Emma was going to scream.

They'd been over the same point on the same goddamn schedule six times already and she was almost surprised that Aurora had printed out the schedule. Almost. Not really. She'd kind of come up with a schedule in her head too, so, really this was more efficient and a bit more official, but Emma could not talk about this stupid banner again.

She was going to bite her tongue in half.

And Zelena totally knew.

She kept glancing at Emma, eyes wide with several different emotions that all seemed based in something akin to pity. Her heel had not stopped tapping since she'd walked into Emma's office forty-five minutes before and the schedule may have been official and possibly made with an actual Microsoft Word template, but this was the least productive meeting in the history of the entire world.

"I'm only saying," Aurora continued, oblivious to the state of Emma's tongue and Zelena's not-quite-quiet sigh. "The people need to be aware who they're supporting.

"They know, Aurora," Emma muttered. She couldn't even get much emotion in her voice, which was equal parts annoying and probably for the best. She didn't have time to yell at Aurora.

She had a hot chocolate date later.

And maybe they could actually get Anna to watch Matt and Peggy and the physical activity that, really, wasn't supposed to happen could keep happening and they could get a few more hours of sleep. She was fairly certain there was still ice cream in the freezer.

"That's not entirely true," Aurora argued. "They think they're just there to meet famous faces and buy overpriced merch and-"

"-That overpriced merch is going to your charity," Emma seethed. Zelena stopped tapping her heel.

"Alright," she snapped. "This is getting us nowhere. There's a theme, Aurora, you can't just hang a banner and expect that to fit the theme. Emma, the merch is overpriced. That's your job. To overprice the merch. And make sure people still buy it."

"I am doing that."

"I'm not disagreeing with that."

"Then I don't know why we're here again," Emma said, voice rising of its own accord and this new chair Merida had found her was awful. She should have moved the paperwork out of her real chair. Aurora was sitting on a folding chair.

"Because it's a major event for us," Zelena responded evenly. There was no mistaking the calm in her voice though – an almost tooobvious threat and reminder that she was in charge and it might be Emma's department and her event, but the money was Zelena's and Aurora still wanted to hang the goddamn banner.

"I know that," Emma mumbled. She pursed her lips, tongue tracing over the front of her teeth and she didn't have to look up to know Zelena's eyebrows jump. "I do," she said. "But people are almost painfully aware of who they're supporting with this event. Most of the people at this event have been going for decades."

Emma glanced up, staring at Aurora like she was challenging her to argue. She didn't say anything.

That felt better than the ice cream she really hoped was still in the freezer.

"We don't have to hang the banner," Aurora whispered after a few more moments of charged silence and Zelena's exhale was almost too loud. "It doesn't really go with the theme anyway."

"Color scheme is all off," Emma mumbled.

Aurora didn't smile, but it was almost close – a slight twitch of her lips that made her look relatively human and slightly understanding and Emma hadn't been holding her breath, but her lungs appreciated when she let go of some of the oxygen she'd been hoarding.

"As long as Sam and Joe make sure to mention where the money is going during the auction," Aurora added.

Emma needed that oxygen back so she could groan. "Oh my God, Aurora. They know! They've been doing this for years. People have been coming for years. No one is unaware! We donate to one charity. It's very easy to keep track of!"

"Emma," Zelena chided, but she shook her head deftly, hitting her cheeks with her hair in the process.

"There is no confusion here. There is a schedule and a plan and you wrote it out yourself! You want me to do it too? Would that make it easier for you?"

Aurora paled, lips pulled behind her teeth as her fingers fiddled with the rings on her left hand. Emma pressed her palms flat against her desk, standing up until she was practically looming over both of them and her hair was everywhere.

She should get a haircut before Casino Night.

She should get a goddamn dress for Casino Night.

"Oh shit," she groaned, squeezing her eyes closed and rolling her head and she barely heard Zelena's what over the realization landing in the forefront of her mind.

"Is this about the plan for the silent auction?" Aurora asked. "Because I was thinking we could put some logos-"

"-Oh my God, Aurora, enough," Zelena growled.

Emma shook her head, tasting blood from her tongue and she was going to order three hot chocolates at once. She was going to crash PT. And keep ignoring her phone.

"I forgot about the Vankalds," she muttered. Aurora blinked. "God damn...fucking hell. I've been listening to this shit about banners and logos and it's the same as it is every year, but it's not really is it? It's…"

She exhaled sharply, pulling in air through her nose to try and maintain consciousness and her phone was probably going to explode at some point.

Aurora looked a little stunned.

Zelena leaned towards Emma, resting her hand a few inches away from the palms she still had splayed across her desk. "You should probably answer your phone," she said, drawing a ridiculous noise out of Emma. It sounded insane. She sounded insane. She'd forgotten to get the Vankalds tickets to Casino Night.

Emma made another noise, something she hoped was bit closer to a vaguely professional laugh than the strangled sound she knew it was.

She didn't look at the name on the screen before she answered.

"Emma?"

She pulled the phone away from the ear, brows furrowed and she should have expected it. If one Vankald sister was going to arrive in person, it only made sense the other one was going to call Emma.

They were tag-teaming.

They had a tendency to do that.

"Hey, El," Emma said, and she wished Zelena's heel would stop being so goddamn judgmental. They still had so much left on the printed out schedule. They hadn't even gotten to Phillip's memorial yet.

God, that was not the right word at all.

Four hot chocolates.

At least.

"Everything ok?" Emma asked slowly. She was still standing up, knees locked in place and eyes staring at anything except Aurora's face and the schedule they were all ignoring and Emma was halfway to telling both her and Zelena to just go talk to Merida about points three through twelve.

There were twelve points on the schedule.

Elsa still wasn't answering.

"El," Emma prompted. "Did you...not mean to call me? You know you're sister is sitting in my apartment right now."

"Yeah, I knew that," Elsa said, voice scratchy and sounding much farther away than Colorado. Emma sat back down – or, at least, tried. She mostly just flopped onto the edge of her desk and it kind of felt like she'd checked herself into the imitation wood.

"And…"

"And they didn't even get to the fancy chocolate."

"I don't know what that means."

"When we were kids, Anna was obsessed with this chocolate place off the Bowery and she used to make KJ go get it for her. And then when we weren't kids anymore, she'd still demand it before she'd come to visit and she'd always stay with him when she was in New York and he wasn't answering any of our phone calls, and you know he does kind of sometimes play favorites with me, but that's just because I'm really good at reading his mind and-"

"-El, where are you going with this?"

"Anna bought him chocolate this time," Elsa said, like that made any sense at all. Emma wondered if she could sprain her eyebrows.

It certainly felt that way.

She'd ask Ariel when she, inevitably, crashed PT.

"Maybe we'll take a break for a few minutes, huh?" Zelena asked, and Emma got the distinct impression she knew something. She had no idea what. Maybe they were all talking about secret, metaphorical chocolate.

Emma nodded dumbly, pressing her phone to her ear with her shoulder and trying to stay balanced on her desk. She waited until she couldn't hear the echoes of Zelena's heels anymore to start talking.

"Is this really about actual chocolate?" Emma asked, and Elsa clicked her tongue. "Is that a no?"

"I mean Anna definitely bought the chocolate. She called me while she was buying it."

"Ok.."

"And it's really good, honestly. Belgian or something and the nougat is just absurd."

"I really don't have time to talk about absurd nougat right now, El," Emma muttered. In some alternate reality where things were actually normal and Aurora didn't use Microsoft Word templates, Emma was sure she would have laughed at the phrase absurd nougat, but that didn't seem to be the world they were living in and she knew Killian kept that picture in his wallet.

She'd seen the edge of the paper sticking out when he'd tossed it on the dresser the night before.

"Yeah, yeah, I know you don't," Elsa said. "That's part of the reason I'm calling. And part of the reason Anna kind of...attacked your apartment."

"It wasn't really an attack. And if she was serious about watching Mattie and Pegs, I'll probably buy her chocolate."

"Oh that was totally genuine."

"See, so then, I'm willing to be attacked," Emma promised, doing her best to sound bright and happy and the English language had lost most of its meaning in the last two weeks.

Elsa hummed, and that was almost more confusing than anything else. Elsa Vankald-Jones was never quite this ineloquent.

Emma wasn't sure if that was a word.

She'd ask Mary Margaret when she picked up Matt and Peggy.

She needed a list for her list. She needed to tell Merida to order more post-it notes.

"Ok, well, if this was just about chocolate and your mind-reading abilities," Emma started, "then I'm going to go because we've somehow got another Casino Night crisis and I totally forgot to get your parents tickets."

"What?"

"I forgot to get your parents tickets to Casino Night."

"When is Casino Night?"

"A week from tonight?"

"No, shit."

Emma blinked. "I wouldn't really joke about that."

"I know, I know, I know," Elsa stammered, the ghost of a laugh in her voice and it sounded just as crazy as whatever sound Emma had made a few minutes before. "And Mom and Dad won't mind. Let them watch your kids instead. They'd rather be doing that."

"That's actually a good idea. I'll tell Killian. I know he doesn't really want to go, but it's kind of-"

"-Have you talked to KJ?"

Emma wasn't sure why it felt like her heart paused – as if someone with a comically large remote hit a button on her life and everything just froze for a second, but Elsa's voice cracked on a vaguely ancient nickname and she needed a second to process that before letting her jaw drop open.

"I live with him," Emma said slowly, but she could hear Elsa shaking her head against the phone. "Was that a disagreement to our living arrangements?"

"No, no, that was...God, I should have lead with this, but I didn't think he'd be an idiot."

Emma wished the comically large, hopefully metaphorical remote would do something again.

Her foot slid across the floor when she moved her legs, tilting her head and willing her lungs to keep functioning and she knew. She didn't know how she knew, but she did and it probably had to do with her own mind-reading powers and Ruby had kind of already told her.

"Where did it run?" Emma asked, and Elsa let out a gasp that didn't sound entirely surprised.

"That was actually really impressive."

"He's gotten a point in every game. There had to be something eventually. I sent out some garbage e-mail blast to season tickets about how excited we were to have him called up."

"KJ would have understood that."

"But not a story, right?"

Elsa didn't answer, just hummed again and Emma nearly ripped the goddamn mouse out of the computer trying to find it. That was pointless – she had sixteen text messages from David. One of them was the link.

Text message seven.

Em, I know I'm not supposed to be scouring the subReddit, but I swear, someone told me about it first and I had to check.

This guy is an asshole.

Seriously. Tell Arthur to trade him.

I'll tell Arthur to trade him.

That's not Arthur's job.

I'm going to text Rubes and make sure she shuts this guy down. These quotes are garbage. It's not his team.

Harping on Husinger: How the Rangers call-up is making this his team (link)

Emma pressed on her phone screen with a shaky hand, thumb landing like a boulder and she could hear Elsa's almost-stable breathing on speaker phone. She wondered if Anna was still in their apartment.

And she knew Killian wasn't at PT.

That didn't bode well for the hot chocolate date.

In the minutes and hours and days after the story got published, several different people would ask Emma what she thought when she read it. If she was angry or furious or several other words that meant exactly the same thing, and she wasn't really any of them.

She was...nothing.

She didn't feel a single, goddamn thing. It was like every ounce of overly emotional emotions that had been churning in her gut and the very center of her being since Robin left his skates in a stairwell in Nashville suddenly disappeared and Emma was empty.

Devoid.

That was a good word.

She'd have to tell Mary Margaret that one too.

She wished she felt something. She wished she'd thrown her phone or cursed Husinger to a variety of different hells and horrible trade deadline deals, but she knew both of those things were impossible and that pass had been good the night before.

Even if they lost.

They'd lost.

The metaphor was stupid.

"Emma?" Elsa asked softly, and Emma just blinked. She kept moving her tongue, the cut on the side brushing over the back of her teeth every time she did it, but she'd fallen into some kind of twisted rhythm and she wasn't sure what would happen if she stopped.

Probably fall off the edge of he desk.

Or the chasm she suddenly felt like she was perched on.

She read the whole story. Twice. But her eyes kept drifting back to one question and one answer and the words seemed to imprint themselves on the back of her eyelids, there even after Emma blinked and she could hear someone walking down the hallway.

She was still, technically, in a meeting.

I'd never want someone to get hurt. But I do have to admit that I'm thankful for it. The Rangers are...that kind of team is the stuff kids in the AHL dream of, y'know? Talent across the board and no Cup in the last few years, but playoffs pretty regularly and I always knew I was kind of Jones' heir apparent. It's a lot of pressure. Or it could be. I'm not letting it. This is my chance and I'm taking it with both hands. It sucks he got hurt, but now I'm here and I don't want to waste a second. The world's going to see what I can do.

"How did you know?" Emma asked, and Elsa made a noise that was obvious confusion. "The story. How did you know it ran?"

"Oh. Belle told Anna. And, uh…"

"You told Killian?"

Elsa must have nodded, a muffled sound against the phone and her chair squeaked when she sat down. "That's why I asked if you saw him. He kind of, God, freaked is a garbage word. It's unbelievable I can't come up with a better word in this situation."

"I won't hold it against you."

"Thanks," Elsa mumbled, another almost laugh lingering around the words. "KJ is...always has been, I mean...shit, this is ridiculous. I am…" She sniffled, and Emma wasn't crying. She wasn't sure she could anymore. "KJ thought he ruined Liam's life. He thought he robbed him of hockey and this game and I know that's, at least, part of the reason he didn't say anything about that hit in Jersey, but I think he was almost coming to terms with dealing with it and then-"

"-Then this ran," Emma finished.

"Yeah. And this asshole claims the team is his and KJ getting hurt was his chance and it's bullshit. It's...that's not his team."

"No, it's not."

Emma stood up, knees still only marginally functional and Will hadn't even taken his skates off. He exhaled heavily when he stopped in the open doorway, Zelena and Aurora lingering behind him with matching looks of worry on their face and Emma swallowed.

She knew.

Again.

"Did something stupid, huh?" Emma asked, and she almost smiled when Will laughed.

"Incredibly."

"Did he even go to PT?"

"I don't think so. But A's probably down there now. Victor too."

"Victor?"

Will nodded slowly, glancing over his shoulder at Zelena like he was about to snitch or something equally absurd. Elsa's breathing wasn't
quite as even anymore. "Yeah," he said softly. "There was a lot of blood."

Emma dropped her phone. "What?"

"He should leave fighting to the pros," Will muttered, and that was not the answer Emma wanted. She could barely hear Elsa yelling from Colorado. It was mostly cursing. It might have been Norwegian. "He looks like an ass when he does shit like this."

"What the hell are you talking about, Scarlet?"

"That story was shit, you know that, right?"

"Obviously," Emma hissed. She was already moving, pushing past an unsteady Will and Aurora was breathing through her mouth, eyes wide like she was trying to get information from the suddenly heavy air molecules around them.

"Em, Em, wait," Will said, stumbling towards her and his fingers were warm when they wrapped around her wrist. Just above her laces. God, the metaphors.

"If there's blood and he did something stupid then I need to figure out what it is. And deal with it. Like we have dealt with everything. For the last two weeks and the last six years and-"

"-Emma, breathe."

"Don't tell me to breathe, Scarlet, I know how to do that."

He lifted his eyebrows, a silent reprimand she did not appreciate from a guy she absolutely knew wanted to punch Husinger too. "He wasn't thinking," Will reasoned. "This guy's trying to take his roster."

"He can't do that!"

"He might."

Emma blinked. Her throat felt impossibly dry. And small. And her tongue was suddenly enormous. Aurora gasped. "What does that mean?" Emma demanded. "Scarlet, what the hell does that mean?"

"There's just a lot factors, right?"

"Be more fucking specific!"

Her phone was still on the ground. She didn't try to get it. She didn't move. She kept glaring at Will and he kept staring at his skates and he caught her hand before she could actually punch him in the shoulder.

"I can't, Em," Will whispered. "That's the problem. And this kid is good. He's a dick, but he's got one of the quickest sticks I've seen in years. He can play. Even if Cap gets healthy again, front office might not want to let this kid go."

"If?"

Will sighed. "When. You know what I meant."

"Sure."

"Emma."

"Is he still on the ice?' she asked, ignoring everything else and it was a hell of a lot easier to feel absolutely nothing. She should have tried that from the start.

"He asked me to find you."

"He should have been at PT. He shouldn't have been at practice. Ever. This whole time."

"Cap can't do that. You know that."

She did.

Emma knew all of it and, almost, understood all of it because this stupid game with ridiculously sharp blades and a tiny, little puck and a player who deserved to win again, had always been absolutely everything to both of them.

This was their home.

The goddamn ice.

"You coming?" Emma asked brusquely, already halfway down the hallway and Will looked ridiculous when he nodded. Neither Zelena nor Aurora mentioned the meeting.

Ariel was, in fact, on the ice, a scowl on her face that would probably do permanent damage to the skin around her eyes. Emma wondered how she could see anything when they were so narrowed, but it didn't appear to be hindering her.

She flitted around Killian, mumbling several choice words and frustrations regarding his life and decisions and she let out a low whistle when she heard Emma step onto the bench.

"He's a goddamn idiot," Ariel announced, Killian's spine going straight when he realized Emma was behind him. She didn't answer. "And," Ariel continued. "I'd be more than happy to help throw him in front of a zamboni or something."

"That's kind of excessive, Red," Killian mumbled, but she glared at him again. He didn't say anything else.

And Emma didn't move. She didn't take another step or walk around the edge of the bench, Will lingering just on the edge of her vision like some kind of sarcastic, opinionated guardian angel ready and willing to defend her honor at a moment's notice.

It was actually almost kind of nice.

Or it would have been if she could feel anything.

Every inch of her felt numb, a distinct refusal to acknowledge anything or give into the absolute and complete fear lingering in the back of her brain because this could be it and it could be over and...no.

Nothing.

"Yeah, well, beating up some guy in the middle of practice is also pretty excessive," Ariel reasoned, and Killian's shoulders, somehow, got tighter.

"You beat him up?" Emma asked sharply.

Killian turned, wincing when he moved and his lower lip was cut up. There was a bruise on his cheek, dark and purple just under his eye, and his hair was a mess, clinging to his forehead.

Physical activity.

Far too much physical activity.

She felt her jaw drop again, and not feeling was becoming as much of a challenge as anything else, but Emma could be just as stubborn as the man in front of her, and it probably wasn't easy for him to see out of his left eye.

"You should see the other guy," he muttered, an attempt at a smile or flirt and neither one of them worked. Will groaned.

Emma crossed her arms, tongue still impossibly large and possibly growing and that was, easily, the most disgusting thing she'd thought in the last two weeks. She didn't keep looking at Killian.

She couldn't keep looking at Killian.

And he knew too.

They were really good at reading each other's minds.

"Hospital?" Emma asked Ariel. She jumped at suddenly being addressed, but nodded quickly, kicking towards Killian when he sighed.

"Not a word, Cap," she said, and there was no mistaking the threat in her voice. "I know zamboni people."

He didn't answer, closing his eyes and nodding slightly and it must have been painful because Emma could see every single one of his teeth when he gritted them.

"Alright, well, let's get the fuck out of here," Will muttered.

She didn't count the minutes in the back of another ambulance on the way to another hospital.

She didn't.

Really.

Emma filled out paperwork, and signed things and they'd done all of this already, because it had only been two weeks since Nashville, but it felt like several lifetimes in those fourteen days and the words started to blur together by the time they stopped driving.

She refused to believe that was because of the feelings she absolutely, positively had no control of.

Emma was the worst liar in the world.

"They're going to want to do some more tests," the EMT explained, already moving Killian into the ER and it was the goddamn ER, all flashing lights and loud noises and she'd left her phone in her office. She had to call Mary Margaret.

She hoped Elsa hung up eventually.

"Ok," Emma breathed. She didn't have anymore paperwork to fill out. She didn't know what to do with her hands.

"I'm sure someone will let you know when they're done."

"Ok."

He flashed her, what she assumed, was a supportive smile, but the whole thing felt like wandering through a dream and it was awful and she missed her kids and barely heard Killian mumble Swan, trying to twist off the goddamn stretcher. Both EMTs put their hands on his chest.

"I'll be here," Emma promised. Her voice sounded hollow, even to her own ears, monotone and meaningless, and she hated how her heart hammered against her ribs when Killian's face dropped. Ariel had been looking at his ribs before.

Husinger must have gotten a few hits in.

"Ok," Killian whispered.

She stood in the doorway for a few moments, even after the stretcher and the EMTs were gone, feelings and blue eyes practically hanging off her and Emma's fingers drifted to her left wrist instinctively. She didn't count those moments either, couldn't imagine where she'd even begin, really, but the air was cold and it was cold out and that couldn't be a sign too.

She wouldn't let it.

She stood there until her lungs started to burn, a twist of unexpected science on the Upper East Side, and she didn't even jump when Will and Robin appeared behind her. Will rested his hand on her shoulder.

"C'mon, Em," he said, the smile on his face forced and unnatural. "You'll freeze out here."

It didn't take long for the waiting room to start filling up.

She was ready for it – this team that threatened murder by zamboni and fought over Q&As in the Saturday edition of The New York Post and maybe that was part of the problem. It wasn't a problem. It was a home.

And Emma was…not thinking about that. Not until after tests and more conversations with doctors and Mary Margaret looked incredibly pale when she rushed into the emergency room, Peggy on her hip and a bag hitting her side every time she took a step.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she started. "There was traffic and we couldn't get an Uber and then we had some issues and-"

"-What?" Emma asked, already out of her chair and Mary Margaret looked a little surprised to not find her pacing. She nodded behind her, Leo hanging off David's side and Matt clinging to his back, tear-stained cheeks and a quivering lower lip and Emma sighed.

She blinked back the tears in her eyes.

"Hey, kid," she said softly, brushing a hand over David's arm when she moved around him. "You doing ok?" Matt sniffled, pressing his face into David's shirt. "I'll buy you a new shirt," Emma promised.

"I'm not worried about that at all, Em."

"Mattie, everything's going to be ok," Emma muttered, the lie weighing on her tongue and possibly her soul, and her eyes darted across the waiting room. Robin was pacing, hands stuffed in his pockets, and Will kept running his hands through his hair, leg tangled with Roland where the teenager was leaning against his side.

Anna was, honestly, doing a garbage job of pretending like she wasn't crying, but Mrs. Vankald kept running her fingers through her hair and Mr. Vankald appeared to be intent on setting some kind of record for moving in one chair.

Regina was on her phone.

Emma had no idea where Ruby was. Or Ariel.

"Is Dad ok?" Matt asked softly, barely loud enough to hear over the general commotion of a major metropolitan emergency room and it didn't matter. Emma swore they all froze, jaws tense and shoulders straight and she felt lightheaded when she stopped breathing.

"Come here," she mumbled, pulling him away from David's shirt and it took a moment to get him set on his feet. She rested her hands on his shoulders, a Rangers-branded t-shirt because the world, apparently, kind of hated her or resented her happiness or something that was probably way too dramatic to be thinking when she didn't actually have a diagnosis.

"Your dad loves you more than anything in the whole world, you know that, right?" Emma asked, and Matt nodded. She wasn't entirely sure he understood.

She wasn't entirely sure she believed her own words.

And that was the single worst thing she'd ever thought in her entire life.

"But we can't win," Matt said, a statement, not a question and maybe Emma was a mom to the smartest kid on the planet.

She wrapped her arms around him, ignoring how much her goddamn calves hurt when she stayed crouched in front of him, and she could feel him shaking against her, tiny body overflowing with emotion and want and her shirt was damp when she pulled away.

Emma brushed her thumb over Matt's cheeks, moving hair away from her eyes and there wasn't enough time to linger on how similar the color was to Killian's.

Victor coughed a few feet away. He was wearing that stupid stethoscope again. And that's where Ariel went, hovering behind him with red around around her eyes and hair disheveled and Emma tried to smile.

It was an absolute piss-poor effort.

"We don't know that for sure, Dr. J," Will muttered, dropping next to Emma and tugging familiarly on Matt's shirt. "Maybe we'll just call you up instead, huh? You make your Garden debut a little earlier than expected, that's all."

"Nuh uh, Class of...whatever math I did that one time," Robin objected. Roland pulled a puck from somewhere, tossing it in the air and Matt's eyes widened to a size that was almost equivalent to the goddamn puck. "There's got to be some space space somewhere on this block for some fun, right?"

"What the hell are you talking about, Locksley?" Ruby asked, voice gruff when she seemingly materialized in the waiting room and Emma knew, without a shadow of a doubt, she'd been yelling at several curious reporters.

Will glanced up, still holding onto Matt so he wouldn't try to climb on any medical equipment. "Where you been Lucas?"

"Don't test me, William."

"William, huh?"

"Felt apropos."

"Fancy."

Emma stood back up, wincing when the muscles in her calves almost audibly objected to that, and Ruby flashed her a cautious glance. "Bad?" she asked. Ruby nodded.

"As bad it's ever...worse than the first accident."

"How is that possible?" Emma balked, ignoring Mary Margaret's quiet tongue click when her voice climbed. Victor was still lurking behind them.

"It wasn't practice before, Em. This was...there was a considerable amount of storming."

"What?"

"You don't know?"

Emma shrugged, those feelings and emotions threatening to overwhelm her again and she bit her lip to avoid both of them completely. "I just kind of showed up on the bench and I mean I knew there was…" She mimed something that didn't really look like punching because there was a still-crying four year old standing next to her and Peggy had fallen asleep at some point.

"Yeah, it was kind of more than that," Ruby mumbled, eyes flitting to Regina and the phone calls that never ended. Emma's heart plummeted. "They, uh...they kind of wrecked each other, Em."

"He wasn't kidding about the other guy," Ariel added.

"So I've been putting out fires and requests for comment and Arthur's already talking to front office because Arthur might have tried to get into it as well and then Rook offered to stay behind as a witness or something."

"We needed witnesses?" Emma asked. Ruby shrugged again.

"It was bad," Will repeated. "And like Lucas said. It was practice. We were all in jerseys. There's probably video evidence. "

"Oh shit," Ruby hissed, waving her hands when she was met with several reprimands for the curse. "I didn't even think about that. Damn. Who's Regina been talking to?"

"I think she's on the call with front office and Arthur," Robin muttered. He slung an arm around Roland's shoulder, pulling him away from the line of plastic chairs and grinned at Matt. "What do you say kid, you think we can find a few feet of space on this block to shoot at the side of a building or something?"

"Do you even have a stick?" David asked.

Robin's grin widened. "We stole Arthur's again. Mattie's almost getting pretty used to shooting with that one, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Matt yelled. He bobbed on his feet, tears still on his cheeks, but it was enough of a distraction that Emma almost breathed easier.

And then she looked at Victor again.

"Em," he said. "You, uh...you might want to come with me for a sec."

"Ok," she nodded, but her feet didn't want to cooperate and Matt's eyes were still wide. "I'll be back soon, ok? Go score eighty-six goals on Rol."

Roland groaned. "Ah, that's a lot of goals, Emma."

"I'm confident in my kid." She turned back to Matt, fingers ghosting over the curve of his jaw and the collar of his shirt and that smile wasn't fair at all. Far too similar. The emotions were threatening again. "I love you," Emma whispered, ducking back down to rest her forehead against Matt's. He hugged her again.

"I love you, Mom."

"Eighty-six goals."

"Let's go, Dr. J," Will said, grabbing him around the waist and his laugh echoed in the room even after they walked out the hospital doors.

Emma took a deep breath before she walked forward, fluorescent light glinting off the end of Victor's absurd stethoscope. He held his arm out, directing her around the corner and for as loud as it had been in the waiting room, the hallway was suspiciously abandoned.

Every door to every room was closed.

Emma's deep breath wasn't helping her at all.

"They've done more tests," Victor started, and Emma didn't object when Ariel's hand laced through hers. "And there's nothing that's immediately pressing."

She lifted her eyebrows. "That seems good, right?"

"Yes and no."

"Victor, are we going to do this song and dance again?"

"I'd really rather you didn't yell at me again," he admitted. "Cap's incredibly lucky he didn't sustain another concussion. That Husinger guys got a wicked hook. Anyway," he said quickly, noticing the look on Emma's face. "That doesn't mean there aren't issues. His left maxilla is broken and-"

"-What the hell is that?" Emma interrupted.

"His cheekbone, basically," Ariel answered.

"Exactly," Victor said. "And, his ribs are a little bruised. We were worried about some of the vision issues from before, but like I said, no new concussion. But it does bring us back to square one a bit."

Emma tilted her head. "How so?"

"I've already told Arthur. And Cap, honestly."

"How so, Victor?"

"He can't come back, Emma. Not for the rest of the season, not with the facial injury and the concussion symptoms still there. We can't...there are too many variables. We can't risk that. The league would have our asses. It's a goddamn miracle we all haven't been fired yet."

Emma's neck snapped up, eyes narrow enough that she could barely see a few inches in front of her, but she did notice Victor take a step back. "That's what you're worried about?"

"Of course not. I'm worried about Cap's fucking brain, but he showed up on the ice today, a week before he should have even been thinking about being anywhere near the ice and kind of sealed his own fate. I don't know what'll happen if he gets hit again this season. Or after."

"After?"

Emma's voice cracked, shuddering its way out of her and she apologized to Ariel when her grip tightened. "At least the season," Ariel whispered, but there were tears in her eyes again. "But there's no guarantee he'll come back."

And, really, Emma kind of knew.

She knew the story was coming and she knew, eventually, something would give – this game and this team and how much of himwas tied up in both of those things. It was too much, but now there was no more season and it was like all those emotions and all those words and worries and the absolute, complete, overwhelming dread crashed over her and Emma's knees buckled.

She closed her eyes, teeth digging into her lip and body shivering because it was the middle of February, but Emma was positive the air conditioning in that hospital was on high.

She didn't think it really had anything to do with the nonexistent air conditioning.

Emma didn't count those seconds either, but she was sure there weren't many of them before Mary Margaret and David were there, pulling her outstretched arm away from Ariel's grip and wrapping in her in their arms and they were a weird, awkward mess of limbs and tears and shaking shoulders, but they didn't let go and she didn't stop crying.

"It's ok, it's ok," Mary Margaret said, repeating it like some kind of mantra and maybe if she kept saying it, Emma would believe it. "Hey, hey, Emma, look at me."

Emma did, begrudgingly, trying to catch her breath as Mary Margaret's knuckles wiped under her eyes. "This is not the end of the world," she whispered, smiling through Emma's scoff. "No matter what happens."

"We don't know what'll happen," Emma argued.

"Exactly. So you don't know it'll be bad by default."

"Have you met me?"

Mary Margaret laughed lightly, pressing a kiss to the crown of Emma's head and David was sitting on the floor. He tugged Emma against his side, letting her legs drape over his while his hand rubbed circles into her back. "I think we've been introduced a few times," he grinned. "But it's bigger than that now. You're not that same person anymore. We all know that."

"The whole season," Emma breathed. "And maybe-"

"-You can't do that to yourself, Emma. You'll go crazy."

"I think I might be there."

"One crying jag in the hospital seems pretty fair, honestly," Mary Margaret reasoned. They were all going to have incredibly sculpted calves after the crouching they were doing.

Emma scoffed, some of the tempest in her settling, but it all just sat heavy in her stomach and there were goosebumps on her arms. She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in antiseptic and that hospital smell that burned the inside of her nose and, possibly, her lungs and a bit of whatever detergent Mary Margaret and David used.

Her cheek was pressed against his shoulder.

"Two doors on the left," Mary Margaret said, answering the question Emma hadn't voiced. She wasn't sure she could.

Emma nodded, yanking the back of her palms across her cheeks and she did count steps that time, twelve measured movements and fingers twisting around her ring and the door creaked when she opened it.

He was in bed.

She wasn't sure where else he'd have been, but her breath caught in her throat anyway. There were far too many machines and an IV and everything was beeping. His stomach was wrapped, an ACE bandage that looked unnatural against the color of his skin, and gauze just under his eye. She could still make out the swelling.

Killian blinked when she closed the door behind her, trying to sit up straighter and she wasn't sure who made what sound louder – his wince or her sigh and-

"If you move again, I'll totally take Ariel up on that zamboni murder threat, I swear to God," Emma said. Killian blinked again.

"Emma, I…"

"No, no, that's not how this is going to work. Do you know how terrifying some of those CTE symptoms are?"

"What?"

"CTE, Emma repeated, enunciating every letter and she nearly checked to make sure they hadn't branded themselves on her arm. It felt that way. "It's terrifying. Some of the things that can happen to people who've suffered too many concussions or the perfect concussion, some storm of hitting the right spot at the wrong time and it's…"

"Emma, have you been looking up CTE symptoms?"

She wished he'd stop using her name.

Her name wasn't the control she wanted, wasn't the direction she need this conversation to take. It was heavy and desperate and Emma might have been both, was definitely both, but she was also furious and confused and as disappointed as she could ever remember being.

"That's not an answer, love," Killian said softly, and he didn't flinch when she glared at him.

"Yes," she snapped. "Obviously."

"Why?"

"Why? Killian, are you fucking kidding me?"

"That's not what this is, Swan," he continued. "They gave us a diagnosis two weeks ago. And, yes, to answer your question."

"When Liam got hurt?"

He nodded – another movement she didn't entirely appreciate, but he was stubborn and stubborn and she couldn't think of another word. She wanted to yell. She wanted to scream. She wanted to stomp her foot and shout about two kids who need you and I need you and he knew both of those things already.

He had to.

"Why didn't you tell me about the headaches?" Emma asked. It obviously wasn't the question he was waiting for, lips parting and breath quiet when he exhaled. He tapped his fingers on the bit of mattress next to him, scars dim on his skin, but still obvious and if she never came up with another metaphor it would be several different miracles.

"I told you why."

"And I'd really like to know the actual answer."

"You think I've been lying to you for the last two weeks?" Killian asked.

"Yeah," Emma said simply, and Killian looked like he'd just taken another sucker punch to the ribs. "Because you showed up at practice and destroyed some guy for the hell of it."

"That's not what it was."

"Then talk to me," she yelled. She wished she hadn't actually stomped her foot. "Do you know what could have happened if you just kept playing? There are so many...I've read so much…"

"You shouldn't have read about it, Swan. None of it happened. None of it's going to happen."

"You don't know that."

He sighed, eyes falling closed and all the fight falling out of him, and another machine beeped. "You know when Liam got hurt," he mumbled. "He couldn't even form words for three days after. I walked into the hospital room and he could barely move. They weren't sure what the lasting effects would be and he was a lucky bastard, because it should have been worse. It should have been it, honestly. Every study said that. The doctors told Mr. and Mrs. V he might never be the same."

"That's not what happened, though."

"I know. But that's what I remember. Someone says concussion protocol and that's the first thing I think of. Liam in a hospital bed with forty-two wires sticking out of him and it was all my fault."

Emma swallowed, the tears on her cheeks warm as she wiped them away and Killian couldn't look at her. "Do you think you'll ever believe it wasn't?" she asked.

"I don't know."

"I don't think it's your fault. Our kids don't think it's your fault."

"That's because our kids think I'm going to win a Stanley Cup this year."

She didn't move. She wanted to move. She wanted to walk three steps forward and brush the hair out of his eyes and kiss the lines away from his face and promise she believed in everything else. More than anything.

Indefinitely.

She couldn't move.

"It's not Husinger's team," Emma said. Her voice shook. She might have been shaking. It was cold again. "You know that, don't you?"

"It isn't about Husinger."

"God, if you lie to me one more time I'm going to make more zamboni-based threats."

Killian chuckled, low and a little menacing and his eyes were dark when he finally looked at her. "No, lie, Swan. It honestly isn't about Husinger."

"Then what the hell is it about?" she cried, and it was only a matter of time before her other foot joined the stomping fray. It was too much emotion. The machines were too loud.

She couldn't think.

"Why don't you want to talk to me about this job?"

"Jesus Christ, Killian, that's not the point."

"Why not?"

"Because you are sitting in another hospital bed with even more wires that I don't understand and Victor's making veiled threats to the rest of your career and Husinger was a dick. He's trying to steal his fifteen minutes of fame, but you are the captain of this team. This is your team. It's been your team forever. You didn't have to defend it."

He made a contrary noise, half a smirk and half a grimace and Emma's feet finally staged a bit of a revolt, moving forward without her express permission. There were more goosebumps when Killian's fingers trailed across her forearm.

"Why won't you talk to me about this job?" he repeated.

"That's not important."

"Emma."

"God, stop it!"

"The job, Swan."

"Because I might want it," Emma said sharply, practically growling out the words. It took several lifetimes, at least, for Killian to turn his head, expression unreadable when he looked at her, and she'd lost complete control of her tear ducts.

"That's not a bad thing," he muttered. His fingers were still moving. Like he was making sure she hadn't disappeared. Or left on a multi-city road trip to help expand hockey fandom. "You'd be incredible at that."

She had to lick her lips before she answered, dry from breathing out of her mouth and surviving several typhoons-worth of emotions. "It's not that easy."

"Why not?"

"Because it's so much travel and I'm...I thought this was-"

"-It," Killian whispered, and one of them probably held on tighter when Emma laced her fingers through his, but she wasn't entirely she'd even moved first so it seemed like a wash.

That was another water pun.

"Why didn't you tell me about the headaches?" Emma asked. "Why'd you go find this guy when you saw the story? I was...I was in my office. We could have…"

Killian didn't answer immediately, tongue flashing between his lips and Emma's knee collided with the bed frame when he tugged lightly on her arm. She needed to get that goosebump thing checked out. There were more when he brushed a kiss over her knuckles. "Because if it wasn't him, it would have been someone else," he said. "Because I've looked up CTE symptoms too and worried and wondered and I couldn't...that couldn't be it, Swan. One hit? Not after everything. Not when there's still so much left.

And if I said something, if I told them or got the MRI, it could have been all of that. Liam in a hospital bed and my fault all over again. It wasn't about Husinger. It was about whoever they called up because none of this is guaranteed. It can just end."

"Right hit, wrong time," Emma mumbled, and Killian hummed against her hand.

"It's my team, Swan. It's me. I'm-"

"-Way more than that," she said, cutting in and cutting him off and her body was in open rebellion now, knees bending so she could sit on the edge of the bed. "You have to know that. Right?"

The question sounded far more pitiful than she wanted it to, quiet and anxious and Killian's eyes fell back to his legs, a scratchy hospital blanket draped over him.

"Killian," Emma continued. There wasn't enough room to twist. She didn't care, ignoring the state of her spine and several other internal organs that all felt like they were shutting down and he was right.

If it wasn't Husinger, it would have been someone else. It would have been another upstart kid, and another roster filler and it could all be gone, even with eight years and endorsement deals and two kids who were certain they were going to win the Stanley Cup that year.

Well, one.

Peggy probably didn't get it yet.

"This was supposed to be it, Emma," he whispered. "It's not supposed to get pulled away. Not until I let it."

And she knew.

Killian Jones wanted to win.

She'd known from the very first season, from the very first time he got hit and her breath caught in her throat and the worry landed in the center of her and it still didn't make a difference.

Because it could end and Emma had never been very good with change.

Even after everything.

"I love you," Killian said softly, and Emma's mouth didn't move. She nodded. "You have to know that. Right?"

Emma nodded again.

Killian sighed.

She needed to get up, untwist her legs and spine, and there was an entire waiting room in desperate need of updates, but Killian's fingers were still wrapped up in hers and she'd never be able to describe the noise he made when she tried to stand.

"No, no," he stammered. "Don't...don't go, ok? I know they're all...they can wait. Please. Stay. For a little while at least."

"Ok," Emma said, settling back on the edge and she didn't argue when Killian curled his arm around her shoulder.