It all seemed to happen slowly.
Which, honestly, was kind of the worst.
If it had happened quicker, Killian was sure it wouldn't have been nearly as traumatic and he probably wouldn't have realized, with an almost surprising amount of clarity, just how loudly his kid was crying.
It was loud.
Everything was loud.
That might have been the rushing in his ears.
He hadn't been entirely ready for it, was sure everything was as absolutely, positively fine as advertised – but then the night before had happened and the hotel room had wobbled a bit on its axis and, despite how well the fan event went before skills, he knew Emma's eyes kept darting towards him, tracing over his shoulders and his hand and trying to bore several holes into the back of his head because she was absolutely, positively freaking out.
So Killian smiled and posed for pictures and made out with his wife in the hallway outside the home locker room of Bridgestone Arena, pointedly ignoring whatever noises Will made. And he didn't have much time to consider the pinch in between Emma's eyebrows or the state of the world's axis when he was so busy staring at Matt on the ice, something that felt like pride blooming in his chest and possibly exploding in the air around them.
"Your face is doing that thing," Robin said lightly, a few seconds after they'd pushed Matt forward and Killian could still hear his laugh, even as several other NHL All-Stars cheered his skating efforts. "It's going to get stuck that way."
Killian tilted his head. "In permanent smile?"
"It sounds way more sentimental when you say it like that."
"Are you not sentimental anymore Locksley? One kid goes to college and the other one's practically radiating teenage angst and you're just over it?"
"That's not what I said."
"Certainly sounded like what you said."
Robin rolled his eyes, but his lips quirked and Killian knew there was a camera on them, could feel the focus as easily as he'd felt Emma's worried gaze all afternoon and they had another event after skills and, probably, some kind of media thing that Ruby had definitely told them about at some point, but the only thing he was worried about was possibly making out with his wife in a different hallway.
Or their hotel bed.
Maybe they could convince Robin to let Matt stay with them.
That seemed irresponsible.
"It's not," Robin promised. They'd stopped skating at some point, not really putting much effort into any of this, and that was only going to frustrate Ruby and Regina and it'd probably make Emma laugh.
"So where are you going with this, exactly?"
"I honestly don't know. It's...observational, I guess."
"Locksley, I'm going to punch you right in the face if you don't start making your observations more specific."
"That's violent, Cap."
"Well, you're being ridiculous."
"And you're doing that thing with your face."
Killian sighed, but he couldn't quite get the right amount of frustration into the sound. "Is this about whatever Scarlet was saying last night? The checking thing?"
"Nah, nah, this is like, I don't know, happiness. I mean, you were right about the smile thing."
"It's strange how I know what's going on with my own face," Killian muttered, but Robin was already shaking his head and he should have realized something was wrong when his vision went spotty.
He was too goddamn busy smiling.
And wondering if he could find that hallway without taking his skates off. Or anyone noticing. There had to be a stairwell somewhere.
Or something a little more romantic.
"You're being sarcastic, but that's because you keep doing that thing with your face," Robin said. "I'm just...the observation is that you're absurdly happy, Cap and I want to make sure that keeps on happening."
"Are you offering to defend my happiness, Locksley?"
"Why do you keep making this more weird than it has to be?"
"Should that word have been weirder? Instead of more weird. I don't think that's the right way to say that."
"I think it might be both, really. I'll tell Lucas to text Mary Margaret. Or text Gina to tell Lucas to text Mary Margaret."
"You've completely lost me now," Killian admitted, Robin chuckling under his breath when he clapped him on the shoulder and everything went to complete and utter shit.
It felt a bit like falling.
Into a cave. A particularly dark cave. That never ended. Ever.
It was awful.
Killian felt his legs wobble underneath him, only slightly frustrated by the ice that wasn't the most stable surface to be standing on, eyes closing without his permission and the rushing in his ears got even louder.
It sounded like the entire Bridgestone Arena was falling down around him. Or possibly the entire city of Nashville. The minimal amount of oxygen he had in his lungs felt like it was burning him from the inside out, everything pressing down on him and twisting him and Killian wished it would stop.
He wished the whole goddamn thing had stopped several weeks before, but that would have required him to acknowledge any of it and he hadn't done that and he tried to grab onto something, anything, some kind of metaphorical foothold in the metaphorical cave and his fingers barely brushed over the front of Robin's jersey.
His All-Star jersey.
They were standing on the ice in the middle of the All-Star skills competition.
"Fuck," Killian breathed, squeezing his eyes closed tighter and something wrapped around him. It might have been Robin's arm.
He wasn't really standing up anymore.
"Cap," Will shouted. Killian didn't answer. His mouth didn't seem to work anymore, nothingseemed to work anymore, and he wished he could have come up with a better metaphor than the cave thing, but he still felt like he was falling or possibly drowning and he was only slightly worried his head was going to crack in half.
That would have to wait until after his knees gave out completely.
Matt was crying.
"Cap," Will repeated, a bit more desperate than it had been a few seconds before. Killian barely heard him. "Holy fuck!"
He didn't really know what happened after that – the world seemed to pause and the falling stopped, but Killian knew it was only because he'd kind of stopped too, in the most technical sense, blinking blearily on the bench.
The lights around him felt far too bright.
He jerked up, breath catching loudly in his throat, and several hands came flying towards him, pushing on his shoulder and his chest and Killian didn't know where to look. People were talking, a low buzz he couldn't quite make out and something that sounded like a few seconds and that's not bad and Killian couldn't stop blinking.
That was weird.
He inhaled sharply, oxygen still fighting him with every breath, and a guy he dimly remembered from Carolina glared at him. Emma would know. Emma would-
"Fuck," Killian repeated, voice scratchy even to his own ears and he had to lick his lips to make sure he could keep cursing on someone else's home-side bench.
"Hold still, Jones," the trainer hissed, grabbing his wrist and ignoring Killian's wince when his thumb dug into the back of his palm. He pushed up the arm of his jersey, yanking off his elbow pad and throwing it haphazardly over his shoulder.
Roland caught it.
"Wait, wait, what just happened?" Killian asked. His eyes scanned the not-so-small crowd around him, every expression slightly terrified and a little overwhelmed, and that wasn't really doing much to help the state of his lungs.
Or his head.
Shit.
Goddamn shit, fuck, damn.
"You ok, Hook?" Roland asked softly, leaning against the glass and Robin was nowhere to be seen. The lights on the cameras got brighter, Killian was sure.
He nodded, but that only drew another glare out of the trainer he absolutely could not remember the name of, and the whole world shifted again, and Roland looked a little terrified.
"Fine," Killian lied. Roland made a noise, not quite an agreement and definitely a little angst-filled, and Killian couldn't laugh without his head aching. "Not great, huh?"
"You might want to practice a little more before Dad gets back."
"Where your dad go?"
Roland opened his mouth to answer, but the Carolina trainer guy had pulled a blood pressure cuff from somewhere and Killian was only slightly concerned about the state of his bicep and where Matt was and it looked like they'd stopped the entire skills competition.
"Fucking hell," he mumbled. He couldn't tug on his hair. He couldn't move his arm. The Carolina guy was trying to turn him to stone, he was convinced.
That probably would have gotten the cameras to pan away from Killian.
"Hook, you really need to stop moving," Roland said, and it was only slightly strange to be chastised by a kid who, at one point, would only get on the ice if Killian promised it would be ok and wouldn't melt.
"What happened?" Killian repeated.
"Do you not remember?"
"Roland!"
He clicked his tongue, eyes widening and lips all but disappearing off his face and Killian knew he shouldn't sigh when he was having so much trouble breathing, but his body didn't care and his emotions didn't care and he was already dreading the number of missed calls he was certain were on his phone.
Killian kind of knew what had happened.
And it was kind of his fault.
It was absolutely, totally, one-hundred thousand percent his fault.
He hoped Emma hadn't seen.
That, however, was not just wishful thinking, it was absurd thinking and the kind of thinking that probably led to passing out on the ice again, and he hoped Matt was still with Will.
He hoped, eventually, Roland Locksley would stop staring at him like he was waiting for him to die or something equally dramatic.
"You know," Roland muttered, dragging out the letters and lifting his eyebrows in a way that was equally parts familiar and incredibly judgmental. "I think that might be the first time you've ever done that. It was kind of weird."
"That's because I'm way cooler than your dad. Tell him that, later, ok?"
"Maybe after you stop trying to cross check the trainer with your forearms."
"I don't think I've got enough energy to do that, really," Killian admitted, twisting his mouth when Roland's eyes bugged. "And I'm not usually here to discipline you."
"Ah, well you've got your own kids for that."
Roland flashed him a smile – something that probably would have been acceptable if Killian hadn't been there for every single major moment in the kid's life, used as a jungle gym for years with his own personal nickname and a wrist shot technique that they'd fine-tuned together. His shoulders shifted when he took a deep breath, letting go of the boards to toss a puck in the air and Killian felt a pang of guilt shoot through every single inch of him.
He'd probably have to get used to that.
And it might have just been the blood pressure cuff.
"Hey," Killian said sharply. Roland dropped the puck. "You ok?"
"I asked you first."
"Yeah, but I'm older than you. And at least some sort of authority figure. You've got to answer my questions, ask Lucas."
"I don't think that's really how media training is supposed to work."
"Ask Lucas."
Roland huffed, but his smile looked a bit more genuine and that had absolutely been the point. "You totally freaked me out," he whispered. Killian heard him perfectly. "Mattie too," Roland continued, and his shoulders probably weren't supposed to heave that much when he breathed. "I think he thought you were dead."
"I can't imagine where he picked that up from."
"I didn't think you were dead this time."
"Small miracles."
Roland rolled his eyes and glared at the same time, an impressive feat Killian would have appreciated more if the Carolina trainer guy hadn't done it first. "So, we were skating and Mattie was skating and it was fine and then you were talking to Dad and everything just kind went to hell, didn't it?"
"Yeah, kind of," Killian nodded. He was honestly the worst disciplinarian. He was also freaking out, so he'd almost rationalized it entirely. The trainer, finally, pulled the blood pressure cuff off his arm. "Where is Mattie?" Killian asked. "And seriously, where's your Dad?"
"He's with Uncle Will. Possibly still crying."
"Your dad or my kid?"
"I'm going to tell Dad you said that."
"Good," Killian grinned, and Roland seemed to breathe a little easier, which had really been the point. The Carolina trainer almost looked less murder-prone.
"You think you can walk?" he asked.
Killian nodded. "Yeah, yeah, of course."
He was, however, a great, big enormous liar – which was starting to become some kind of trend and that didn't really bode well for the future or his role as potential disciplinarian for his kids and Killian was only a little disappointed he wasn't setting a better example.
Roland gasped.
"I'm fine, Rol," Killian promised, falling back on nicknames and normal in the hope that if he just kept saying it, it would come true.
Roland didn't look convinced.
"Seriously, Hook. Practice. And Dad went to go get Emma out of the press box."
Killian dropped back onto the edge of the bench, right skate making a horrendous noise when it skidded across the floor, and his pads had never felt heavier. The cave metaphor was back.
He swallowed, nodding and not entirely sure what he was agreeing to, but his heart had fallen into his stomach, and possibly out of it, and probably got stabbed with his skate.
"It wasn't good, Hook," Roland mumbled. "It was super shitty, honestly. And really, really terrifying."
Killian hummed, the smile on his face forced and wrong and Roland was almost too pale, all wide eyes and curly hair, rocking back and forth on his skates. He totally thought Killian was going to die.
Still. Or always.
Both of those things were absurdly morbid.
And Killian really wanted to see Emma.
He glanced at the trainer, an expectant look on his face. "I'm assuming there's tests or something?" Killian asked, getting himself a slightly sarcastic nod for his decidedly sarcastic question. "I'm not getting on a stretcher. Not...that's not happening."
The guy pursed his lips, pulling in a breath of air slowly through his nose, and Killian tried not to blink. Or think about how much his head still, impossibly, hurt.
"It's nice you don't want to freak out your kids or your wife," the trainer said. That was last thing Killian expected to hear. He blinked. Figured. "But, it's also pretty fucking stupid. Sorry, kid, I figured you'd heard that kind of language before."
"I kind of grew up on a professional hockey team," Roland explained. "I'm used to it."
"Still growing," Killian amended, and it was a pretty pointless correction, but he didn't want to freak out his kids or his wife or the teenager standing a few feet away from him.
"Hook's not going to get on a stretcher, no matter what you tell him. Or call him. He's still thinking about cross-checking you anyway."
The trainer laughed. Killian should have stopped expecting anything to go the way he planned it at this point.
He hoped that wasn't a pattern.
"Yeah, I kind of picked up on that strangely enough," the trainer grinned. He stood up, huffing as he went and holding a hand out for Killian. "There are tests. Your wife is probably already freaking out and if that kid I saw clinging to Scarlet was any indication, this other kid is right and he totally thinks your dead."
"You know your bedside manner could use some work," Killian drawled.
"Yeah, I get that a lot. Lucky you aren't on my team, huh?" Killian hummed, only wobbling slightly on his skates, but the world didn't flip, so that felt like a very important victory. "Here, come here, kid," the trainer continued, nodding towards Roland who leapt over the boards with an almost surprising amount of agility.
It shouldn't have been.
Roland Locksley grew up with a professional hockey team.
"Yeah, yeah, there you go," the trainer grumbled, an arm around Killian's waist and a supportive look on his face when Roland did the same. "Alright, Jones, let's make sure your head isn't going to explode, huh?"
Killian's head did not, in fact, explode, but he was fairly certain it was close.
They took his blood pressure four more times, making him follow a pen and stare at the wall and asked questions about the date and several about the current president. Killian resisted the urge to make a Teddy Roosevelt joke, mostly because he knew it would fall flat and just made him hope Emma wasn't pacing in a hallway somewhere, but that second one was absolutely happening and the whole thing was absolutely his fault.
It all lasted forever and then some, a seemingly never-ending stream of people in Predators polos and a few league reps and Killian could barely hear the sounds of pucks hitting the ice because they did, eventually, have to restart the skills competition.
The game had to go on.
Or however the saying went.
They made him take his jersey off at some point, but that had only led to more dizziness and even more concern and Killian was sitting in his goddamn pads and pants, skates still, inexplicably, on when he heard the footsteps.
And, really, he didn't consider all the reasons he shouldn't have known it was her, but his heart didn't seem to care and his mind, whatever part of it might not be suffering from lingering concussion symptoms, cared even less and he breathed a bit easier as soon as Emma walked through the door.
That lasted all of two seconds.
Because in those two seconds Killian realized her eyes were red and he was slightly worried about the damage she was inflicting on her lower lip, right hand wrapped around her ring and his eyes darted towards her laces immediately.
They looked a little stretched out.
Emma exhaled loudly as soon as she moved into the room, gaze darting over him like she was conducting inventory and, for the first time in the last few hours, Killian didn't mind.
He tried to smile.
"Are you seriously trying to flirt with me right now?" Emma asked, voice quiet and shaking slightly and there were tears in her eyes. Robin was lingering in the doorway. "Because that's really, really stupid."
Killian shifted on the table he'd been told he couldn't get off. The Preds team doctor had disappeared ten minutes before. "Is it working?" he asked.
"Oh my God."
"Not an answer."
"You're an ass."
"Yes."
She let out a watery laugh, body sagging forward, and Killian didn't really have to try and smile that time. "I can't believe you just agreed to that," Emma mumbled, moving towards him and the Earth might have shifted again when she rested her hand on his knee. "What happened to your jersey?"
"Did you not want to see me without my jersey on, Swan?"
"Locksley, go find me a stick, so I can check Cap."
Robin chuckled, moving around the doorway he'd been leaning against and Roland had definitely learned that particular expression from him. "You might have to get in line, Em," he said. "Scarlet's super pissed at you."
"Surprise, surprise," Killian muttered. "Is Mattie still with him?"
Emma nodded. "A little less terrified after several very long conversations while we were waiting for you and several promises I absolutely could not keep, but uh…"
She trailed off, tongue darting between her lips and there appeared to be something very interesting on the ceiling all of a sudden. Killian's stomach clenched.
"Hey," he whispered, brushing his thumb over Emma's cheek. He had no idea where his gloves were. Or his jersey, honestly. "It's ok."
Emma sniffled, turning into her palm and pressing her lips against the inside of his wrist. It took a moment to twist so she could stand in between his legs, Robin clicking his tongue in reproach and Emma looking slightly scandalized, but Killian was a selfish and self-described asshole, and his wife was totally freaking out.
"I really don't think you're supposed to be moving," Emma said, but those words shook slightly too and Robin was talking to someone in the hallway.
"I really don't care."
"A medical rebel."
"With several causes that all point to you."
She groaned, but there was a hint of a laugh to it, smile tremulous and eyes closed lightly and Killian ignored the throbbing in his head when he kissed the top of her hair. "That was really stupid too," Emma said. "And I'm not even sure it made much sense."
"Is your cognizant reasoning off, Cap?" Robin called, eyes wide when Killian narrowed his. Emma bit her lip again.
"My reasoning is fine," Killian promised. "Honestly, Swan. There were forty-seven tests to prove it. I'm not...my mind is fine."
"But not some other things, right?" Emma asked. "I mean...you're…" She sighed, shoulders sagging and tears falling despite his best efforts. "Did you really pass out on the ice?"
"So they tell me."
"Killian."
"I know, I know, love. It's ok, though. Honestly."
"Please don't lie like that. Not right to my face. Not when I just spent the last forty-five minutes lying to one kid so I wouldn't totally freak out in front of him."
His stomach was just going to stay knotted for the rest of his life, he was positive. And he deserved it. He was positive of that too.
"I'm so sorry, Emma," Killian whispered. She pulled back, brows pulled low and worry practically boiling off her and he hadn't really planned on apologizing, but it felt almost appropriate and he knew she hadn't been sleeping.
There was another fan event after the skills competition.
Her mouth dropped, breathing quickening and Killian knew there were more questions sitting on the tip of her tongue, but he heard more footsteps and shouting and a noise that might have been both Will and Roland sprinting down the hallway.
Robin barely moved out of the way in time.
Emma didn't.
And the four-year-old in a Jones jersey that crashed into her side looked positively stunned to see his dad sitting on an examining table, very much still alive.
"Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad," Matt yelled, jumping and tugging on the bottom of Emma's blazer. "You fell over!"
Killian knew he shouldn't laugh, was well aware of whatever both Robin and Will did with their respective and collective faces as soon as the sound fell out of him, but he couldn't really help it and Emma's eyes were still closed.
"I did," Killian agreed, reaching down to pry Matt's fingers away from Emma's. His nails dug into his skin, leaving crescent-shaped marks in his wake and Killian's eyes flashed towards Emma. She didn't look at him. "But," he added. "I'm here now and we're all good."
"Good?" Matt echoed.
"Better than. I promise."
Emma's eyes opened – far too green to be anything except decidedly disorienting and he wished the entire room would leave so he could talk and explain and promise, again, how absolutely fine he was and how incredibly sorry he'd continue to be.
Indefinitely.
Maybe after he got some Tylenol or something.
"Where's Peggy?" Killian asked, gaze darting around the room like he'd suddenly realize one of his teammates was holding his daughter.
Emma's laugh didn't have much humor to it, the sound sending a chill down his spine and the knots in his stomach were probably naval-grade now. "Ruby refused to relinquish her hold. Her words, not mine. Again. She's somewhere in this arena talking to several thousand people who watched you just collapse on the ice, trying to give them an answer for why you, a thriving, healthy, professional athlete would do such a goddamn stupid thing and she claimed Peggy made it easier or something about new baby smell, which doesn't make sense at all because she's more than a year old at this point, but I was trying to pace several ditches in the hallway and-"
"-Swan," he interrupted. She wasn't breathing. She was crying again. "Emma. I'm alright. Just waiting on test results and-"
"-Was it the New Jersey game?"
They needed to stop interrupting each other. They needed to be in their own room or their own apartment with frames on the wall and pillows Killian could sink into and he needed to stop making Emma cry.
There were probably several hundred voicemails on his phone.
Killian nodded slowly. He couldn't move any faster. "I think it might have been," he said, not sure which member of the New York Rangers peanut gallery whistled the sharpest. "They didn't...they didn't think it was a concussion then."
"Did you?"
"I'm not a doctor, Swan."
"But you've had concussions before."
"Yeah."
"And you hit the boards absurdly hard in that game."
"I don't know if it was absurdly," Killian argued, but Emma was already shaking her head and both Robin and Will mumbled c'mon, Cap under their breath.
"Absurdly," Emma repeated.
"So, wait a second," Will said, moving and bringing Roland with him, stumbling along behind him. "You hit the boards in Jersey, which was before the Christmas break, probably slammed your head at the same time and they didn't even offer to do a concussion test? Nothing? That's kind of rude, don't you think?"
"And against protocol," Robin muttered. Emma was frozen. "You better not let A hear that, Cap. She'll walk to the Prudential Center and strangle several people."
"She'll get fined for that," Killian said.
"I really doubt she'll care."
Emma didn't blink, but her fingers had found their way back to her ring, alternating between the metal and her laces. Will had clearly picked up some trying to turn Killian to stonetechniques from that Carolina trainer.
A one-man Emma Swan protection squad.
"They did tests here?" Emma asked lightly. Killian nodded. "And you haven't gotten anything back yet?"
"That's why I'm sitting here, Swan."
"Yuh huh."
"Swan."
"Fine," she said. "It's all fine, right?"
Killian's nod didn't feel quite right, a bit like a bobblehead or a piece of plastic that didn't have any give to it and every single one of his muscles was tense. He was fairly certain his lungs had collapsed at some point in the conversation.
Matt stared at all of them, gaze darting between faces and expressions he was far too young to understand, and Killian didn't think before holding his arms out expectantly. "Come here, Mattie," he muttered.
"Cap, I don't know if that's-" Will started, but Killian jerked his head up and it felt like the start of a penalty kill, down one with only a few minutes left in the third. Or something that wasn't quite as ridiculous as making hockey puns in the middle of a very legitimate crisis.
He was going to strangle that Preds doctor. He just wanted some answers. And to get that look off Emma's face.
Matt bobbed on the balls of his feet, arms thrust into the air and a smile on his face that made it all too obvious he didn't care about what had happened when what was currently happening was so much better.
The whole thing was much more difficult than it usually was, a mess of limbs and not-so-quiet grunts because Killian still wasn't entirely sure his lungs were functioning correctly, but then Emma's hand was on Matt's back, and just below the name on his jersey, and the world had an incredibly twisted sense of humor.
One side of her mouth tugged up.
"We don't need you straining your oblique too," she muttered. "Ariel was already threatening to fly to Nashville. She said the 'Canes guy was a quack."
"A quack?"
"That's what Rubes claimed she said and I doubt she'd make it up."
"Ah, well, it's wrong to fabricate quotes, you know."
Emma huffed, but the tug was a full-blown smile and Killian almost appreciated the arms around his neck and the knee in his spleen. "The flirting thing's got to stop."
"It's distracting me from my head."
"God, you can't just say bits and pieces of medical information like that. It's going to make me go insane and I'm already treading dangerously close to some cesspool of...something. And you're not allowed to comment on my inability to provide a quote in this situation."
"I wasn't planning on it, love," Killian said, but his voice was far more serious than he planned and it was another promise he was determined to keep. Matt kicked him in the shin. "But I do think Red probably meant crack. That makes more sense in context."
"And I don't think she gave a shit about context."
"Were we not going to comment on Emma's inappropriate use of words there?" Will asked, an arm around Roland's shoulders and he was still a little out of breath. Killian rolled his eyes.
"Shut up, Scarlet."
"Ah, that almost warmed the cockles of my heart, Cap. If you're capable of telling me to shut up, you're definitely fine."
"Shouldn't you be back on the ice?"
Will's expression shifted – all humor forgotten and everything felt harder, like he'd been carved of stone and anger and Killian really was the ass he was advertised as. "Are you kidding me, Cap?" Will seethed. "You honestly think I'd be able to lace up now?"
"I'm fine."
"You're a goddamn awful liar is what you are."
"Plus," Emma muttered softly. "Mattie wouldn't let go of him so I'm not sure if Scarlet would have been able to get back on the ice if he wanted to. Although, the world will probably mourn you not taking the shooting shot thing."
"Strangely enough that didn't narrow it down much, Em."
"Did you not hear my speech about the quotes and not caring about words? That extended to the proper name for for All-Star events."
"You should get some bonus points for using the word proper though, Swan," Killian said. She hummed, fingers tracing over NHL-provided stitching and letters and the number that had been on her back for the majority of yesterday.
Killian took a deep breath, trying to calm the sudden onslaught of feelings that always arrived whenever he thought about Emma wearing his number on some kind of indefinite lifetime basis. He buried his head into the crook of Matt's neck instead, closing his eyes like that would make any of this easier or get the doctor to come back quicker.
"Dad," Matt whined, not appreciating when he was the one being suffocated. Killian didn't let go, just closed his eyes and took a deep breath and it smelled like laundry detergent and the shampoo he knew Emma brought with her from New York.
He wanted to go home.
He wanted to get the hell out of the Nashville Predators training room.
"And," Robin added. "Speaking of not caring about context or whatever, uh…" He held a phone out, the small piece of plastic and technology vibrating in his palm. "She and Anna have been taking turns. Gina gave me hers too because they were wrecking her battery and I think Zelena was trying to call her."
"Wait, what?" Killian asked sharply.
"Cap, are you kidding me?"
"About Zelena?"
"Oh, you were talking about Zelena. I swore you were talking about Anna and El and probably whatever essay Liam has already typed up and e-mailed to all of us."
"You think he'd e-mail it?"
"You don't think he would?"
Killian sighed, shaking his head and grabbing the phone and Elsa was yelling before he'd done more than swiped his thumb over the screen. "Are you fucking serious, KJ?" she screamed, practically growling and he'd never heard that tone in his entire life.
"I don't understand the question, El."
"I am going to murder you through this phone."
"Unfortunately, I don't think that's entirely possible."
"Anna's been trying to call you since the camera panned to what was actually a pretty adorable moment before. She's going to be pissed that you answered for me."
"Or you could just not tell Banana that I answered for you. Also Locksley was worried you were going to do irreparable damage to his phone. Did you call me too?"
Silence. Killian's eyes flickered, towards Robin, a quick jerk of his head and he knew it – several hundred, likely, increasingly aggressive and profanity-filled voicemails.
He was going to leave his phone in Tennessee.
"You don't get to call in favors on this one, KJ," Elsa hissed. "What the hell happened?"
"I fell over."
"Fell over."
"There are kids present, El."
"Did he think you died?"
"Yes," Killian bit out, a quiet sigh and not-so-quiet sniffle coming from Colorado. And he still couldn't run a hand through his hair, far too aware of the lack of movement in his muscles and the arms he was determined to keep wrapped around his kid for as long as possible. "Did it look bad on TV?"
"Exceedingly bad. As bad as…" Elsa sighed again, and Killian could barely make out another voice in the background, shouting about hits and history and how important concussion protocol is. He looked at Emma.
She looked away.
"That wasn't the goal, El," Killian muttered. She scoffed.
"I know it wasn't. But it did drudge up some particularly painful memories, KJ. I think Liam's been researching concussion symptoms on his phone for the last twenty minutes and, honestly, everything he finds is just worse than the last thing. And Anna cried, so feel appropriately bad about that."
"I feel bad enough, I promise."
Emma's head snapped back towards him, lips parted slightly and air rushing out of her. He felt worse. She reached for his hand, brushing the tips of her fingers over the back of his palm. There were more questions there, practically broadcasting themselves on her face and he'd always been very good at reading her, but that almost felt like a punishment – five minutes and a game misconduct for lying to your wife.
And for telling the training staff in New Jersey they didn't really have to follow concussion protocol because he was fine.
He wasn't really fine.
At all.
"I love you," Emma whispered, and Killian's stomach finally unknotted. Elsa was still talking. He ignored her. He'd apologize for that eventually.
"I know, Swan," he said. "I love you, too. More than anything."
"KJ," Elsa snapped, Will chuckling softly when he heard the clipped tone of her voice even a few feet away. "If you're going to profess things, the least you could do is get off the phone with me first."
"You called me, El."
"Because I am losing my mind. And you passed out on the ice. That's not a normal, body thing that's supposed to happen."
"At the All-Star game," Will chipped in. "Didn't even get hit."
"Exactly. Tell Scarlet thank you."
"I mean he can probably hear you," Killian reasoned, shifting Matt slightly when his knee slid towards a different organ. He'd fallen asleep. "Scarlet's apparently got superpowers now and can hear you even though he's not part of this conversation."
Will flipped him off. And there were more footsteps coming, heavy and measured and others that were a bit lighter and a bit more click and clack and Peggy was not asleep when Ruby stormed into the room.
"The doctor is here," Ruby announced.
Roland laughed. "Are you calling yourself a doctor now, Rubes? Do you travel through time?"
"Don't be an idiot just because Cap is." She held her hand out. "Give me the phone, Cap. El can yell at you some more later because you absolutely deserve it."
Killian didn't argue, mumbling a quick see ya to Elsa and giving up the phone that wasn't his, eyes darting towards the doctor and the less-than-encouraging expression on his face.
And he smiled when Emma opened her mouth to start asking questions.
"Is it a concussion?" she asked. "Still?" The doctor shook his head. "What does that mean? He was going to win the speed competition. He shouldn't have passed out on the ice."
"It's not still a concussion."
"Then what is it?"
"Ms. Swan-"
"No," Emma growled and Will moved again, flanking her right side. The doctor looked a little stunned. "That's not how this works. Straight answers."
The doctor blinked.
"Em," Will cautioned, resting a hand on her shoulder, at the same time Killian mumbled "Swan."
She, somehow, glared at both of them, a look she usually reserved for Matt when he dented the walls in their apartment with a wrist shot that was honestly almost too good for his age.
"I spoke to the doctor in New York," the man said, and they really should have found out his name. Propriety, it seemed, flew out several metaphorical windows when the New York Rangers were dealing with concussions and Jones brothers history and there'd already been far too much crying in several different major cities that night.
"And?" Killian prompted.
"How long have you been experiencing the headaches?"
Emma's eyes widened, a size that could not have been healthy, and all the color seemed to rush out of her face at once. Killian's mind flashed to several clichés about white as a sheetand he hoped he hadn't made Mrs. Vankald cry too.
That would have been too much.
He hoped Elsa called Mrs. Vankald.
"Jones," the doctor said brusquely, and Killian moved enough that Matt grumbled in response. "Has it been since that hit?"
Killian nodded, speaking a sudden and rather difficult challenge and he resisted the urge to burrow back against the kid in his arms. He knew they were all staring at him – equal and slightly different looks of measured frustration and anger and surprise, but his eyes flitted towards Emma and she simply looked disappointed.
"Headaches," she repeated softly. He nodded again. A goddamn giveaway bobblehead. "Since the Jersey game? Before Christmas?"
"All true, Swan," he said.
"And you didn't say anything?"
"I was fine."
"I mean, obviously not!"
It was a bit like watching a rubber-band snap. Her eyes widened more, voice rising on every later and neither of the two kids in that room appreciated the edge Killian knew he deserved.
She took a deep breath, a rough inhale that probably did more damage to her nose than helped her lungs, and Will glared at Killian. He deserved that too. God, he really hoped Mrs. Vankald hadn't cried.
Emma took a step back, stumbling over her feet. She yanked on her laces tightly, gaze darting around the room like she was looking for an escape hatch and Ruby muttered something under her breath, turning on her with a baby in her arms that was probably exhausted after being unfairly woken up several times in the last twenty-four hours.
"Dad," Matt whispered, mostly into the pads Killian was still inexplicably wearing.
"Yeah, Mattie?"
"Are you ok?"
Emma stopped walking. Ruby stopped talking. Killian froze.
The doctor blinked again.
"I think it's best if you spend tonight in an area hospital and-"
They should have come up with a list of all the people Killian was going to have to apologize to by the end of All-Star weekend. He hated All-Star weekend. And the Predators team doctor was quite obviously surprised when his entire training room seemed to explode in a barrage of questions and curses and a phone ringing again, because Elsa may have honestly been some kind of psychic.
It might have been Mary Margaret.
She was probably worried about Emma.
"Just for observation," the doctor said, hands held up in surrender. "I don't think there's any sense in doing much more. Not when you should get back to New York as soon as possible."
"As soon as possible," Emma repeated.
"Tomorrow if you can make that happen."
"So no game?" Killian asked, met with half a dozen immediate glares.
"Oh my God, Cap," Robin grumbled. "Stop talking. Or I'm going to call Anna and tell her that you answered El's call again."
"She'll actually murder me."
"I'd be counting on it."
He sighed, shifting Matt to his thigh so he could run a suddenly exhausted hand over his face. It looked oddly blank. His ring was still in the hotel room. "Observation?" he asked.
The doctor nodded. "It's probably better if you get the tests done when you're home. There'll be plenty and I'm sure Dr. Whale would rather you were there where he could oversee instead of just relying on my hearsay. And it seems your team's athletic trainer is also intent on making sure everything is alright."
Killian didn't really laugh, wasn't entirely sure he could, but he made a noise anyway and Emma rested her head on Ruby's shoulder. "We just want to make sure nothing happens in the next twelve hours or so," the doctor said, doing an atrocious job of keeping his voice light.
"You think something could happen?" Emma asked.
"I think it's best to be safe. When dealing with things like this."
"Ok."
"Why you don't come stay with us tonight, Mattie?" Roland asked. The doctor should have been taking lessons from him. "We can call Henry and you can show him your new wrist move."
Matt nodded enthusiastically, nearly jumping off the table. "And," Will grinned. "We'll order a ridiculous amount of room service and you can't do anything about it, Cap."
"I'd be counting on it," Killian repeated. He looked at Robin, a flash of something on his face, like he hadn't done his job when it came to protecting Killian's happiness. "Do we have to call an ambulance or can I just take a car?"
"We," Emma corrected. "And we should probably do that, right? Just to...make sure nothing happens?"
"It's a good idea," the doctor said. Killian tried to ignore the crack he swore was visible in the very center of him.
And for as slow as everything felt before, the actual ride to the hospital felt impossibly fast – a string of paperwork Emma refused to let Killian fill out himself and EMTs who were a little starstruck and the room they gave him had terrible lighting.
They gave him an IV, something about dehydration and unconsciousness and how that affected several different systems in the human body, as if Killian weren't already painfully aware of all of those things. The TV hanging from the ceiling got, exactly, sixteen channels, four of which were ESPN affiliates and two more that were CBS Sports and NBC Sports, and Emma kept sighing when she moved by another channel that was talking about him.
She shifted in her chair no less than eighty-seven times.
It was a rough estimate.
"Swan," Killian said, but she didn't turn around, just kept slamming her thumb into a remote that could not have been clean. "Swan."
"How are there not other things for people to talk about? ESPN cares about hockey for exactly two weeks during the Cup final and even then it gets relegated to, like, the twelve-thirty slot and that one guy. Barry-"
"-Melrose."
"Right, right. They don't care. CBS doesn't even know what icing is. What the hell are they doing showing you?"
"You think the entire conglomerate of CBS should know what icing is? That might be kind of a challenge for them. Collectively."
"The only station that should be acknowledging this is NBC and that's because they've got the rights to the All-Star game and you collapsed on their stream or however TV works." She turned around, shoulders shaking and eyes blinking and Killian was only ever going to feel guilty for the rest of his life, he was certain. He'd accept it if it meant Emma stopped staring at him like that. "Do you think we can sue them for sharing footage?"
"I don't think so, love."
She sighed, trying to wipe away tears without him noticing, but that was impossible. "That's disappointing."
"You can double check with Gina if you want. Or ask David. I bet he'd know."
"I've been ignoring my phone. I think David set a record for phone calls in a twenty-minute span, but Mattie was freaking out and I really wasn't kidding about him trying to strangle Scarlet and he was great. We should buy him something."
Killian arched an eyebrow. "Like what?"
"I don't know. Something. What does Scarlet like?"
"Punching people."
"You're no help at all." She deflated when she realized what she'd said, tugging her lips behind her teeth and yanking on her laces with a gusto that wasn't surprising. "That's not what I meant."
"I know it wasn't, Swan," Killian said. There wasn't much room in that bed, wasn't much comfort in that bed, and he didn't really know the rules of an observational hospital stay, but he knew he wasn't going to let Emma sleep in that chair.
And he was never going to fall asleep without her next to him.
Selfish, clingy asshole – catch him tonight on several different sports broadcasts and the local Nashville news.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Moving. So you can sit here too."
"I can't sit there. You're concussed."
"We don't know that for sure."
Emma groaned, but she dropped the remote on the chair and it didn't really take much convincing to get her next to him. If he weren't so goddamn worried about the bags under her eyes and the record she might have set for crying, Killian would have appreciated that.
She fit next to him very well.
Indefinitely.
That was also kind of cliché.
"Headaches?" Emma whispered, a few moments after he was hopeful she'd fallen asleep.
"Yeah."
"Since Jersey?"
"Like the very next day."
"You didn't say anything."
"I didn't want you to worry."
"I hate to tell you this, but you kind of missed your mark."
He had to twist to kiss her, a quick brush over her hair and her forehead and his fingers worked their way under the bottom of her shirt. "I know that too, love," Killian murmured. "And I'm sorry. For all of it."
"I don't think it's over yet."
"Neither do I."
They fell asleep eventually, woken up by a disgruntled nurse who did not appreciate them breaking whatever protocol the Nashville hospital had, and all of them got on a plane back to New York that morning, the entire Rangers delegation pulling out of the All-Star game.
Ruby wrote a press release.