"Your ex?"

"Yeah?"

"Not… Neal right?" David hisses the name like it's tabooed, and when she smiles and shakes her head, the scared look on his face vanishes. "Then which one?"

"Killian," she replies, "Dated in high school, long distance didn't work," she shrugs, taking a bite of her sandwich.

She'd been eating in the lunchroom when he'd sprung on her and questioned her who this ex Mary Margaret was talking about was. He'd gone straight to overprotective big brother figure, asking whether he'd hurt her and if he came back to look for trouble. It was only then when she realized why she'd connected with David so well, having never been one to mix friends with work. He's basically another version of Liam, she sees it now.

From the moment she'd got her job at the firm three years ago, he'd taken her under his wing. He told her what to watch out for and how to get on people's good sides, being her number one guide to the firm.

She'd been the one to introduce Mary Margaret to him, and their connection was instantaneous. Since then, Emma and him had gotten closer, both of them promising to watch each other's backs.

He'd been the only person she talked about Neal to. While telling the story, she noticed how tightly his fist was clenched and the moment she started dating Graham, he'd had interrogated him thoroughly, giving the whole 'you-hurt-her-I'll-kill-you' talk.

"So what does he want now? I swear Emma, if he's back to cause trouble, I'll hurt him – I swear it."

"Woah, as much as I appreciate you looking out for me, Killian's not back to hurt me. He didn't even hurt me in the first place!" she defends because he's not a bad guy.

"So you and him weren't serious?" He looks confused.

"We were. He just- he didn't break my heart when we ended things."

"So, you didn't really love him?" he furrows his eyebrows. "I don't get it."

She sighs as she shakes her head, "We were serious and I did love him," she presses, "I meant to say, my heart was broken when we ended things, but he didn't break it. Do you get what I'm saying?"

"It wasn't his fault," he answers, nodding his head in understanding.

"Yeah."

And the truth was, it wasn't his fault. It was as mutual as a break up could possibly be. He was busy juggling college, a part-time job and taking care of his brother, and she'd just gotten an offer from New York University.

They just didn't have the time for each other.

"You'd like him though – he's a good guy."

"Then why doesn't Mary Margaret like him?" he raises a skeptical eyebrow (because of course, if she said one small thing about anyone, he'd be their biggest enemy in no time).

"She didn't like him – back when he was our high school's biggest player," she explains, and it's true – Emma could just tell how much her friend had hated him at the start of their relationship, but once he proved his worth, Mary Margaret had become his biggest fan.

"I'll have to meet the guy first," he concludes with a very fatherly nod of the head, and she can't help but laugh.


"Seventeen," he says randomly as they're lying in his bed, her head against his chest and under his chin, their fingers fiddling about with each other's.

She tilts her head up, asking for an explanation, but he just smiles.

"Seventeen," he repeats.

"Seventeen?"

"Yeah – it should be our number," he says simply, shrugging his shoulders as he continues to smile.

"Our number?" she asks, furrowing her eyebrows at him in confusion, which apparently is quite amusing to him as he huffs out a laugh.

He hums, "Our number. You know - how some couples have songs or those stupid sayings?" he asks rhetorically, but waits for her to nod anyway, "We should have a number – and our number should be seventeen."

Her lips tilt upwards and she brings his fingers to her mouth, kissing them softly. "Okay."

"Okay? You're not going to ask why seventeen, why not ninety three or something?" he frowns slightly, and she tilts her head up to kiss the underside of his jaw.

"It's probably something sappy, knowing you," she teases and he rolls his eyes at that. (He doesn't like to admit that he's quite the romantic always saying, 'I have a bad boy reputation to uphold, you know')

"It is," he admits with a huge grin. "Come on – ask."

"Fine," she whines, giving in. "Why seventeen?"

He looks utterly pleased, the already wide smile growing wider on his lips. "Seventeen dates until you told me you loved me."

She pauses at that. She hadn't expected that to be it – instead she thought it was the date of the first time she kissed him or something (she has never been good with dates – always getting them wrong in history class (God knows how she's a lawyer now) but he's never been one to hold that against her – always enjoying being the one to surprise her).

"You counted?" she raises an eyebrow to mask her initial shock.

"Maybe."

"I can't believe you counted."

"Love, it took you seventeen dates for you to realize you loved me, and you're the first person I've ever truly loved – of course I counted," he smiles and how can he not think he's sappy and romantic?

She hits him in the chest, but he manages to grab her hand in time before she pulls it away and he places feather kisses on her knuckles. When he finally lets go, the whole while his eyes staring into hers, she rests her head back contently against his chest. She doesn't understand how she managed to be this lucky in finding someone like him. She doesn't deserve him, she knows that for sure, but she doesn't care. When it comes to him, she allows herself to be selfish.

She's never felt so full, never felt so loved, until he came along – with his Irish swagger and his mesmerizing blue eyes that managed to capture you by just a look and him.

And this being said, she's completely aware of what others think – that they're only seventeen; that they don't really know what love is – but she'd be damned if this was not love.

"That wasn't when I realized I loved you," she hums, and she feels him cock his head to the side in curiosity, "I'd say around the eighth date – just took me awhile to come to terms with it," she shrugs.

"Hm. Well that's new information."

He smiles widely before leaning in to kiss her.


She calls him up on Wednesday night, just after receiving Graham's text saying he'd be able to make it for the match, and she can feel him beam on his end. He tells her to meet Liam beforehand, seeing as he has the tickets and she can't help her lips from curling upwards when she hears the absolute enthusiasm in his voice.

She's glad his success hasn't changed him one bit – she's sure that being a professional athlete, he'd have many friends or family to have watched his matches, yet he still sounds excited.

It's the same as the high school Killian. He was soccer captain, and he'd still get shy when he asked her to come and watch his matches (not like she wasn't going to in the first place).

He talks animatedly about the match, things she doesn't really understand – like what a full back is or who this player is – but she listens anyway, a smile glued to her face because she can just imagine his hands moving excitedly as he tells her these things.

By 10:45 (have they really been talking for that long?) he says he has to get up early for training tomorrow and bids her goodnight with a 'Sweet dreams, Swan'.

After his call, she tries to stay up late enough to wait for Graham to come home but ends up falling asleep 20 minutes later as she flips through the channels.

When he does come home, Nat Geo is turned on – some sort of documentary of what looks like the Aboriginals. He finds her laid out on the sofa, three cushions atop her legs in an attempt to warm her up.

When she wakes up, she's in their bed.

It's empty.


Between then and the match, she and him are in constant conversation. She hadn't realized how much she'd actually missed just talking to him until he came back into her life. They don't actually meet, both having hectic schedules, instead choosing to stick with texts and calls.

She doesn't know when it happens, but in the short time since their reunion, he'd managed to get under his 'favorites' in her contacts, the log book showing he had succeeded in overtaking her calls with Ruby and Mary Margaret combined.

She doesn't even know what they talk about, all she knows is that conversation doesn't stop flowing when it comes to him. They don't even talk about serious things, just filling each other in with stories of theirs from the last six years. She's mentioned Neal, and he's mentioned Milah, though neither of them pushes the other to expand more on the subject on ex lovers. (And God she's glad he doesn't – the wound of Neal is still fresh and painful, and she doesn't think talking about it with another one of her exes would help.)

It isn't romantic what they have – completely platonic (though Ruby doesn't seem to think so) and that's exactly what she needs.


It's the an hour before they're supposed to leave for the match when Graham tells her he's been scheduled for a five-hour surgery and that he can't make it. She tries not to show the hurt she's feeling of his sudden bail by brushing it off with an 'I'm sure Elsa would like to come' and a good luck kiss.

It's half an hour after he's left the apartment that he texts another 'I'm sorry, darling. I'll make it up to you :(' and she replies with a brisk 'It's really okay'.

She calls up Elsa soon after, offering her to take up Graham's ticket and she agrees immediately. She feels the excitement in her voice as she replies a jumbled 'I'll see you soon!' before abruptly hanging up and she imagines her blonde friend dropping whatever she's doing to get to where they've decided to meet.

Thanks to the subway, she's at their meeting point within ten minutes and finds Liam and what looks like a six-year-older version of Arielle (still beautiful as ever) waving toward her as they walk hand in hand to her. She pulls Emma in for a tight hug and greets with a much exaggerated 'It's been forever'. Her American accent is still strong, but there's a slight British lilt to her words, probably picked up after spending years in England and/or Ireland (she isn't exactly sure of the couple's whereabouts for the last six years) with Liam.

He stands idly by, watching his fiancé converse with Emma and she can see the utter love and devotion in his eyes as he stares at her. Meantime waiting for Elsa, the ever so talkative Arielle manages to fit in a shy showing off of her engagement ring and what feels like at least three years worth of memorable stories before Elsa shows up.

She's all smiles as she approaches, and after careful thought, Emma comes to the conclusion that Elsa's not wearing Killian's team jersey.

"Yeah," she starts without Emma having to say anything, "Jack's a fan of Galaxy (she assumes she means the opposing team, but nods anyway) and he'd kill me if I wore a NYC jersey," she shrugs.

Arielle gasps at that before linking her arm with Elsa. "I know exactly how that feels – Mr. Arsenal over here gets upset when I say a player from another team is good looking!"

If Elsa's taken aback at the sudden spring of conversation, she doesn't show it, instead she goes on and agrees, talking about Jack and football and God knows what else as they begin walking towards the stadium.

"She hasn't changed one bit," Emma smiles, nodding her head at Arielle as she and Liam follow behind the new friends. (She swears she hears a 'Oh! I'm Arielle by the way!' followed by an introduction on Elsa's part)

"I wouldn't have her any other way."

It's a simple sentence, yet she knows how much he means it and if that isn't love she doesn't know what is. (She makes the executive decision to bend her no marriage rule a bit more to make room for Liam and Arielle)

They're lining u p to hand in their tickets when Killian sends her a picture of him and his teammates in the dressing room; he's grinning widely, holding his thumb up in the dorky way he always does and she can't help the small huff of a laugh that escapes past her lips.

Wish us luck.

Good luck Jones + teammates

You're here right? he texts back immediately and she senses the hopefulness behind the words.

Instead of replying him though, she takes a picture of herself in the line, pouting at the long queue.

I'll see you soon then, he replies and she can just tell he's typed it in with a huge grin on his face.


It takes half an hour after they've settled down for the players to emerge, all in their warm up bibs. They've got quite good seats (knowing a player on the pitch helps, apparently) and she manages to spot the familiar mop of dark hair. When Arielle eagerly bounces on her seat searching the field to find Killian, it takes Emma exactly 2 seconds to respond with a short point and a 'he's the one with the blue boots'.

Elsa's one of the only ones wearing the opposing team's jersey in their zone, and Emma's noticed a few stink eyes given her way. She takes it in with grace, their glares not fazing her bright smile.

It's another twenty minutes until the player reenter the tunnel, (she assumes to get changed and ready for the game to begin) when Ruby texts her.

You invited Elsa without me?!

You don't even like football!

Neither do you!

I only had a spare ticket

Yeah, yeah

Say hi to Jones for me

She's about to reply a short 'will do' when she hears the announcer call Killian Jones and she automatically drops her phone to her lap to clap for him.

She turns to the big screen, and it's focused on him as he jogs out from the tunnel and onto the field. Liam's cheering proudly for his younger brother and Emma can't help but smile.

The match begins less than twenty minutes later, and it looks like Killian's team is doing well. They pass the ball smoothly between each other, and when the other team (she has yet to learn their name) (something Galaxy, she thinks) manages to intercept the ball, the men in light blue in turn manage to get the ball back swiftly.

Over the cheers and jeers of the crowd, when Emma asks Liam 'bloody annoying' questions of why the whistle was blown, or why that was considered a foul but the other tackle not, or what the hell an offside rule is, she can barely hear his patient explanation, all the while keeping his eyes glued to the game going on. She can hear Elsa's huffs and see her eye rolls at the questions she asks, but it's not her fault her boyfriend doesn't watch soccer.

She swears she's watching the game as a whole, but her eyes can't help but drift towards Killian. He looks good like this – as a soccer player – tight fitting baby blue shirt (that she's sure helps bring out his eyes) tucked into the same colored shorts.

She checks her phone for a second to see the time, and a moment later there's a burst of loud cheers. Liam, Arielle and Elsa are on their feet, jumping with the crowd and it takes a moment for Emma to turn to the big screen and see that Killian's team has scored. They're all celebrating with the scorer, patting him on the back while he huffs his chest out proudly.

"Did you see that pass Killy made!" Liam asks proudly as he continues to applaud. "Bloody brilliant that little git is."


The match goes downhill from there. At the 55th minute mark, as Killian's about to take a shot, he's tackled by the opposing team's number 4 badly. He's on the ground clutching his leg for about ten seconds before the referee blows the whistle to call the medics to assist him.

He's ushered off the field and substituted for their number 14, claps sounding all over the stands as he walks off.

Liam suspects it's a torn muscle or a sprained ankle and assures Emma it won't be too bad when he sees the worry apparent on her face.

The opposing team scores less than ten minutes later and the match ends as a draw.

When they meet Killian afterwards, he's got his ankle wrapped, confirming Liam's guesses, when he hobbles towards them, limping on his left foot. His smile is still as bright as usual, his white teeth shining, reflecting his bright eyes.

He doesn't seem at all fazed about the draw, simply happy that they'd come to support him. When she introduces Elsa to him, he makes a lame joke that makes her roll her eyes ("Did you change teams after me, love?") before she hits him hard on the arm.

He assures them he's alright and that he just can't play for only under a month, and though he says that's not how he wanted to start the season off, he smiles it off.

She doesn't know how he still does it.


(Graham does keep to his word and makes it up for her that night.)

(Four times.)

-/-

It's only later that week when she's reading the newspaper and decides to turn over to the sports section that she sees an article on Killian's injury.

She doesn't know how she didn't realize it the whole time she watched him play the match, but the number on his back in the picture used makes her stare unbelievingly at the paper as her mind plays flashes of that scene from years ago.

17.


(She asks him about it two days later.)

(Seventeen dates, is all he replies.)


A/N: I'm in London now on holiday for three weeks, so hopefully I can get some motivation here to write more.

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