seemed important too.

It must have been early, he thought, not even bothering to lift his head off the pillow when he glanced towards the windows, still grey and overcast from the night before. It wasn't raining anymore and if Killian was someone who waited for some kind of sign to prove he could want what he wanted, he would have considered that particular change in the weather as a very particular type of sign.

Emma shifted against him, face burrowed against one of the half a dozen pillows they hadn't even bothered to push off the bed the night before, and she was still asleep, breath coming slowly and easily. Killian's, however, was not – not when she unconsciously rolled her shoulders and all of their clothes were still strewn in a line from his front door to his bedroom and, fuck, he should have tried to go back to sleep.

He tried to take a deep breath, to move away from her, and the hair that was absolutely in his face, without actually jostling the mattress and he knew, immediately, it hadn't worked. She made a noise in the back of her throat – something that was a mix between tired and content and they hadn't really slept that much – and Killian bit his lip tightly, trying to will himself away from want and desire and back to something that was a bit more acceptable to whatever time it was on a Saturday morning.

"What time is it?" Emma mumbled, back pressing against his chest again and she might have sounded tired, but she absolutely knew what she was doing.

"Early," Killian answered. "Go back to sleep, Swan. I wasn't trying to wake you up."

Emma hummed in agreement and for half a moment he thought she had fallen asleep, breath evening out again, until she turned suddenly, twisting around underneath the arm he still had draped over her. "Or," she said slowly, voice still scratchy from sleep or a distinct lack thereof, "we could not do that."

He felt his eyebrows shoot up immediately, surprise settling on his face and he moved before his mind had really caught up to the rest of his body, lips on hers and hand gripping her waist just a shade over the wrong side of tight. Emma sighed against his mouth, shoulders falling into the mattress when he moved her onto her back and it was quicker than it had been the night before – when all he cared about was tracing every inch of skin and cataloguing every single sound she made – her hands a bit rough when they dragged down his back.

She froze almost immediately, body going stiff underneath his and Killian pulled back sharply, eyes narrowing with the sudden dread that they'd run straight into the walls he was a bit terrified of stumbling against.

"Sorry, sorry," he mumbled, trying to work back to his side of the bed. And he wasn't certain when he'd developed a side to the bed or when, exactly, he'd managed to work his way above her, hovering over her with his hand inching dangerously low down her thigh.

"Wait, what?" Emma asked, confusion settling on her face as well. "What were you apologizing for?"

Killian dragged his hand up – doing his best to not show how disappointed he was to move away from her – and waved it through the air, glancing meaningfully at her. "It was a bit of an attack, Swan," he said softly.

"Well, that's dumb."

"A rather pointed opinion."

"I just realized I was scratching the heck out of your upper-body-injury back," Emma sighed, smile tugging on the sides of her mouth and she stared at him with something that might have been amusement. "I didn't...I just didn't want to hurt you."

His mouth hung open and that probably wasn't the right reaction either because Emma's smile disappeared almost immediately, falling back into nerves and anxious clicks of her tongue. And now he had something else to wonder about – when she'd worked her way into the middle of everything, settling in the center of his life like he'd been waiting for her and he couldn't say any of that out loud, an overwhelming sense of romance he was certain would send her sprinting towards her dress in his living room and straight out his door.

He was a greedy asshole because he didn't say anything, didn't do anything except stare at her intently, eyes tracing across her face and back down to her lips and the curve of her neck, and he wouldn't say anything because, if he was being totally honest, he never wanted her to leave.

"Killian," Emma asked, teeth tugging on her lower lip. "You're staring."

"Ah, well, you make it easy."

She rolled her eyes, but the smile was back and she hadn't actually let him move, still hovering just above her with a distinct lack of clothing between them.

"I thought we'd agreed to tone down on the charming."

"I don't remember that at all, Swan."

Her breath hitched when he moved his hand back, lingering on the top of her thigh before shifting in between her legs, fingers moving everywhere except where he knew she wanted him. She squeezed her eyes shut, lips pressed together tightly when she tried to shift, determined to move her body towards him if he wasn't going to move his hands towards her and Killian clicked his tongue quickly, shaking his head.

"Although I do remember someone accusing me last night about being impatient," Killian said, leaning forward to whisper the words against her ear before dragging kisses down the side of her neck. "Pot calling the kettle black or something. What is it, exactly, you're trying to accomplish here, love?"

Emma groaned or maybe sighed, eyes still closed tightly and her back arched when his thumb brushed a very specific way, mouth snapping open and it might have been the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Killian," she muttered again, pushing her shoulders into the mattress and a pillow had somehow managed to work its way under one side of her, hair fanned out over the edges of it.

"Yuh huh."

"You are a tease."

"No, no, no, not a tease, Swan. I'm simply taking my time."

"That's also dumb," she said sharply and he laughed before he could stop himself, smile on his face and lips still on her neck.

Emma tugged on his hair a bit tighter than necessary and Killian's eyes flashed towards her, but he couldn't think of anything except the way she kissed him, a mess of lips and tongue and teeth and if she was as impatient as he'd claimed she was, well, maybe that wasn't the worst thing in the world.

He gave up on teasing almost as soon as she made that noise, something in the slightly tenuous control he'd been trying to maintain snapping when he could feel her everywhere all at once and they both groaned when his hand moved again. And if his breath caught in his lungs and his vision swam just a bit at how obvious it was that she wanted him – just as much as he wanted her – then it wouldn't exactly be a lie.

Because he did – want and need and that one word kept flashing in the back of his mind like it was trying to refocus all of his energy on making sure she knew it, until she believed in him and told him whatever she wasn't, until the walls were down completely.

He didn't say anything. Again.

He just kept moving instead, hips rocking against hers, matching up in a rhythm that didn't quite make sense with his hand still firmly entrenched between her thighs, but he couldn't bring himself to stop either.

Emma muttered something in his ear and he couldn't really understand it, only a few words registering and they sounded like you and now and her hand was in his hair again. She grumbled when he moved and the smile on his face was probably carved there at this point, pausing only long enough to kiss her again before he all but yanked the drawer out of the night stand next to his bed.

"See," Emma said softly. "I'm not the only one who was impatient."

"Ah, well, you were issuing demands, love. Who am I to say no to that?"

"It was hardly a demand. And you're not exactly complaining about it, are you?"

He knew she was trying to joke, to meet his banter with some of her own, but her voice tightened a bit and her teeth were back on her lip. His mind practically screamed at him to tell her, something, anything, to promise that it wasn't a complaint, it was an honor or something equally absurd and if he woke up early with her sleeping against him every day for the rest of his life, he wouldn't argue at all.

It was an overwhelming sort of feeling and a world-shaking realization, right there in the middle of his bed, Emma Swan still laying on her back underneath him and, God, he had a fucking condom in his hand.

But he'd always been like this – always waking up earlier than he had to and ready to prove something he didn't really need to and this all felt a bit similar. This felt a bit like waking up.

Because she hadn't argued with the set-up and she'd kissed him in Tarrytown and he hadn't been able to stop thinking about her for the last five weeks and he just wanted to get her to smile on some sort of consistent basis.

And he was a mess – a jumbled, twisted-up pretzel of emotions and guilt and the last time he'd done this, it had all blown up in his face, but he wasn't complaining and he was three-quarters of the way towards love before he realized he'd taken the first step.

He absolutely loved her.

"I'm not complaining, love," he said softly, tugging on the wrapper with his teeth because he couldn't bring himself to actually stop touching her. "The complete opposite in fact."

She smiled.

They didn't move for what felt like hours – and that wasn't really a problem since they actually had hours before he needed to be at film – tangled up in each other and the blankets and more of the pillows had made their way onto the floor. He thought she'd fallen asleep again.

"Tell me something," Emma said suddenly, voice cracking through the otherwise silent apartment.

"About?"

She shrugged, or at least tried to shrug, only one shoulder really moving when she shifted on her side to look at him. "Why do you have so many pillows?"

Killian barked out a laugh, propping his head on his right hand. "Old habits."

"Pillow-related habits?"

"I was...ten? Maybe? When Mrs. Vankald decided she was going to redecorate the entire brownstone. The whole thing from top to bottom, repainted and refurnished every room, and it drove Mr. Vankald insane because there were people in the house for months and we hadn't really been there that long and, well, like I said before none of us were particularly good at following the rules."

"The apocalypse children."

"That makes it sound far worse than it was," Killian laughed. "Just like halfway to the apocalypse."

"What does this have to do with pillows?"

"I'm getting there, Swan, but you keep interrupting." She made a noise in the back of her throat, muttering at him as he pressed a kiss against her temple, rolling onto his back and taking her with him until her head was resting on his shoulder, hand splayed out across his stomach. "Alright, so she was redoing the whole house and it was the first time either Liam or I got the chance to really have some sort of say in how things would look in the house. So she brought all of us to some ridiculously fancy and expensive store in SoHo and we got to pick. Whatever we wanted for all of our rooms."

"And you picked pillows?"

He nodded, kissing the top of her hair again and ignoring whatever it was his stomach did when she understood something about him. "Exactly that. It was like a symbol or something."

"Of?"

"Home," Killian said simply. "You have pillows in a home, a real home and that's what it was, eventually. It took some time to feel that way and it was easier for Liam, but that was probably because I never actually wanted to date either Anna or Elsa."

Emma laughed softly, head shaking just a bit against his chest. "You said you thought they dated while he was in Minnesota."

"I still do. Neither one of them will cop to it, but I'm fairly certain. Banana is too. It doesn't really matter though. They were always going to be this. Their picture-perfect selves and their absurdly adorable kids."

"It must be hard that they're so far away," Emma said softly, thumb tracing out a semi-circle across his stomach, and there was something in her voice that made him certain she understood again.

"Why would you say that?"

She shrugged and he could feel her lips tick up against his skin. "It was like that with Reese's. I mean she's not exactly my sister, but she's been around the longest and between her and David, it's like some built-in support system. It wasn't always easy to have them on the other side of the country."

It was as if he could see the walls crumbling just a bit the longer they were there, her words sinking into him and it felt a bit like common ground, that same, unspoken understanding lingering in the air around them.

There wasn't really much air between them – there really wasn't much space between them.

"When did you meet Mary Margaret?" he asked, certain that was a safe question and didn't feel like pushing.

"Freshman orientation," Emma answered immediately. "They did those ice-breaker things, you know, the ones that are almost painful to actually participate in and we ended up sitting next to each other. She thinks it was fate."

"And you don't?"

"I'm not so big on fate. Seems a little romantic for the real world," she said, bitterness creeping into her voice and that, obviously, hadn't been the right question. "We lived together all four years, even once we moved off campus and that apartment in Boston was awful." Emma laughed quietly, recalling a memory or a moment and Killian tightened his hold on her waist instinctively.

"She and David started dating our sophomore year. He'd been around when we were freshmen, but they'd been firmly entrenched in some sort of cliché will they or won't they thing the entire year. Mary Margaret attacked him."

"Wait, what?"

"Well, not attack, so much as stole. They were both trying to get into the same class and Reese's got the last seat. David tracked her down, broke into the system or something that was totally against the rules and he found us leaving the dining hall one night. Accused her of stealing his spot and that he needed the class to meet some requirement and that was a complete lie because we were freshmen, but it didn't matter.

He didn't let it drop. They kept running into each other. All over campus. He'd just be there, talking about the seat in the class and how she'd robbed him and finally she had enough."

"What happened?"

"Reese's talked to the professor, got him to comp David into the class just before the deadline and they sat next to each other for the rest of the semester. The rest, as they say, is romantic history. They're going to get married at a castle."

"Belvedere?"

Emma pulled her head up, the end of her hair brushing across his chest. "How did you know that?"

"We've been over this, Swan. I know everything."

"I'm serious."

"I grew up in New York. It's kind of a famous thing."

"You're like my own personal guide book."

He laughed again, hand pushing into her hair so he could tug her down to kiss him again and, eventually, they were going to have to get out of bed. He just couldn't bring himself to consider more than the next few minutes or the idea of letting Emma leave his apartment and whatever bubble of calm they'd managed to create there.

"So," Emma said, pulling herself away from him and ignoring his soft groan of indignation. "What you're really telling me is that you've got a ridiculous amount of pillows on your bed because you're trying to make it feel like home. Again."

Killian tried to not look as struck as he was and he knew it didn't work as soon as he met Emma's gaze, something in her eyes that was just a bit softer than usual. "It's a slightly ridiculous habit, I know," he mumbled.

"No, no, it's not. It's...it's nice."

"Nice?"

"Put a shirt on and I'd be able to come up with a few more adjectives I promise."

"Are you telling me, Swan, you can't think straight when I don't have a shirt on?"

She rolled her eyes, reaching forward to hit against his shoulder, but he was an athlete and there were reflexes and he caught her fingers before she could actually make contact, pulling her fingers up to run his lips over her knuckles.

Emma stared at her own hand, mouth parted just a bit like she was surprised and Killian found himself wondering, not for the first time, what had made her believe she needed the walls or why they needed to stay under the radar or what had happened in Los Angeles that seemed to leave her just a bit bitter when she talked about castles in Central Park.

"Where did Liam and Elsa get married?" she asked suddenly, tugging her hand back. She kept it trained at her side, fingers flat against her thigh and not on his stomach.

"Downtown," Killian answered. "Some ridiculously expensive loft that Banana picked out. There was a band. I gave a very bad speech. They make fun of it every Christmas."

"What could you have possibly said that was so bad?"

"Oh no, it wasn't like that, Swan. I just haven't always been quite so well-spoken. And trying to impress an entire loft full of people wasn't exactly in my wheelhouse of talents at that point."

She laughed softly, head back on his shoulder and her hand moved cautiously until it found his, mindlessly tracing against the one scar that ran up towards his middle finger. "I can't quite imagine you as anything except ridiculously confident."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment."

"That's how I meant it," Emma promised. "Did they make you get up and dance too? Twirl some date around the floor?"

"There was dancing. No date though."

"What?"

Killian shrugged, fingers tapping out a slightly nervous rhythm on her hip – and now they were moving toward some fairly uncharted emotional territory for him. "I think you're overestimating me quite a bit, Swan."

"But," she sputtered, pulling her head back up to look at him, disbelief written on every inch of her face. "You're...well you."

"And?"

"And there are whole sections of the internet obsessed with your face."

He made a face at her response, not entirely prepared for the incredulous look she kept giving him – as if she couldn't quite believe he had hadn't brought a fan to his brother's wedding. Or, oh, well, that was disappointing.

She had an idea about him already – the fifth or the seventh wheel of the New York Rangers, depending on who he was being forced out with at any given time and hockey wasn't the most popular sport in this city, but Emma was right, there was a whole section of the internet seemingly obsessed with his face.

There were always rumors.

None of them were true. He was far too focused on getting up early and getting out on the ice and being ok and he didn't have time for anything that wasn't practice or drills.

Emma, however, didn't appear to realize that, eyes darting down towards the tattoo on his forearm. She thought Milah was a fan.

Well, fuck.

"No, Swan," Killian said, not entirely sure what he was disagreeing with. "I wouldn't...that's, that's not me."

She still hadn't moved her gaze, just nodded slowly and he could feel her take a deep breath against him. "I just figured with the set-up...and Will seemed awfully disappointed we weren't…"

"Well it was a lie, love."

"Yeah, but…"

"No, Emma," he said again and her eyes widened when he used her real name. "She wasn't. She didn't even really like hockey very much."

"Milah?"

Killian nodded slowly, taking a deep breath as he sat up a bit straighter, Emma moving with him easily. "Milah," he repeated softly and, if he were being honest, a bit reverently, the name sounding almost foreign on his lips. He tried not to say it. "It happened after I hurt Liam. He hadn't even been discharged yet, could barely string a sentence together and they weren't even sure if he ever would be able to at that point. And it was bad, Swan, I was, uh, bad. I left the hospital one night and El didn't even try to stop me. We were already out of the playoffs, first-round loss that didn't seem to matter much after Liam got hurt, so I went to a bar and drank. For hours. I thought I'd passed out when she started talking to me.

She knew who I was, but she wasn't a fan. The first thing she told me was that she hated hockey and at that point I did too. She bought me my next drink. And I stopped drinking alone after that. She gave me her number and it took a week to drum up the courage to actually call, mostly because El said she wouldn't let me in the hospital room again if I kept showing up looking like the world was about to end. She's always been good at that, always known exactly what I was thinking. Sometimes even before I did."

"What happened when you called her?" Emma asked softly.

"She asked what took so long." He laughed softly, but he didn't run his hand through his hair, searching out Emma's instead and he sighed when her fingers wrapped around his. "We didn't really tell anyone, but they all knew. I didn't scream at them as soon as they looked at me anymore and I started going to offseason workouts again and Robin stopped staring at me like some sort of wounded animal.

When the doctors told Liam he'd never be able to play again, when he had to announce he was retiring from a hospital bed, she came. She came to the hospital and she waited outside the door and I…" He shook his head slowly, blinking quickly like that would somehow get the memory out of his head. It didn't. Even Milah hadn't been able to get him to forget it.

He remembered every moment of that afternoon, how Liam had spoken slowly so he didn't stutter over the words and how El's fingers had shook in his and how Mrs. Vanklad had put both her hands on either side of Killian's face and promised this wasn't his fault.

It was.

Emma didn't move, was hardly even breathing anymore and they'd dived head first into the deep end of emotional.

He wanted her to know.

He kept talking.

"Liam knew after that," Killian continued. "Asked about her when they finally released him from the hospital and I told him, some sort of proud look at what I've found kind of conversation, like it was almost as good as him and El. And it was good. For months. She told me she didn't hate hockey as much anymore and I was skating well and there were mutterings about the Hart and a real run at the Cup. We were two weeks out of the playoffs when it happened."

Emma gasped softly and she was biting her lip again – he knew without even having to look at her. "Your hand," she said slowly, thumb moving over another scar.

"I don't remember much, but there was another car and a crash and they told me she was dead on impact."

"I didn't know there was anyone else in the car."

"Not many people did. Or do."

Emma stared at him for a moment – like she was waiting for the next emotional bombshell and she looked a bit surprised when he didn't move, like she was just waiting for him to push her away and that didn't make any sense at all.

He'd told her because he wanted to, needed her to understand. This wasn't just...something. This was everything.

"I did," she said softly, not meeting his eyes.

"Did what, Swan?"

"Dated a fan. I mean it's not quite the same because I'm not on the cover of the program or on the side of the Garden, but, well, I did."

"When?"

She shifted again, tongue moving across her lips before she twisted her mouth and considered her answer. "LA. A couple of months after I got there. He was in Starbucks and we started talking and he was nice and he smiled and…"

"What?"

"It didn't work. He said things and, well, they were all true, all of them, but he left too and…" Emma cut herself off, mouth clamping shut with an almost audible crack as her eyes looked anywhere except Killian. And he realized suddenly she'd never told him why she and the guy who took her job had actually broken up and he should have known from the get-go. They'd both left.

They'd left and then she'd been shoved out the door in Los Angeles and stumbled into this and this team and he was already so in love with her, he was positive his head hadn't stopped spinning in the last five weeks.

"Too?" Killian repeated and Emma nodded, a short, jerky movement that didn't quite match up with everything he already knew about her.

"Neal," she said. "His name was Neal and he had this great job and he knew about hockey and he travelled all over the country with the Preds and I'd never had anything like that. Reese's and David were the romantic ones. They stared at each other like they understood the great questions of the universe when their eyes met and it never really felt like that with Neal, but I thought, maybe, it could have. If I let myself believe, if I trust him enough, then it would work."

"And you'd understand the great questions of the universe, too?"

"Exactly."

She moved again, tugging on the ends of her hair as she twisted against the blankets, legs still tangled up with Killian's. "I didn't," Emma continued. "Figure out the great questions of the universe. He got a job with the league and he settled into some sort of proper nine to five and he got mad when I wasn't around and I didn't travel much with Vancouver, so I was always stuck up there. So, one day, he just stopped calling and he stopped coming to Vancouver and that was that. He just left."

"Ass," Killian muttered before he could stop himself and Emma laughed softly at the obvious frustration in his voice.

"Yeah, that's what Reese's said. And she, like, doesn't believe in swearing. I don't even know why he took my job or got my job. He claims he didn't take it. He must have met Gold when he was working for the league, but I don't know, it just seems like a step down."

Killian tensed underneath her – the mention of Gold and how this guy, Neal, was somehow associated with him enough to warrant taking Emma's job, making every one of his muscles constrict. "What?" Emma asked, glancing at him in confusion.

"Nothing, Swan, just, they're all idiots in LA if they forced you out of your department or gave your job to anyone else. Last night proved it. It was perfect, love."

She made a face, scrunching her nose and scoffing under her breath and, eventually, he'd make sure she accepted compliments just a little easier. "I'm just glad the tents didn't fall apart and Arthur's speech wasn't quite as bad as it could have been."

"Robin wasn't lying. He's much better with the fans than he is with his own team."

"Is that weird?"

"Coaches are, by their very nature, weird people, Swan."

Emma laughed again, any concern at the way he'd reacted to Gold's name gone and they'd seemingly survived emotional fairly easily – she still hadn't left. "I've had an idea about that, actually."

"About coaches?"

"Well players acting as coaches."

Killian lifted one eyebrow – ignoring his buzzing phone and that was probably Robin or Scarlet or Liam, all intent to discuss last night's game and why he hadn't actually gone back uptown to get food. He hadn't mentioned that to Emma, another tradition he didn't particularly care about, especially when her hands were in his hair and he'd been rather single-minded the night before.

"You going to answer that?" Emma asked, nodding towards the still vibrating phone.

"Nope. Tell me about your idea."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, I was just thinking, the instructional thing went so well and the kids were so psyched and I swear, Henry only wants to text me so he can find out how you're doing in practice, and maybe we could build on that."

"How?"

"A charity game? Maybe before Casino Night? Or no, no, no, after Casino Night because then we could auction off things. Meet and greets and spots on the team and it could all go to GD and maybe a little extra to Henry's house and we could get alums and maybe a few celebrity fans and I mean Bobby Flay loves the Rangers, right? You think Bobby Flay would be willing to play in a charity hockey game?"

"I'm sure Bobby Flay would do whatever you asked, Swan."

Emma sighed, but it sounded a bit like giving into the compliment and he couldn't wipe the smile off his face, eyes following her hands as she started using them to aid in her explanation and her words started jumbling together a bit when her voice picked up.

She was excited – and even if it hadn't been a good plan, he wouldn't have been able to stop smiling, watching Emma's eyes light up just a bit when she realized he was listening intently to every single part of her idea.

"You think that could work?" she asked.

"I know so."

"We'd need coaches."

"You could get coaches."

"Would you coach?"

He narrowed his eyes slightly and Emma looked taken aback – like she was bracing herself for the refusal. "Are you asking, love?"

"Maybe."

"I've never actually coached anything before, you know. You're asking a complete novice to help with your very well-planned event."

"I literally just came up with half of it in bed."

"My bed," Killian pointed out, moving back towards her until he was above her again and she was squirming against blankets and the few pillows they hadn't pushed off the mattress yet. "You came up with half of it in my bed."

"Was this a casual suggestion to get out of your bed?" Emma asked, voice tinged with something that probably could have been classified as a giggle when he started kissing just behind her ear.

"Not at all," he mumbled, hissing in air when her hand moved first and he hadn't entirely been prepared for that.

He could miss film. He could absolutely miss film. Or at least be late for film. He'd only get fined. He could pay the fine.

Regina would kill him, but he could pay the fine.

And deal with Scarlet and Locksley when they asked where he was – again. And probably tell Liam and El. And he had another PT appointment that afternoon before they got on the plane and there were two away games ahead of him before he could get back in this bed – preferably this bed with Emma in it again.

He should have gotten up. He didn't.

He kept kissing her and Emma's hand kept moving and he tried to tell her something – probably something about how she couldn't do that if they wanted to stay on the very specific path they seemed to be treading, but he couldn't seem to remember any words.

It didn't really matter.

Emma moved, hands on his shoulders and hair threatening to brush across his face and they both might have gasped at the contact when they met again, her head landing on his shoulder and his hand gripping her hip.

He was totally going to be late to film.

"Shouldn't you be downtown?" Emma asked later, leaning back against his side. "Or, you know, like at least trying to get downtown?"

"I've been a bit preoccupied, love."

"Reese's is going to ask where I've been. Oh shit, I only have my dress."

"I think there's leggings in my closet," he said without thinking. Emma just lifted her eyebrows and stared at him. "They're Banana's. She stays here whenever she ends up in New York. You can take a shirt too if you want."

"Thanks."

"Of course."

Emma moved before he did, jumping out of bed and towards his closet, sheet wrapped around her shoulders and his heart might have stuttered under his ribs – or stopped completely. He only knew when it restarted, quicker and louder than usual. She found the leggings quickly and grabbed a t-shirt from the back corner of the closet, a Winter Classic hand-out he'd gotten when they played at Yankee Stadium a few months into his second season.

"The rest of my clothes are still by your door," Emma said, nodding towards the hallway with a small smile on her face.

Killian shrugged. "Preoccupied."

She rolled her eyes, lip twisted in between her teeth as she moved back towards the living room and the bra he was still certain was sitting just a few feet away from his kitchen floor. Killian groaned slightly when he moved towards his, somehow, still vibrating phone to find a message from the entire platoon – Locksley, Scarlet, Liam, El and even Anna, who probably only knew what happened in the game because she'd gotten updates from El.

He ignored Locksley and Scarlet, both of them demanding to know where he'd been the night before, and focused on Liam's messages.

That was a hell of a pass, little brother. Tell Phillip the Rookie he should be grateful for a set-up like that.

I'm going to assume you're still asleep, which doesn't make any sense at all because you're you.

Ok, either you're dead or you're already in film. If Scarlet got up this early for film you need to tell me because it's some sort of modern-day miracle.

I am not in film.

Did you die on the train downtown?

I'm not downtown either.

It took almost a full minute for Liam to respond.

If I say 'good' does that make me a horrible influence on my little brother?

Younger brother. And that was the best pass I've ever made.

He didn't wait for Liam's response, tossing his phone on the mattress and grabbing a pair of shorts from the closet, walking back into the living room to find Emma sitting on the arm of the couch. She had her phone held lightly in her hand and a crease in between her eyebrows, staring at the screen like it had personally offended her.

"You alright, love?" he asked, making her jump slightly.

"Yeah, yeah, fine," she said quickly, but she was clutching her phone now and the crease in between her eyebrows hadn't disappeared. "Reese's thought I was dead. I guess David was halfway to the station to announce some sort of man-hunt on my behalf. I only just convinced her I wasn't actually dead."

"What did you say?"

"That I'd gone uptown with the team and spent the night with Ruby."

"She won't ask Ruby about that?"

"Probably."

The crease got a bit deeper and for all the emotional headway they'd taken that morning, they seemed to have taken a dozen steps backwards in those few moments when they'd, finally, gotten out of bed.

Fuck.

"They'll fine you if you're late for film," Emma said, a picture of clinical indifference sitting on the edge of his couch in his clothes.

"I'm not worried about that."

"What are you worried about?"

"You."

"I'm fine."

"Tell that to your very narrowed eyes and tense shoulders."

She smiled slightly, but the tension didn't leave her shoulders – if anything they got straighter, sitting up as if there was a hockey stick strapped to her spine. "I'm fine," Emma said quickly. "I just...I've got to get back home. Or, well, to Reese's at least."

The smile flashed again, not quite meeting her eyes and the walls were higher than they had been before, blocking out everything she was thinking or worried about and in the next few days, Killian would blame that for his desperation.

She pushed around him, muttering something about finding her heels and where the closest one train was and he grabbed her wrist, pulling her up short in front of him. "Emma," he sighed. "Come on, talk to me."

"What about? People are going to know. They're going to talk."

"I don't care."

"I do. We decided. Under the radar."

"Fine, Swan. That's fine, but you can at least be comfortable here. You don't have to worry about anything here."

"I'm not uncomfortable." Killian eyed her meaningfully and she shifted her stance, chin jutted out a bit as she met his gaze.

"Why did you tell me about Milah?"

"Why did you tell me about Neal?"

Emma huffed, lips pressed together tightly and they'd run straight into arguing far too quickly. "We shouldn't have done that," she said softly. "This was supposed to be…"

"What?"

"Easy."

"Is it not?"

"Not if you're sharing deep, dark secrets and people are talking and thinking the only reason I'm here is because Ruby got me the job and so I could fill some sort of role in your team's ridiculous relationship circle."

"No one thinks that, Swan. I don't think that."

"No?"

"Of course not. I care about you. I thought I'd made that perfectly clear."

"If you're talking about last night…"

"I'm not."

"What then?"

He took a shaky step forward, far too aware of what would happen if he said too much or didn't say enough and it felt a bit like balancing on some sort of ridiculously sharp knife. She flinched when he tried to touch the back of her wrist and Killian barely suppressed his groan, closing his eyes lightly.

"You're not just filling some sort of role in any sort of relationship circle," Killian said slowly. "And if you want to keep doing under the radar, fine, they all believed us the other day when we promised there wasn't anything going on. But I told you I cared and I do and I told you about Milah because I care."

"I don't understand."

"I never thought I'd be able of letting go of her...of my Milah. I didn't think that was possible. That's why they tried for the set-up in the first place. I've been some sort of fifth and seventh and ninth wheel for the better part of the last five years. They were trying to help. Eventually I should probably thank them since they did."

"Did what?"

Killian took a deep breath, throat tight and mouth dry, but the words felt simple when he said them. "I didn't think there would ever be anyone else. That is, until I met you."

Emma didn't say anything, phone falling out of her hand and clattering against the carpet under her feet and that wasn't exactly the reaction he'd been hoping for. He'd at least hoped she'd say something back.

And, then, when she finally did, he wished he hadn't heard her.

"I've got to go," she said quickly, crouching to grab her phone and slip her feet into her heels and the door shook in its frame when she slammed it shut behind her.