He heard the heels before he saw her, the sound somehow finding its way to Killian's ears through the jam-packed locker room. He resisted the urge to sigh.

Phillip the Rookie sighed anyway – and Killian must have supersonic hearing because he could hear that too and Phillip the Rookie's locker was four lockers away from his, but Regina had been trying to get him to sign with her for the better part of the last three weeks, so he could understand the sigh.

The heels were accompanied by the squeak of a pair of sneakers, no doubt tied tightly onto the feet of a very excited six-year-old, and Killian turned in just enough time to catch Roland when he leapt at him. And Robin sighed at that, eyebrows pulled low and face twisted into disgruntled acceptance when his son just shouted "Hi!" at him while draped over Killian's shoulder.

"Ah, well, at least I got that," Robin mumbled, sinking onto the edge of the bench to relace his skates. Regina just crossed her arms over her chest, perfectly-fitted blazer not fitting quite as perfectly when she bent her elbows and started tapping out an impatient rhythm on her left forearm.

Phillip the Rookie sighed again.

"If you've come in here to torment the kid again, Gina, don't try it," Killian warned, shifting slightly so he didn't actually drop Roland on the ground. Arthur probably wouldn't have appreciated that.

It was another Pittsburgh night and everyone was a bit on edge – back into the second Wild Card spot after the Devils had lost the night before and the entire Metro was a mess, teams so jumbled up in the standings that things seemed to change every time Killian refreshed his phone.

They needed to win tonight and they needed to stop sucking so much on the goddamn PK and he was only three points away from cracking the top-five. That probably wouldn't happen that night. He hadn't scored in four games.

Not like he was counting – just getting obnoxious text message updates about it from Scarlet who found the whole thing hysterical.

"Hi, Hook," Roland said, voice muffled by the jersey his face was pressed against as he knocked his fist against Killian's shoulder blade.

"Hey, mate," he muttered. He glanced at Robin who did his best to shrug without being noticed by Regina and it absolutely didn't work because Killian was half convinced Regina had several different pairs of eyes in her head. "God, you weigh a ton."

Roland laughed loudly and Killian was smiling before he remembered he was supposed to be focused on a game and not getting into another fight with Soyer. Regina lifted one eyebrow and she still hadn't uncrossed her arms, sitting down next to Robin until her back was resting against his.

It was a bargaining tactic – Killian had seen it all last season when she'd been renegotiating Robin's contract. Regina had perfected the fine art of staring at another human being until they were so uncomfortable that they broke out into some sort of cold sweat and agreed to whatever terms she was demanding.

And she hadn't blinked once she started staring at Killian.

"What do you want Gina?" Killian asked, doing his best to actually snap when there was still a kid hanging over his back. "You better hope Arthur doesn't see you in here."

"How did you even get in here?" Robin added. He glanced over his shoulder and Regina didn't move, just kept staring at Killian with her arms crossed. Robin let out a low whistle and pushed off the bench to fish his game jersey out of his locker, making a face as he tugged it over his pads. "God," he laughed, but there was a nervous edge to the sound. "What did you do, Cap? Threaten Soyer before the game or something?"

Killian shook his head. "I haven't done anything. And Gina probably just stared at the security guards outside until they collapsed into a heap of fear and let her walk over them. They probably thanked her at the end of it."

Roland laughed again, body shaking just a bit and Killian wasn't sure why they kept doing this – it always ended with a foot in his ribs.

"I did no such thing," Regina said, practically hissing out the words. She definitely practiced that, there was no way someone in a pant suit could possibly be that intimidating without hours of practice. "And if you don't put my kid down I'm going to tell A that you're overexerting yourself and you'll get a third appointment a week."

Killian sighed again, hands moving around Roland's waist as he muttered hold on and he put him back on the ground. "I have no idea why you're in here, Gina," he said. "We're two hours out of puck drop."

"I needed to talk to you, obviously."

"You've just been staring at me." Regina's lips, somehow, got even thinner, pressed together into a tight line and she blinked once. Killian glanced at Robin again – hand on Roland's shoulder and helmet in his other hand and he shrugged again, not even trying to hide the movement from Regina. "This really isn't about the kid and making sure he gets off his rookie deal so he can stop living in that crappy apartment in Chelsea?"

"It's not that bad," Phillip shouted from four lockers over. "And, you know, I don't really spend much time there anyway…"

Killian held up his hand, not particularly interested in the ins and outs of Phillip the Rookie's relationship with Aurora, particularly when she seemed to be an endless source of frustration and insurance waivers for Emma.

"It's not about the kid," Regina promised, finally uncrossing her arms and that seemed important. She didn't look quite as frustrated anymore either. She looked concerned. That was different – and disconcerting.

"Although," she added. "If he does want to get off his rookie contract and maybe get an apartment that his girlfriend won't absolutely despise, because I promise Phillip, Aurora absolutely despises your apartment, he should call me."

She leaned around Killian and there was a card in her hand like she'd just performed a magic trick in the middle of the New York Rangers locker room. Phillip reached a shaky hand out and he nodded slowly.

Killian just rolled his eyes. Robin looked impressed.

"Alright, Gina, I'll bite," Killian said, feeling as if he were giving into something. "What do you need to talk to me about two hours before puck drop?"

Regina shook her head. "Not here."

"What?"

"Come with me." She tugged on his wrist and Killian nearly fell face-first into the bench in front of him, not quite prepared to start walking on skates. He tried to look back at Robin, but hardly got the chance before Regina was chastising him for that as well. "Don't look at him," she snapped and they were back to frustrated so quickly Killian was convinced he had whiplash. That would probably earn him a third PT appointment. "This isn't about him."

Killian hummed in the back of his throat, but that was mostly because he didn't really know what was going on. And, two hours before puck drop, with Regina's hand still gripping his wrist like a vice, he wasn't about to argue.

She pulled him into the hallway towards Arthur's office, the only quiet part of the locker room and they were back to the staring.

"Don't do that," Killian sighed.

"What?" Regina asked. They'd found their way to opposite sides of the hallway as well and there was a deeper meaning in there somewhere. He'd left his phone in his locker too – a scheduled FaceTime with Colorado just a few minutes away.

Regina didn't say anything, just dragged her heel across the open space of hallway in front of them and Killian rolled his head back, groaning slightly when he hit against the wall. "You shouldn't have told Liam," he said softly, staring at his skates. "That's not part of your job."

"El would have told him eventually," Regina argued and neither one of them could seem to bring themselves to look at each other.

"No she wouldn't have. You shouldn't have told her either, if we're going to be completely honest with each other."

"Are we?"

"You tell me, Gina."

"Might not be a bad idea, since my phone's been ringing off the hook for a week."

"About?"

"You obviously."

Killian lifted his head, eyebrows pulled low and Regina was still staring at her heels. That caught him by surprise – if there was one thing Regina Mills was good at, it was intimidation and that generally required eye contact. She'd used it to get him into the hallway and away from Robin, but, now that they were actually alone she couldn't seem to look him in the eye.

It made him nervous.

And if there was one thing Killian absolutely did not need two hours before puck drop – well, more like an hour forty-five at this point – it was nerves.

"What about me?" he asked.

Regina took a deep breath, pushing her hair back behind her ears and he could see her teeth sink into her lip before she answered. "There's, uh, there's been some interest."

"About?"

"Jeez, Killian, you can't possibly be this slow."

"You know what usually helps people understand things, Gina? Words."

She rolled her eyes, but her shoulders weren't quite as straight anymore and Killian almost smiled. Almost. "Interest in you and your free agency status and, well, people in front offices talk and teams know that New York hasn't made a move yet. At least not really and they're trying to take advantage of that."

"New York hasn't made a move yet?" Killian asked. "Since when? I thought we were good. Gina, you said we were good!"

Regina held her hands up and took a cautious step towards him only to stop as soon as she saw the look on his face. "You were the one who wanted to explore other options," she said softly. "And they're just being safe here. You're the face of the franchise, they're not just going to let you walk. Although it probably wouldn't hurt to get out of this goal-scoring drought sooner rather than later."

"You are a picture of confidence and support, your highness," Killian mumbled, running a hand through his hair and his chest felt tighter than it had in months.

So, he hadn't really told Regina to start focusing exclusively on New York talks or contract extensions, but he figured walking into the restaurant with Emma's hand wrapped up in his might help and he knew Regina had seen the laces around her wrist. Her eyes had practically fallen out of her head when Emma moved her hand and the sleeve of her jacket shifted and they were just laces, but it felt like something a bit bigger than that.

It felt like his agent – his friend – should know that he might not be particularly interested in a trade anymore.

He should have said something out loud.

"I know you're mad," Regina said calmly, "but there's no reason to fall back on insults."

"Who?" Killian asked, ignoring the apology that wasn't really an apology.

"Who what?"

"Who's been, what's the technical term, expressing interest?"

"A lot of teams actually," she admitted, sounding as if she was giving up some sort of crucial information. "That's why I figured you should know sooner rather than later. I just got off the phone with Dallas, trying to explain to them that green wasn't really your color."

"Dallas?"

Regina nodded, eyes wide and she took another deep breath before moving towards Killian. She tapped her nails against the plastic in his shoulder pads and the knot of anxiety in his stomach was so tight Killian was convinced it was going to do permanent damage to both of his intestines.

"And Carolina and San Jose and pretty much the entire Central Division. You're a very popular guy."

"Just not here."

"That's not true. They're just biding their time. I mean, the Avs are ready to sign you at the deadline, probably before the deadline if you want."

"What?"

Regina just made a face – a this was your idea without actually saying the words again – and Killian leaned back against the wall so he didn't slide onto the floor. The deadline wasn't for weeks – just after the charity game because, of course, it was – and Killian hadn't even considered the possibility that teams would want him before the end of the season. Or that any team besides the Av's would be interested in his grizzled veteran plan at all.

And he hadn't really thought about anything except how goddamn happy he was in the last few weeks – a phone filled with text messages about team histories and updates on a wedding he was still hoping to be a plus-one to.

It was good.

It was better than good.

They'd finally gone on a date and he'd brought her hot chocolate at two o'clock every day for the last three days, laughing openly when she suggested that he'd made a mistake and actually brought french fries instead of the onion rings he knew she ordered from the deli buffet around the block.

"I was just testing you," Emma had muttered, leaning back in her chair as she pulled the bag out of his hand and he could feel her smile when he kissed her.

He was happy and he almost didn't care about the goal-drought, but Regina kept staring at him like he was a bomb about to go off in a few seconds and he probably should have remembered the trade deadline.

He'd just never really considered a possibility where the New York Rangers didn't explicitly want him back on their roster – even if he'd thought about leaving.

Selfish idiot.

"They'd wait," Regina said, completely unaware of whatever quasi-breakdown he was staging an hour and thirty two minutes before puck drop. "The Av's I mean, they're pretty set on being ready for you whenever you are."

"That's because they haven't won a game in a month," Killian muttered.

"Earliest mathematical elimination from the playoffs in the history of the league. A perfect place to go and rot."

He scoffed, glancing up to find Regina staring at him accusingly. "A rather pointed opinion, your highness."

"And accurate. Why do you think I told El and Liam? They're the only ones who would be able to change your mind. Just be thankful this hasn't made its way into some sort of report. I'm almost surprised it hasn't."

The knot got tighter and he could feel his eyes widen and Regina was looking at him differently – she kind of looked like the bomb now. "Oh, you idiot," she half shouted, punching his shoulder hard enough to make him wince even through the pads. "Are you serious?"

"You've only insulted me, Gina. I don't even know what you're asking."

"You got into some super serious relationship in the middle of a free agent season, you gave her laces that she's wearing around her wrist like some sort of flashing billboard with neon lights announcing to everyone how in love you are and you didn't even tell Emma Swan that you were thinking about maybe leaving New York at the end of the season?"

"I don't know that I am," Killian admitted, digging the heel of his skate into the tiled floor underneath him.

"You know who would have also been interested in that information? Me. The person whose job it is to make sure you have a team to play for next year. God, you're an idiot."

"Alright," he snapped, pulling Regina's hand away from his shoulder before she could start punching him again. "I think you've made that painfully clear. This is me telling you now. I'm not leaving New York."

Regina's face shifted slightly and she was trying not to smile. "You should probably score a couple of goals tonight then."

"A couple?"

"I mean, feel free to set Robin up too if you want, but front office is always more receptive when you're doing the scoring yourself."

He laughed softly, shaking his head and Regina was absolutely smiling now. "Noted," he said. "And, you know, you're not really disproving my multiple sets of eyes theory when you're the only one who noticed the laces."

"Please," Regina argued and the punch was more of a swat that time. "Everyone has known since the preseason. Will told everyone that she was coming to the brownstone for Christmas like he'd just found out he'd been cleared to skate again. Although," she amended, pulling her eyebrows low, "the laces thing might only be me. And Robin now, obviously, since I had to tell someone."

"But you didn't tell him about the deadline?"

"No," Regina said immediately, jaw snapping together as soon as the two letters were out of her mouth. "The idea hasn't even crossed his mind that you'd consider leaving New York ever." She paused again and Killian could practically hear the gears in her head working, waiting for the moment when steam actually started to come out of her ears.

"What?"

"You're really sure?" Regina asked, voice a bit softer than it had been throughout this entire conversation. It almost sounded sympathetic. Or, at least, concerned. "About staying?"

"Is that a subtle suggestion that I shouldn't be?"

"No, of course not. But I mean, El's pregnant again and there'll be more kids and missed moments for super cool Uncle Killian and that was why you wanted to go in the first place. I guess what I'm getting at, is, you'd really stay in New York because of Emma? What happens if you don't win a Cup?"

"You think we're not going to win a Cup this season, Gina? Don't tell Rol that he'll be distraught."

He tried to keep his voice light, keep the joking there and make sure the air didn't actually start suffocating him in the middle of that hallway an hour and a half before puck drop. Regina glared at him. "That's not what I'm asking at all," she hissed. "And I'm not asking as your agent either. I'm asking as your friend and a person who is well aware that Rol will be distraught for a whole other reason if you guys don't win a Cup and you leave."

Killian considered his answer for half a moment before he realized there wasn't really a point – Regina already knew the answer. And so did he.

"Yeah," he said simply. "I would. And we're totally going to win the Cup this season."

He expected a smile or a I knew it nod or even another comment about giving Emma laces that she hadn't taken off since Christmas. He hadn't expected a hug and his back up against the wall and Regina's arms around his neck and it was all so incredibly out of character that Killian actually wondered if he'd stumbled into some strange, alternate universe for half a moment.

"Uh, Cap," a voice called from the end of the hallway and Killian snapped his head around to find Phillip the Rookie fully dressed with his still-ringing cell phone in his hand.

"Yeah, Rook, what's up?"

"Arthur's threatening to move you to fourth line if you don't get back in the locker room and, uh, Robin said I should bring you your phone because it's been going off for like ten minutes straight."

Killian rolled his eyes, running his hand across his face, but Regina was laughing openly at him. "Thanks," he said, holding his hand when Phillip came up next to him. Four missed calls – all from El – two very long text messages from Liam that included several choice words about missing FaceTime plans and another text message that already had him smiling.

"Come on Rookie," Regina said, shooting him a look that practically announced she expected to be paid back in martinis at the restaurant later that night. "I've got a couple of questions about your contract and you can tell me all about this apartment your girlfriend absolutely doesn't despise. Maybe we can work something out before we get back into the locker room."

Phillip's eyes widened and Killian did his best to look supportive, but he knew he came up short, eyes falling back on his phone before the sound of Regina's heels had quite disappeared from the hallway.

The golden triangle behind the Penguins' gross, stupid logo is actually a representation of the golden triangle in downtown Pittsburgh, which is also a stupid name for a downtown anything, but also matches up pretty well with tonight. And you are just three points away from top-five. Plus, Soyer will absolutely lose his mind if you hat trick tonight.

I don't think hat trick is actually a verb, love.

I live with a teacher.

And you asked?

Well, no, but that doesn't matter. Are you going to hat trick tonight or not, Jones?

Guess it depends.

On?

Are you asking for a hat trick, Swan?

Seems awfully greedy.

Eh. Only a little bit.

Hey!

I'll see what I can do.

His phone dinged again and it wasn't another text message – it was a picture. And it wasn't the hat she'd been forced into when they'd gone skating uptown. It was an actual baseball cap, the ones they sold for forty bucks in Chase Square, brim pulled low that he couldn't quite see her eyes, but could make out her hair falling over her shoulders and the blue dress she had on underneath a blazer.

There was a fan event tonight – something with a group of kids that signed up for the fan club and they were going to be in the team suite above section 111 – and Emma had on a hat in case he just happened to score three goals.

And the idea of ever leaving New York just seemed absurd at this point.

A hat trick it is.

"How's that brother of yours doing? Seen any good college talent lately?"

Killian groaned – and he wasn't sure if it was because Hans Soyer seemed absolutely incapable of coming up with another insult or because the check he'd just sustained actually hurt a lot, particularly when he could feel the top of the bench collide with one of his kidneys.

"God, shut up, Soyer," he muttered, pushing him off with his stick. "Go try and score a fucking goal or something."

Soyer hit him again and Killian tried to breathe like a normal human being, but he could hear the crowd getting louder and there were twenty kids in the team suite who absolutely did not need to see him punch this asshole in the face.

He wanted to.

They were only a few minutes into the game and Soyer was on the Pens first line now and that didn't make any sense at all, but the world seemed intent on playing some sort of joke when Killian was three points away from cracking the top five.

"Just waiting for that PK of yours," Soyer shot back, skating away from Killian when the ref closest to them started blowing his whistle. The crowd got louder. "Hey, speaking of family members of yours, how's your sister?"

He tried to ignore him. He really did. He could barely even hear him over the sounds of the crowd and there was an offensive zone faceoff and he needed to get to the circle. Killian lined up just to Robin's right and Soyer was still talking when he skated up next to him, making sure to hit the side of his skates with as much ice as possible.

"I mean I haven't seen her in years, but from what I remember about her, I'd be willing to make a few minutes for Anna. Very enthusiastic."

Killian saw red and there could have been a million kids sitting in every single seat in the Garden and he still would have turned on Soyer in that moment, dropping his stick and his gloves and ignoring the whistle.

His hand collided with helmet and fuck that hurt, but he just hit Soyer again and that ref was going to break his whistle from sudden overuse.

Killian could barely keep his balance on his skates, rocking forward a bit when Soyer grabbed the front of his jersey, but then he felt an arm around his neck and Robin was trying to drag him away before he got whistled for a game misconduct.

"He's not worth it," Robin muttered, voice barely audible over the whistle and the crowd and Soyer actually said Anna's name again. Killian moved, trying to pull himself out of Robin's grip, but then there were more hands and Lance was there too and he couldn't really fight against everyone all at once.

Soyer laughed, shaking his hair out of his eyes and bending over to pick up the helmet Killian had managed to knock off. "You've got to control that temper, Jones," he said, sneering at him like he knew he'd won. "It's going to get you into trouble down the stretch. Tell your little sister I said, hi, huh?"

Killian moved again, the front of his skate sticking into the ice as he tried to pull away from both Robin and Lance. He didn't get very far, but it turned out he didn't have to – and Soyer didn't even see him coming, far too busy laughing in Killian's face to notice Phillip the Rookie moving towards him or his fist colliding with his face.

"Holy shit," Killian mumbled, standing back up when both Robin and Lance dropped their hands, matching looks of disbelief on their faces.

"What's that kid doing?" Robin asked.

Phillip the Rookie wasn't small, per se, but he wasn't exactly towering over anyone on the ice either and he certainly wasn't taller or bigger than Soyer and he was distinctly lacking in the muscle-bound advantage.

He was, after all, a rookie.

That didn't seem to bother him.

"I think he's defending Cap's honor," Lance laughed. "Or his sister's at least."

"Holy shit," Killian repeated, shaking his head slightly and he hadn't closed his mouth yet. Phillip the Rookie landed another solid right hook, left hand gripping the front of Soyer's jersey tightly so the golden triangle looked a bit like a golden mess and it felt a bit like the entire Garden had frozen.

Except for that one ref – who would not stop blowing his whistle.

"Should, we, uh," Lance continued, "should we help him or something?"

Killian flinched when he noticed the bruise blossoming under Soyer's eye and he was groaning loudly now, barely able to stay standing on his skates. And he could hear everything perfectly now, the cheers and the fans behind the glass, pounding on it until he was certain they were actually going to break it.

And the realization hit him rather suddenly – almost as hard as that punch Phillip the Rookie landed again, somehow making contact when a ref started to pull him away.

He'd been so worried about being on his own in New York and missing everything in Colorado and, it appeared, he was as big an idiot as Regina claimed.

He didn't need to go to Colorado to feel like there was something that mattered.

It was here.

He needed to get out of this goal slump.

Killian shook his head, ignoring the feel of Robin's questioning stare on the side of his head and skated forward, pulling Phillip the Rookie away from the ref who was still, somehow, blowing that goddamn whistle.

"Enough, enough, Rook," he said, pulling the shoulder of Phillip's jersey back over the pad. Soyer's jersey, meanwhile, was stuck halfway over his head. "God, did you try and strangle him with his own jersey?"

Phillip blinked once – like he was turning off the fighting gene – and stuttered slightly. "I honestly have no idea," he muttered. "It all kind of feels like a blur."

"Adrenaline."

"I just...you couldn't get a gamer and, well, he shouldn't say shit like that. Not about your sister."

Killian nodded slowly. "Don't let Kristoff know you were out here defending Banana's honor. He'll be upset he missed all the fun."

"Ah, she could probably take care of herself. You on the other hand…"

"Hey!"

The ref blew the whistle again and Killian turned toward center ice, dimly aware that he probably should have been talking to the refs about the calls and the state of his team and slightly overprotective rookie wingers. Phillip and Soyer both got five minutes and, somehow, Killian didn't get anything, which seemed wrong in the grand scheme of things, but he wasn't about to argue that if it kept him on the ice.

Or gave him a few shifts without Soyer trying to impale him on the boards.

Phillip moved towards the box when a ref came over and the crowd was a mix of boos and cheers, not quite sure whether to applaud a fight that would, undoubtedly, get shown on a loop on SportsCenter that night or jeer a fight that ended with coincidental penalties.

"You better score soon, Cap," Phillip shouted over his shoulder, smiling at Soyer when in the box next to him when they slammed the doors shut.

Robin was laughing when he skated up to him, stick held loosely in his hand and a slightly stunned expression on his face. "Maybe we should stop calling him Phillip the Rookie," he suggested.

"Yeah, maybe," Killian agreed. "Or maybe we could just win."

"That too."

The whistle blew again and they'd been on the ice forever, but Arthur had that look in his eye – the one that had gotten them to the Cup finals four seasons ago and Killian couldn't remember the last time he'd seen that look.

And something seemed to click in the back of Killian's head, some sort of determination he'd been certain he had all season, but was only just realizing he didn't actually possess until that very moment.

It was like a light had gone off or possibly shattered and that was a bit more dramatic, but he could see Phillip staring at Soyer through the glass in between the boxes and they weren't just going to win this game. They were going to win the Cup and he'd get to fourth all-time in points, just because he could, and then he was going to stay in New York.

He scored three minutes later – after Arthur had finally called for line changes and his legs didn't feel like they were on fire any more – and Killian pointed towards the box as soon as he spun away from the net, Phillip's smile obvious even from the other end of the ice.

It wasn't an actual power play and they weren't actually on the penalty kill, but they didn't give up a goal during the five minutes or the entire first period.

Or, it ended up, the entire goddamn game.

They won 3-0 – and that Papa John's promotion would actually get some use now, languishing as it had been when they'd been in that pre-holiday and post-holiday slump and maybe he wouldn't be a post-game graphic or topic of discussion during the recap that ran before Rangers in 60.

It was a good game.

He'd had a good game – another goal in the third when Pittsburgh had pulled his goalie, but that had been it. There was no hat trick, there wasn't even a secondary assist on Robin's goal, Phillip getting the set up just in front of the net after Lance had knocked the puck out of the zone with just a few minutes left in the second period.

It wasn't a hat trick.

Killian tried not to be too frustrated by that – or the text messages from El, Liam and Anna after the game, quick to point out that he could still use some work on his fighting technique and that shot he took in the opening minutes of the third probably would have been a goal if he'd just stick handled a bit better.

His fingers raced over the keys in the locker room, nodding almost instinctually when Robin asked if he wanted to split a cab uptown.

You're all the most supportive. And if I had stick-handled any more I wouldn't have even got the shot off.

The phone buzzed back almost immediately and Robin chuckled from the locker next to Killian, a knowing smile on his face when he turned towards him. "You shouldn't have stick handled," he said. "They've actually got an alright defensive line over there. You'd have lost the puck."

"How could you have possibly known that's what they were talking about?"

Robin shrugged. "I've been around you for awhile. You get this look on your face when they start critiquing your game."

"Huh," Killian said, not able to come up with something slightly more intelligent or meaningful. He probably didn't have to.

He flexed his hand instead, wincing slightly when he felt the pain shoot up his forearm and it hadn't really hurt during the game – only a slightly sharper than usual feeling when he'd been knocked into the bench.

Robin glanced down almost immediately at the movement, clicking his tongue in disapproval when he noticed the bruise on the back of Killian's palm. It matched up pretty well with the slightly matted blood there, the same blood that was probably on the inside of his glove. Kristoff was going to kill him.

"I had no idea it happened," Killian said, groaning slightly when he dug his thumb into the skin. "So don't bother looking at me like I just played through the pain or something. There was nothing that dramatic about it."

"How'd you know that?"

"You get this look on your face," Killian repeated, stuffing his phone back into his pocket without actually answering his text messages.

"We spend way too much time together."

"Probably."

They split a cab anyway, despite the questionable amount of time they spent together and how, apparently, they could read each other's faces and Robin didn't say anything when Killian tried to flex his hand in the backseat of the cab again.

Ariel, however, was a different story.

She practically pounced on him the second he was in the restaurant, eyes wide and mouth set in a straight line that had Killian backing up out of instinct. Robin pushed him forward, muttering something that sounded like coward under his breath. Killian barely had time to glare at him before Ariel had his left hand in hers, fingers moving over bruises and tutting when she noticed the slightly haphazard bandage they'd wrapped around it in the locker room before hailing a cab.

"Are you kidding me with this?" she snapped, staring at him in disbelief. "Why didn't you come find me after the game?"

"I star'ed Red, I had things to do."

"That's a stupid excuse."

"Well, that's the only one I've got."

Killian glanced around the restaurant, eyes narrowing slightly as he pushed up on his toes to try and find Emma. He ignored Robin completely when he started to grumble at the idea of being used as leverage, pressing the hand Ariel wasn't still holding onto his shoulder to keep his balance.

"He's not even listening to you, A," Robin muttered.

"Oh I'm well aware," Ariel answered, raising her eyebrows when Killian winced at whatever she was doing to his hand. "And don't think you're out of the woods yet either, Locksley, you could have done a better job playing medic."

"Not really my thing."

"Obviously."

Robin groaned again and Killian pulled his hand away from Ariel's with a bit more force than absolutely necessary. "I'm fine, Red," he said, hoping it was actually the truth. "Where's Swan? Did she come up with you?"

"Here," Emma answered, two drinks in her hand and a worried look on her face. "And yes. And are you ok?"

"It doesn't look any worse than bruised," Ariel said, not even giving him a chance to respond. Killian rolled his eyes, but Ariel wasn't deterred. She glanced at Emma instead, pulling a roll of gauze out of her pocket. "Come on, Cap, Eric'll let us in the back and I can fix Locksley's shoddy craftsmanship."

"Do you just carry that around with you?" Killian asked and he was halfway to following Ariel when he noticed Emma shift next to him.

"Actually," she said, tugging on the side of his jacket. "I could do it. If you want."

Two pairs of slightly stunned eyes darted between him and Emma. Killian just tried not to smile like too much of a fool. "Yeah, sure Swan. Red's not even a real doctor anyway."

"Jerk," Ariel mumbled. She was smiling too.

"Let's go, love," Killian said and the two pairs of eyes staring at them, somehow, got even bigger at the word and the arm he'd draped over Emma's shoulders.

Emma nodded, pushing through the crowd and towards the back of the restaurant. They weaved their way through the crowd, Killian nodded whenever anyone asked if he was ok after that rough hit and Emma kept licking her lips, gaze focused ahead of her.

It took more than the few minutes it should have to reach the back of the restaurant, but Eric ushered them into the kitchen and promised it'd be a little quieter.

It wasn't.

There were still people around and pots being stirred and pans being clanged and Emma made a face when the door swung shut behind Eric.

"I'm fine, Swan," Killian said and she scoffed under her breath.

"What'd he do this time?"

"Talked about Banana."

Emma's eyes widened and Killian answered her expression with one of his own – something that probably looked a bit like the disbelief he'd felt in that moment on the ice a few hours before. "He knew Anna too?"

"I kind of knew about that, but that's more El territory than me."

"Did you ask her?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Because he wanted to get uptown and forget about Soyer and ignore how much his hand hurt or how he'd absolutely known it was bleeding inside his glove for most of the third period. And that might have been why he hadn't stick handled as much as he probably should have.

He didn't say that out loud.

He didn't really need to.

Emma twisted her lips, hopping onto the edge of the counter by the sink in the far corner of the kitchen and crooked one of her fingers forward. "Let's see the damage then."

Killian lifted his eyebrows, but he didn't argue either, just took three steps forward until her knees were on either side of him and he'd completely forgotten about the people stirring things behind them.

She reached up slowly, lip pulled tightly in between her teeth and he saw her shoulders move slightly when she took a deep breath, tugging on the end of the bandage. Killian tried to actually shake when she pulled the gauze off his hand, grimacing slightly when the bottom took off a bit of dried up cut with it.

"Sorry, sorry," Emma said quickly. "Are you ok?"

"Fine." He couldn't even make it sound believable. Emma tilted her head, tossing the balled up gauze into the trash can that was almost too conveniently placed next to her. "That's why Red let you take over," Killian added, smiling a bit wider when Emma's eyebrows pulled low. "Because you'd be able to get the truth out of me."

"Yeah?"

"Absolutely. It hurts like hell."

Her shoulders sagged a little and that one piece of hair that had fallen across her forehead when she bent over to examine the now-purple bruise that covered three quarters of his hand was going to drive him crazy.

Emma still hadn't let go of her lip, finger ghosting over that one scar, the one she always seemed to find, tracing up from his wrist in between his middle and ring finger. Actually, maybe that would drive him crazy. She moved slowly, eyes following the line she made with her finger and Killian found himself tugging on the inside of his cheek, trying to make sure he was still breathing and standing up.

"It's not exactly pretty," he mumbled and Emma rolled her eyes.

"If you're trying to scare me off or something it's not going to work."

"No?"

The question – and the question within the question – was out of his mouth before he realized what he was even saying and Emma's head practically snapped up when she heard what he'd asked.

Sentimental idiot.

She didn't let go of his hand, thumb brushing over skin and scars and she stared straight at him when she answered. "No," Emma answered. "Not anymore at least."

"Good," Killian said, not entirely trusting himself to say anything more.

Emma tapped her finger against the side of his hand, the one spot that wasn't bruised. "Give me your hand, Jones. You know, between tripping over yourself on the ice and reinforcing NHL rivalries that have an entire group of school children convinced you're dead, you've had quite a week."

She ran the water over his hand, narrowing her eyes slightly when she noticed that particularly green color the one side of the bruise had shifted to. "Was it like this all game?" Emma asked, grabbing a towel Eric absolutely left for them on the counter.

"Nah. Not the whole game."

"You're not counting those few minutes before you started punching Soyer in the face aren't you?"

"See," Killian smiled, twisting his wrist so his palm was facing up as Emma started unrolling gauze. "Getting the truth out of me already."

"Didn't it hurt?" Emma asked, seemingly intent on getting answers.

"Eh, not as much when I was scoring. It doesn't really matter though, we won." She rolled her eyes, muttering martyr under her breath. "Come on, stop holding out on me. How'd tonight go?"

"Really good actually. I mean the kids were worried you were dead after the fight. They were thrilled during it and I think we probably sold out of Phillip the Rookie jerseys afterwards. He's got a whole new fanbase chock full of middle schoolers."

"I'm sure he'll be thrilled. And we've dropped the Rookie now."

Emma's eyes widened, lips tilting up slightly in amusement. "That so?"

"Ah, well, when someone defends your honor, it only seems fair that we drop the nickname. He's just Phillip now."

"Look at you. A benevolent captain." Killian shook his head, but he hissed in his breath when Emma tied the gauze he'd almost forgotten she was still wrapping around his hand. "Ah, sorry, sorry, sorry," she said quickly. "What happened?"

"You wrap wounds like you're trying to make sure my hand doesn't actually fall off my body," he laughed.

Emma glared at him, clicking her tongue impatiently as she tucked the end of the gauze under the rest of it and Killian's hand looked just a bit bulkier than usual. "I'm not actually the team doctor," she pointed out.

"Ah, but this seems to fall decidedly within relating to the community."

"Don't pull that line again."

"Again?"

She hummed in the back of her throat, glancing up at him from underneath her eyelashes before flicking the front of the jacket he still hadn't taken off. "Yup. The first time we were in Tarrytown, you gave me your number and told me to call if I needed any communities to be related to. It was, hands down, the worst line I've ever heard."

"Is that why you didn't call then?"

"No," Emma said quickly. "Because I might have fallen for the line from the get-go and that was slightly to moderately terrifying."

"And now?"

"Not quite as much."

Killian smiled at her, pushing that piece of hair back behind her ear and letting his fingers linger on the back of her neck. And then he kissed her. Because he couldn't come up with a reason not to – even if they were still in the middle of Eric's kitchen.

She moved to the edge of the counter, legs wrapping a bit tighter around his until he could feel her feet hook around his calves and her hands found their way into his hair. It wasn't more than kissing – it couldn't be because they were still in the middle of Eric's kitchen and there was a counter involved and that one person behind them who seemed determined to make sure they hit the side of the pot every time they stirred whatever it was they were stirring – but Killian almost didn't mind.

In fact, he probably could have stayed in the middle of Eric's kitchen kissing Emma Swan for the rest of the night.

"I think I got robbed of my hat trick, you know," Emma mumbled against his lips and he couldn't quite stop himself from laughing.

"I was walking wounded all night, Swan."

"That first goal was pretty incredible though."

"No thoughts on the second?"

"Are you fishing for compliments?" she laughed and her hands had found their way to the open front of his jacket, tugging on leather until he somehow managed to find a few inches of space to move even closer to her.

"Just from you."

"God, I take it back. That was the worst line I've ever heard."

"How'd it work though?"

"Pretty well actually," Emma admitted. She tugged him forward again and, eventually, he would learn how to move on actual floor. It just wasn't that night. Or maybe just whenever he was around Emma.

That was another line.

Her lips had barely brushed against his when the door to the kitchen swung open and Killian barely noticed the red hair before he heard the loud groan. "Jeez," Ariel sighed dramatically, "I sent you guys in here to make sure Killian wasn't dying. Not destroy my husband's entire kitchen."

"It's hardly the entire kitchen, Red," Killian argued. "Just, like, this corner."

"I don't care. How's your hand?"

"As previously discussed, it's fine."

"Emma?"

Emma made a questioning noise, tilting her head back and forth like she couldn't quite come up with an answer. "I mean it's a lot of colors, but it really does just look like it's bruised."

"See, Swan," he said, taking a step away from her and widening his eyes until she actually smiled. "You're pretty much team doctor."

"That's gross," Ariel grumbled, kicking back against the door. The restaurant was as loud as ever and Killian could dimly hear Will shouting something about Phillip's right hook. "You guys have, like, ten seconds tops before everyone starts wondering where you went and talking about it for the rest week. Just so you know."

She was gone half a moment later, a blur of red hair again. Killian turned towards Emma slowly – Ariel's declaration ringing in his ears – but she hadn't shifted at all, hadn't even stopped smiling when his gaze met hers.

"You ok?" she asked.

"Yeah, yeah," Killian said and that might have been the most honest thing he'd said all day. "Of course. Thanks for fixing my hand, love."

"Well, you make promises about being a gentleman or whatever, consider this me returning the favor."

He lowered one of his eyebrows and, he swore, Emma's eyes actually flashed, bright and green and staring at him. "Consider the favor returned, Swan. Come on, love, let's go get some food and make sure Scarlet doesn't try to get Phillip to start giving out fighting lessons. Gina will kill him if Rol starts punching things."

She laughed softly, hopping off the counter and they walked back into the restaurant with fingers laced and smiles on their faces and no one even looked up. It was, just, normal.

And he was still one goal short of the top-five, but if he was going to stick with particularly bad lines, then even Killian would have to admit that this one, particular goal was even better.