"Are you even supposed to be here?"
Killian arched an eyebrow, leaning back slightly on the bench and he couldn't actually roll his eyes fast enough when Robin's widened, worry practically coming off him in waves. It was probably doing damage to the ice. "I am on IR, Locksley," Killian said, doing his best to keep his voice even.
There were, after all, kids on that ice.
"IR," Killian repeated when Robin kept staring him like that wasn't an actual thing. "Not dead."
Robin's eyes, somehow, got even bigger and Killian rolled his whole head in response. They'd made it official two days before –after the press conference that wasn't really a press conference because all the questions were just the same thing over and over, when are you coming back and how long have you been injured and don't the Rangers care about head trauma and Killian wished they'd stop using that word.
He wished Emma had showed up at the press conference that absolutely was not a press conference.
It might have been a bit closer to torture.
But that felt dramatic to say out loud.
And Emma had enough to worry about without having to also worry about standing in the corner of the locker room while Killian tried to smile and not notice that every single reporter asked him the same question. She needed to worry about that roulette table and eating and he kept reminding Ruby to remind Emma to eat and Ruby might have rolled her eyes more in the last few days than Killian.
It was impressive.
It was also pretty goddamn annoying, but Killian knew he didn't have a leg to stand on in that particular argument and mostly he was just pissed off because an indefinite IR stint felt a bit like a death sentence.
He was, probably, the most dramatic person in all five boroughs.
"I'm not suggesting you're dead," Robin said evenly, digging the toe of his skate into the ice. "I'm just suggesting that maybe you aren't supposed to linger."
Killian blinked, and he'd lost complete control of his eyebrows and his emotions and, maybe, his life, but he was hopeful that last one was getting better and he'd really wanted Emma to be in the back corner of the locker room when he answered the same question, just worded differently, forty-seven times.
Dramatic and selfish and several other vaguely horrible adjectives that mostly just focused on how much he'd been ignoring his phone in the last few days and ignoring the worry lingering in the pit of his stomach and, possibly, the spaces between his ribs and it kind of felt like he was made of the feeling at that point.
Indefinite was not part of the schedule.
Indefinite was expansive and never-ending and the season had been going well, not perfect, but enough and Matt was still laughing on the ice because Matt wanted to live on the ice and Killian had no idea when he was going to get back on it.
"Cap," Robin hissed, making it almost too obvious it was not the first time he'd tried to get Killian's attention.
He blinked again.
He was some kind of blinking machine – fueled solely on worry. And maybe fear. God, that was worse.
"Yeah," Killian said brusquely, sitting up straighter like that would make him appear more interested or more enthused and they had mostly staged walk-throughs during practice, but no one seemed all that intent on getting off the ice and even Arthur kept glancing at Killian like he was some sad, broken thing who had absolutely fucked up.
He should have been writing these things down.
They were so dramatic they were almost poetic.
Robin laughed, eyes closed and shoulders shaking, and that was not at all what Killian expected.
And that seemed to be a trend too.
"What the hell is your problem right now?" Killian asked sharply, Robin's eyes snapping open and immediately darting towards Will and Killian was sure his eyes were going to get stuck mid-roll. That wouldn't help him beat Ruby in whatever unspoken competition they were staging.
He hoped she remembered to make Emma eat lunch.
That roulette table was driving her insane.
"Are you under the impression that I genuinely believe you're dead?" Robin asked. Killian groaned and sighed, a mix of sounds that scratched at the inside of his throat when his whole body sagged forward, but Robin didn't waver and Will was far too busy practicing breakaways with Matt and Roland to be worried about this conversation that made no sense at all.
"No," Killian said.
"No?"
"Speak in actual, real sentences, Locksley, please. Why don't you think I should be here?"
"That's not what I said."
"That is exactly what you said!"
"It's not, Cap," Will argued, flashing Matt a grin when he dusted the top of his skates with ice. "You've got to be faster, Dr. J. Otherwise you're going to deal with ice-type repercussions."
"Scarlet, he's four. He does not understand what the word repercussions means."
"Do you?"
Killian groaned, and it probably should have been obvious as soon as he got there.
And, really, he couldn't blame them.
He knew he'd absolutely, positively terrified both of them equally and efficiently and that second one might not have been the right word, but Killian wasn't really sleeping through the night and he knew Emma wasn't either and they both kept staring at the ceiling and opposite walls and that worry in between his ribs felt like several dozen weights.
It was probably warping all of his internal organs.
That was an absolutely disgusting thought.
The first game after All-Stars wasn't bad. It was, actually, almost kind of fun, sitting in the team box with Matt and Mary Margaret and David and there'd been yelling and cheering and Phillip had scored twice and they beat the Leafs easily.
Matt was thrilled by the whole thing, talking a mile a minute in the restaurant after and explaining to anyone who would listen how good it was that Arthur had challenged that one offsides because it was offsides, but he couldn't really say the word challenge and there was an extra 'w' in there every time he shouted it that did something peculiar to Killian's heart.
It was good.
Or, it was as good as recently sent to the IR Killian Jones could have expected it to be, but then Matt asked when he'd be back and they'd gone over this, had dealt with tears and a sound that Killian was certain would echo in between his ears for the rest of his life and he was still a little concerned that Emma needed stitches for whatever she'd done to her lower lip during that whole conversation.
They went through it again, another round of tears and confusion and that goddamn sound and Killian got, exactly, forty-two minutes of sleep somewhere in the realm of four in the morning once he was sure Emma's breathing had evened out.
Because he didn't have an answer and it scared his kid, but it petrified him and Killian wasn't sure he knew what happened in a life where there wasn't hockey.
So, two days later, he offered to pick Matt up from school because he couldn't practice and didn't know what else to do and Emma's eyes widened slightly before she nodded and mumbled thanks, pressing a kiss to his cheek before dealing with roulette tables and an overworked assistant and she probably didn't eat lunch.
They somehow ended up back at the Garden – for a slew of reasons that might have been how much Killian wanted to see Emma because he was, absolutely, a selfish asshole, but also might have been because he knew there was practice before a two-game homestand and the last five days had been the longest he'd been off the ice since he hurt his hand.
He didn't think anyone realized that.
He should have known Robin and Will would realize that.
"That was heavy-handed," Killian grumbled, but Will chuckled under his breath and the stick he'd given Matt was almost twice his height. "Where'd you even get that stick?"
Will shrugged. "Somewhere in the corner of the bench. It might be Arthur's, honestly."
"He'll be pissed you stole it."
"We're borrowing it. We've got every intention of giving it back, don't we, Dr. J?"
Matt nodded enthusiastically, nearly losing his balance in the process and Roland had started practicing snapshots on his own. He'd scored on Jeff twice already. "Yeah, yeah," Matt said quickly. "Coach doesn't mind! He thinks I'm really good! He said I could start when I play too."
"That so?" Killian asked, but he was a little worried about those internal organs again and Will's eyes kept flashing to Robin. Their intervention was not going as planned.
"It is painfully adorable that your kid calls Arthur coach," Will said. "Makes my whole soul burst into rainbows."
"Well, that's disgusting. You should have your soul checked out."
"That's rude, Cap."
"And you're still being incredibly heavy-handed. Plus, he couldn't really say Arthur before and then coach just stuck and—"
"—And that makes Arthur's soul burst into several rainbows," Robin finished. "Plus Guinevere is absolutely charmed by the whole thing. I think she tears up every time she sees Matt."
"Is G here?" Matt called, trying to stare at Killian and Robin at the same time and they really needed to work on tighter turns when he was on skates. He was going to fall over. Sooner rather than later.
Killian wasn't sure Emma would be able to deal with that.
Killian wasn't sure he'd be able to deal with that.
"Not now, kid," Killian answered, crooking a finger and laughing slightly when Matt collided softly with the boards. "You going to score on Jeff, yet?"
Matt's eyes practically lit up, excitement on his face and possibly rainbows shooting out of Killian's soul or something equally absurd, but he'd never seen another kid who loved the ice more than his kid.
God, he wanted to get on the ice again.
"Can I?" Matt shouted, and Will groaned dramatically behind him.
He held both hands in the air, crouched slightly as he skated backwards – so he wouldn't land on his back when Matt inevitably slammed into his chest and he might have been four years old with a getting-better-by-the-day vocabulary and diction, but Matthew Jones was already incredibly fast, even with a stick that was almost comically large in his hand.
"Would I leave you hanging like that, Dr. J?" Will balked, sliding back until he was just on the edge of the far circle and Matt didn't fall when he turned on the spot. Robin let out a low whistle. "C'mon, man, we don't play the game like that. We play to win and we play to completely decimate Jeff in net."
"Aw, c'mon," Jeff sighed. He pushed out of his circle, moving down the ice with a hand on Roland's shoulders and they were both kicking pucks as they moved.
"There had to be a more efficient way to do that," Killian said. Jeff shrugged.
"Probably. But the angst-ridden teenager was already talking trash and I didn't want to see him try and bounce all twenty bucks on his stick at once or something stupid."
"I couldn't do that," Roland mumbled, but both Killian and Jeff clicked their tongues and maybe they should let him in on the eye-rolling competition too. He'd beat both Killian and Ruby easily. "I mean, you know, maybe like…ten," he amended, and Killian's laugh felt a little manic, but he was exhausted and stressed out and his friends were staging a shitty intervention.
So, really, whatever noise he made seemed perfectly acceptable.
He wished Robin's vaguely judgmental stare got that memo.
"Let's make it a round dozen, huh?" Killian asked. Roland beamed.
"That seems fair."
"Can we stop all glorifying the kids?" Jeff muttered, but he was already in net again and Matt was standing on the blue line like he'd been born there. "They're going to start getting ideas and then we're all going to be out of a job."
"You a little worried about your job?" Robin asked knowingly.
Jeff threw a water bottle at him.
"Shut up, Locksley. Your kid is eight-thousand times better than you are. Especially at faceoffs."
"Don't let Gina here you say that," Will suggested, making a ridiculous noise when Matt hit him in the back of the ankles. "Ah, jeez, Dr. J. The limbs, they've got to be controlled."
"Yeah, good luck with that," Killian laughed. "It's because you didn't give him a real stick."
"If you were going to crash practice like this, you should have been better prepared, Cap. Why didn't you bring him a stick?"
"You think we should just be wandering around Midtown with hockey sticks in our hands?"
"Did you walk up here from school?"
Killian shrugged, but it hadn't been that cold and the thought of answering questions from particularly curious cab drivers or even more self-important Uber drivers, was not one he was all that interested in. Will cackled. "Oh man, wait until I tell Emma on you," he grinned.
"Walking up Broadway is not a crime, Scarlet. Neither is showing up to the practice of a team I am still very much employed by." Will hummed, but it sounded a little patronizing and his gaze flashed Robin's direction again. Killian sighed. "You are both absolutely horrible at this, you know that, right?"
"That's because we thought we were going to have to do it after the back to back," Robin explained. "You caught us by surprise and now we're just kind of…winging it."
"It's not your best work, honestly."
"That's still not getting you out of it."
"Yeah, I figured."
"Dad," Matt whined, and Killian snapped his head up, eyes wide and brows halfway up his forehead and that stick was absolutely ridiculous. "Can I shoot now?"
"Nothing was stopping you before," Will mumbled, but he stopped talking as soon as both Robin and Killian glared at him and Roland might have joined the fray as well. If there was another water bottle, Jeff would have thrown that one too.
"Sure, kid," Killian said. "You've got to move your hands further down the stick though. It's going to get caught in your skates if you hold it like that."
Matt did as instructed, which shouldn't have been as impressive as it was, but Killian was a great, big sentimental idiot and his kid had asked if they could watch practice as soon as they walked through the players entrance to the Garden. The security guard and Matt had an not-quite secret handshake.
This couldn't be it.
Indefinite needed an ending date.
Soon.
"That?" Matt asked, bent a bit awkwardly and a little familiarly and Killian didn't entirely appreciate the low whistle Roland let out. That was exactly how he stood in front of the net on a power play.
Killian nodded dumbly. "Yeah, yeah," he breathed. "Just like that. Make sure you push off from the middle of your skate when you start moving and then move onto your toes."
Matt looked at him – clearly aware of what exactly it would take to pick up speed on the ice and maybe it would be acceptable if Killian walked out of the arena, up several dozen flights of stairs and then staged some kind of absolute mental breakdown in his wife's office.
Possibly after kissing her.
And apologizing. Again.
He was so tired.
"I know," Matt said, dragging out the words, and drawing another pointed laugh out of Will. "You've gotta watch!"
"I am absolutely watching."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Where are you going to aim?"
"Hook, you can't ask him that," Roland groaned. "Then Jeff'll know where to save it!"
"I don't think that's going to be a problem, Rol," Will mumbled, but Roland still looked a bit scandalized and Matt had started bobbing on his skates. They kept skates for him in the New York Rangers locker room.
"Where are you going to aim?" Killian repeated. If asked, he would have said he was entirely prepared for his son's answering smile, but that would have been a lie and he was really trying to stop doing that, particularly when it came to his family and the doctor had given him a Tylenol schedule that Emma had rewritten earlier that week.
She hung it on the refrigerator.
And made copies.
He was fairly certain there was one in her office. She was probably more aware of his over-the-counter medicinal schedule than her own eating habits.
He was going to climb several dozen flights of stairs. Soon.
"Five hole," Matt shouted, still smiling and it was still a near-perfect mix of Killian and Emma and he was having a very difficult time breathing.
Robin clapped Killian on the shoulder. "You've got to let him shoot, Cap."
"Right, right," Killian mumbled, not sure if the words were actual words or just generic sounds of agreement. "Alright, Mattie, you ready?" Matt nodded again, twisting his grip on the stick and he didn't notice Will's gloved hand on his back. "You ready Jeff?"
"Ten-four, Cap. Let's have your best shot, little Cap."
"Go!"
Will pushed and Roland cheered and Jeff made a pretty good show of trying to make the save while opening his stance to an almost dangerous proportion and the puck sounded impossibly loud when it hit the back of the net.
Killian was only slightly sure he'd imagined that part.
Matt yelped, stick thrown in the air and knees on the ice because keeping his balance could only last for so long and the whole thing was reminiscent of several exploding rainbows. Of the soul-type variety. Or whatever.
"Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad," Matt said, rushing over the words and spinning on his hands. His pants were a lost cause. They should have changed before they crashed practiced. "Did you see that?"
Killian nodded, smile tugging at his mouth and Robin laughing softly next to him. "I did," he promised. "You destroyed Jeff. He never even saw you coming."
"That was like your goal before!"
Honestly, the world was a little unfair and a little mean and if Killian never saw or thought about another rainbow, he wouldn't have argued.
He wished he could teleport to Emma's office.
He wished his phone was on so he could call Emma's office and make sure she was in her office before teleporting, immediately, to her office.
And Matt had no idea.
He was four. He wasn't supposed to. He was supposed to think his dad was the greatest hockey player to ever play or ever consider playing and he was supposed to practice breakaways on a goalie that let him score every time while trying to recreate a shot Killian was only slightly certain was the one against the Pens in November.
He let out a quick huff of air, a breath of feeling and emotion and Robin had never moved his hand.
"Hey Rol," Will said lightly, an almost obvious calm in his voice. "Why don't you and Dr. J see if you can actually bounce twenty pucks on your stick at once."
"Twenty?" Roland echoed.
"At least."
"That's impossible, Uncle Will. We just talked about this."
"Roland," Robin snapped, and it was a pretty good impression of Regina. Roland nearly jumped to attention.
"Yeah. Yeah, ok. I mean…" He glanced at the bench, Killian staring at an empty section in the right corner of the arena and Robin's slightly narrowed eyes, and Jeff had started taping his stick at some point, an impatient, awkward rhythm that matched up perfectly with the way Killian's pulse had been acting in the last five days. "Yeah," Roland repeated. "That sounds like a plan. I'll, uh…c'mon Mattie. We can uh—"
"—Fine," Jeff sighed. "You guys can practice shooting some more. I'm avoiding A anyway, so this is absolutely a good use of my time."
Matt stood back up. "Can I, Dad?"
Killian nodded, every single one of his muscles tight because Robin's expression had turned a little pitiful and he might have been avoiding Ariel too and, like, everyone. In general. Completely.
It was probably because of his sleep deprivation.
Matt didn't need anything more, grabbing his stick again and already passing with Roland and Killian tried not to look too frustrated when Will slung his legs over the boards. "If this is going to be another attempt at a, frankly, piece of garbage conversation about my life, then I need you guys to both work a little harder this time around," Killian muttered.
"Wow, Cap," Will grinned. "That was pretty harsh."
"He's not sleeping," Robin explained.
Killian's eyes were never going to recover from everything he was doing to them – rolling and widening to sizes that could not have been healthy or helpful when it came to multiple days without a concussion-induced headache. "How did you know that?"
"Aside from you looking like complete and utter shit?"
"Yeah, aside from that."
"Well, the shitty appearance is a pretty good indicator. As are the incredibly massive bags under your eyes. It wasn't really hard to put two and two together."
"Also," Will added, dropping onto the edge of the bench and, somehow, resting his skate blades on the top of the boards. "You're you, so you're clearly not coping well. At all."
Killian ran his hand through his hair, tugging on the back until it almost hurt and there was probably some twisted reason for that, but it kind of woke him up. That didn't seem good at all. "I'm coping fine," he said. "There's nothing to cope with."
"And you said our conversation was a piece of garbage."
"This is not your issue. And I really don't think the bags under my eyes are enormous."
"So you're agreeing that there are bags under your eyes."
"I am a parent to two kids under the age of five."
"I mean, technically. Dr. J will be five later this year."
"Tell that to my sleep schedule and a day-to-day schedule that is almost too full, at this point."
"You're not the one in charge of several dozen fan events in the next two months," Will pointed out. Killian opened his mouth to argue, but whatever he was going to say seemed to die on the tip of his tongue and Emma had been far too stressed out about the roulette table.
They were going to have to buy a new one.
It was not about the roulette table.
"And you don't get to use your kids as an excuse for this," Robin said, but that felt decidedly heavy-handed too and this conversation was almost dripping with double meanings. Killian had a headache.
"No?" Killian asked. More double meanings. More extra emotions. More lying.
"No."
"Why were you lurking here, Cap?" Will asked. He shook off his gloves, resting his hands on the bench and staring at him in a way that Killian was fairly positive he'd never see again.
He hadn't appreciated it the first time.
He certainly didn't appreciate it this time.
"There was no lurking," Killian said. "I'm still on this team."
"You've made that point several times. No one is questioning that."
"No? They call a guy up from the WolfPack yet?"
Will nodded, and his eyes didn't leave Killian's face, slightly narrowed and far too understanding or all-knowing and this team spent way too much time together. "They put you on IR, Cap. Of course they called up some guy from the WolfPack."
"Is he good?"
"No, he totally sucks. Of course he's good. He played in the AHL, he at least has to know how to put his pads on."
"Wow, you really know how to make a guy feel worthwhile."
"I'm not really talking about the AHL guy," Will said, but his voice got a bit lower and slightly more dangerous and Killian was only a little concerned he was going to challenge him to a fight. He'd already taken his gloves off, after all. "And neither were you, so let's all drop the act and talk about you bringing one of your insanely cute kids to practice so you could loiter on the bench like a giant weirdo."
"Except we won't use the word weirdo again because it kind of takes away from the very adult, grown-up point we're trying to make," Robin muttered.
"Yeah, yeah, definitely not," Will said. "And, incidentally, where is your other kid?"
"They have this thing called daycare, Scarlet," Killian muttered, appreciating the way Will's eyebrows dropped when his voice turned a bit more menacing. "Merida's picking her up because Emma had to go buy new Casino Night stuff and deal with something with Gotham Hall and we've circled right back around to that very jam-packed schedule I was talking about before. So if you two could get to your point soon, that'd be great and I can go find Emma."
"Didn't you just say she was at Gotham Hall?"
"Oh my God, Scarlet, I don't know!"
The words seemed to fly out of him – like throwing knives or those little ninja star things that always looked way cooler in the movies he and Liam used to watch when they were kids – painful and emotional and probably leaving a few scars in their wake. Will looked at Robin again.
Killian yanked on his hair.
"How are you even sitting like that?" he asked, waving a hand towards Will and his twisted limbs. This was easily the worst conversation any of them had ever had.
"It's honestly not that uncomfortable."
"Not that uncomfortable does not sound like actually comfortable. You look like a contortionist."
"You jealous of my clearly superior limbs?"
"Oh, my God."
Will laughed, shaking his head slightly and exhaling softly – an apology and an understanding without actually using the words and they'd been there for the first disaster and Liam and everything that had happened in between. It was no wonder they were there for whatever the hell it was they were going to call this.
Killian really hoped it wasn't the end.
He wished his head would stop feeling as if it were going to snap in half.
"It's still your team, Cap," Will muttered. "That didn't change in five days."
"You don't know it won't, though."
"Neither do you."
"Eh."
"You apologize to Emma yet?"
"Probably not enough," Killian admitted. He didn't remember sitting down, but his legs were bent and his head fit very well in his hands when he sagged forward.
"Yeah, that's definitely true."
"Because what you did was exceedingly stupid," Robin added. "Like top tier stupid."
Killian's laugh sounded hollow, even to his own ears, but he couldn't get the memory of Emma in the doctor's office out of his mind, how pale her cheeks were and the way the questions had rattled out of her, worry obvious in every letter and he wanted her to sleep more than he wanted to sleep. "Are there tiers of stupidity?" he asked. "Or am I just on some precipice on my own?"
"Would you be insulted if I said it was absolutely the second one?"
"Nah, not really."
"Good because that's definitely what it is."
"Mostly we're just pissed at you," Will said, finally pulling his feet off the boards and tugging at the laces on his skates.
Killian hummed, understanding the feeling because he was kind of pissed at himself, but he couldn't really come to terms with the myriad of emotions he was feeling. He kept circling back to complete, unadulterated fear and he didn't entirely appreciate that.
"What's the new guy's name?" he asked, and Will didn't try to disguise his answering groan. "That's just general curiosity, I promise."
"God, you are an absolute shit liar," Robin chuckled. "Does Emma know that? Is that why you didn't bring up the headaches and the vision issues? Because you knew your voice would do that lying thing and she'd totally know?"
"There was no lying thing."
"That was worse."
"Why do you think I shouldn't be at this practice? It's not even a practice, really. It's a glorified walk-through."
"And you know Arthur would never kick you out when you brought the adorable kid buffer," Will mumbled. Loudly.
"You going down a list of insults or what, Scarlet?" Killian seethed, glancing up when Matt made a noise and wanted him to watch something and he wasn't sure if his face looked perfectly father-esque, but he was hopeful it was, at least, close. He smiled when Matt tried to juke in front of the net. "Can you guys please get to the point? Or at least answer some of my questions? I'm not going to be picky about it."
"You're just going to be an ass about everything else."
It was like the anger was a fire – erupting in the middle of him and slinking through his veins and arteries and into Killian's heart or possibly his still-slightly concussed brain and he narrowed his eyes when he glared at Will.
Will didn't blink.
It was a miracle the ice didn't melt.
"The opinions just keep getting more and more pointed don't they?" Killian asked, standing up as suddenly as he'd sat down and stuffing his hands in the pockets of the jacket he'd never taken off.
"I'm not here to pick apart your life, Cap," Will said.
"No? You might want to reexamine your approach then."
Will stood up as well, expression unreadable except for the very obvious pinch in between his eyebrows and the slight twitch of muscle in his temple and Killian had to dig his nails into his palm to stop himself from doing something he'd regret.
Probably.
"You shouldn't be here lurking," Will continued. "You shouldn't be here watching if you don't have to be. This isn't going anywhere. You're not going anywhere. It's still your team and still your locker room and you can ask Arthur if you want to double check. He'll probably defer to your unquestionable leadership qualities, anyway. Nothing is going to happen if you're not on the ice so you brain doesn't explode, Cap. Locksley and I won't let it."
"My brain's not going to explode."
"I mean, you know, hopefully."
Killian was going to blame the distinct lack of sleep for whatever happened next.
His shoulders sagged and the muscles in his neck seemed to collectively give up at once, head falling until his chin collided with the team-branded shirt he was wearing. He didn't really own anything that wasn't team-branded.
He blinked, trying to get rid of whatever was happening in the corners of his eyes, but Robin and Will had seen everything and staring at both of them with slightly glossy eyes on the bench in an almost-abandoned Garden seemed to almost make sense.
"We probably should have led with that, honestly," Robin shrugged. "Next time we intervene, we'll do a better job. We really weren't expecting you to show today."
Killian let out a shaky laugh, and he was going to do permanent damage to his scalp if he kept running his fingers through his hair. "Yeah, next time I reach that tier of stupid, you've got my explicit permission to do a better job of telling me I'm being an asshole."
"We never used that word. We could have, but we didn't. So let the record remember that."
"I'm really not keeping track."
Another lie. But, like, a good one – so Killian was hopeful it didn't mess with the world's opinion of him.
And it really wouldn't have been a proper intervention if he didn't hear footsteps coming down the tunnel and Killian could almost taste her frustration lingering in the air. He'd been avoiding her since the doctor's office.
"Here," Ariel said, thrusting a cell phone into his chest without preamble. "Take this. I'm not doing the go-between thing anymore. It's driving me nuts."
"Hey, Red," Killian laughed, and earning himself a deserved glare in response. "How you doing? Things going ok?"
"Don't test me, Cap. I will stab you with a skate."
"There are no loose skates around here. We run a very well organized team."
"Shut up."
"I'm just exchanging pleasantries."
"Yeah, I know what you're doing and it's stupid, but I'm also assuming you've been here for awhile already and I know Locksley and Scarlet had a plan so-"
"-Oh my God, A," Robin groaned. "C'mon. We told you the plan in confidence."
"And from the look on Cap's face, it seems you've executed it wonderfully," Ariel continued, undeterred by whatever expression Will was making and Matt was trying to bounce the puck on his stick. "When you want something done right, you need to go to the professionals."
"You're a professional at interfering in other people's personal lives, Red?" Killian asked archly, and she pushed the phone into him again. "God, stop that, you're going to do damage to your wrist."
"You think I don't know how to make sure I don't break my own wrist? Take this."
"I don't even know what this is."
"It's a phone," she growled, twisting it as his shirt bunched under the plastic. "Maybe relearn the English language and then answer people's phone calls. And e-mails. Mine included."
"When did you send me an e-mail?"
She huffed, or possibly snarled, but Killian was too busy ignoring Will and Robin's laugh and the sound of pucks hitting the boards to be too worried about the exact definition. "The day after the doctor's office because there's actually a lot of PT you can do for post-concussion syndrome-"
"-Shit, is that the name for it?" Will asked sharply. He snapped his mouth closed when Ariel turned her glare on him, mumblingsorry, A under his breath.
"Yes, that's the name for it, but that's very much not the point,," Ariel said. The phone in her hand lit up again. "You've got a schedule to follow, Cap. I e-mailed and texted it to you. I expect you on a treadmill walking as slowly as humanly possible on Monday afternoon. Because if you don't show up, I'm going to tell Emma you're being a dick and then you're going to feel even more guilty than I already know you do."
"I don't feel guilty," Killian lied, met almost immediately with three very loud, very disbelieving groans.
"On average, how much sleep are you getting per night?" Ariel asked knowingly. Killian took the phone. She had sixteen missed calls. "Yeah, right," she muttered. "Take that guilty feeling and try and tell me you're not feeling it now."
"I'm not sure that even made sense, Red."
"Ask me if I care. You should really call, like, at least one of them back."
Killian sighed, but he felt as bad as he had since stumbling down the hall at Bridgestone Arena, and his thumb hit the first missed call without looking at the name.
Liam answered.
Figured.
"He lives," Liam yelled, and Killian winced, the ache in the back of his skull increasing with every breath he took. That probably wasn't right.
"Between you and Locksley, I'm not sure who is more convinced I'm knocking on death's door," Killian grumbled.
"It's definitely your kid. So don't insult either me or Locksley like that."
"It seems strange that I've had to point out that said kid is four more than once today."
"Scarlet?"
"Obviously."
Liam laughed, but there was a hint of something on the edge of it that made the hair on the back of Killian's neck stand up and he wondered if there was another word for guilty. Maybe there was a cliché he was missing.
Or a Norwegian curse word.
"You ever call Mr. and Mrs. Vankald?"
Killian hummed, and the audience around him did its best to look uninterested. They were god awful at that too. Their hearts, however, were, mostly, in the right place.
There was the cliché.
"After the presser," Killian answered. "They uh...did they call you? Before?"
"Oh yeah," Liam said, and that sound was back and it was awful and the Garden had never felt smaller. "What felt like several times while Elsa was trying to get in touch with you. Mrs. V cried."
"I figured."
"Good."
"That was a rather strong opinion."
"Yeah, well I've got several of those," Liam bristled, Killian standing up straighter out of years of experience and several years of getting checked just underneath his shoulder blades. This whole day felt a little bit like that.
He glanced at Robin, eyes wide and maybe a little imploring and it took, precisely, four seconds for him to understand. "Let's go, Scarlet," Robin said, swinging his legs back onto the ice with plans for some kind of competition and a hand held out expectantly for Ariel.
"If I break my leg, I'm blaming all three of you."
"That actually seems totally fair," Will said, already halfway towards the net and he laughed loudly when Matt crashed into his thigh.
Killian waited a few moments before opening his mouth, keeping an eye on his kid and the smile on his face and dreading what his brother was about to say because it was all going to be true and maybe one of those emotions he was feeling before was just a general sense of cowardice.
That felt wrong.
His kids deserved better than that.
"Alright," Killian started, "Go-"
"-Take Emma out," Liam interrupted, barely missing a note as his voice drowned out Killian's.
"What?"
"Was that confusing?"
"Maybe unexpected."
Liam laughed again. This had been a very confusing day. "Yeah, that was almost to obvious," he said. "How many times you been to practice?"
"Just today."
"The whole time?"
"No, I had to pick Matt up from school."
"Oh."
"Was that unexpected?" Killian asked, and he really wished all these words stopped hurting him in some kind of metaphorical sense.
"I mean, not totally," Liam said. He was shrugging. Killian knew he was shrugging. And probably standing in front of the window in his office. "That kid thinks you created the entire world and then invented hockey and won a Cup every year."
"I think he's almost too aware of how we haven't won the Cup every year, actually."
"See, this is what I'm talking about. Get out of there. He doesn't care. Peggy cares even less."
"Peggy can't form entire sentences, so…"
"Why are you arguing with me about this?" Liam asked exasperatedly. The door opened in Colorado and some assistant asked something, a few mumbled responses about that kid from Notre Dame looking good, and Killian smiled before he realized he wasn't quite as frustrated anymore. "Locksley and Scarlet said they were going to say something too. Is that why? Did they get there first with the speeches and now I'm just old news?"
"I mean you're definitely something if you're using the phrase old news in normal conversation."
"Not an answer."
Killian scoffed, eyes staying in a normal position for half a moment, but there were more footsteps coming down the tunnel and he swore the lights in the arena reflected off her hair. So he was probably insane at that point.
Emma blinked when saw him, moving Peggy onto her hip, and Killian's smile was as honest as it had been in what felt like several lifetimes. He was only a little worried about the state of his heart, expanding and contracting and that feeling in between his ribs was suddenly replaced with something that felt a hell of a lot like joy and a bit like contentment and his lungs really appreciated the oxygen he suddenly decided to provide them with.
"Ariel said you were down here," Emma explained, like she needed a reason to show up and fix the Earth's gravitational pull or something that didn't sound quite so insane and just a little clingy. "So we figured we'd take a field trip. And I figured you'd end up here eventually."
"And you were talking about my mind reading abilities," Killian said. He had to press the phone to his ear with his shoulder to free up his hands, drawing circles on Peggy's side and making faces because he knew it usually ended with Emma smiling and that was, suddenly, the sole goal of the day and Liam was still talking.
"Ask her out on a date," he shouted. "Get out of that arena! Teach your kid how to shoot a wrister!."
"He knows how to do that," Killian muttered. "He scored on Jeff fifteen minutes ago."
"Did he seriously?" Emma asked. She was smiling.
"Kind of. There were possibly some dramatics and some staged attempts at a save, but he did get some power on the shot."
She beamed – something about brighter than the entire New York City skyline. That was another good cliché.
"Did he go five hole?" Liam asked. He didn't need an answer, far too many memories of Central Park and the Piers and practicing wrist shots against each other because there wasn't anyone else around.
Killian wanted to get on the ice again.
He didn't want Emma to stop smiling.
It felt like a very thin line to walk.
"Obviously," Killian said, and Liam chuckled lightly in his ear. "You guys need to stop calling Red so often. She's got enough to worry about."
"Yeah, you blowing off PT because you're an idiot. I'll save my speech, since I know Locksley and Scarlet stole all my high points and already out brother'ed me. It was a good one though."
"I've got no doubt."
"We've started a marker of how many times you've ignored our calls. So maybe stop doing that because you're legitimately hurting Elsa and Anna's feelings."
Killian winced, guilt sliding down his spine and threatening to tug him into the ground. "Shit."
"Yeah, that's a good response to that. Call them back. But make out with your wife first."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me. I'm not going to say it again. Tell her she's the most important thing in the world, save maybe your cute kids and then apologize again because you haven't done that enough, I know, and try to keep some perspective. It doesn't have to be the end, little brother, but there's more to everything even if it is."
He wasn't holding his breath, was breathing almost too evenly, far too aware of Emma's stare and the sounds Peggy was making, but Killian exhaled loudly anyway and-"That was pretty spot on older brother, honestly."
"Good to know I haven't lost my touch. Seriously, ask your wife out. And then call mine."
"Deal."
Killian stuffed the phone back in his pocket, ignoring Ariel's what the hell, that's mine, Cap, God, sorry Matt, taking a step towards Emma and making a face at Peggy when she wrapped her hand around his finger. "What are you doing later?" he asked.
Later turned into several hours later because Matt didn't want to get off the ice and Will was a pushover and a little surprising because he offered to keep Matt and Peggy overnight, despite the looming back-to-back and Belle will be thrilled and Killian couldn't bring himself to argue when both his kids seemed thrilled with the prospect.
So maybe he was the pushover.
And he, somehow, ended up in Emma's office, organizing files and merch and it felt a little familiar and a lot comfortable and they ended up ordering Chinese from the place three blocks down the street.
"Didn't really hit the mark, did we?" Emma asked, peering at him over a container of pot stickers she'd decreed were a necessary part of the order.
"What do you mean?"
The words on the page had started getting blurry though, plans for signed merch and a schedule of events that, at one point, seemed centered around him, but Emma's handwriting was everywhere and there were far more question marks than Killian was entirely comfortable with. Emma scrunched her nose, resting her elbows on her desk and her chin on her hands and it might not have been their best date ever.
"This date is lacking a bit of the romance, isn't it? It might be because I'm still super pissed about the roulette table."
"The roulette table will be fine. You're getting a new one. Or the season tickets can cope with one less game to play. Just make Scarlet stay at blackjack a little while longer."
"That's actually not a bad idea."
"It does happen from time to time," Killian said. Emma made a noise, not quite an agreement and slightly distracted when her phone lit up again. It looked like it belonged on the Vegas strip. "You alright, love? Your phone looks like it's getting ready to fight back or something."
She laughed lightly, eyes closed and even her cell phone was ringing. "Are you feeling ok?"
Killian nodded, mostly on instinct, but also on honesty, the sincerity in Emma's question unsurprising and just as nice. Nice was a terrible word for it. Everything.
Everything sounded way better.
"I'm fine, Swan," he said.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"You've been reading paperwork forever. That can't be good for your head. I should have read the side effects of-"
"-Actual Tylenol?" Killian asked, and Emma scrunched her nose again. "I'm as fine as advertised, love. It hasn't been forever. And I wanted to help."
"I told you you had to help because I was so behind schedule," she objected, one side of her mouth tugged up. He was ridiculously attracted to his wife. And there'd been a disappointing lack of making out on this date. "It's definitely been hours. I can't think about Casino Night anymore or I'm going to throw a pot sticker at the window."
"Please don't attack the windows, Swan."
"Do you think Scarlet broke into our apartment to get the kids clothes?"
"I know he didn't because he is incapable of picking locks and Belle is too nice of a person to know how to pick locks and because I gave him my key."
"You gave him your key?"
Killian shrugged, but the smirk on his face almost felt like it was working and Emma eyed him with something that felt a hell of a lot like flirting. And a bit more like normal than anything else. "I had a feeling I might be going home with you."
"Sounds presumptuous."
"A hunch."
Emma's smile settled on her face, tongue moving to the corner of her mouth and that was incredibly distracting, but Killian wasn't all that confident in the strength of his legs at the moment and she laughed when he crooked a finger towards her.
That had absolutely been the goal.
Her chair squeaked when she moved, leaving her heels on the floor where she'd kicked them off hours before. It had definitely been hours.
Killian dropped the papers in his hand, careful not to mess up the order as Emma hummed a quiet approval. "Thanks, Cap," she muttered, the tips of her fingers brushing over his jaw and he hadn't shaved in days.
There were several depressing and increasingly horrible reasons for that, but Killian couldn't remember a single one when she perched on his right thigh, slinging an arm around his shoulders and catching his lips with hers.
He might have groaned.
God, he hoped he didn't groan.
He definitely groaned.
Emma laughed against his mouth, the smile obvious in the turn of her lips and the feel of her next to him and it only took a few moments for her to shift, straddling his hips in the middle of her office and it'd been far too long since they'd done that.
Her fingers tangled with his hair and his arms wrapped around her waist, trailing patterns up and down her spine because she was wearing a dress, a fact that wasn't usually distressing, but now felt a little inconvenient and they were still in her office.
The door was wide open.
Neither one of them seemed particularly inclined to stop.
"This can't be healthy," Emma mumbled, voice strained and pupils blown wide when she leaned back slightly.
"I disagree."
"I'm serious. I'm...you're staring at tiny letters and my handwriting-"
"-Your handwriting is perfectly legible, Swan."
"I'm not really worried about my handwriting."
"I know, love," Killian said, pressing a kiss to the bridge of her nose and her hair was everywhere. It was on his shoulder. He didn't understand that. "But I'm…"
He had every intention of finishing that sentence. Really. The words were there, promises and declarations and attempts at being charming that he hoped didn't fall flat, but Emma's eyes were wide when they met his and Killian's hand was on her back and the only thing he was particularly interested in was making sure she realized she was at the center of everything.
Indefinitely.
So he didn't say any of the things he should have or wanted to, just closed his eye and let his forehead rest against hers and whispered "don't stop."
They did, eventually, get out of Emma's office, clothes intact and hair a bit of a giveaway, stumbling onto the block and the cab driver's jaw dropped when he recognized Killian. There were questions, but Killian mostly ignored them, determined to focus on whatever it was Emma was doing against the side of his neck and Regina was going to kill him for several reasons, but showing up on Page Six the next morning was probably going to be the top of the list.
It was all a bit of a blur after that.
The good kind.
The less concussed, worried about his entire professional hockey future kind. The kind where Emma made that one noise and her zipper didn't stick and none of the baseboards were dented when they kicked their shoes off.
They left a trail of clothes in their wake, landing on the bed in a mess of limbs and lips and laughter that made everything seem like a gross understatement. And all those words he'd been thinking in her office seemed to tumble out of Killian, a string of praises and guarantees and Emma's smile looked permanently etched on her face.
"Awfully mouthy tonight, huh?" she asked, but the question went breathless as soon as he shifted and he absolutely groaned that time.
She rolled her eyes when she realized what she'd said, wrapping her fingers around the back of his neck to tug him back down, but Killian kept his lips on her cheek and chin and Emma's breath audibly caught when he rocked his hips.
"Definitely later," he promised, and he wasn't sure this was part of concussion protocol, but it was probably better so, really, it seemed almost medicinal.
"God, shut up and kiss me."
"So aggressive."
"I'm serious."
He couldn't argue that.
The clothes were still in the hallway later, and neither one of them was getting the sleep they could absolutely use, a bowl of rocky road ice cream in between them and two spoons and the blush in Emma's cheeks hadn't disappeared yet.
"This is more romantic," she said. "If not a little unconventional. I can't believe we had ice cream. Why did we have ice cream?"
"I think Mattie wanted some before we went to Nashville because-"
Killian cut himself off, biting down on his tongue and spoon in equal measure and he wasn't sure which one hurt more. "Because he wasn't sure there'd be ice cream in Nashville," Emma finished, smile a hint sadder than it had been a moment before.
"I'm so sorry, Emma."
She took another spoonful of ice cream.
"For all of it," Killian continued, and he had no idea why he kept talking. But she'd looked so pale in that doctor's office and he couldn't stop wondering what would happen if indefinite became it and he didn't know what he was without a hockey stick in his hand.
It felt like several lifetimes before she answered, words quiet and measured, like she'd practiced them in front of the mirror several times.
"I know," Emma whispered. "But I was, still am, I guess, so scared. I can't...you're it, you know?"
"I'm not going anywhere, love."
"I'll check you really hard if you do. Right under the shoulder blades."
"Perfect technique."
"You better believe it."
He chuckled, tugging the spoon out of her hand so he could kiss her without fear of rocky road retribution. "I love you."
"I love you too," Emma said, grabbing the bowl and leaving it on the nightstand behind her and the ice cream had melted when they woke up the next morning.