ok but.......... im still pressed tho

Chapters: 1/?

Fandom: TMNT, rottmnt

Rated: Teen and up because I’m paranoid

Summary: Change is often sudden, so quick that you are helpless to prevent it. Donnie didn’t know how it happened one second he was digging through trash for metal and electronics and the next he was fighting for his life.

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First Chapter is finally done! Beginning things is harder than I would like it to be so the second chapter should be up soon. And for those of you who don’t like links continue under the cut ~

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Change is often sudden, so quick that you are helpless to prevent it.

Donnie didn’t know how it happened one second he was digging through trash for metal and electronics and the next he was fighting for his life. His muscles ached as they strained to keep the ninja surrounding him away. His weapon lay long forgotten somewhere having been knocked from his grip what felt like hours ago. Bodies of the Foot ninja littered the battle field but for each ninja he took out it seemed as if ten took their place.

He jumped to the side avoiding a blow to the face from a baton in the hopes of giving himself some breathing room only to see stars at a crack of bat against his skull. Stumbling over forgotten papers and food scrap he made to kick the one that had hit him only to have his leg grabbed. For a heart wrenching second his feet left the ground and he went flying.

What felt like hours lasted only seconds as he collided with another body, the dull thunk of a fist colliding with his plastron stealing away what little breath he had left. Gasping for precious air, vision blurred he blindly reached for the ninja and swiftly tossed him adding two more bodies to the battle field. Towers of garbage keeping him from retreating.

Twenty more ninja appeared from seemingly nowhere. The purple clad turtle shook where he stood. Something wet tricked from his mouth as he swayed where he stood desperately trying to catch his breath. Biting back the taste of copper he ducked a fist only to have another grip his arm. Everything around him blurred as he was spun. A scream ripped itself from his mouth as pain shot up his arm to his chest accompanied by a sickening crunch.

Suddenly what little air he managed to get into his lungs was forced out as his chest collided with the ground. All at once they were on top of him, hands and knees digging into his skin holding him down. His injured arm wrenched back at an odd angle keeping him from struggling. Red eyes closed tight; all he could hear was the feet of the black clad ninja all around him. The taste of copper on his tongue made him want to gag but he didn’t have the energy.

The feeling of blood slowly dripping down his face and arms from scrapes. Glancing to the side where his non broken arm was. His heart dropped seeing the device on his arm broken beyond repair. His head fell into the rough dirt and grime of the dump’s ground trying desperately to simply breath but the weight on his back made it a struggle. He felt as if he was drowning, his vision swam as wave after wave of pain ran though his arm to his chest. He was just…so tired…

Through the ringing in his ears a slow clap and footsteps growing closer caught his attention but it was the loud crunch that made his head turn. He lifted his head to look, his entire body shaking from the effort. As his fuzzy vision raised, he dully noted his goggles lying broken under a black shoe. A man dressed in a long white lab coat stood before him, a cruel smirk on his face as he stared him down.

“I must say I am impressed!” The strange man motioned around them to the many bodies of ninja littered around the makeshift battle field.

“I had heard that your kind were warriors but this is more than I was expecting.” The man spun on his heal walking a few feet where Don noted he picked up his Bow staff.

“You are probably wondering, why you? Well you were not my first choice,” The man turned back to the purple clad turtle his smirk turning to something softer. “no I originally wanted the big one. But, then I hear about you. The smartest of your kind. Well I was intrigued and you did not disappoint!” With a press Don watched as his bo shrunk down and was pocketed. The man stepped closer forcing him to strain just to keep watch of him. His vision growing darker and darker as his lungs refused to take in air.

“After all you took out almost half of the ninja I brought before you even lost your weapon simply by being clever.” The man stared down at him almost gleefully. With a snap of his fingers Don found himself lifted to standing. The pain in his arm and the sudden movement made bile rise in his throat. He couldn’t see, barely clinging to conscious. He felt a hand lift his lulling head and the man’s voice sounding as if from a mile away.

“It is truly a pity that mind of yours will be wasted” The man pulled away, Donatellos’ head dropped, no longer having the energy to keep it lifted. A cruel smile and a white coat were the last he saw as black took over his vision and he fell into the sweet call of oblivion.

 “Bishop” The man in the white coat didn’t even turn as a man in armor walked up to him. Simply content to watch the ninja load the downed warrior into the back of a black semi-truck.

“Ah Mr. Oroku Saki, I was beginning to wonder when you would show up.” The black-haired man took a small bit of pleasure seeing the other man’s slight scowl at his name.

“How long will it take you to break the turtle.”

Bishop readjusted his glasses and turned to the other. “Ah straight to business then. It should take at least six months before I am finished.” An armored hand snatched his tie and yanking him nearly off his feet to look at the taller man in the eye.

“I will give you one month no more.” The armor-clad man sneered. Bishop calmly pushed away the other man’s hand and readjusted his black tie.

“You are hardly in any position to negotiate our little deal.” Right on cue hundreds of bright red dots lit up silver armor.

A smile that promised death stretched across Bishop’s face. “I get to study a creature that had escaped my notice and you, get to keep your life. You getting a weapon out of this is merely a bonus.” The man in armor grit his teeth but didn’t say a word.

“I will keep that creature for however long I please.”  

“Fine.” Oroku Saki ground out. The shorter man smirked and with a snap the lights vanished. He didn’t miss the way the other man’s eyes narrowed behind the helmet. Movement caught his eye alerting him the the downed ninja being swiftly removed by other ninja. He idly wondered for a moment what kind of punishment the ones that failed would face at the hands of the renowned Shredder. A low rumbling that grew closer alerted him to his ride arriving. He brushed off the thought, what the Shredder did to his ninja was none of his concern.

“If we are quite done here, I have work to do.” Without another word he slipped into the unobtrusive black car. The door pulled shut with a click. The engine roared to life, he watched as the man in armor grew farther away. Bishop spotted the black truck out the window and is grin widened. This was promising to be quite, enlightening.

Tripping Over the Blue Line (24/45)

It’s a transition. That’s what Emma’s calling it. She’s transitioning from one team to another, from one coast to another and she’s definitely not worried. Nope. She’s fine. Really. She’s promised Mary Margaret ten times already. So she got fired. Whatever. She’s fine, ready to settle into life with the New York Rangers. She’s got a job to do. And she doesn’t care about Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers. At all.

He’s done. One more season and he’s a free agent and he’s out. It’s win or nothing for Killian. He’s going to win a Stanley Cup and then he’s going to stop being the face of the franchise and he’s going to go play for some other garbage team where his name won’t be used as puns in New York Post headlines. That’s the plan. And Emma Swan, director of New York Rangers community relations isn’t going to change that. At all.

They are both horrible liars.

Rating: Mature Content Warnings: Swearing, eventual hockey-type violence AN: Date. Date. Date. They’re going on a date. Also. Thomas Jefferson voice. Can we get back to...hockey? Yes. More season incoming. You guys continue to be the absolute best and I still adore @laurnorder​ (even if the Astros are up 2-0, whatever) and @beautiful-swan​ and @distant-rose​.   Living on Ao3, FF.net and tag’ed up on Tumblr

“I’m putting you on the list,” Ruby announced, sinking into the chair in front of Emma’s desk without any more explanation or preamble. She all but launched her feet on top of the wood, nearly knocking over a nameplate, three piles of papers and Emma’s work phone.

Emma held her hands up and shook her head while Ruby continued to glare at her, staring at her as if being put on some list was actually the worst thing in the world. It might have been and Emma still wouldn’t have cared.

She was happy – with a capital ‘H’ and probably a few underlines and maybe an exclamation point or two just to really drive the point home.

And, for the first time since she’d gotten to New York, she didn’t feel like there was a caveat to that happiness.

She just was.

Two days after Christmas and the stolen tree and falling asleep on the couch, they’d shown up hand in hand at Eric’s restaurant and the world hadn’t ended. In fact, nothing really changed. Everyone knew. Except Will.

Will punched Killian’s shoulder – a particularly dangerous move considering he was still balancing rather precariously on the one crutch he deigned to use – and shouted about how they were both lying liars who lied for a solid twenty minutes until Belle pulled him away, muttering a soft apology in his wake.

Mary Margaret smiled the entire night and Emma was fairly convinced she simply had different muscles in her face than the rest of the human population because there was no way one person could smile that much. Mary Margaret did, probably, because Emma was. Smiling that was, constant and consistent and her jaw kind of hurt, but it seemed worth it when she remembered how goddamn happy she was.

She was really happy.

It’d been two weeks since Christmas – the slump not quite a slump after they beat the Bruins, but it wasn’t exactly a streak either, still stuck in Wild Card territory after the turn towards January. The penalty kill still absolutely sucked – a fact that seemed to be slowly driving Killian insane, muttering something that sounded like It’s a matter of pride, Swan after they gave up another power-play goal the night before – but, at this point, they were still playoff-bound and All-Star nominations were slated to come out...in a few hours.

Ruby clicked her tongue, snapping Emma back into the conversation and she tapped the bottom of her heel impatiently on the edge of the desk.

“You’re going to knock everything over,” Emma muttered, tugging a pile of papers towards her.

Ruby didn’t look impressed. “The list, Em,” she said again. “I’m putting you on it.” “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.” “You know what today is?” “All-Star day.” Ruby nodded seriously as if an All-Star game that most players found more an inconvenience than an actual honor was something particularly important. “You know what I am?” “A distraction? One that’s making it very difficult for me to actually make sure I have enough auction items for the Casino Night auctions?” “Well that’s just rude.” “And true. What do you think you almost just knocked over?” Emma held up a handful of papers, lines of merch and Merida-created-spreadsheets printed on the front and back. There were a lot of auction items.

“Please,” Ruby sighed. “As if you don’t have a surplus of auction items. And even if you didn’t, can’t you just get Jones to sign a couple more when you’re spending all that time in his very fancy uptown apartment?” Emma narrowed her eyes, but Ruby’s expression didn’t change, that self-satisfied smile practically etched onto her face. “You know,” she continued. “I heard a rumor about that.” “Of course you did,” Emma sighed, nodding when Merida knocked on the door of her office. She had three more sticks in her right hand and a bag of pucks tucked under her left elbow, just barely holding onto them before she dumped everything on the table in the corner.

“Scarlet said he’s not signing anything else,” Merida said, leaning against the side of the table with a look that practically announced she’d come up on the losing end of that particular argument.

Emma sighed again and Ruby was still staring at her, one eyebrow arched and arms crossed lightly over yet another red dress.

“What?” Emma asked, snapping out the word quickly and that happiness she was certain would linger for the rest of time was starting to fade a bit in the face of a stubborn defenseman and overworked assistants and friends-slash-media-relations-specialists who were, apparently, going to put her on a list, but not explain what that list was.

Ruby clicked her tongue again, but she put her feet back on the ground and that seemed like a step in the right direction at least. “Alright,” she said slowly, sitting up until the back of her dress was pressed up against the chair and things, suddenly, felt a bit more formal than they had a few seconds before. Even Merida stood up straighter, tugging on a curl as her eyes darted from Emma to Ruby and then back again.

“I have good news and I have bad news,” Ruby continued.

Emma tilted her head and pursed her lips, pressing her tongue on the inside of her cheek. “Bad news first.”

“You would,” Ruby accused, rolling her eyes knowingly. “Ok, bad news first. I need you to go to LA.” “What?” “Good news,” she said quickly, half shouting it before Emma could go into a detailed description of all the reasons she absolutely, positively could not go back to LA. “There’s follow-up good news that will make this almost seem worth it, I promise.” Emma stared at her appraisingly and Ruby took a deep breath. “I know the All-Star teams already,” she continued. “Or at least our guys. And I know what we’ve done in the past and what Zelena wants to do this season and they do fan meet-ups and LA’s a huge city and there are going to be a ton of our people there. She wants you to go. With us. Like a whole New York contingent.” “Our people,” Emma repeated slowly, raising her eyebrows. Ruby just rolled her eyes. “Sounds a little cultish, doesn’t it Rubes?” “Fandom, Emma. It’s just fandom.”

She exhaled loudly, running her tongue over her lips and considered her options. She didn’t want to go to LA, didn’t want to set foot back into the Staples Center if she could possibly avoid it, but she also wanted to go to All-Star weekend and if her suspicions were right, the few days spent on the west coast might not actually be all that bad.

It might actually be ok. Or good. It could be good. “You couldn’t have come up with a better way to announce that than pushing into my office and telling me I was on some sort of list?” Emma asked, glancing down when her phone lit up. She made a noise in the back of her throat when she saw David’s name – text messages from him in the middle of the afternoon were few and far between.

“Yeah, well,” Ruby answered, oblivious to the rather obnoxious sounds Emma’s phone kept making. “That’s because I’m still kind of mad at you and there are multiple lists. I was talking about several different lists at once.” “Who knew one sentence could hold so much wrath,” Emma muttered, picking up her phone to find a rather frantic string of text messages in front of her.

You’re still sleeping on my couch, Emma Swan. I buy you Pop-Tarts even though they’re disgusting and made for children. The least you could have done was tell me what was going on with my team.

“Is he totally freaking out?” Ruby asked knowingly, leaning forward slightly to glance at the messages. “Oh, he is.”

“I have no idea what’s going on.” “Didn’t you see the e-mail, boss?” Merida asked, nodding towards the laptop that had been pushed into the corner of Emma’s desk. She needed to make more room for the merchandise inventories and another budget update for the charity game and one of those piles was a brand-new set of on-ice waivers Aurora had sent her.

She needed to get Bobby Flay to sign his goddamn insurance waiver.

She was going to kill Bobby Flay.

“Of course she didn’t,” Ruby said, answering Merida’s question when Emma got distracted by another text message from David. Are you going to go with them? You know I think he gets a car if he wins.

“Just tell me what’s going on,” Emma muttered.

“They came out already.” “All-Stars?” That’s why David was freaking out. This league was stupid. Or whoever was leaking information was stupid. It was probably Ruby. She still didn’t quite understand where the car came into play. “Did you tell Dorothy? Is that how this happened?” Ruby shrugged, a look of not-quite-innocence on her face and Emma sighed loudly. “David’s not going to buy me Pop-Tarts now,” she said.

“I have no idea what that means.” “He’s the Metro captain, boss,” Merida said, the only person in that stupid office who, it appeared, was willing to take pity on her and explain what the hell was going on.

“Your boyfriend,” Ruby added, tapping her nail on the desk now that she had her feet back on the ground. “In case you missed that part. Since you never actually told me, just showed up at the restaurant all nonchalant like you hadn’t spent the entire season telling all of us you were just friends and knew his whole family like you’d spent days together.” Merida laughed softly, Ruby spinning in her chair so quickly to glare at her that her hair actually hit across the front of her face.

“How long have you been holding that in Rubes?” Emma asked. She still hadn’t answered David.

Ruby grumbled slightly, turning back on Emma. “That was the other list, by the way. The one where you don’t tell your friends you’re dating the captain of the New York Rangers. Particularly when said friend tried to set you up with the captain of the New York Rangers as soon as you started working for the New York Rangers.” “Someone paying you by the team mention or…” “Shut up. You know Mary Margaret is beside herself. She’s through the roof on this, although she won’t actually say anything because she’s no fun at all.” “I’m well aware,” Emma said, smiling in spite of herself. Mary Margaret had tried to casually ask about Emma’s plan for a plus-one to the wedding no less than a dozen times since Christmas and made sure to mention the fact that she and David were getting married at a castle whenever she saw Killian.

She saw Killian quite a bit.

“And,” Emma continued. “There was no point in actually announcing it when I’m pretty sure everybody knew already.” “Well, obviously, you two were horrible at whatever secret you were trying to keep. You know Merida saw you at the restaurant that game before Thanksgiving? The one with the breakaway?” Emma’s mouth dropped open and her assistant’s face matched her hair, red rising in her cheeks as she gaped at Ruby. “Awful at it. All longing stares and fingers brushing each other’s when you thought no one was looking. Gross.” “You literally just said you were the one who tried the set up the very first night I was here.” “Yeah, well, it’s still gross. And you should have told me.” Emma rolled her eyes, realizing, again, that she still hadn’t texted David back. “Anyway, you excited about tonight?” “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “What?” Ruby asked, genuine surprise coloring her voice. Emma put her phone down slowly, lowering her eyebrows as Ruby glanced back at Merida again.

She shrugged in response, grabbing one of the not-signed-by-Will-Scarlet pucks and tossing it nervously in her hands as if she needed a distraction. “I think it was supposed to be a surprise actually.” “How can it be a surprise if she doesn’t even know it’s happening?” “I’m sitting right here,” Emma said. Ruby didn’t care. She was still staring at Merida and Merida was still throwing the puck in the air, wincing slightly when it hit her hand.

“You really don’t know?” Ruby asked.

“Are you talking to me now?” Emma mumbled, falling into sarcastic and immature with an ease that almost astounded her. Ruby stuck her tongue out.

“Obviously.” “Usually it’s customary to look at the person you’re talking to.”

“I can’t believe he didn’t tell you. You have something to wear later?” “You are not making any sense at all. And where does the car come into it?” “What?” “David seems to be under the impression Killian can win a car?” Merida scoffed under her breath and Ruby had sunk so low into the chair Emma was actually surprised she hadn’t done permanent damage to her spine. “That was, like, two seasons ago, at least,” Ruby mumbled. “And it wouldn’t have mattered anyway since he’s a captain and he would have picked the teams. It’s a whole different All-Star system now. Tell David he needs to catch up because his questions are just embarrassing.”

The tension that had cropped up between Emma’s shoulder blades lessoned at that – she’d have to apologize to David for that later and probably buy her own Pop-Tarts and maybe get her own apartment at some point. Definitely the last one.

She just needed a few more hours in each day.

And now she, apparently, was on some sort of list to Los Angeles that would probably require her to organize several different community relation and/or fan experience events and that was fine, it was, but it was also a bit exhausting and while Emma was as happy as she could remember being in quite some time – ever – she could also use a few more hours per day to get everything done.

Or maybe get a chance to actually go out on that date with her boyfriend, Killian Jones, captain of the Metro All-Stars.

Because they hadn’t done that yet either.

There hadn’t been any time. She had merch to get signed and celebrities to sign up for a charity game and she and Merida still had to go to some warehouse in New Jersey later that week to make sure that the Casino Night tables hadn’t somehow managed to get destroyed in the eleven months since the last Casino Night.

She hoped he hadn’t forgotten.

He hadn’t forgotten.

There just hadn’t been time.

He did, after all, have games to play and the Rangers had been on a Canadian swing for the better part of the last week – the text messages saved in Emma’s inbox full of facts about Toronto, Montreal and Ottawa and return facts about the teams and their inability to win a Stanley Cup.

They’d wrapped up the road trip in Chicago the night before – The Chicago River is the only river that flows backwards, Swan. Backwards! And there’s not even any threat of finding a body in it like there is in the East River.

I hardly think the flow of the river is going to change how many bodies are in it. There could be a ton of bodies in the Chicago River. Also the Blackhawks were named after the 86th infantry division in World War I.

I didn’t know that.

See, now you’ve got to come home. I’ve got all these very impressive facts to share.

I look forward to it.

It was another loss – in a shootout that Emma was certain had taken, at least, six years off Arthur’s life and, by extension Gwen’s life if the number of times she sighed dramatically in the corner of the restaurant were any indication – but they’d be home now and they were off for two days before the Penguins made their return to the Garden.

That would be fine too.

Emma absolutely wasn’t worried about it.

“You really don’t know what’s going on?” Ruby asked again and Emma shook her head.

“No,” she promised. “I don’t.” “It’s a surprise,” Merida mumbled. “You should probably consider leaving here kind of early, boss. Like make sure you’re home at some point before the stroke of midnight.” Ruby looked stunned, hair whipping across her face again. “Are you not leaving here before midnight now?” Emma shrugged. “That is insane. You know that’s insane right? No wonder Mary Margaret’s worried.” “I thought Mary Margaret was thrilled with my happiness,” Emma said slyly, lifting one eyebrow.

“We can talk about more than one thing, Emma!” Emma laughed loudly, momentarily forgetting the absurd amount of work she had to do and the injured defenseman she’d have to threaten again if he refused to sign his designated number of hockey pucks. Oh and Liam Neeson. She had a phone call with Liam Neeson – or least Liam Neeson’s agent’s agent – that afternoon.

Liam Neeson loved the Rangers.

He’d show up for a charity hockey game. Or he’d at least do a voiceover.

“What time is that call?” Emma asked, glancing up Merida who already had a clipboard and the schedule in her hand.

She didn’t get a chance to answer and Emma didn’t get a chance to try and pry more information out of Ruby – whether that was information about whatever Emma didn’t know or how Dorothy, who had a pretty cushy gig as a photo editor at Sports Illustrated, appeared to be getting information about All-Star noms before anyone else in the entire media world – before there were footsteps in the doorway and a knock on the door.

All three of them turned at the sound and Killian almost looked surprised, eyes widening for a moment when he was faced with the full force of their collective curiosity, but he smiled half a second later, gaze finding its way to Emma almost immediately.

“Gross,” Ruby muttered, shaking her head when she noticed Emma’s immediate smile. She sighed loudly, pushing out of her chair and turning towards Killian who had the good sense to almost look intimidated by her.

“Hi, Ruby,” he said evenly, leaning against the open doorframe.

“You know your PK sucks, still.” “That’s not my fault. Tell Scarlet to fix his leg.” “Tell Scarlet to sign a few more hockey pucks so your girlfriend isn’t working until midnight every day.” “Wait, what?” “Ignore her,” Emma said. “She’s just trying to get a rise out of me because I’m on some sort of list and she’s mad at me.” “Multiple lists, Emma,” Ruby pointed out, glancing over her shoulder to stare at her with eyebrows raised and mouth set in a very particular straight line. “Anyway,” she continued, pushing a finger into the front of Killian’s button-up. He was wearing a button-up. And a tie. Emma hadn’t noticed that before. “This is half your fault too, Jones. You’re the one keeping secrets and not telling your girlfriend things.” His face shifted suddenly and it was almost jarring, the way his eyes narrowed and his shoulders rolled back. He wasn’t leaning against the doorframe anymore, any sense of casual lost as soon as the accusation was out of Ruby’s mouth.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, but his voice was tight and Emma could hear the nerves there.

She stood up, walking around the desk and ignoring the vibrations of her phone. David’s break must have almost been over. “Leave him alone Ruby,” Emma said, but she didn’t take another step forward, sinking onto the front of her desk instead and crossing her feet at the ankles. “Although the PK really does suck.” “You’re a beacon of support, Swan,” he laughed. “And tell the new guy. I’m surprised Arthur hasn’t sent him back down and demanded someone else yet. Or tried to kill him. You see he smashed another whiteboard last night?” “I think he’s going to kill Jefferson at this point. He should have saved that last shootout attempt.” Killian hummed in agreement.”He’s going to start Thomas on Saturday.” “What?” Emma, Ruby and Merida asked the question in tandem and Killian let out a low whistle at it. “We didn’t practice that or anything,” Emma said, working a quiet laugh out of him. He was still standing up straight.

“You didn’t hear that from me,” Killian said, finally taking a step into the office. Ruby already had her phone out. He shook his head, pulling her phone out of her hands without a word, ignoring her loud cry when she started shouted about doing her job. “Nothing until you hear it from Arthur, Lucas. Shouldn’t you be at the presser soon anyway?”

Ruby blinked once, scrunching her nose in frustration when she realized Killian was right. “You’re an ass,” she answered, grabbing her phone back with a completely unnecessary amount of force. “Come on Mer, things are going to get disgustingly adorable in here in a couple of minutes. And crowd control at this thing is going to be absurd if Jones isn’t actually lying to my face.” “Would I do that?” “Yes,” Ruby said immediately, stalking towards the door with Merida close on her heels.

“What…” Emma started, but Merida was a mind reader and she barely had the even finished thinking the question before she had an answer.

“Not until 4:30. You’ve got some time.”

Emma nodded, running her hand over her face as the footsteps retreated and then a new set began, moving towards her until his knees brushed up against hers. She only opened her eyes when she felt his hands land on her shoulders, thumb tracing out a small semicircle just above the collar of her dress.

“The PK isn’t your fault,” Emma mumbled, head falling forward until it landed on Killian’s chest and she felt him laugh softly underneath her. “Although maybe we should look into some anger therapy for Arthur or something.” “What are the steps? He denied the new guy was bad because he didn’t want to actually deal with it and now we’ve moved on to anger.” “This stage is lasting a very long time.” “Ariel told me Scarlet started walking on the treadmill without actually complaining the other day, so we might be moving forward pretty quickly.” Emma smiled, lifting her head up to find him staring at her with lifted eyebrows and concern in his gaze. “What?” she asked.

“Midnight, Swan? Really?” “It hasn’t been every night. Just like...the last week or so.” “So when you told me you’d been home for hours last night and everything was fine, it was the opposite of both those things.” She quirked an eyebrow, but he didn’t back down – mouth set and eyes wide and it took her eight seconds to realize what was going on. He was worried. He was worried about her.

In some strange world where things were normal and people got what they wanted on some sort of consistent basis Emma probably would have expected the worry to come with the boyfriend title, but that wasn’t this world and she couldn’t really remember if she’d ever actually been in a relationship where the boyfriend title had been so active.

Or quite as obvious.

They’d been absolutely horrible at under the radar.

“Careful, Cap,” Emma cautioned, tapping the front of her fingernail against his tie clip. “That sounds almost accusatory.” “It’s not. Honestly. Just...when’s the last time you’ve actually had a full night’s sleep?”

Emma grumbled, muttering words that weren’t actually words and she didn’t really have an answer. “I’m fine,” she said.

“That’s not what Mary Margaret said.” “How?”

He blinked once at the question before answering, pulling her hands away from the tie clip – he was wearing a tie clip – and sank down on the edge of the desk next to her. “She got my number from Ariel. David, however, got it from Mary Margaret.” “You’re texting David, too? Jeez, he could have just asked you about the car.” “He already did. I told him that hadn’t happened in three seasons at least.” “Did I mention that was pretty awesome, by the way?” Emma asked, glancing to her left to find him staring at her, smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. “All-Star captaincy and All-Star’ness in general. Because it is.” Killian shrugged and Emma tried not to roll her eyes at his determination to brush off the compliment. “It’s not a Cup, but it is pretty cool. El said they might try and get over for the weekend. It’s a quick flight.” “Elsa knew before me too? Jeez.” “El cheated because Liam found out through the league and that doesn’t count. It’s not even supposed to be out there yet, but it’s already on ESPN. That’s where I came from. Presser about it. And the road trip, but no one actually asked me about that.” “Ruby is some kind of media relations savant. God, I don’t know about anything that happens outside of my community relations bubble.” “That’s not a bad thing, Swan.” “It’s a frustrating and vaguely exhausting thing.” “What’s the phone call about?” “Hmmm?” He laughed and she hadn’t even noticed his fingers finding their way into hers. “You asked Merida about a phone call at 4:30. Is that for Casino Night, the game or whatever All-Star nonsense I’m sure Lucas planned for you.” “How could you possibly know that?” “Ruby also informed me I was ‘on the list’ as soon as she saw the noms. Apparently it’s a very exclusive LA list. Rol’s going to be thrilled. He’ll probably be able to get a whole new wardrobe out it.” “Robin too?” Emma asked, smile widening almost immediately and maybe going back to Los Angeles wouldn’t actually be the worst thing in the entire world. “To answer your question I haven’t even really thought about All-Star events. I’m sure Zelena will want to have a meeting about that too. The phone call is with Liam Neeson. Or his agent. Whatever.” “For the charity game?” Emma nodded, trying to turn her yawn into a deep breath and failing miserably. “That’s incredible, Swan.” “You got named captain of the Metro today. Let’s try and keep incredible in perspective here.”

“Please, that’s nothing compared to what you’re doing. And I’m on some sort of point drought. You know they featured that before the game yesterday? Detailed my so-called troubles on the ice since Christmas.” “It’s been two weeks.” “There was a graphic, Swan.” “How do you even know that?” “Scarlet thought it was hysterical. He texted several different looks at the graphic as well as his thorough analysis of my game and what I was doing wrong.” “Ass,” Emma muttered, drawing a laugh out of Killian and she bit her lip when he kissed her cheek lightly. “He’s got way too much time on his hands.” “And you, love, appear to not have enough,” Killian countered, leaning back slightly to glance at the several stacks of paper sitting on her desk. “How come they’re up here and not scattered in some sort of organized fashion on the floor?” Emma gave herself a moment to appreciate the question – the knowing in his voice doing something to several different internal organs and possibly every single one of her nerve endings – and he was smiling at her when she met his gaze.

“It’s just a lot of stuff,” she said. “It’s ok though. I mean Reese’s couch is almost starting to get comfortable and Mer’s got every single hour of probably the next year scheduled, so I know where I have to be at any given point in any day. The game will be worth it though.” “Of course it will.”

Emma tilted her head at the certainty in his voice, the ease with which he just agreed with her, as if the idea of the game being anything but worth it was unfathomable.

She’d always had Mary Margaret and David, had their encouragements and their support, even from the other side of the country, but there’d never really been anything like this.

That would take some getting used to.

“I can’t believe you’re texting Reese’s and David about my well-being,” Emma mumbled.

“I had a feeling.” “Of course you did. Are you done today? Presser and just free as a bird?” Killian laughed and Emma scrunched her nose, making a face. “No,” he said, smile seemingly carved there. “I’ve got film when you’ve got Liam Neeson.” “Liam Neeson’s agent.” “Even so.” “You’ve got some time off though, right? I mean Arthur’s got to give you guys at least a few hours to recoup, doesn’t he?” “Eh, if there weren’t Player’s Association rules, he’d probably have us out on the ice right now. The PK is pretty horrible. I think we’ve fallen into the bottom of the league.” “It’ll get better once Scarlet is back and you guys string a couple of wins together.” “Is that positivity I hear, Swan?” “If you get to be certain that my game will be fine, then I can be certain that you guys can hold onto the Wild Card spot.”

“Standings watcher,” he accused, but Emma could still feel his smile when his lips found hers and they probably should have led off with the kissing. Ruby would have had a meltdown.

His hand found its way into her hair, fingers carding through the strands and around the back of her head until he’d pulled her towards him and Emma’s hands gripped the front of his button-up. And she hadn’t quite realized she’d missed him that much until she took a deep breath and Killian moved with her, tongue tracing against her bottom lip.

“See,” she said when they both remembered they needed oxygen to breathe. “I’m totally not even remotely tired.” “That so?”

“Was that not enough proof?” “Well, I’m just trying to be certain, Swan.” “Of?”

“This almost sort of plan I might have for later.” Emma’s mouth hung open and that oxygen she’d needed so desperately just a few moments before rushed out of both her lungs. “What are you talking about?” “Ruby’s got a very large mouth and almost ruined the entire thing, but she wasn’t entirely wrong either.” “That thing I didn’t know about?”

Killian clicked his tongue and his eyebrows did something absurd, eyes flashing up at Emma when he turned towards her. “I'm sorry for being so late in planning, but, if you’ve got some free time later tonight, I might have actually planned an evening.” “An evening?” Emma repeated skeptically. Killian nodded seriously and she let out a sound that was usually classified as a giggle. She’d never giggled in her life.

“I don’t want to limit our time, Swan, but at least to start. I’m surprised Mary Margaret didn’t let you know.” “How many people have you told?”

“Just two.” Ruby and Mary Margaret – Emma’s two best friends and the only people, with maybe the exception of David, in the entire, stupid city who would know exactly what she’d want on some sort of perfect date with the captain of the New York Rangers.

She was dangerously close to giggling again.

“Reese’s did ask when I thought I’d be getting back home,” Emma muttered, tracing back through an early-morning conversation she’d only been half awake for. “But then how did Mer know? She was talking about it too.” “Ruby probably,” Killian reasoned. “I’ve got no control over who she talks to and she talks to everybody.” “It’s the media relations in her. She finds out breaking news and she’s obligated to report it or something.”

Killian laughed again, but there was a bit of nervous energy mixed in as well. Emma appreciated that too – almost as much as the worrying and the support and how absurdly blue his eyes were.

“Eight?” he asked, standing up and his hands made their way back to her shoulders.

Emma nodded slowly, trying to remember that schedule Merida had taken with her to Arthur’s press conference. “Yeah, yeah, I can do eight.”

His smile wasn’t even fair.

Killian kissed her quickly, lips barely brushing over his and Emma tried not to chase after when he pulled away. He was still smiling.

“I’ll pick you up,” he said, squeezing her shoulders before turning back towards her office door.

“I already know you know Reese’s, you don’t have to pretend like you don’t,” Emma said, falling back onto the bed in the far corner of the loft.

Mary Margaret glanced at her over her shoulder, mouth set into something that practically screamed disappointed. Emma was trying to get her to spoil the surprise. It wasn’t really working.

An hour after she’d walked back into the apartment and announced to both Mary Margaret and David that she needed to find something to wear, Emma was still no closer to finding something to wear or, more importantly, knowing what the plan was.

Mary Margaret totally knew the plan.

And she wouldn’t crack.

“You look like you’re about to discipline me for not wanting to come in from recess,” Emma laughed, propping herself up on her elbows.

“It’s January, recess is inside,” Mary Margaret said reasonably, muttering the words into the clothes in front of her.

“That was funny, Reese’s!” “It’s been known to happen from time to time. Now come on, sit up straight, you’re going to mess up your hair.” “My ponytail? You’re honestly worried about me messing up a ponytail? And didn’t you decree it had to go low because I absolutely, positively had to wear a hat? You know, Reese’s, that kind of seems like a clue almost.” Mary Margaret rolled her eyes. “I didn’t say anything,” she argued, groaning in a very un-Mary Margaret type of way when she looked back at the closet. “How do we not own a single sweatshirt that isn’t bright blue?” It wasn’t an enormous loft, but there was still a fair amount of closet space and it might have been a cavern by New York standards, enough, at least, that Mary Margaret had given Emma a bit of that space as well.

She wouldn’t take anything for it – claimed it felt a bit like college and Emma didn’t need to pay rent – but Emma started pressing a check in David’s hand whenever she could, determined to at least feel like she was pulling her own weight.

She should probably find her own apartment.

“Do I need a sweatshirt?” Emma asked. “Can’t I just wear a coat?”

“It’s cold out,” David said, the other side of the mattress dipping just a bit when he collapsed back next to Emma.

“David,” Mary Margaret sighed, nearly falling forward into the closet.

“What? That’s not a clue. That’s just a fact. A weather fact. You’re both welcome for this free and unsolicited weather update.”

Emma flipped on her side, staring pointedly at David who, suddenly, seemed much more interested with the state of the ceiling than meeting her gaze. “You know too,” she accused, pressing her finger into the curve of his ribs.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Liar liar pants on fire.” “My pants are in perfect condition.” Mary Margaret sighed again – louder than it had been before – and practically chucked a piece of clothing at Emma. “You actually own a sweater, you know,” she said and the bed probably hadn’t been made for three people when it was being designed for the Ikea winter catalogue. The frame creaked in protest and Emma held the sweater up to examine it – not quite as bright blue as the team-branded sweatshirts in the shared closet. It was...softer.

“It’s a good date sweater,” Mary Margaret added and Emma barely saw David’s shoulders shift as he settled into overprotective mode almost immediately.

“It’s not bad,” Emma muttered, still holding the thing in front of her like it would suddenly become a different color if she stared at it long enough. It didn’t. It was still blue.

“You’ll need the sweater,” David said.

“You totally know. Did Killian tell you or did you find out second-hand from Reese’s?” “Excuse me, Emma,” he huffed, sitting up and pinching her arm through the sleeve of the team-branded t-shirt she still had on. “I am friends with people on this team of yours. We talk. We text. We share our opinions on long-overdue dates.” “A rather pointed opinion.” “A true one.” Emma’s stomach did something ridiculous at that – never particularly pleased when David went into overprotective mode, but he never really liked Neal and he’d never really met Walsh and there was something in the way he kept smiling at her, like he knew this might have been the best thing she could remember happening to her in years.

She didn’t need David’s approval – would certainly never ask for it – but the idea of him going out of his way to text the captain of the New York Rangers, her boyfriend, about a date was almost too much to handle.

“Alright, alright,” she said, doing her best to keep the emotion out of her voice. “Get out of here so I can get changed and then you can stage whatever overprotective speech I’m sure you’ve already got written.” “I have no such thing.” “Liar liar pants on fire,” Mary Margaret muttered before kissing his cheek and tugging him off the side of the bed.

The sweater looked good. The jeans looked good. Even the boots she pulled on, a bit tighter than usual because everyone kept talking about how cold it was and Emma felt like she should maybe wear two pairs of socks, looked good.

Everything looked good – except the hat.

Because Mary Margaret seemed particularly adamant that her ears would freeze if Emma didn’t wear a hat, but the only hat Emma seemed to own was a team-branded monstrosity that Ruby had given her for Christmas as a joke.

It had a pom pom on the top. And it was blue. Very blue.

“I can’t wear this,” Emma announced, stepping back into the living room to find Mary Margaret and David wrapped up on the couch, plates of takeout perched precariously on their knees.

“You look great,” Mary Margaret said, elbowing David in the side when he noticed the hat on Emma’s head.

“I’m not wearing this hat. I’m not. This is absurd. He knows I work for the team, I don’t need to announce it with a ridiculous hat.” “It’s cute!’ “It’s awful.” Mary Margaret opened her mouth – likely to heap another compliment on Emma and her team-branded merchandise – but there was a knock on the door and they should really do something about people’s tendency to prop open the front door of the building. Anyone could just walk upstairs.

Killian Jones could just walk upstairs and knock on the door and take Emma Swan out on a date.

Jeez.

“You need the hat, Em,” David said. “It’s cold. Emma groaned loudly and the next knock on the door sounded just a bit more cautious. He probably heard her. “Answer the door,” Mary Margaret said. She sounded like a teacher again and Emma bit her lower lip tightly, trying to remember how to breathe as she took a few steps forward.

Her shoulders heaved slightly when she swung the door open and then her mouth fell open too and, well, that wasn’t really fair.

He wasn’t wearing a hat.

He was, however, staring at her, eyes tracing over her face and up towards her hat and that stupid red and blue pom pom at the top of her head, smile inching across his face in slow motion. Emma absolutely forgot how to breathe.

“Hey,” she said, a bit more breathless than she wanted it to be.

Killian’s smile widened and he took a step towards her, fingers brushing across the back of her wrist. And that stupid smile probably could have lit up the entire island of Manhattan and several of the outlying boroughs when his fingers hit the knotted up laces Emma hadn’t actually taken off her wrist since Christmas.

“You look incredible, Swan,” he said softly. Emma was dimly aware of whatever sound Mary Margaret was making from the couch and she heard two plates hit the coffee table when both of them turned around to take in the scene happening in their doorway.

Emma shook her head, gaze falling towards his shoes and the jeans he absolutely got custom-made because there was no way he just bought those, not when they fit so well and how had she never quite noticed the very stereotypical hockey thighs he had? Jeez. Again.

“You, uh,” she stuttered, tugging nervously on the ends of her hat until the fabric scraped over her ears.

“I know,” Killian said, a picture of confidence that made Emma roll her eyes. It made her smile too. That shouldn’t have surprised her. “Feeling particularly team-spirited, are we?”

“I don’t have another hat and I was reliably informed I needed a hat.” Killian’s smile wavered for half a second, eyes going wide when his head snapped towards the couch and Mary Margaret held up her hands quickly. “I said absolutely nothing. David was the one giving out free weather reports.” He shook his head again, but the smile was back where it should have been and Emma only realized he was holding something in his hand.

A goddamn rose.

He was holding a rose and the smile was nervous again and his eyes were just too blue. There was too much blue in this situation and Emma’s mouth was dry, heart hammering against her chest as if to announce it was there and functioning.

Like he’d promised.

“Sap,” Emma mumbled, mostly so she wouldn’t do something absurd like cry. Mary Margaret probably wouldn’t have been able to handle it and, judging by the soft sniffle that had just come from the direction of the couch, she was already having a hard time keeping it together.

Killian shrugged. “There are rules for first dates, Swan.” “And plans I’ve heard.” “Absolutely. Some we’ll be late for if we keep letting Mary Margaret dissolve into some sort of emotion in your living room.” “Hey,” Mary Margaret mumbled, “I got David to get off his overprotective speech plan.” “You texted me,” Killian laughed, leaning around the doorframe to stare at David. His hand fell on Emma’s waist seemingly out of instinct and she could feel Mary Margaret’s over-excited smile at the movement.

“What did you say about first date rules?” David asked. “Add that one to the list. And I never got to badger any of Emma’s other boyfriends, this is like my right or something.” “Can we go, please?” Emma pressed, hand falling on the front of Killian’s leather jacket. “Like right now?” Killian laughed, nodding seriously and Mary Margaret practically exploded with motherly excitement when he kissed the top of Emma’s head. “Sure, Swan. The guy downstairs is probably mad at us already for taking this long.” “You brought another guy on our date?” “If you mean I brought another guy with us who’ll be driving the car farther uptown, then, yeah, I brought another guy on our date.” Mary Margaret made another noise and Emma rolled her eyes, tugging the rose out of Killian’s still outstretched hand. “Over the top,” she muttered, handing the flower to Mary Margaret without a word.

“I told you, I’m very good at planning.” “Alright, Jones,” she said, a mixture of no less than eighteen different emotions flooding through her entire body when his eyes met hers. “Let’s date.”

Emma had been in cabs before – had made out with Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers in the backseat of cabs several times in the last few months – but there was something about a town car with a driver and they were going farther uptown and his hand kept trailing up her thigh, thumb tracing over the curve of her knee in a way that seemed to send sparks through each and every one of her veins.

“How far are we going?” Emma asked after fifteen minutes spent trying to make sure her pulse didn’t actually beat out of her body.

He’d noticed – of course he’d noticed, but he hadn’t actually said anything, just kept shooting her smiles and glancing at her out of the corner of his eyes as the numbers on the street signs kept getting higher.

“A rink,” Killian answered, nodding towards the window when the car came to a stop in the middle of Central Park.

They were in the middle of Central Park and Emma hadn’t even noticed and that was either a commentary on her need to get out more or how distracting it was to have Killian’s hand on her thigh. It was probably a bit of both.

“Oh my God, you’re not going to try and teach me how to play hockey are you?” Emma asked, not quite able to stop herself from laughing when the driver of this very expensive town car actually opened the door for her. “Because that’s a little too much even for a very over the top first date plan.” “There was a compliment in there somewhere, Swan, I’m sure of it.” His fingers found hers, squeezing slightly when he told the driver of the very expensive town car he’d rented, or maybe just had, that he didn’t have to stick around. They were, apparently, fine on their own for the rest of the night.

Emma glanced towards the rink and it was a week after New Year’s so the shine of Christmas in New York had worn off at this point, but there should have, at least, been a few tourists on the ice, rented skates on their feet and slow-moving bodies trying to make sure they didn’t face plant onto the ice.

There weren’t.

There wasn’t anyone there.

The lights were on and there was music playing softly in the background and if it started to snow it probably would have looked a bit like a postcard.

“I'm not going to teach you how to play hockey,” Killian said, taking a step forward and moving his head towards the rink when Emma didn’t immediately follow. “That seems kind of redundant doesn’t it? You already know how hockey works.” “That’s true,” Emma agreed. She was still thrown off by the lack of people. And if she stopped to think about it, it probably would have been because in the last six months, she and Killian hadn’t actually spent much time alone. Or, rather, hadn’t spent much time alone when they weren’t also worried about being found or seen or just a few doors down the hall from a pair of very rambunctious four-year-olds.

There were skates propped up against the door to the rink – no sticks or even a puck anywhere in sight. Emma narrowed her eyes at the two pairs, blades obviously dull from overuse and she felt her mouth fall open slightly when she realized what they were.

Figure skates.

“Mary Margaret was very adamant that you’d never been ice skating in your entire life,” Killian said, somewhere close to whispering. “And Ruby said you’d been on the ice enough in the Staples Center and the idea of some kind of slap shot drill was the opposite of romantic. So, here we are. Ice skating in Central Park.” Her heart was in her throat or maybe her stomach or possibly Killian’s hands – which would have been impressive considering his left hand was still wrapped up in hers – and Emma just nodded slowly, not entirely sure what she was agreeing to.

“That’s why she wanted me to wear a sweater,” Emma mumbled, finally able to find her voice after what felt like an inexcusably long time.

“What?” “Reese’s kept saying I needed to wear a sweater. This is apparently the only one I have. I’m also swimming in team-branded sweatshirts, I guess. I was only kind of half listening.” “She didn’t say anything though?” Emma shook her head, the ends of her low ponytail hitting the front of her shoulder. “No, no, Reese’s wouldn’t do that. Ruby, yes, but not Reese’s. She’s been operation Emma Swan happiness for the better part of the last decade.” He didn’t say anything for what felt like an eternity and it was so quiet uptown – a far cry from 34th Street and Midtown and the one block outside the Garden that Emma spent most of her days on. “Are you?” Killian whispered, so quiet she barely heard him.

“Am I what?” “Happy?”

She turned at the sound of his voice, that question within the question that Emma could hear every time they had one of these conversations, and she nodded again. He squeezed her hand, tighter than he had before, and her thumb traced over raised skin and scar tissue and she might have actually gasped when he kissed her.

Her back hit up against the side of the low boards around the rink, the top of them pressing into her spine and Emma did her best not to recoil against it, all too aware of where her hips would land if she did. But then Killian’s tongue found her bottom lip and they were all quick breaths and tightly gripping hands and, God, teeth and Emma’s hips moved of their own volition, drawing a groan out of him that she’d probably think about for the rest of her life.

“I am,” she said when they pulled away from each other, foreheads touching and the ponytail was a bit of a lost cause now. The hat was tilted too, nearly falling off her head and Emma grumbled slightly when Killian moved his hands off her hips to pull the edges down, nearly dragging the fabric over her eyes.

“That makes two of us,” he added, kissing her again before bending down to pick up both pairs of skates. “You ready, love?” Emma nodded again – something in the back of her mind sounding at the phrasing of that particular question – and she was glad she’d worn thicker socks.

He wasn’t very good at this, a fact Emma made sure to point out as frequently as she possibly could, particularly when he kept getting the front of his skate stuck in the ice.

“They’re different kinds of skates,” she said for what was, at least, the fourth time and the second time since he’d fallen over, grumbling when his knees crashed into the ice, blades not moving the way he wanted them to.

Killian made a face, eyes flashing her direction where she was standing in the center of the rink. “I am aware that they’re different types of skates, Swan, thank you very much.” She let out a low whistle, skating towards him with an ease that even surprised her a little bit and Emma had never been ice skating before, but it appeared she was a bit of a natural. She didn’t even need the wall to stop, pushing the front of her skates into the ice and dropping her hands on his obviously frustrated shoulders.

“You didn’t actually hurt your knee, did you?” Emma asked, tugging on the front of his zipper. “I’ve got enough going on without Arthur trying to kill me.” “It’d probably be Ariel, actually. Or maybe Victor. Arthur wouldn’t get involved from the get-go. He’s got the new guy to worry about.” “You ever going to call him by his name? He’s not a bad guy.” “He just sucks on the PK.” “People like him. In the realm of community relations, he’s a dream. The internet seems to appreciate his face very much. I think there’s a whole sub-Reddit dedicated to him.” Killian grumbled again and Emma had mostly done it for the reaction, smiling at him when her fingers found the back of his hair. “Terrible on the PK,” he repeated. “And my knees are fine, Swan. I’m just not used to not being able to push off on the front of my skates.” “It’s because you’re trying to show off,” she pointed out, appreciating the way his eyes got a bit wider at the accusation. “You don’t have to, you know. I’m already impressed. I’d go so far as to say consistently impressed.” Killian quirked an eyebrow. “That so?” “Well you did shut down a Central Park ice rink for a first date, so, yeah, I am pretty impressed.” “It wasn’t nearly as hard as you think it was.” “How’d you do it? Honestly? And how long have you been planning this?” “I can’t tell you that, Swan. That’d give away all my secrets, spoil all this romance I’ve created.” Emma rolled her eyes, scrunching her nose and she knew she’d won before even saying a single word. “I’m serious, how’d you do it? Why?” She hadn’t meant to say that. She’d thought it – had considered the reasoning and the question while they sat in the back seat of the town car and while they laced up their skates and as soon as he’d fallen, breath catching in her throat slightly.

She’d thought it since August and the set-up and even after declarations in a childhood bedroom, it wasn’t always entirely easy to understand why. Someday she’d stop asking questions.

“Did you just ask me why?” Killian asked incredulously, disbelief in his gaze. Emma shrugged. “I love you,” he said simply and she was convinced she’d never get used to that, the ease with which he said it and the confidence in his voice and the disbelief was replaced with something completely different.

It was determination.

“And Mary Margaret was very certain this was a good plan,” Killian added. “She’s pretty deadset on making sure you get what you want.” “I am,” Emma said immediately, answering coming quicker than she expected.

“Yeah?” “I love you,” she answered, not entirely certain if she was answering the right question. It didn’t seem to matter – if the look on Killian’s face was any indication. “And I’m glad your knees are ok, three points out of the top five.” “You know I think you might be stalking me a bit, Swan.” “Nuh uh, relating to the community through your on-ice success.”

“Semantics.” She giggled – again – something rushing through her that felt a bit like joy and that was absurd, but he’d somehow shut down an entire ice rink and gotten advice from her friends and listened to David’s messages and it felt a bit like a postcard too, all picture-perfect and happy and home.

“You know,” Killian said slowly, inching away from the wall and pushing Emma back into the middle of the rink. “This is the first place I ever held a stick. Liam snuck us uptown and El and Banana rented ice skates and we got sticks on the rink somehow, which was totally against the rules, but we came up here and practiced passing and handling and, well, it all started up here.” Emma nearly tripped over her skates, holding on to the front of Killian’s jacket just a bit tighter than necessary and it didn’t just feel like home – it was.

Because he kept doing that, bringing her places and sharing things and opening up his entire world, letting her into every corner and every story, smiling at her whenever she forgot to breathe.

And, for the first time in as long as Emma could remember, she didn’t worry about why or when it would end or how badly it would hurt when it all got torn away from her. Instead she kissed Killian Jones, captain of the goddamn New York Rangers.

That was easier.

“I’ll race you,” she said, muttering the words against his lips when he didn’t quite pull away from her.

“Is that a challenge, Swan?” “Oh, absolutely, and I’m pretty confident I’m going to absolutely destroy you because you keep forgetting these are different kinds of skates.” “Out of the two of us, who is the captain of the Metro All-Stars?” Killian countered, skating backwards like he was trying to prove his point. “I think I know how to skate.” “Not in figure skates.”

She dug the toe of her skate into the ice, widening her eyes and the smirk was back on his face. “What happens if I win?” “What do you get when you win the breakaway challenge? Donuts, right?” “I was thinking something a little more personal than just donuts.” “Lame.” “Sounds like you’re a bit nervous you’re going to lose.” Emma rolled her eyes, pulse sounding in her ears. Competitive ass. She wasn’t sure if she was talking about him or her. “You are far too cocky for your own good. Shut up,” she added, when his eyebrows practically jumped up his forehead. “Ok, you win, I’ll come home with you.” “Were you not going to do that already?” “You want to hear the terms or not?” Killian nodded solemnly. “Go on, Swan.” “If you win, I’ll come home with you and you can follow that train of thought from two seconds ago.” “And if you win?” “I want hot chocolate. Every day. Delivered to my office for...the next two weeks. And lunch. As a group. Because I keep forgetting to eat.” “You keep forgetting to eat?” Killian repeated, concern clouding his voice almost immediately. “How is that even possible?” “Hey,” Emma said sharply, but her pulse hadn’t slowed down yet. “None of that. There’s no compassion in competition. You agree to the terms, Cap?” Killian’s eyes narrowed, lips twisted in amusement, but he nodded. “Yeah, although you should really eat regularly. Make sure you have Merida put that on the schedule I know you’ve given her.” “Killian! Competing!” “Fine, fine,” he muttered, stopping next to her on slightly shaky skates. “Ready?” Emma nodded. “Go.”

They stayed together for the first few steps, skates moving easily over ice, but he tried to push off again and Emma saw him go down out of the corner of her eye like she was seeing it in slow motion. She hit the far end of the boards quickly, groaning lightly when they pressed against her stomach and she hung over the wood for half a moment before turning back to find Killian flat on his back in the middle of the rink.

She couldn’t stop the smile when she saw his arm thrown dramatically over his eyes, one leg pulled up. “Are you alright?” she asked, doing her best to make sure she didn’t get ice on him when she stopped next to him.

“Fantastic,” he muttered.

“You can’t push off like that.” “So I’ve learned.” “Why didn’t you bring your own skates?” “I was going for ambience. Felt like it was wrong to bring my own skates.” “That’s disgustingly adorable.” He scoffed, pulling his arm off his eyes and staring up at Emma. He still hadn’t gotten off the ice. “And it’s led to a very broken body.” “Poor All-Star.” “Don’t rub it in, Swan.” “You’re the one who brought up being captain of the Metro.” “Yuh huh,” Killian sighed, groaning slightly when he pushed up and there was an almost ridiculous amount of ice on the back of his jacket. “When do the hot chocolate deliveries commence then?” Emma considered the answer for a moment and it was more difficult to crouch on skates than she expected, nearly joining Killian on the ice when her skate got caught underneath her. His fingers wrapped around her forearm quickly, keeping her upright and her pulse was just doing ridiculous things at this point. “Tonight?” she ventured.

“Yeah?” She nodded. “Well, it almost seems rude to leave a broken-down hockey star on his own after going through such a trying ordeal.” “See, that’s rubbing it in, Swan,” Killian laughed, tugging her forward until her body hit his and he was still smiling when he kissed her.

Stamped Into Memory, Ch 2.

Fandom: The Society.

Summary: One night is all it takes to throw Campbell's carefully maintained control into chaos. Caught in a downward spiral and once again public enemy #1, he struggles to keep those around him safe-- from a killer on the loose, and from himself.

Rating: Mature.

Tags: Major Character Death, Canon Divergence, Mental Health Issues, Family Issues, Substance Abuse, Slow Burn, Dubcon Kissing, Romantic Friendship, Mild Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, Unhealthy Relationships, Canonical Character Death, Fix-It, implied animal death, the dog lives, Antisocial Personality Disorder, ASPD, Campbell has mild ASPD and is actively trying to not be awful

Word Count: 4307

Ch 1 || AO3

Life tried to go back to normal. At least, whatever normal had been before. It wasn't working. It had been days, close to a week. No one was doing anything. The food staff wasn't coming in on time, or at all, from what Campbell heard. Garbage was rotting on the roadsides. Campbell tried to go out and do what he could; it was what Cassandra would have wanted, and it kept his mind occupied, but it was just too much. The last job he'd had according to the charts had been clean up, but people were making messes faster than the messes could be managed.

Most days, Campbell ended up as Cassandra's grave. He'd clean away the leaves and dirt, make sure the candles were lit, and check for vandalism. No one had dared to do anything. Probably because Campbell stayed and tried to get his head clear. He couldn't talk to her, not yet, but just feeling close to her was enough to soothe some of the terrible ache in his chest. Elle was one of the few people actually going to work, and Harry was holed up in his house, so it wasn't like Campbell could distract himself with them. Even when Elle was home, it was like there was some wall between them. She slept in her own room and barely spoke. Well, maybe it was grief. Everyone processed it differently. And now, everyone seemed on edge. Stressed out. Suspicious. It was hard enough to deal with when it was a freak accident, but now there was a murderer in their midst. Campbell couldn't blame Elle for needing some time to think things through, so he went about his work and figured she'd talk to him when she was ready. Besides. It gave him time to try and get his mood under control. Not that it was working well. The smallest things felt like mountains, and little shit he hadn't cared about before set him off; he'd kept his fists to himself so far, but only because Campbell redirected his anger. Someone ran into him at lunch one day, and Campbell ended up putting a hole in the drywall of the hallway because he just wanted to make something break. At home, he tried to make breakfast but it had burned, and he'd ended up throwing the plate against a wall. "I'm sorry," Campbell said when Elle rushed in to see what had happened. "I'll clean it up. I just..." But he couldn't finish that sentence. There was no excuse, so what was the point in trying to make one? He shouldn't have done it. Elle said nothing. She brought him a broom, and Campbell cleaned up the mess as promised. They ate breakfast in silence, hugged at the door, and went about their days. Campbell hadn't even gotten to work, though, when his phone rang. Dillon was on the other end of the line, his voice strained. "Hey, Campbell? You told me to contact you if I noticed anything weird with Harry." "Yeah?" "Something's weird. He's just laying out by the pool. Kelly came to see him and she left looking pissed. He hasn't moved in hours." "I'll be there." Campbell hung up the phone and changed route. This was a mess, too, and a far more urgent one than hauling food scraps to the dump. Dillon let him inside and gestured to the pool, his expression more than a little concerned. Campbell went alone. Harry was laying on his stomach, hand in the pool water and tracing shapes in the dark green water; there was a scum forming on the surface of the water, and garbage floating in it. Disgusting. "You're gonna get a disease from that water," Campbell said, using the toe of his shoe to tap at the bottom on Harry's foot. "Get out of there." Harry rolled over and sat up. His pupils were huge, and the smile he gave Campbell was a little too sedate. "Two visitors in one day. Lucky me." "What are you on?" "I don't remember." Campbell sighed and grabbed Harry by the arm, hauling him up and sitting him on a pool chair. "You can't do this, Harry." He brushed the dirty off Harry's face and clothes. "You can't keep getting fucked up and letting yourself drown." "Why not? Maybe I should." "Do you honestly mean that?" "I dunno. Maybe." Sitting down, Campbell let Harry lean against him. "Do you really feel like killing yourself? Be serious with me." He stroked Harry's back when Harry gave a tiny, quick nod. "Alright. Look, you're coming back to the house with me. Just for a few days. There's the guest room left over, and you're taking it." If Harry had been planning to argue again, he decided not to. Campbell didn't know much on how to help people, but he knew that back when he wanted to hurt himself, it was Harry and Cassandra who help keep him going. Being around a bunch of snippy people cluttering up his space wouldn't make Harry feel better. Campbell followed Harry back inside and helped him gather some of his things; it was more than a few days worth, and Campbell wondered if Harry already had a hunch that he wouldn't be coming back any time soon. Before they left, Harry stopped by his sister's room and picked up a framed photo of the two of them, and a weird stuffed toy. "She loved those goddamn Ugly Dolls. I got it for her for her birthday," Harry mumbled. "It was her favorite thing." "Don't talk like she's dead, okay?" "What if she is?" Campbell shook his head. There was nothing he could say, because he had no idea what was true or not, and trying to convince Harry that everything would be fine was a waste of breath. All he could do was take him back to the house and help him unpack. The guest room was downstairs and overlooked the garden; it was quiet and beautiful, and with any luck it'd bring Harry some sort of peace. The one thing that concerned Campbell in all of this was Elle. He hadn't asked her about letting Harry move in, but she'd been supportive before of Campbell trying to help him. Elle came home not too long after, with a few other girls walking with her. Campbell was sitting on the front steps, waiting, and preparing in his head some big long speech about what was going on and why Harry needed to be there. "Is everything okay?" Elle asked, tilting her head as she approached. "You look worried." Campbell stood and came over to kiss her on the hair. "I am, a little. Harry's been having a rough time, so I told him he could stay with us for a few days." "Oh. Well, we have the room." "We do." "It should be good, right? Will it help you, having a friend around?" It was a good question. Campbell had only known that if Harry killed himself, Campbell would be out two of the three most important people in his life. He couldn't just let that happen. But Elle was right. Campbell had been a mess, and the idea of Harry being close did make him feel a bit more comforted. "Yeah, I think so." "I'm glad." Elle kissed his cheek. "I should go say hi, then." Thankfully, the two seemed to get along once they actually shared the same space for more than five minutes. Harry, when he was alone and away from obnoxious so-called friends, was quiet and placating; Elle was introverted, but kind. Campbell made dinner while they kept him company, and once Harry lowered his guard and sobered up a bit, it was the first nice evening Campbell could remember having since Cassandra died. But then Campbell noticed something... odd. Elle was avoiding him. Campbell had brushed it off as being upset, before, but as the first week of chaos oozed into week two it became obvious that something was off. She slept in her own room, spoke less, and took more shifts to the point that she was only home in the evenings. She flinched sometimes, or would give him a strange look that almost was appraising. Like she was trying to decide something, but couldn't figure it out. Was it because of his behavior? Campbell considered it, and decided it had to be. He knew he'd been more moody lately, but he had tried hard to make sure he hadn't hit any walls or thrown anything. Still. Had he scared her? Campbell went to work and mulled it over, and decided he'd talk to Elle that night; if something was wrong, it'd be better to get it out in the open sooner rather than later, wouldn't it? He knew there were rumors going around that he'd killed Cassandra, or knew who did. Kyle, apparently grateful for the wheelchair ramps that had sprung up around town after Campbell's suggestion, had let him in on that not-so-secret secret. Emily was friends with Gwen and Lexie, and she'd told him the two had been whispering about it. Elle worked with Emily and Lexie in the kitchen sometimes. It was a little suspicious. But Elle believed him. Didn't she? "Do you think I'm capable of murder?" Campbell asked Harry when he got back home, bringing Harry a cup of tea. "Honest answers, please." Harry was wrapped up in a blanket, huddled in bed still with a five-day shadow. He sipped the tea, considering, then shook his head. "Come here." "What?" "Come here. Come on." Campbell flopped into bed next to Harry, startled when Harry tossed half of the blanket over him. "What are you doing?" "Trust me. Just stay there for a few minutes." It was stuffy, but some combination of darkness and the weight of the blanket helped Campbell relax a little. He didn't remember feeling tired, but Campbell woke up a bit later, groggy but far less jittery than he'd felt before. Crawling out from the blankets, Campbell blinked at Harry, who was laying next to him and staring up at the ceiling. "Is that why you're in here all day?" Campbell wondered. "You're tired?" "A little. I feel tired all the time. My body hurts. But also, I just don't want to be conscious, so sleeping takes care of that." "Ever considered trading in the partying for an antidepressant?" "Sometimes." Campbell sat there for a moment, watching Harry. He wanted to offer some sort of comfort, but he didn't know how. Instead, he got up and headed to the kitchen to make dinner before Elle got home. Boxed mac and cheese wasn't anything super fancy, but Harry liked it, and he needed to eat; it didn't need to be fancy, it just had to have calories. Campbell made some frozen vegetables to go on the side. He knew they should go eat at the cafeteria like Cassandra had wanted for everyone. If he could just get Harry back on his feet... Elle came through the door a little bit after everything was ready. "Hey," she greeted. "That smells good. I smuggled home dessert." Dessert was, as it turned out, Twinkies that Elle had snagged when no one was looking. Not an honest move, but it seemed to boost morale with all three of them, so who could complain? Campbell poked around at his food while Elle and Harry discussed what was going on outside. It was nights like this that Campbell wondered if he was imagining things. Everything appeared to be normal. Happy,  calm. After dinner, Elle took a shower and was doing her night routine when Campbell wandered in, hoping she was in a good enough mood to talk a little. "How was today?" "Weird. Bad." Elle rubbed some sort of serum on her face. Turning around, she leaned against the sink and crossed her arms over her chest. "Do you know Brandon?" "Eggles? I had to knock a lot of sense into that one. He's a loser. What did he do?" "He was walking around today with a gun hanging out of his pants, like it was no big deal." Campbell stepped closer and settled on the counter next to her. She looked down at the floor, but not before Campbell saw the taut expression on her face. "You're scared of him." "We all are. Shit, Campbell, we're scared of everyone. People have been walking around in packs. A bunch of us walk together at night now, and we're always looking over our shoulder. It's terrifying." "You could have called me to come get you." "I didn't want to bother you." Since when would it have bothered him? Campbell held his tongue, because he knew before he asked that he hadn't been the best company since the shooting. "I know I've been irritable lately, and I'm sorry. I'm not dealing with the loss. But I can't lose you too, Elle. Let me protect you." "That's such a guy thing to say." "Look, don't be that way. It's not a bother to walk you home. I promise I won't let anything bad happen to you." Elle pushed off the counter and brushed past him to go out the door. He followed, but she always kept a few paces ahead of him, and moved so that the bed was between them. "You can't promise me that," she said. Her eyes held a cold sort of anger he'd never seen from anyone before. "You can't promise me something like that, unless you know something I don't." "What does that mean?" "Some of the girls were talking, and--" "Everyone in this town talks!" he interrupted, his voice rising. Campbell took a breath and forced himself to speak calmly. "They all accuse me of shit, they always have. You know I didn't do it. You said you believed me." "I had to lie for you." "So what? I told you what happened." "You were with me all night. That's what I'll tell them if people start poking around. You were with me when it happened, so you couldn't have pulled the trigger." Campbell felt his stomach drop. "But?" "You've been acting strange, Campbell. It worries me." And there it was. Campbell tried to find something to say, some words that would convince her completely, but he knew there weren't any. He could see it on her face that someone had said something. Someone had turned her against him, or tried to. And wasn't it his own fault, for it being so easy to believe? "Elle, I promise you, I had nothing to do with what happened." Elle stared at him, then seemed to deflate. She pushed her face into her hands, and let out an unsteady sigh. "I need to go to bed. I'm really tired." "Hey." This time, when he stepped forward, Elle didn't move away. Campbell curled his arms around her and gently kissed her temple. "Let's go out and get lunch tomorrow, okay? Just you and me. We can talk about this once you've had some sleep." She nodded, leaning against him for a moment before pulling away and going to her room. Campbell lay in his own bed, eyes trained on the ceiling as he tried to convince himself to sleep. There had to be a way to fix this. Maybe if he just found someone else to talk to... Harry wasn't an option, and neither was Sam. He had no right going to Sam and exoect mental health advice. But maybe Grizz? Grizz seemed level headed, and maybe he knew some way to get better. Not that it'd do much good, if Elle didn't want to fix things. But after a long, sleepless night, and a long morning of getting Harry comfortable and fed, Elle showed up from her morning work shift right at lunch. She was waiting by the cafeteria door, and she smiled faintly when Campbell arrived. They didn't say much. At least, not until they got to their table. Once they sat down and got comfortable, both of them tried to talk at once. "You first," Campbell offered. Elle toyed with her little carton of milk. She tried to to open it, but of course they never opened quite right. "I just remember what Cassandra said, when we had the meeting with just us girls. And Blake," she added. Blake had come out as genderqueer the year before. "And saying it was just a matter of time before someone got raped. But you know, she got murdered instead. And I just... Nothing feels safe anymore." "And I made that worse." "Honestly? Yeah." "Do you really think that I'd ever hurt you?" "How am I supposed to know? You've beaten other people up. I mean how long is it before you..." Elle trailed off, stabbing her knife into her milk carton and prying it open. She didn't have to finish that sentence. He knew what she was thinking. "I just don't want to be scared." "Is there anything I can do to fix this? I can read some self-help books, or something. I can leave for a few days." "Leave?" "Until I get my shit together again. I can do it." Campbell knew how it sounded. He knew I'll change I swear and just give me another chance usually never worked out, but what other option was there? It wasn't to late. He'd always thought that he'd done pretty damn good, all things considered, but he could be better. "I want to be better, for you." Elle started to reply, when a loud bang rang out through the cafeteria and people began to scream. Campbell dove at Elle and snatched her wrist, pulling her under the table. He couldn't see what was happening, but he could hear two voices yelling. Their best bet was to figure a way out and run. But it was an open area, and he didn't know if the shooter was between them and the exits or not. Was it worth the risk of getting shot? Suddenly, the fire alarm went off. A horrible move. There was a stampede as everyone rushed towards the doors. Campbell covered Elle as best as he could as a wave of people rushed by; they tucked into a ball on their sides, and Campbell covered Elle's head. Once there was a safe opening, they both bolted out from under the table and made a break for it. He kept a hold of her so they wouldn't get separated; there was an exit out the staff room that most people didn't know about, and Campbell led them out through it. They made it outside and kept running until they reached home. "Fuck," Elle gasped at they stopped in the front yard. Campbell had never heard her curse much, but Elle was shaking hard and clinging to his shirt as a long string of expletives followed the first. "This can't keep fucking happening." Campbell held her tight, stroking her back. "No, it can't. Are you hurt?" "No, I'm okay. Just pissed." "Would you be okay staying here with Harry? I need to go find Allie and Sam." "Yeah. Text me." Kissing her hair, Campbell waited for her to get inside and lock the door before heading out on his own. Where are you, he texted to Sam. Are you and Allie okay? Sam answered within the minute. Everyone's safe. We're home. Are you okay? Is Elle okay? We're just shaken up. Where are you? Heading over. Campbell locked his phone before Sam could text back and tell him not to show up. He had to talk to Allie, now, before things got any worse. Something had to be done to get the town back on track. Of course she would be grieving, he understood that, but there'd be more dead to bury soon if someone didn't take control. Knocking on the door of Cassandra's... Allie's home, Campbell was surprised when Grizz opened the door. "Where's Allie?" "Not a good time, Campbell." "And it won't be for a while. Seriously, let me talk to her." "About?" "About who's taking over for Cassandra. As much as I love the whole Survivor vibe going on out there, it's going to get people killed." Grizz frowned. He glanced over his shoulder, and Campbell could see Luke, Sam, and some others sitting at a table behind him. "We've been talking about that, actually." Stepping outside, Grizz closed the door behind him and lowered his voice. "Finding someone to take over and enforce the rules." "Yeah? And who have you come up with?" "Nobody. The only ones here who actually know what they're doing would just have a big target on their back anyways. You know what this town is like. No one's gonna listen to Will or Gordie. Don't suppose you know anyone who'd be interested?" The problem was image, and social context. Wheels started turning in his head, dark thoughts dancing along them. Campbell had ideas that Cassandra had never gotten around to implementing, things he could get done, but he'd need a pretty face to present them to the crowd. Harry would have been ideal for that, but Harry was too low and he would be challenged for sure. Why Harry? What right did he have to step in? The only way Harry would get in would be if he got on his feet and looked like an ideal alternative. It was clear who should take over, for the time being; if she sunk the ship, it'd be all too easy for Campbell to arrange things to his liking. And if she did a good job, well, there'd be no need to interfere. Either way, win. "Allie," Campbell said. "It has to be Allie." Grizz walked over and herded Campbell a few paces away from the house. He leaned closer, whispering. "Do you think she'll go for it? I mean, we all know that Cassandra was the serious one. Allie's just... different." "She won't want to, but she has to. It makes sense for her to. If anyone else tries to grab for power right now, it'll just be a bloodbath. If she steps up, she has a reason to. She's shadowed Cassandra enough, she knows how things go. People will pity her. That'll last just long enough for her to get her feet under her." "How do we convince her?" "Do you know anything about anger management?" Grizz scratched his head. "Wait, what does that have to do with anything?" After Campbell just stood there tapping his foot, Grizz tossed his hands up in the air a bit. "Yeah, yeah. I guess. I mean, I had some social stuff growing up I had to learn on my own. I was really into Jung for a while. Why?" "She'll take the idea better from you guys anyways, so I'll tell you how to convince her if you help me figure out how to deal with all this shit before I lose Elle." "Who says you're gonna lose Elle?" "The hole I punched in the wall at school." "Oh. Oh, well, uh. I can try. Yeah. Yeah, I'll do it." "Fantastic." Campbell peered up at the house to make sure no one was listening through any of the windows. "Cassandra wasn't just her sister. She was everything. When Sam got sick, me, I got anger and bitter. Allie got protective. Allie would have given anything, done anything. She would have traded her own life for Cassandra. Use that sense of duty." "That feels so underhanded." "In case you haven't noticed, underhanded is my thing." Rubbing the back of his neck, Grizz sighed. "Why do I feel like I just shook hands with the devil?" Campbell smiled. "I'll talk to you soon?" Grizz gave him a tiny mock salute before retreating into the house. Sam was coming to the door just as Grizz was trying to go in; they looked at each other a moment, and Campbell smirked at the little blush that came over them both as they scooted past each other. Cute. "What?" Sam signed, catching the amusement on Campbell's face. "Stop that." "Nothing. I was just going. Happy you didn't get trampled, bro." "Don't go. I miss you. I don't want something bad to happen, and have this be the last we remember of each other." "And I don't want that either, Sam." Campbell kicked at a little patch of grass. Might as well explain as best as he could, before one of them got shot next. "But I did what I did to try and keep you safe, okay? I get it. I do. But we've always butted heads, and I think it's better for you if we keep our distance a bit longer. I want to keep you safe from me." "That's fine." Not what Campbell expected to hear, but the look on Sam's face-- calm, determined-- seemed to say he meant it. "Take whatever time you need. I understand. But I'm not asking to come back home. I just want to be able to see you. You're the only brother I have." "And you're not worried I'm some killer?" Campbell scoffed when Sam didn't reply. Really? Here they were, having the you're my only brother talk, and the kid couldn't even say he thought Campbell was innocent? "Right. Figures." He started to walk away, but arms wrapped around him from behind; Sam hugged him hard, burrowing his cheek against Campbell's back. Campbell turned, hugging Sam back. When they pulled away, Sam looked sadder than Campbell had remembered seeing him in a while. Campbell ruffled Sam's hair; Sam went back inside without another word. Campbell watched his back for a moment before turning towards home. Small steps forward were better than nothing.