"A little up on the right."
Emma grunted, trying to shift the kid in her arms and that only ended with a foot in her thigh and a mumbled apology and they were going to rip the sign. And maybe the balloons had been overkill. They'd been Mary Margaret's idea anyway.
"Reese's, my arms are going to fall off my body," Emma warned, glancing over her shoulder when she heard something that sounded a hell of a lot like several hockey sticks crashing to the ground. "Margaret," she snapped, met with a pair of wide eyes and an innocent face that Emma was fairly positive her other kid was practicing. "What did we say about running around?"
"C'mere, Pegs," Mary Margaret said, holding her hand out and pulling the nearly two-year-old and decidedly rambunctious kid against her thigh. "That was totally my fault anyway, I got distracted by how crooked the sign is."
Emma sighed, letting her head fall against Matt's back which wasn't really helping her general state of being at all because she could feel the stitching of the lettering press against her forehead and that just kind of felt over the top.
More than the balloons.
God, there were so many balloons.
"I thought we only had to go a little up on the right," Emma muttered. Her arms were going to be incredible toned by the end of this. "A little does not suggest that it's incredibly crooked."
"I didn't use that word."
"There was an implication. And maybe we should be using actual words. So my arms don't fall off before we even get to puck drop."
"Your arms are going to fall off?" Matt asked, twisting against Emma and landing another kick. She grimaced.
"Not if I can avoid it. And why do you sound so interested in that, huh?'
Emma made a face, arms grateful when Matt rested his feet on one of the lower cubbies in the locker they were currently decorating and he laughed when she peppered his face with kisses. "Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom," he said, voice getting louder with every shout. They were playing a dangerous balancing game, but the jersey he had on was new and Peggy's was almost comically large, even after being custom-made because they were those kinds of people now and decorating Killian's locker with signs their kids made the night before suddenly didn't seem quite as ridiculous.
It was, after all, kind of momentous.
The Post headline had been almost clever that morning – Jones'ing for a Comeback, which played very well to the collective sense of humor of most of the New York Rangers first line and the Vankald-Jones group text message, but David thought it was lazy and Killian had rolled his eyes when Emma showed him her phone.
And then kissed her because it was the season opener and it didn't land on Matt's birthday this year, but that was only three days away and it was a comeback and she wasn't really nervous.
Honestly.
She was excited and a little anxious and a little frustrated, really, because it was raining and the tent guys from Bed-Stuy had been incredibly difficult in the last week. She'd filled out so much paperwork she was positive she had carpal tunnel in both wrists.
Just to prove a point or something.
Emma wasn't nervous.
At all.
She was fine. It was going to be fine. Killian had played in preseason games anyway and nothing had happened and practice was great and he really hadn't argued Ariel's PT schedulemuch that summer, so that was some kind of miracle and it was going to be great.
That was even better than fine.
Great, good, fantastic, one-hundred percent totally ok.
Ok was not a good adjective for this situation.
She hoped he didn't get hit. She wasn't sure what she was going to do if he got hit.
"Mom," Matt whispered, pulling on the front of Emma's shirt and she hadn't actually changed into something professional yet. She wasn't entirely sure she was going to. The Jones in between her shoulder blades matched her kids.
And at some point she'd become some kind of sentimental freak.
Probably after reading that Post story while Killian watched pre-game film with Matt and Peggy.
"Yeah, kid," Emma said quickly, shaking her head like she was trying to get rid of conversational and vaguely emotional cobwebs. She wasn't entirely sure it worked. She might have been a little worried. But only a little.
Not a lot.
That would have been insane.
He'd played in preseason games already.
This was not a preseason game.
"Can we fix Dad's sign now?"
Emma blinked, licking her lips like that would fix whatever was clearly wrong with her heartbeat and they needed to order new walkie talkies because the one hanging from her belt was doing an absolute garbage job of delivering whatever message Merida was shouting.
If it had to do with the tents Emma was going to scream.
"We can absolutely do that," she nodded. "Ok, come here, and try not to flail your legs out when you move.
Matt grinned – which seemed like an unfair card for the universe to play in whatever twisted game it was currently competing in with Emma – twisting and wobbling a little and one of his feet fell off the shelf. It slammed into Emma's right shin.
She couldn't quite stop her exclamation of pain, hissing in a breath of air and squeezing her eyes shut, but that only led to her being entirely unprepared for the rest of Matt's body to collide with her chest and they should have staged some kind of walk through for this.
There hadn't been time.
And Matt had gone to the actual walk through anyway.
"Are you ok?" Mary Margaret asked, genuine concern in the question. Emma nodded, but she couldn't actually voice her guarantee, slightly worried about the bruise she swore she could feel blossoming on her skin.
"Sorry, Mom," Matt whispered. That was like several aces and some kind of royal flush and Emma didn't really know any other card games, but the universe was definitely the dealer in this strange metaphor and had definitely drawn Blackjack as soon as it flipped its cards over.
Emma wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, ignoring the slight scratch of brand-new jersey fabric under her cheek when she leaned forward and he didn't squirm against her kiss. So, maybe, she was the one winning the metaphor.
She'd lost track of it anyway.
"You know what I think we need?" Emma asked, Matt's hair nearly finding its way into her mouth when he shook her head. "More stick tape."
Mary Margaret laughed behind her, a wide smile on her face when Emma twisted around. "I can't believe we didn't think of that before. That's definitely what the whole project was missing."
"Well, we can't afford to let these priceless works of art and questionable number of balloons suffer for our lack of planning, can we?"
"That would be irresponsible."
Emma's arms ached, still or probably always would after this, but she swore the happiness was literally bubbling out of her soul at this point and she'd have to apologize to Kristoff for stealing all the stick tape.
"Can you see any in Dad's locker, Mattie?"
He made a contradictory noise – which was only slightly like Killian and a bit like Will when he didn't appreciate particular whistles, and Mary Margaret's eyes bugged slightly when she realized what was happening. Emma's cheek muscles were starting to ache too.
She dropped Matt back onto his feet, fingers moving with almost practiced ease through the drawer he'd been standing on and he yelled look when he found a half-finished roll.
"That's perfect kid," Emma said, pulling the tape out of his hand and neither she nor Mary Margaret were surprised when he grabbed a puck too.
"Put it in your pocket so no one sees you take it when we go back upstairs," Mary Margaret suggested. Emma's jaw cracked when it dropped.
"I don't even know who you are right now, Reese's."
Mary Margaret shrugged, but she'd snuck balloons into Madison Square Garden several hours before a season-opening event and puck drop against the Flyers and Emma probably should have expected that too.
She was fairly positive David was playing lookout at the other end of the hallway.
"Someone who bought real, high-quality balloons for more than one celebration."
Emma blinked. "What?"
"You heard me."
"Are you kidding me?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"That makes no sense at all."
"Yeah, well I don't want to be accused of not being able to keep a secret later on," Mary Margaret said. "But I'd maybe reconsider sneaking out of the Garden later."
"What?"
"You said that already."
"I know, I know," Emma stammered, mind racing and trying to figure out what was going on at the same time she was trying to understand what the hell Merida was talking about on the walkie-talkie. They needed to get out of that locker room. Soon. They had to go stand in the rain. Or not in the rain.
She'd punch all the tent people if there was actually rain involved.
"But, like….what?" Emma asked. Peggy wiggled against Mary Margaret's side, dangerously close to a wail and that was not going to end well if they were still in the locker room.
"You can sneak out of the restaurant later," Mary Margaret answered. "Just maybe don't leave the Garden without going uptown first."
"We live uptown."
"You're being difficult on purpose now," Mary Margaret accused, but she couldn't stop smiling and Killian's locker was going to be covered completely in stick tape by the time Matt was done with it.
Emma shook her head. "I'm not, honestly. I am…"
She drifted off, teeth sinking into her lower lip and shoulders heaving when she inhaled deeply and it would have been stupid to start crying in the middle of the New York Rangers locker room. So she blinked instead.
That was way better.
Definitely.
For sure.
"Yeah, that was totally the goal," Mary Margaret said. "Don't bother asking if that was an intentional pun, it was and I expect you tell everyone how absolutely hysterical you think I am later on tonight."
"Hopefully after some real goals."
"I've got no doubt whatsoever."
"Ah, that was good."
"Not the longest hope speech I've ever given, but it really is supposed to be a surprise."
"Still hit the mark," Emma promised, letting Peggy grab ahold of her fingers when she managed to get back on the ground. Mary Margaret's upper body strength was no match for her quasi-namesake.
"And," Ruby added, coming around the corner like she'd simply been waiting to hit her mark in the conversation. Emma rolled her eyes. "She and Cap would totally sneak out of the Garden if they could. So we had to be proactive about this."
"Don't you have media to keep at bay?" Emma asked.
"Obviously not or I wouldn't be here. And they got their stuff already because, you know, we've got that whole pre-game thing happening. With your carpet."
"How's it look?"
"The carpet?"
"Yeah. Appropriately blue? Not damp."
"They put tents up, Em," Ruby said slowly, like she was talking to a person who was slightly to moderately terrified of what would happen when her hockey-playing husband inevitably got hit against the boards that night.
It was hockey. That was how it worked.
Maybe Emma was worried.
Maybe might have meant definitely.
"And they look ok?"
Ruby nodded, smile spreading across her face like it was trying to set a record for being slightly frustrating. "I think they knew you'd threaten to run them over with several large machines if they didn't do it perfectly."
"Aw, that's kind of rough," Emma sighed, but also kind of true and the footprints on one of the signs was only because Peggy had been trying to imitate her pacing in her office the night before. Merida had probably told Ruby that.
"And accurate. The tents look fine. The stands look fine. The carpet is exceptionally blue because it is the same carpet we've been using for decades."
"We haven't been here that long," Mary Margaret mumbled.
"Really? God, that can't be right. It feels like forever."
"And that seems kind of depressing," Emma pointed out. "Mattie, I think we're good with the tape. Put that back where you found it, ok?"
He made a noise, a jumbled string of words that made a hell of a lot more sense when Emma twisted to find he'd used all the tape and she should have been ready for that. Ruby tried to turn her laughter into a convincing cough.
"You are an artist, mini-Jones," she proclaimed, crouching down to wrap both arms around him. "Hey, how many hours until we hit the five-year-old mark?"
"Sixty-three," he yelled. Emma blinked again. Mary Margaret might have actually cackled. Peggy didn't seem to appreciate either. She quite clearly wanted to knock over more equipment.
"That's actually pretty close," Ruby said. The smile on her face widened, but it might have also gotten a little softer and she was definitely in the running for biggest pushover when it came to being charmed by Matthew David Jones, particularly three days before his fifth birthday. "We've been practicing," she added, glancing up at Emma's undoubtedly stunned expression. "Your kid's going to be a mathematical genius by the time I'm done with him."
"That sounded really aggressive," Emma muttered.
"It's because we've been using major New York Rangers dates in history to help explain it."
"And that sounds like cheating," Mary Margaret said.
Ruby shrugged. "Whatever works, right? As long as he knows how to add by the end of it."
"I think that's what school is for, actually."
"You can help with the lessons too if you want, M's."
"I mean, obviously, that's what I want."
Emma opened her mouth, not entirely sure what she was going to say, but sure it was going to be something good and she was only a little disappointed when nothing came out. Her teeth clicked when she snapped her jaw again, another crack she didn't entirely appreciate.
Ruby arched an eyebrow. "You freaking out yet?"
"No," Emma lied.
"That was awful. Really. Like. As bad as it could possibly have been."
"Yeah, well, you're apparently staging math lessons with my kid in secret, so-"
"-So, that is not even remotely the same thing. You know it's going to be fine. He's probably going to hat trick."
"Please don't," Emma started, but it was already too late and Matt's shouts were very likely doing damage to the paint in the locker room. And their eardrums.
Ruby winced, every single one of her teeth on display as she and Mary Margaret both tried to quiet the almost five-year-old kid who was actually jumping up and down with excitement.
And Killian would probably score a hat trick.
Just to prove a goddamn point.
Or inspire a slightly more creative New York Post headline.
There were more footsteps coming around the doorway, a flash of blue and far-too-long curls and Emma was still a little surprised how tall Henry was every single time she saw him. It wasn't his birthday yet either.
David was the worst lookout in the history of the world.
"Hey," Roland said. "We heard yelling. What's going on?"
"What are you guys doing down here?" Emma asked. "Shouldn't you be outside?"
"It's raining. And we were waiting for you guys. Mer said you were here and we kind of wanted food."
"There's food outside."
Roland muttered ehhh and Henry didn't quite swat at his shoulder, but it was pretty close, knees barely buckling when Matt slammed into his side. The kid was never going to stop shouting about hat tricks now. "There's definitely food outside," Henry promised. "And the tents look really good, but Mer did tell us you were here and we didn't really want to wait in line."
"Man, you guys have got it good, don't you?" Ruby asked knowingly, standing back up and immediately hitting her head with a balloon. "Where the hell did these even come from?"
"Mom and Dad ordered 'em," Roland shrugged, a surprising sentence for several reasons, least of all the actual words he used, but mostly because that meant the balloons had been ordered and this plan was extensive.
"Only because it was cheaper that way," Mary Margaret explained.
Emma nodded, fingers drifting towards her left wrist out of instinct and she flexed her hand half a dozen times when she remembered. Ruby's smile looked vaguely predatory now. And far too knowing. Henry laughed.
"It's going to be fine, you know that, right?" he asked.
"Don't try and get adult with me, kid," Emma muttered, but Ruby whispered freaking outunder her breath and Mary Margaret was going to give them all detention.
Henry pressed his tongue into the corner of his mouth, running a hand through his hair – which felt like some kind of power play by the universe. "I'm not. I'm pointing out facts. Did Rubes tell you about the hat trick guarantee yet because she should have."
"You're giving away all my secrets," Ruby groaned. "And, before you freak out, Em, or you, mini-Jones." Matt snapped to attention, eyes wide and a little familiar, but he'd never put that puck back in Killian's locker. "Cap did not guarantee a hat trick. That's just-"
"-Us," Roland finished. He pulled his own puck out of his back pocket, and Emma couldn't really twist her wrists still because that still kind of hurt, but she hadn't had a ton of time and it had been a spur of the moment decision anyway.
"How much do you get if you win?" she asked.
"A lot. Uncle Will thinks he'll only get three points, but Hook hat tricked in a gold medal game, so this seems pretty par for the course."
"You're mixing up your sports and clichés. Don't let Anna hear that."
"Nah, she won't. She was promising Kristoff we wouldn't trash the locker room too much when we decorated."
"We?"
"We all are awful at keeping secrets," Mary Margaret said. Her eyes were glossy.
Emma hummed, mouth twisted and two different kids trying to hang off her side at the same time. She wasn't ever going to change her shirt. "How'd you get the balloons into the Garden?"
"David flashed his badge. I baked that one security guard more cookies. And both Roland and Henry promised they'd get said security guard's granddaughter an autograph from Rook because she's got a crush on him."
"Does he know that?"
"He's been in media, Em," Ruby reasoned. "Some of us are actually doing our jobs."
"Oh, low blow," Emma muttered, but she couldn't actually feel bad and Merida deserved the entire state of New York at this point. She glanced back at the teenager and almost grown adult in front of her – each of them decked out in head-to-toe blue and she hadn't noticed Roland had both Robin and Killian's number on his cheeks before.
It all felt a little full-circle.
And emotional.
Decidedly emotional.
"Anna did it," he said, answering the question Emma hadn't asked. Mary Margaret had lost the battle against crying. "And, uh…"
"Here," Henry finished, holding out a sheet of printer paper with half a dozen folds and one of the corners had ripped. "It's raining. We had to take drastic measures. And we didn't have, you know, crayons at home."
"You used crayons?" Ruby asked skeptically, Emma's hands shaking a bit when she reached out and she knew every single person in that locker room was staring at her left wrist.
"We used markers that we just bought in the Duane Reade around the block," Roland shrugged. "But we figured we should get in on the decorating action too."
It looked as drastic as Henry promised it was, the markers running a bit on the slightly damp paper and they'd clearly run out of room with the block letters, but the SKATE FAST was still obvious even through Emma's slightly blurry vision.
"It's going to be good, Emma," Henry promised, squeezing her shoulder and smiling with a confidence she was certain sparked a small, metaphorical fire in the pit of her stomach. "Plus Rol really wants his money."
"We've turned you all into degenerates," Mary Margaret sighed, but Emma was already shaking her head and they needed to get out of that locker room.
She was fairly positive one of the sticks Peggy had knocked over was broken.
"No, no, it's nice. That's a super lame word, huh?"
"Luckily you're not the one writing the headlines tonight," Ruby grinned. "Hey, he know what you did yet?"
Emma shook her head – met with several decidedly emotional and possibly proud looks and Ruby muttered oh this is going to be fun while Roland pulled another roll of stick tape out of Robin's locker.
The rain wasn't as bad as Emma had convinced herself it had to be, like the weather was being held to some kind of emotional marker, but it still took some finangling to get everyone who needed to be in the marked off section of the stands, into the marked off section of the stands and Anna could barely hold onto her phone.
"Mattie," Emma said, doing her best to sound adult in a situation where she couldn't bend her wrist and her walkie-talkie was definitely broken. "What did we say were the rules while you're up here?"
"No jumping, no running away from Anna, no throwing the puck."
The last one was a recent addition – Anna's eyebrows flying into her hair when Matt listed off the rules – and Emma nodded deftly. "That's right. And Pegs," she turned towards the toddler already displeased with her options of being held by either David or Mary Margaret. Whoever wasn't holding Leo. "No trying to run anywhere, even when Dad is-"
She nearly growled when her phone buzzed in her pocket, sure it was something to do with the cars or the scheduled player arrivals and Emma wouldn't have been surprised if there was a fan brawl happening somewhere, just to keep her on her toes.
It wasn't any of those things.
Did you know that the Garden ceiling is the only arena ceiling in the world that's concave. Something about better sound. So I expect good cheers tonight.
"Em," David muttered. "You've got to finish your mom speech or we're going to end up with some very frustrated two year olds here."
Emma shook her head. Her phone buzzed again.
The first version of the Garden was built before b asketball was invented. That's not relevant to our current sports interests, but is at least kind of interesting.
The Garden is the only venue where all four Beatles have played solo concerts. They never played here together.
The torch from the Statue of Liberty was kept on display at the Garden from 1876 to 1882.
Swan.
Swan.
Swan, you've got to at least acknowledge that you're impressed by these facts, otherwise it's no fun at all.
She didn't quite giggle, but it was pretty damn close and David stopped yelling about responsibility when her fingers started flying over her phone screen.
The Post is probably going to use your name in a pun tomorrow morning.
Is that a fact?
You want to bet?
Emma heard the cheers before she could even come up with something witty to send back, knuckles turning white so she didn't drop her phone. Anna took another picture.
Matt started jumping.
She didn't have the heart to tell him to stop.
And it wasn't going to do much to her responsible marker, but Emma was having a difficult time focusing on anything except the smile on his face and the look in his eyes, gaze darting around the crowd like he was trying to find something and her heart possibly exploded when he found exactly what he wanted.
Killian grinned, running a hand through slightly damp hair because they couldn't get the tents all the way to the end of the block. The city of New York, Emma was certain, was bound and determined to cause her as much frustration as possible, but any sense of that was gone as soon as her brain processed how goddamn good Killian looked in his suit.
Blue.
Obviously.
The headlines probably wouldn't mention how he actually ran down the carpet, sure steps that put Emma's heart back together only so it could explode again, but it was all she'd be able to think about for weeks after the season opener and the fans around them yelled when Killian moved up the stairs.
"You're not supposed to be up here," Emma muttered, a distinct lack of anything except swooning in the sentence.
Killian grinned wider. His eyes were incredibly distracting.
"Ah, well, I figured it was more fun to present my facts in person," he said. He had to bend his knees to grab Matt, both arms wrapped around him and laughter lingering in the air and the rain drops and several different adults yelled be careful, Cap at him.
Emma didn't move.
She might have blinked again.
"I think you're trying to show off," she said.
"That's an absolute guarantee. How's it going?"
"It's way too easy, honestly."
Killian laughed – normal and confident and several other very positive adjectives and Emma forgot about her walkie-talkie entirely. His eyes traced over her again, like he was taking inventory or stock and it was equal parts overwhelming and something that made more sense than nice, but his mouth opened slightly when he realized she'd never actually changed.
"Oh, that's not even fair, Swan."
"Maybe I'm just trying to inspire or something."
"Something?"
"Something," she repeated, pulling lightly on his tie when it threatened to twist underneath Matt. "A point. Or whatever."
"One point seems kind of lame, don't you think?"
The crowd around them cheered again – phones out and cameras recording and David kept shaking his head, like he hadn't also been part of the hat trick bet. Emma did her best not to look too impressed, honestly, she did, but Matt was shouting hat trick, hat trick, hat trick like they were the only two words he'd ever learned and both Roland and Henry were humming the goal song.
Killian did something entirely unfair with his eyebrows.
"A hat trick," he said, not a question and they were going to cause seismic activity right there on 34th Street.
"If it's not too much trouble, Hook," Roland added. Whatever noise Anna made was not entirely human, Emma's eyes widening to a size that was did more damage than her exploding heart.
Killian and David were both hysterical.
"What do you think, Swan?" he asked. "Seems reasonable, don't you think?"
She nodded, still not entirely sure if she could remember the English language when he looked at her like that – as if he could absolutely score a hat trick based solely on emotion and feeling and want and that last one was a little out of place on the corner of 34th Street and 7th Avenue.
Or it would have been.
Once upon a time with a different set of beliefs and a different set of dreams and hopes and a distinct lack of either, but that was then and now there was a comeback and headlines and-
"Maybe just a breakaway," Emma shrugged.
Killian's lips twitched. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. For posterity's sake or whatever. Full circle."
"Seems rather reflective, love."
"I might be in that kind of mood."
He had to shift Matt to catch her around the forearm, fingers warm despite the distinct chill in the air and it felt like standing on Chase Bridge and balancing above center ice, but Emma's breath didn't catch when he kissed her.
On the goddamn corner of 34th Street and 7th Avenue.
The fans cheered again.
"A breakaway it is," Killian said, not bothering to pull away and it was only a matter of time before Emma's phone buzzed again because this whole thing was probably being live-streamed on the subReddit.
She didn't know if that was possible. She did not care.
"Dad," Matt said, twisting in Killian's arms with one leg hitched over his hip. "Did you see your locker yet?"
Emma squeezed her eyes closed, not able to keep her sigh in her body where a responsible adult would have been able to. Mary Margaret cursed softly.
"I absolutely refuse to be labeled worst secret keeper now," Anna announced.
"He's five, Banana. I think he gets a pass."
"No, no, Dad," Matt argued. "Not for another sixty-one hours!"
"Wait, what?"
"It's freaky how close it is, isn't it?" Emma asked, and Killian nodded slowly. "Apparently there have been math classes that I've been unaware of and it was a whole thing, but, uh...you should see your locker. And just the general locker room."
"None of this is making much sense, Swan."
"That's because it's all supposed to be a surprise."
"Who's teaching Matt birthday-based math?"
"That was a good alliteration, and Ruby. I think it's a play in whatever war she's consistently staging with Scarlet, but that's only an assumption from me."
"Probably a correct one."
"Charmer."
He grinned, eyebrows twisting and turning and Emma had never thought either of those things were possible until she'd met Killian Jones, but that might have been par for the course and now she was stealing a teenager's clichés.
"How many headlines do you think we can get if I kiss you again?"
"At least five."
"Aiming low, Swan."
"Shut up," she mumbled, reaching forward to grab the lapels of his jacket. He didn't stumble when he moved forward, but his hand landed on her hips and it felt a bit like every inch of her was touching him and she could just make out several different whistles directed at them.
One of them was definitely Will.
It didn't make much of a difference – Emma kissed Killian and Killian kissed Emma and they both ignored whatever it was Will was shouting from the carpet.
"Go check out your locker," Emma said, voice shaking a bit when his mouth brushed over the curve of her jaw.
"There are several different major news outlets here," Will called. "All of them witnessing whatever the hell it is you two are doing up there!"
"Shut up, Scarlet," Robin said. "But also we do have to acknowledge some of the fans you aren't married to, Cap."
Killian hummed, not moving immediately and Emma tried to keep her wrist out of his line of vision. It was a secret. Or something. She wasn't sure why she was so nervous.
"I think that's my cue," he muttered.
Emma nodded. "Please don't mess up my event. And one breakaway goal."
"Done and done. Scouting report?"
Matt's whole face lit up, and Emma had to bite her lip to make sure she didn't embarrass herself at her own event. It didn't take long – he wasn't even five, but Matt knew as much about the Philadelphia Flyers as anyone who was paid to know that and most of his advice focused on screening the net and blocking the goalie and Killian nodded like he was listening to Arthur. He wouldn't have done that in front of Arthur.
"Thanks kid," he said as soon as Matt ran out of facts and oxygen. "Don't jump here, ok, Mattie?"
Matt froze, several other shutter snaps echoing around them, and Killian made a face at Peggy before he jogged back down the steps and signed a few autographs and Emma's phone buzzed, right on cue, as soon as they set foot in the team suite.
I couldn't have done any of it without you.
Emma bit her lip again.
By her, admittedly, unofficial count, Arthur had smashed four whiteboards in the first two periods, pacing in the back of the bench with an expression that likely could have turned several humans to actual stone.
They weren't even losing. They were tied, but there were only twenty minutes left and they hadn't really looked great yet and there was something to be said for season-opening jitters.
Mary Margaret used that word.
Emma couldn't really talk.
She kept walking, tracing the same semicircle around the same chair in the team suite while several different pairs of eyes flitted her direction once every ten seconds.
To her credit, she hadn't actually gasped the first time Killian got hit – slammed into the boards at the far end of the ice, which, as David was quick to point out, was probably for the best because Emma wasn't sure what she'd have done if it had closer to them. Probably just fallen over or something.
"You're going to do damage to your hamstrings," David muttered, a wry smile on his face when he twisted in his own chair. He couldn't move much more. Both Peggy and Leo were on top of them and Leo had fallen asleep at some point in the second period, but Peggy seemed fascinated by the whole game and Emma was going to brag about that for at least the first month of the season.
"I don't think that's how the human body works," Emma argued.
"Ah, that may be true. Don't your feet hurt though?"
"I haven't really thought about that, honestly."
David nodded. "Yeah, that's almost too obvious."
"Then you should not be asking questions you already know the answer to and let me continue pacing out a hole in this ugly carpet."
"It's a coping device," Mary Margaret reasoned. She hadn't sat down since five minutes into the first, screaming a string of insults that definitely got more pointed with each season and Emma only paused pacing long enough in the second to record a snippet and sent to Ruby.
Her answering ha had lasted for several scrolls of text message.
Anna had her phone out as well - panning around the room until Liam inevitably started yelling about focusing on the ice and Regina kept pointing out that they could watch it on TV. "It's delayed for us though," Liam sighed.
"He's really the most impatient person in the world," Elsa added. "But seriously, Anna, on the ice and only the ice."
Anna groaned. "You guys are boring. I'm trying to give you the insider's view."
"They don't really need that," Emma said. She swung her leg out when she rounded another corner, keeping her eyes trained on her feet so she wouldn't lose her balance.
"Boring. Boring. Boring."
"They've got to score again, eventually, right?" Mary Margaret asked. Henry shook his head.
"The Flyers are big on-"
"-Shot blocking," Matt yelled, and every single head in the entire team suite snapped towards him. His ears didn't turn red, exactly, but he looked a little stunned and a little embarrassed and Emma had to stop pacing when he ran back towards her.
He wrapped both his arms around her waist, burying his head into her t-shirt and both Vankald sisters aw'ed in tandem. "They practiced that when they were kids," Liam said, but he sounded a little proud too.
"How'd you know that, Mattie?" Emma asked. She pulled him with her when she moved closer to the windows, standing next to Mary Margaret in spots that she was sure, eventually, would just have their footprints embedded in the carpet.
That carpet was so ugly.
"Dad and me watched the game from last year. Vestrov...Vestrovs…"
"Vestrovsky," Roland finished. He dropped onto the exceptionally ugly carpet on Emma's other side, the numbers on his cheeks a little streaky now, but Matt moved onto his legs as soon as he held his arms out. "He's right too," he added. "Gets in lanes and uses his legs and it's ridiculous what he does to stop shots. The Flyers goalie should be buying him gifts after every game."
"A rather pointed opinion of the Flyers goalie."
"Not a bad team, might even threaten for a Wild Card this year, but their goalie is atrocious. I'd hate to play on a team like that."
"I think you've got some time."
"Never too early to scout. Ask Hook."
"I don't need to be proved wrong on two different counts," Emma said, brushing curls away from his eyes and earning a disgruntled noise for her efforts. Liam cursed. Loudly. In Norwegian.
And so did Anna.
"Sorry, sorry, sorry," she mumbled, picking her phone up from where it had fallen on the floor and Emma was glad she'd been distracted.
It wasn't a bad hit – not by any means. It was a normal hit and a normal moment because this was professional hockey, but the replay looked worse every time they showed it on that incredibly ostentatious scoreboard and Robin was actively trying to hold Will back from slamming his fist into that guy's face.
Killian shook his head, leaning against the Rangers bench and Emma knew, reasonably, his eyes didn't actually flicker towards the team suite, but she wanted them too and it was almost comforting to imagine.
She glanced at Matt, not sure what she was expecting to find, but it absolutely was not a kid pounding the glass in front of him shouting two minutes like he was also the head referee. He had a very busy schedule that night – ref, coach, number one fan.
It was impressive.
"Hook better screen that goalie," Roland mumbled, doing his best to keep Matt from jumping on his outstretched angle. "Or all that talk last season is going to be embarrassing."
Emma laughed, a shaky, undeniably nervous sound because standing in front of the net wasn't dangerous , but it was the first time in a long time and she needed to come up with another word for fine.
"C'mere, babe," she said, pulling Peggy away from David and muttering a string of nonsense in her daughter's ear that was as much for her developmental growth as it was for Emma's third period sanity. "You think we're going to score? You think Dad's going to score? We going to let that guy block all our shot attempts?"
"Vestrovsky," Henry repeated.
"Yeah, I really don't care."
He grinned, nose scrunched and hand back in his hair and neither of them mentioned how nervous they both obviously were. Regina had taken up Emma's pacing.
It took, exactly, forty-seven seconds, two rather obnoxious whistles and one faceoff win in the zone.
She didn't blink. Didn't know if she was breathing, really. But her arms didn't threaten to strangle her own kid, so anything else felt like a victory.
Which is what they got.
Robin won the faceoff, pushing the puck back towards Will who was still planting himself on the edge of the circle like he believed he was the offensive threat he absolutely was, and there was a collective gasp from all of them, including the two in Colorado, as soon as he pulled his stick back.
"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," Emma mumbled. She clearly was not above begging the universe.
But the universe was, sometimes, a bit of a dick and consistently liked to surprise her and Vestrovsky couldn't block Will's shot without threatening to break his own leg. And Killian was very good at screening the goalie.
He kept his stick on the ice, battling for position against two Philadelphia jerseys and Emma wasn't sure he'd actually tipped the puck into the net until both Matt and Roland yelled "Dad" and "Hook" at the same time.
Figured.
Liam cursed again. In English.
Emma got some fairly good air on her jump, Peggy yelling and David screaming and Mary Margaret kept sniffling, a far cry from the vaguely ruthless cheers she'd been dishing out at puck drop.
"Goal, goal, goal, goal, goal," Peggy chanted, an impressive show of context clues and they were obviously the best parents in the history of several different universes.
Emma was absolutely crying too.
All things considered, she thought that was fair, the cheering in the suite nothing compared to the cheering in the stands and the celebration on the ice, a rush of blue jerseys and discarded sticks and someone had lost one of their gloves.
It was probably Will.
But none of it mattered when Killian celebrated the same way he celebrated every single goal, arms wide and mouth wider and Emma was sure she could hear it in her soul or something equally absurd. She was going to cry for the first week of the season, at least.
Totally reasonable.
The entire goddamn Garden sang the goal song even after the next faceoff, chanting and shouting and they were going to buy frames for all the inevitable headlines the next morning.
"We did it," Emma mumbled, pressing the words to Peggy's shoulders and kissing across her face as Matt recounted the goal until the final buzzer went off.
She did, still, have a job to do and Merida was going to wind up being President by the end of it all, but Emma made it through the to-do-list and only kind of ran to the locker room, slightly frustrated by how out of breath she was at the end of it.
Emma spun on the spot, looking for someone or an assistant coach or possibly Kristoff so she could apologize for what they'd done to the locker room. There wasn't anyone. At least not at first and it was a testament to the sound of her own pulse hammering in her ears that she didn't hear his footsteps.
"Swan?"
Emma turned again, nearly dislocating both her ankles in the process, and it was good neither of them were holding anything.
She basically launched herself at him.
Killian didn't stumble backwards, didn't even flinch or grunt or do anything except wrap his arms around her and pull her flush against his chest and neither one of them did anything except hold onto the other.
A little desperately.
They stood there for days or weeks or the rest of the goddamn season, gripping t-shirts and ignoring the water dripping from the ends of Killian's hair because he'd totally just gotten out of the shower and probably had media to deal with, but he also had some kind of absurd sixth-sense when it came to Emma and she was going to be selfish for, like, at least five minutes.
Possibly six.
Maybe a round ten.
She really wanted to sneak out of the Garden.
Emma squeezed her arms tighter, fisting the back of his shirt while his fingers traced light patterns over her spine and the name plastered across her. She closed her eyes, trying to force the moment into every single corner of her memory and she refused to ever be held accountable for the absolute romantic drivel that seemed to just fall out of her as soon as she felt his lips brush over her temple.
"I love you, I love you, I love you," she muttered, pushing up on her toes like being closer to his actual face would make the words mean more. Or like she wanted to make sure she saw his inevitable smile as soon as he processed the words.
Either or, really.
All of it was moot, though, as soon as he bent his knees and her feet weren't touching the floor anymore, arms slung over his shoulders and fingers carding through his hair and notkissing felt decidedly absurd. She felt his smile anyway.
They'd done this more times than she could count – hallways and those dark corners and their own goddamn bedroom and several dozen NHL arenas – but Emma was sure something flipped in that moment or turned back on and she was running out of energy puns rather quickly.
That was for the best.
Killian tilted his head slightly, tongue moving over her lower lip and fingers drifting dangerously under her shirt. Her toes dragged over the ground, but he didn't let her back down and certainly didn't let her fall, another cliché that felt a bit more like a guarantee.
"I love you too," he whispered, dragging his lips back towards her neck and leaving open-mouthed kisses just behind her ear. "Wasn't a breakaway though."
"I could not possibly care about that less."
"That's rather sweeping, love."
"Yeah, I'm good with that. A fan of sweeping and series and it's only the start of the season."
"This is getting pointed."
"And heavy-handed," Emma agreed, appreciating whatever he did with his face when she laughed against him. "Plus another rather impressive display of upper-body strengths."
"She's got to get the genetics from somewhere, right?"
"Is that you suggesting I don't have upper-body strength?"
Killian shook his head, another quick kiss that evolved into a much longer kiss and they needed to move out of the middle of the hallway. If only so Emma could remember what gravity felt like. She seemed to have lost it somewhere in the middle of the winning and the screaming kids and the making out.
Mostly the making out.
"I've got all the belief in your upper-body strength, Swan," Killian promised. "A little less in mine after seventeen minutes of ice time, but-"
"-Why do you have that memorized?"
"Don't you?"
"Obviously," she said, swatting at his shoulder and rolling her eyes when he caught her around the wrist. "But I had to look at box scores for the site and the season tickets and...what?"
He didn't blink, clearly breathing through his mouth when the one hand that was still, somehow, under her shirt stilled. Emma gritted her teeth.
And resolutely refused to look at him.
Her balance wasn't perfect when Killian let her fall back to the ground, twisting against him in a way that, if he weren't so busy staring at her left wrist, probably would have been way more distracting.
"Surprise," Emma mumbled, waving her free hand through the air. Killian didn't let go of her other one.
"Wasn't that my locker? And...everyone else's locker?"
"That second part was a spur of the moment decision, really. Mostly because Rol and Herny's sign was a spur of the moment decision and we figured it was the start of a new season and everyone else needed some balloons too."
"How'd you get the balloons into the Garden?"
"There was cookie bribery involved."
"Ah, naturally."
Emma nodded, chewing on her lip when he didn't say anything else and he was going to make her tell him. Stubborn ass. "There was a reason I didn't have a sign too," she started. "Although I do think Matt and Pegs would have been very angry if I stepped on their moment."
"Literally in some sign cases," Killian grinned. He glanced up at her, staring from underneath his eyelashes and, honestly, the universe could suck it. That was absurd.
There was still a bandage on her wrist.
Emma might have been the worst at surprises. That was a disappointing discovery to make in the hallway.
"I think Peg's going to start running marathons soon."
Killian chuckled, eyes flashing back to her wrist and his thumb had started moving at some point – right where Emma's laces should have been. "She and I can start offseason training in Riverside Park."
"You say that like you're not already plotting running routes right now in your head."
He nodded, a smirk that was, at least partially, the reason for this whole preposterous, ridiculously romantic moment. "Where are your laces, Swan?"
"You know that guy on Astor Place remembered me? From the first Cup and matching sets. He asked if I brought any champagne with me."
"Did you?"
"Not this time."
"Maybe eventually though."
"Definitely."
"That confidence," Killian muttered, a note of something that may have been all the reason behind the moment and Emma didn't think before she pulled back the the edge of the bandage on her skin.
He didn't say anything immediately, but she could see the muscles in his throat move when he swallowed and his shoulders dropped a bit when he exhaled, like he was getting rid of the weight of several different worlds.
It wasn't really very big – partially because she was an enormous wimp and partially because she didn't have time for anything more, but the numbers would be clear even if someone wasn't looking for them. And even when she, eventually, put her laces back on her wrist.
"Something, something, I really like being able to make you kind of lose your head when I wear your number," Emma said, thankful to the universe she'd been so intent on cursing earlier that her voice didn't shake over the words.
Killian's head snapped up, air rushing out of him and eyes frustratingly blue and there were, exactly, three droplets of water on his right temple. He didn't try to brush them away. He just kept staring at Emma and she knew she was blushing, but she didn't blink either, might have even tried to smile and it was all for naught when his lips crashed against hers.
His mumbled I love you felt like it moved into her as soon as he kissed her and it was a ludicrous thought, but Emma had gotten his goddamn number tattooed on her wrist, so she figured it was a reasonable thought in the moment.
And, really, this making out was better than the last one.
She pressed back on her toes, hands with minds of their own and wants of their own and Killian did groan when her hips canted up. They stumbled backwards or forwards and direction didn't matter when Emma's shoulders collided with the nearest wall, laughing and happy and so incredibly confident she was certain she was made of it.
"It totally worked," Killian said, another breathless promise in between kisses. There were a questionable number of kisses, and neither one of them heard the coughs or the scoffs or the camera shutters.
They weren't really trying to hide, anyway.
They'd always been painfully bad at that.
They did, however, notice the two kids yelling their name and running into their bodies and yanking on clothing, neither one of them all that impressed with their parents' propensity to making out in hallways.
"Goal," Peggy shouted again, Killian's eyes getting even wider and Emma shrugged.
"I think we're harping a little, but it's impressive diction."
"Seriously," he muttered, bending down to haul her against his side. "That was really good, Pegs. We'll work on power play next, ok?"
Emma scoffed, letting her head fall forward and he'd totally blown off media for this. "That seems like kind of a reach, don't you think?"
"Nah, parents of the year or decade or whatever."
"Decade, for sure."
"That's awfully presumptuous, isn't it?" Robin asked, walking down the hallway with an arm around Roland's shoulders and Henry a few steps behind. "You going to go back to media, Cap or you just going to suffer Lucas' wrath later?"
"I've got no plans to see Lucas, at all later, so that's totally fine with me."
"Eh," Emma objected. Matt was trying to talk about the goal again, clearly unimpressed by his sister's speech patterns if it meant he wasn't the sole focus of everyone's attention. "There was apparently kind of a plan."
"And way more balloons uptown," Will added. They were all, apparently, blowing off media.
"Do we know some kind of balloon supplier?" Killian asked.
"See, you make fun, but I'm fairly positive Gina does and probably glared at them until they gave her some kind of discount rate. Also Anna and Ariel spent a very long time decorating the restaurant today, the least you could do is not be a complete jerk about it."
"Complete jerk, huh?"
"There are children present, Cap. Who just witnessed you and Em doing whatever it was you were doing."
"Making out," Emma said, shrugging again when Will audibly gagged. "Go find your girlfriend, Scarlet."
"That's what I was trying to do. Because I answered media questions. Because I am the most responsible athlete on this team and I would like the record to show that Cap's very impressive, emotional goal would not have been possible without me."
"And you wouldn't have taken it if Cap didn't tell you to get off the blue line last season," Robin said.
"It was a really good goal," Matt yelled, bobbing on the balls of his feet again and Emma took Peggy before he could jump at both her and Killian.
"That was only because I got a fantastic scouting report," Killian grinned. He ignored the several pointed objections around him when he hauled Matt over his shoulder, winking at Emma. "We'll watch it again later, ok?"
"Can't we do it tonight?"
"Somehow I doubt you'll be awake that long."
"No!"
"We'll see, kid."
"Can we bet on it?"
Will almost fell over. Henry and Roland both appeared to be choking on air.
"Why don't we wait until after we eat for any money to exchange hands, ok, Mattie?" Emma asked, getting a grumbled agreement that was difficult to understand when spoken into Killian's shoulder.
"You guys are a picture of responsibility," Will laughed.
"Seriously, Scarlet. Your girlfriend. Or a cab."
"That's rude, Em. You wound me."
She rolled her eyes, but she was way too happy to actually be annoyed and Matt was talking a mile a minute again. "What did you do?" Emma asked.
Killian winked again. "We're going to go answer some questions, Swan. That's all. Five minutes, tops and then we're spending less than an hour in this restaurant. Deal?"
"Deal."
They spent three hours in the restaurant, but only because they kept laughing and posing for pictures and there were FaceTime phone calls to make and goals to reenact and Matt split an entire plate of onion rings with Emma before he, Roland and Henry fell asleep in one booth.
Anna took a picture of it.
And it was probably somewhere close to one in the morning when Emma felt her own eyelids fluttering, head lolling against Killian's shoulder. Peggy had fallen asleep in the car uptown.
"You ready to go, love?" he asked softly, fingers brushing over the curve of her arm and back towards the side of her wrist.
"Yeah," Emma whispered. "Let's go home."