Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas rattling in my head! Rating for language (because hockey) and smut (oh dear god). A glossary of various hockey terms can be found at the end.

So, hockey happened. And I couldn't stop thinking about an integrated NHL and Captain Swan. The next thing I knew, there were 17,000+ words on the page. Oops?

People ask her how she got into hockey and she tells them the truth. It's all she ever had in an early life filled with an endless parade of foster homes, relentless teasing and bullying when she transfers schools, and the awful, clenching feeling in her chest that she doesn't belong, that she never will belong.

But the reality is that Emma Swan belongs on the ice. It's home in the way those foster homes will never be because she always finds her way back. When one family tells her they will no longer indulge her little "fancy," she responds by talking her way into a job at the rink where she plays peewee hockey. She trades time spent cleaning skates for time on the ice, using borrowed equipment to hone her craft. It's a pattern that repeats over the years, until Emma's either played in or worked in a good number of the rinks in the greater Boston area.

Hockey's a dream, hockey's her dream, the one she reached for with both hands and refused to relinquish. On the ice she's sure of herself in a way that just doesn't happen out in the real world. There's certainty in the weight of the stick in her hand and the movement of the puck. There's freedom in the glide of her skates and the way she can just fly, knowing that here, she's completely in control.

When Emma turns twelve she finds a foster family that doesn't mind spending a little bit of money on hockey for her, if only because it keeps her out of their hair most of the time. She doesn't ask for much from them anyway – she's old enough to start working longer hours at the rink doing odd jobs besides cleaning the skates without anyone giving her grief about it.

Ruby Lucas is on the same team and the coach quickly figures out that the two of them work well together. Ruby strength is defense and she plays the part of Emma's mouthy bodyguard to a T. She is Emma's first real friend because she's blunt, unapologetic, and she treats Emma like an equal. She never says anything about Emma's status as a foster kid and doesn't hesitate to throw herself at the kids who bring it up in snotty way. Their coach is constantly tearing his hair out over the two of them because they're clearly his star players but damn, do they fight.

The first time Emma meets Ruby's grandmother she's terrified because they've just been pulled from the pile again. Isabel Lucas stands in front of the two of them, hands on her hips, peering down at them over wire-framed glasses. Emma can't help herself, shrinking back on herself because Ruby's her friend and she'll be devastated if she's thrown off the team or worse, if Ruby is. Isabel's eagle-eyed and catches the movement and something in her demeanor almost softens. "Another fight, you two?" she demands, exasperated.

Ruby grins cheerfully around the ice pack pressed to her swollen lip. "That's hockey, Granny!"

"Hockey's not an excuse for acting like a fool. You really want them to bleed? Then score." She shifts her gaze to Emma. "What's your family's phone number?"

"What-why?" Emma squeaks, eyes round.

"Because you're having dinner with us tonight after practice and I don't want them to worry."

Emma blinks because that is completely unexpected. "But I have to clean," she protests, thinking about how that means less money to cover her fees with the team and she doesn't think her family will pay more than they already have. The mere thought of not being allowed to play overshadows her worry about no longer being Ruby's friend. Some of her panic must show on her face because Isabel sighs softly and kneels down.

"Emma Swan, look at me." And Emma does. "I'll talk to the rink owners, all right? It will be fine. You can still play. You deserve a night off." And while she might not voice it, her expression says everything about a girl Emma's age having a night off.

Everything just slides into place after that. Emma and Ruby play together for a year on the same team before Isabel decides to foster Emma herself. She takes the girls to a Bruins game to celebrate and if the two of them loved hockey before, this elevates it to another level entirely.

There's something electric about the atmosphere in the Garden, the screams and the jeers, the sea of black and yellow, but most of all, the game. Emma's seen hockey on TV, of course, but the real thing is just…everything. In that moment she knows that this is what she wants. She turns to Ruby and sees the same dream in her eyes and they make a silent pact. It's hockey or nothing, and they're going to see it through together.

From then on it's an endless stream of playing with local teams and working their asses off in practice and during games. Granny's house has a pond out back and from the moment it freezes over to the moment it thaws Emma and Ruby are there – when they're not in the rink. The years pass and women's leagues come and go and they despair of ever making it. They toy with the idea of Europe, where hockey has been integrated for a few years already so there's constant work for them if they're willing to go. Isabel's supportive about whatever plan they choose, so that's something.

Emma always, always remembers the Garden and the roar of the crowd and she knows that it's the NHL she wants, not Europe. See, Emma wants to be the best – not just amongst the girls, but the boys. She takes immense satisfaction in knowing that she can outskate and outplay just about anyone, regardless of his or her sex. She has talent and fire and determination and there's only one way to go with all of that drive, and it's the very top.

But the NHL is a long way from integrating, even when it's becoming clear that there are women out there who can do more than just keep up with the boys.

Then it happens. Regina Mills blows out of Canada, breaking records and destroying the curve so thoroughly that there's nowhere else for her to go but the NHL. The Capitals draft her and put her on the roster right away, provoking comments (polite and otherwise) that she's nothing more than a gimmick to raise interest for a tanking franchise. Fans and detractors alike start calling her the Queen ("She really is fucking regal," Ruby comments as they watch an interview. "Look at her. It's like she was born knowing how to deal with that shit."). Two years later, she's leading the NHL in points and the Capitals upgrade her alternate captainship to full captainship.

Emma sees the opportunity for what it is, and by god she's going to take it.

Emma's high school years are spent playing in junior leagues, which have also been integrated thanks to Regina Mills. She still wonders sometimes if it's enough, but then shakes off the doubt and practices longer, pushes herself farther, fights harder. She knows that people say Regina's a fluke and that girls don't have what it takes, but fuck that. She's knows what it's like for people to say no to her, to walk away, but she's not going to let it happen here.

It becomes easier. Emma is sixteen when Regina Mills earns her C and the Blackhawks draft Mary Margaret Blanchard as their backup goalie along with one third of the Nolan triplets (Kathryn Nolan goes to the Lightning, James Nolan to the Ducks). One year later, Mary Margaret is on the Hawks' roster as backup goalie and the year after that she's starting. It's the same year that Mulan Hua is signed by the Habs. Emma wishes her the best of luck because Montreal fans and media are on a different level entirely, but if anyone can hack it in Montreal it's Mulan. They were teammates in the USHL and she's a warrior through and through.

"It'll be our turn next year, Ems," Ruby says with a glint in her eye as they kick back, watching the Habs destroy the Oilers onscreen.

"You think?" It's not that Emma doesn't know they're some of the best prospects out there and it's not like scouts haven't been sniffing around. But she's never had Ruby's sparkling optimism – no, all Emma has is sheer want.

"I know."

Ruby's words are prophetic the following year when the two of them walk up to accept sweaters – Emma's with the Blackhawks, Ruby's with the Predators. Emma's smile is blinding when she shakes hands onstage (and fuck, she's shaking hands with Sidney Glass, the man's a legend and now her coach) because she's here, she's made it-

But it's only just beginning, and now she has to prove that she deserves to stay. There are still people out there who don't believe that the NHL is for everybody. Fans catcall from behind the glass. Opponents sneak in dirty jabs to her ribs or cross-check her when the refs aren't watching, chirping the same old sexist comments she's been hearing since she was barely an adolescent (really, they can't come up with anything new?). People say that Regina's too hard, Mary Margaret's too soft, Kathryn's too snobby, Mulan's too frigid.

While she's putting in her time with the IceHogs, reporters ask her about growing up with Ruby. "Do you two take it easy on each other?"

She frowns. "Why would we do that? We can't go easy on each other because no one else will."

The media spins it, of course. Foster sisters so catty they can't even let each other win. It's yet more fuel on the fire, another excuse for the naysayers.

They don't understand. Emma and Ruby have to play that way, all the girls – no, not girls, women do. They have to practice harder, play better, skate faster, be stronger. Above all, they have to hold their own in a world that shouldn't be theirs. But it is, and Emma will fight with anyone who says otherwise.

The media loves making a big deal over them – not just Emma and Ruby, but the NHL women as a whole. They make them out to be some sort of mystical sisterhood, bound together by threads of fate or some shit like that. Emma's not going to deny that they've got one hell of a shared experience. They all know what it's like, from separate showers and going up the scale to fights on the ice.

They're not a sisterhood, but they stick together anyway. Emma remembers receiving a text from an unknown number the night she's drafted.

Welcome to the circus. It's Regina – I asked Mulan for your number if you don't mind. If you ever want to talk, I'm here. Mary Margaret is probably going to call you soon, and I'm going to give you Kathryn's number as well. Congratulations, rookie. Looking forward to seeing what you can do.

Ruby comes flying over to her not long after, looking star-struck. "Did you get one from Regina too?" She's already wearing her Predator's sweater and it's nearly as long as her skirt suit. She looks adorably ridiculous.

Emma holds up her phone and wiggles it. "Yep."

Ruby's exuberant squeal and tackle-hug has nearby heads turning and camera bulbs flashing, but Emma can't bring herself to care.

True to form, Mary Margaret is waiting for Emma outside the locker room after her first practice. "Oh good, you've showered," she says with a warm smile. "Come on, let's get dinner."

Over massive bowls of pasta (because screw nutrition plans), Emma can almost see why they say Mary Margaret is too soft. There's sweetness to her, and more than a little bit of a mother hen complex. But beneath it all is a spine of steel that Emma recognizes all too well. Besides, she dares anyone to watch the way Mary Margaret settles into the crease, as steady and immovable as a mountain, and call her soft.

"Hurry up," Mary Margaret tells her afterwards, hugging her. "I can't wait to play with you."

"I'll be there," Emma responds. It's a promise.

On the IceHogs, she finds her linemate and all-around hockey soulmate in Killian Jones. Born in England and Royal Navy brat, the Hawks drafted him a year ahead of her. His brother Liam is a legend, a veteran of the European leagues signed by the Stars and made captain not long after. Killian's just itching to get onto the Hawks and play against him. "It'll be like when we were kids," he proclaims with a broad grin.

Killian's cool because he accepts Emma the way Ruby did years ago. And fuck, the man can skate. Emma's really not one for poetry, but the way he moves on the ice is mesmerizing. He's a demon once he has the puck in his hands and even the smallest bit of open ice before him. People say that hockey is brutal, but if they can't see the beauty in the way a player can hit a mark from top speed and turn on a dime, well, she can't help them.

In any case, Killian's a great player and they develop an accord on the ice that no one else can match. More often than not, she's the right wing to his center and she becomes very, very good at somehow knowing where he needs her to be. She's always been more about making the goals than scoring assists, but sometimes she takes the puck up the ice and slides it to him, no questions asked. There's something wonderful in the simplicity of pass-shoot-score and for them it just becomes part of the status quo.

He also pretty much becomes her best friend. "You only like me because I can cook," he jokes one night when she's parked at his kitchen table, inhaling a plate of shepherd's pie. "Shouldn't you be the one doing this kind of thing?"

She cocks a brow and contemplates shoving him off his chair. "Why, because I'm a girl?"

Killian reaches out and lightly cuffs the back of her head. "No, idiot, because Granny runs a diner."

"She tried teaching me," Emma admits, smiling as she recalls Granny's utter inability to deal with her lack of skill in the kitchen. "She gave up after I ruined the tenth skillet or so. It doesn't matter because I like cleaning, so don't complain."

"I don't!" he protests. Killian might be a great cook, but he's hopeless with his apartment the way most NHL rookies are. Emma nearly died when she first turned up at his place to find the only furniture in his living room was a couch and a Ping-Pong table that doubled as a dining table (and no, entertainment systems do not count as furniture). His bedroom furniture consisted of a mattress on the floor with piles of clothing, gear, and shoes everywhere. She'd dragged him out to IKEA at the first possible opportunity, bitching at him the entire time.

That's really how Emma's first year goes when she's not practicing or playing. She's at Killian's, begging for food and cleaning up afterwards, or visiting with Mary Margaret, or making time to see Ruby and Granny. Ruby's the sole girl down in Nashville (the Predators had her playing for them from the outset), and she's been having a tough time.

"I'm so angry," she bursts out over the phone, voice heavy like she's going to start crying. That tone of voice makes Emma sit up and pay attention, because Ruby's not the crier in their relationship. "You saw the thing on Deadspin, right?"

"Deadspin's trash and everyone knows it," is the flat reply. But she knows well enough. Ruby's gorgeous, Ruby's outgoing, and Ruby loves everyone really, but mostly men. Put that together with professional female athlete, and what else are they going to call her but a slut?

She sniffs. "The guys-"

"What about the guys?"

"It's nothing."

Fuck that. "Do they have your back or not?" Emma demands. "They may be your team and your friends, but that doesn't mean they get to judge what you do any more than anyone else."

Ruby laughs. It's watery, but it's there. "Regina said pretty much the same thing. Then she made her point with a hat trick against us, which I didn't exactly appreciate at the time, but whatever."

"Did it really? Or do I need to fly down there and smash some heads together?" She doesn't care that the guys seemed nice the last time she visited, or that Ruby's pretty much been talking about them nonstop since she was drafted. She'll pretty much do anything for Ruby except let her win.

"You're not a forward, not a d-man," Ruby scoffs. "If anyone's going to smash heads together, it's me."

"Then do it."

Granny stops sending Emma long, ranty e-mails in the following week so she supposes that Ruby's laid down the law in Nashville. And that's perfectly fine. If they forget, she'll be more than happy to remind them.

The IceHogs win the Calder Cup that year and it's not really a surprise when Emma and Killian are called up for the Hawks at the end of the season. Emma wouldn't have expected anything less. She's had a fantastic season and while the AHL is great, she never planned on staying very long. Anyone else might call it arrogance but screw them.

A Calder Cup is nice, but the Stanley Cup would be even nicer.

Sidney Glass doesn't keep them in strict line formations. It makes sense because they're a team and they aim to win regardless of who's on their line and who's at their back on D. It still messes with Emma's head a little bit because she plays best with Killian and David. David's an even better playmaker than Killian, and when the three of them are together that pass-shoot-score thing intensifies.

Emma scores a goal in her first NHL game and she screams in triumph, throwing both arms into the air and skating right into David's arms. Killian's on them a heartbeat later, pushing them against the boards. Killian had the assist on that one, sliding it cleanly over to her for the shot.

Later on in the period it's her turn for the assist, going in hard towards the goal to draw the Wild's D before firing the puck to David on the left, who promptly sends it back towards the blue line to Killian. Tic, tac, shoot.

David's beside himself when he puts them both in headlocks for the celly. "My rookies!" he crows, the very picture of a proud papa and captain.

At the end of the game, Mary Margaret comes up to her and practically squeezes the air out of her lungs. "That's the way you do it," she says. There's a hard, satisfied glint in her eye and Emma knows that she heard the taunts from their own home crowd.

"That's the way we do it," she agrees, because Mary Margaret's the one who only allowed two shots out of something like 80 attempts on goal. "Harder, better-"

"Faster, stronger," the older woman finishes with a laugh. "That's essentially our call to arms."

Emma checks her phone that night before she goes to bed and finds congratulatory texts from all the ladies, from Ruby's Way to set the bar, bitch to Kathryn's Congrats Emma, what a great first game to Mulan's That's my girl to Regina's I expected nothing less. Great job.

Still, nothing beat looking up at the end of the game to see Granny, hands pressed to the glass and her smile full of the fiercest kind of pride.

"You know, I've been pretty spoiled," Mary Margaret teases as they stagger into their hotel room. "I haven't had to share until you came along."

Emma drops her bag and plops facedown on her bed. They took a late flight from Chicago to Denver for tomorrow's game, and they're scheduled to take the ice first. Emma's not great at travel and she sure as hell is not a morning person. "Sorry I'm cramping your style," she mumbles into the comforter. "Though that argument would make much more sense if we weren't, you know, living together when we're not on the road."

It had been a bit of a no-brainer, accepting Mary Margaret's invitation to become roommates. She hadn't really liked living on her own in Rockford, not after living for years nestled in the combined chaos of Granny and Ruby. It also helped that Mary Margaret was a fantastic cook, though that didn't stop Emma from constantly crashing at David and Killian's place, which was located in the same building.

"Yeah, I should probably complain about that too. You eat all my food. Then you go and eat all of Killian's."

"What can I say, I'm always hungry." She grins, remembering the absolutely inhuman noise Leroy made when he realized she'd discovered his stash of peanut butter M&Ms. She is notorious for eating food off people's plates and of course for sniffing around people's places for food.

"Sweetie, I'll feed you as much as you like if it means you keep scoring goals." Mary Margaret flicks the TV on and cheers when she finds Food Network.

"Noooooo," Emma groans over the sound of Chopped. "Now I'm going to want room service. Or takeout." Mary Margaret just snorts and wanders over into the bathroom to get ready for bed. Emma rolls over, blinks at the TV, and grabs her phone. Mary Margaret is watching your favorite show.

Killian's response is immediate. I'm coming over.

A moment later there's a knock on the door. "You realize you can watch this over in your own room, right?" she questions.

"But it's so much more fun with you and Mary Margaret!" Killian's already in his pajamas, which, amusingly, consists of plaid pants and a Stars t-shirt with his brother's name and number on it. She snickers a little bit at that every time she sees it, but it's the only superstition he has so she lets it go.

She falls asleep with his warm weight on the bed beside her as he argues with Mary Margaret over how they would approach the ridiculous combination of wild salmon, cloudberries, bitter melon, and breadcrumbs. She wakes up to him knocking on their door in the morning, a cup of coffee in hand. "Morning!" he says, handing it off with a grin before scuttling off. Emma just grunts and slams the door after him. Her teammates have learned that someone needs to get coffee to her first thing in the morning when they're away, otherwise she starts killing people. Killian's usually the sacrificial lamb because she doesn't kill him on sight.

Emma's sure it's a Pavolvian response because he's usually the one bearing coffee.

After the first period of the game, Emma's not sure that the coffee's worked because she still wants to kill someone. This time, however, she's also crying tears of rage and it takes everything she has not to throw her stick down on the ground in a petulant fit. She settles for slumping down and yanking her jersey over her head, bracing her forearms on her thighs and breathing hard.

She lets Sidney's cool assessment of their failings and subsequent suggestions slide over her and then David's kneeling in front of her, touching her chin softly. "Emma, what did that guy say to you?"

"Nothing I haven't heard before," she croaks. She can still feel her temper boiling away because the Avalanche scored on the power play while she was in the penalty box for fighting and fuck, she knows what the media are going to say tomorrow.

Emma Swan can't keep her cool on the ice.

"That wasn't normal chirping on their side," Killian observes from the stall beside her. His gaze is drilling into the side of her head.

Emma laughs bitterly because for the women, there's no such thing as normal chirping. She raises her head and meets Mary Margaret's flat stare from across the room. The goalie nods once and that's that, really. "It's over. I'll make it right." She gets up but then David and Killian are rising too, boxing her in with their bulk, which is a really dumb idea.

"Emma. What. Did. He. Fucking. Say." David's voice drops and then Emma just loses it.

"Fuck, David, what do you think he said? I've heard it once, I'm going to hear it again in a thousand ways because this is hockey," she spits out the last word because yes, she lives and breathes the sport but sometimes she knows it's never going to love her back in the same way. "He said that I was a mouthy little bitch who clearly needed a good, hard railing to keep me in check."

The locker room goes deathly silent at that before Killian swears and turns towards the door, his face like a stormcloud. "That fucker." A few of the other guys echo his sentiment. Anton is clearly grinding his teeth and Lance has a white-knuckled grip around his stick.

That's not her concern, though. She blocks Killian's path and puts her hands on her hips. "What the hell do you think you doing, Jones?"

"I'm going to kill him, Swan, get out of my way," he growls. "He said those things and made you cry-"

She plants her hands on his chest and shoves him back and he stumbles back, surprised. "Yeah, no. This isn't about defending my honor or anything like that. I've settled it, okay? Or I will settle it, once I score some goals. If you're going to help, give me the goddamn puck."

"But what he said-" David, bless him, has a seriously outdated sense of honor. He turns to Mary Margaret. "Does this happen-"

She sends him a glare that could melt glass. "Don't ask such a stupid question David, of course it happens," she snaps. "Just because you and the boys here wouldn't even dream of saying those things doesn't mean others won't. We're women in the NHL."

David looks personally betrayed, tinged with a little bit of righteous anger. "But-"

"But nothing." Mary Margaret taps him in the chest with her glove the way Emma hit Killian. "Shit happens, we settle it up. That's how it works. They're not going to score on me anymore, so do your job and get Emma the fucking puck."

It's not often that Mary Margaret uses the voice that matches the A on her jersey, but when she does everyone pays attention. It's enough to break the red haze that's settled over the locker room, and they get back out there.

Mary Margaret keeps her promise and shuts the Avalanche out for the rest of the game. Emma holds up her end too and makes two goals, which is enough to win the game for them.

David's clearly stewing on their words and it becomes even more evident with the post-game interviews. He's not nearly as charming and polite as he usually is, biting out answers and making thinly veiled comments about acceptable behavior in the league.

Back at the hotel, some of the guys decide to celebrate at the bar. Emma's restless though, can still feel the anger curled in an uncomfortable knot in her chest, so she excuses herself to the rooftop pool. It's blessedly empty at this time of night and she stares at the phone in her hand for a long moment before she finally decides to dial.

Regina answers on the first ring. "Hello, Emma."

"Do you ever get angry?" she bursts out, and winces because this is the first time she's actually exchanged words with Regina Mills and it's a weird question with no context behind it.

Thankfully, Regina gets it. "Of course I do. I'm a hockey player." And the combination of love and affection and cynicism and exasperation is so familiar that Emma has to bite down hard on her lip to keep from crying again.

"Really? You, you never seem that way, not even when they go after you. You've never fought." No woman in the NHL has fought or been willing to throw it down, not the way Emma does. Even Ruby prefers chirping to fighting, and fighting's in her job description.

"I was trained not to," is the wry response. "It doesn't mean that I don't want to, or that you shouldn't. So, do we have another name to add to the blacklist?"

Emma wasn't even aware that they had one but it makes sense. They have to know who to watch out for. "Yeah. Yeah, we do. You want to give me those other names?"

Once that business is done they discuss the game. Regina goes over some of Emma's plays, gives her a few pointers, and when she hangs up she feels a lot better than she did before.

Killian's stretched out on a deck chair by the door, and he gets to his feet as she approaches. "Hey." He's kept his suit jacket on, but somewhere along the line his tie has disappeared, leaving his shirt collar open.

"Hey."

He looks down, shuffles his feet, and scratches the back of his neck. Emma tilts her head, fascinated. It's a trifecta of nervous tics and Killian Jones is rarely nervous. "It's not because you're a woman, you know," he mutters. "We'd do it for anyone on the team."

She knows he's telling the truth because David took a bad hit at the last game. Killian somehow got it in his head that he was on D, checking bodies left and right. She thinks back at how Anton and Lance hovered like bodyguards when David was allowed back on the ice, which was pretty much what happened with her tonight. "I know. So thank you."

"Anytime." He clears a throat and then extends an arm, eyes sparkling. "I owe you a few drinks."

Emma accepts his arm with a roll of her eyes. He can be so damn cheesy sometimes. "That you do."

"Were you really just on the phone with Regina Mills? What's she like?"

"Oh my god, you are such a fanboy!"

Losses always, always suck. No exceptions. There's no such thing for them as "just another game" or crap like that. Every game matters.

It's even worse when the other team scores on a power play and you're the one sitting in the box. Emma couldn't help it, really. Killian had taken a dirty hit and she just…lost it. Threw her gloves off, hauled back, and punched the guy right in the face.

"Are you disappointed in me?" she mumbles into his couch cushions. They're nice cushions because David actually has a sense of style. David's not there – he's upstairs in her apartment, going over the game tape with a bottle of wine with Mary Margaret because they're masochists.

Killian tangles his fingers through her hair where it's falling out of her topknot. "Why would I be disappointed in you? You defended my honor and you got the point back later."

"Wasn't enough." You try and do everything right, even come back from behind, only for it to fall short.

"No, it wasn't. But we'll do something about it next time. We'll make sure it's enough."

She sits up and settles against him, dropping her head onto his shoulder. "Yeah?"

He links their fingers together, as natural as breathing. "Yeah. Now hurry up and pick a movie."

She scrolls through Netflix and selects Mamma Mia!

"Not again," Killian whines tragically, pulling sad puppy dog eyes on her.

"Shut up, between you and Mary Margaret I've seen so much Food Network I probably can cook by now. And don't pretend you don't love ABBA. I heard you - all of you – singing 'Dancing Queen' in the showers last week." She'd gleefully recorded the entire thing, contemplated tweeting it, then decided it would be handy blackmail material.

He looks hunted. "It's catchy. And it's Eric's fault." Eric's wife Ariel is an actress on the Chicago theatre circuit. He's always singing songs from her shows in the locker room.

"Uh-huh. Sure."

They end up singing along to every song before falling asleep. When they wake up the following morning, someone – probably David – has draped a blanket around both of them. Emma stretches, wincing because she has the mother of all cricks in her neck. "Wake up," she says, poking Killian. "We have to get to strength conditioning." She pulls a face. "Ugh, why did I decide to get a chocolate cake shake last night? This is going to suck."

"You're a glutton for punishment."

"Good, you guys are awake." David is unfairly perky in the morning, standing in the doorway and grinning at them like they're a box of puppies. "Emma, do you need to go and get changed?"

She glanced down at her sweatpants and t-shirt. "Nah, I'm going to be gross later on anyway," she decides. She nudges Killian, who still hasn't moved. "My toothbrush still in your bathroom?"

"Why would I move it?" He shoves himself up as she shuffles down the hallway. "What?" he asks, catching David's stare.

"Emma has a toothbrush here? She lives upstairs."

Killian squints at him, unsure of where he's going with this. "Sometimes it's just easier, mate." He can still feel David glaring disapproving daggers into his back and shrugs. "I could probably say the same for you and Mary Margaret."

"What do you mean?"

He folds the blanket neatly and sets it on the edge of the sectional. "Dave, you watch tape with her over a bottle of wine. I don't see you inviting Lance for those sessions."

David's jaw drops a little. "Lance has a wife and kids."

"Keep telling yourself that."

"Shut up."

Killian's still laughing at the weak chirp when Emma meanders back into the living room. "We going?" she asks. "Where's Mary Margaret?"

They're up 3-2 in the playoff finals against the Penguins and each game has been a tooth and nail fight, decided by one point each.

Tonight's the night. If they win this one, they win the Stanley Cup. The Hawks are on home turf and Emma feels secure knowing that Ruby and Granny are watching from the crowd. The Predators were eliminated in the first round and she was heartbroken for her sake, but Ruby had been the first to tell her not to dwell ("Damn it, Emma, one of us had better win, so you'd better go and fucking win or I'm going to kill you").

With those words under her belt, what else could she do?

The game starts fast and furious, but both sides are scoreless in the first ten minutes of the first period. Then one of the Penguins' defensemen makes Thomas take a header into the boards right in front of the Hawks' bench. There's an audible crack as Thomas' chin hits the top of the board. He goes down, the whistle blows, and the entire team surges to their feet. The audience is in an uproar.

The trainers scramble for Thomas while their boys on the ice converge on the Penguins' player. The refs wade in to break up the brawl. The Hawks' bench is screaming abuse and Sidney is cursing the worst blue streak Emma's ever heard from him before. "That's a fucking penalty!" he screams at the refs, waving his arms in the air. "Did you not fucking see that?"

They do, and the defenseman is given five minutes in the box. "Swan!" Sidney barks. "You're in on that line!"

"Yes, sir!" She hops up, barely registering the encouraging swat on her behind from Killian. She doesn't play with this line often, but she likes August and Eric. She trusts her team, knows that they have her back and that she'll do the same for them in return. "All right boys, we've got a five-minute advantage," she says, skating up to the face-off. "Let's make them bleed."

One of the Penguins says something under his breath and Anton shoves him not so gently when the ref isn't looking. "Did you say something, punk?" he demands. "I didn't think so."

Emma knows that Sidney put her in to refresh the line and get as many goals in during the power play as possible. She's definitely willing to oblige. The Penguins' goalie is good though, and fends of their shots even though the Hawks manage to keep the play down on the offensive end.

Finally, Emma fires the puck around the boards to where Eric is waiting. He passes it off to August, who drifts in close to take the shot. It rebounds off the post straight to Emma.

Goal. "Fucking right!" Emma screams right along with the Chicago crowd, laughing as Eric and August pound her on the back and Anton scoops her up.

Thirty seconds before the end of the power play they do it again. She speeds up the ice with August hot on her heels, stopping and slapping the puck back to him for the assist. At that point the home crowd is beside itself. "That's how you fucking play!" Sidney bellows as they skate back for a line change. "Excellent work you guys, especially you, Emma."

Emma's so surprised and gratified by the compliment that she nearly falls over backwards as she's trying to hop back to the bench. David seizes the back of her jersey and Killian reaches for her hands and together they haul her in. "Christ, Emma, you're probably going to be our MVP, try for a little dignity, will you?" David teases over the team's laughs and chirps, tugging slightly on her braid.

She flushes but is too high on success to care. "Fuck off, all of you, I'm awesome." She plops down next to Killian, who offers her his glove for a fistbump.

"That you are, Swan, that you are."

Thomas manages to get back on the ice in the second period, but by then the Penguins have regained some of their thunder. They manage to equalize and the score is 2-2 leading into the third. Then it's back and forth and back and forth until the final tally is 4-4.

"What is my life," Mary Margaret groans, dropping her head into her hands as the team takes a break before overtime. Sidney's already gone over the plan, leaving everyone to do what they need to do in order to get into the right frame of mind. "I'm going to go into heart failure."

Emma frowns from where she's leaning against her stall. "No you won't."

"Of course I won't. But I'll feel like it." She tips her head back to meet Emma's eyes. "You and I both know what this would mean." She pitches her voice lower so that the guys won't overhear. "Regina's only won once since she came in. The other girls on the other teams, they haven't come this close. We didn't, last year. But we'll do it now. We'll show them that we're here now, and we're here to stay." The set of her chin is stubborn and determined.

Emma swallows the lump in her throat. "You got it," she says hoarsely. "Hold down the fort and I'll get us that goal."

Mary Margaret's smile is all teeth. "That's the plan, rookie."

It's a fight from the beginning of OT but Emma wouldn't have it any other way. Mary Margaret is magnificent as she makes save after spectacular save. That kind of work just can't go to waste.

David takes the shot, catches his own rebound, and sends it to Lance, who brings the puck around behind the net and fires it off to Killian. It's a play they've agreed on and practiced hundreds of times at this point. It's beautifully set up because both David and Lance are meant to draw the opponent's D, allowing Killian the distraction and the time to put it in.

But Killian hesitates for a fraction of a second and Emma just knows. She's out by the blue line but comes in, stopping with a scrape of the skates and a beautiful spray of ice, shedding her defenseman like so much baggage.

Killian sends the puck back to her and the clock's ticking down the final seconds. It sails into the back of the net, crisp and oh so beautiful.

The light goes off and the crowd goes wild. She's frozen for a second or two, absolutely stunned. It all comes rocketing back, right at the moment when David and Killian leap on her, screaming at the top of their lungs. The force of the collision drives the air from her lungs but she doesn't care because they've won the fucking Stanley Cup. The rest of the team flies onto the ice, shedding helmets and sticks until they're all piled into a big huddle, laughing and babbling and crying.

Emma's bodily passed from player to player, accepting hugs and kisses and slaps on the back. She takes a lap around the ice, arms raised and beaming as the chant goes up: "Swan! Swan! Swan!" She comes to a stop in front of Ruby and Granny, strips her gloves off and presses her palms to the glass. Both of them are crying, and Granny presses her fingers to her lips before mirroring Emma's gesture. Ruby's jumping up and down and pounding on the glass. Even over the din, Emma can hear her. "That's my fucking girl! That's my fucking girl!"

She comes back to the team and Mary Margaret's on her again, the two of them clutching one another like lifelines. "We did it!" Mary Margaret squeals, hair plastered to her head.

"That was the plan!"

Killian tugs her away then, pulling her close and resting his forehead against hers. "Amazing, Emma. Bloody brilliant," he breathes.

Emma seizes the front of his jersey and holds on tight, squeezing her eyes closed. "You weren't so bad yourself, Killian. How, how did you know-?" She doesn't quite understand – it wasn't the play, he should have taken the shot. It shouldn't have worked.

He shakes his head. "It wouldn't have made it, not where I was. I thought if I could just get it to you, you'd make it in. And you did." He edges back a tiny bit, and the grin he shoots her is tinged with wonder. "I like winning with you."

"Ditto. We'd better keep it up then, eh?"

The weight of the Stanley Cup is heavy, but not too heavy. The roof nearly comes off in the United Center when David hefts it above his head, taking it around the ice.

Mary Margaret's the one to take the Conn Smythe trophy, and it's absolutely fitting. Later on, after the ceremony and before the partying, Emma catches a private moment in one of the empty hallways. David has Mary Margaret backed against the wall, pads and all, his hands cupping her face as he kisses her. It's like the rest of the world doesn't exist and she backpedals as quickly and quietly as possible, guarding the end of the hallway so no one else can intrude.

It's a lovely sight, really, and a good end for the night.

The women gather for first time that season at the NHL awards. It's always nice to get dressed up and Emma takes it as an opportunity to remind everyone that she is, in fact, a girl. She loves hair, makeup, and pretty clothes and sometimes the world needs a reminder that she can like those things and still be a damn good hockey player.

She goes with Mary Margaret and Ruby, and bites her tongue before she asks Mary Margaret why she's not going with David. "I think I might keep my hair this way," Mary Margaret muses, touching the hair that she chopped off at the beginning of playoffs. The ladies' group chat had been filled with those kinds of discussions leading up to the playoffs, before Regina (who didn't do anything for the playoffs, she had enough superstitions, thank you) exasperatedly told them to do whatever they wanted, as long as they committed to it.

That resulted in both Ruby and Mary Margaret chopping off their hair and Emma dyeing hers Blackhawks red. Both Kathryn and Mulan had demurred, following Regina's example.

"It does suit you." Ruby, on the other hand, hated her short hair and was growing it out as quickly as possible. "You look deceptively delicate right now, like you couldn't kill a man with your bare hands."

It's true – with her pixie cut, delicate features, and white dress Mary Margaret looks more angelic than anything else. She shrugs. "The better to surprise everyone?"

Emma's just glad her hair is back to her normal color. Maintaining the red got very old very quickly, though it was entertaining to pretend like she was washing off the blood of her enemies as though she was in some sort of action film. Still, she ends up wearing a dress that's the same tone of red because she's just that cliché.

She's so busy taking it in during the awards ceremony (so many hockey players in one place, it just spells disaster) that she pretty much misses her name being called out for the Calder Memorial Trophy. Ruby's elbow in her ribs brings her back to the present and everyone's looking at her and clapping. She stumbles onstage and accepts the award, and is fairly certain she manages to thank the appropriate people before stumbling back off.

The ladies give her crap about winning what is essentially the "Rookie of the Year" award during the after party, but she's having so much fun that it doesn't really matter. The six of them have commandeered a table at the club, chatting away, knocking back drinks, and accepting the occasional offer to dance.

Mostly they just gossip. Stuff about possible trades, what celebrities their teammates have been hooking up with, speculation about the Olympics even though it's two years away, that kind of thing. Every once in a while Mary Margaret and Regina lapse into French, leaving Emma, Kathryn, and Ruby confused while Mulan listens intently, trying to build her comprehension.

At one point, Emma leans over to Ruby, eyeing some of the guys on the dance floor. "That's your captain, Graham, right?" she inquires. She's played against him, of course, but she doesn't really know him beyond what Ruby's told her. "He's pretty cute."

"Is he?" Ruby says faux-nonchalantly, eyes sliding over in that direction. "I guess."

Emma knows Ruby well enough to see it for the warning it is, even if Ruby herself hasn't really twigged to it. "He a good captain?"

"He's the best captain," she confirms, trailing one glittery nail around the rim of her martini glass. "Overprotective and a little judgmental, maybe, but a great captain."

Oh boy. "Judgmental, huh? Was he one of the ones giving you trouble last year?"

Mulan glances up from her phone. "Your own team gave you trouble when you were a rookie?"

Ruby blanches when she realizes that everyone's giving her their full attention. "Oh my god, do we really need to talk about this here? Now?"

Regina shrugs. "There are more of us now, and we certainly don't have opportunities to discuss…certain issues."

"Okay, now I'm intrigued," Kathryn declares. She points at Ruby. "Spill."

"Ugh, fine." She flags down a passing waiter and calls for refills. "So, you guys know how Deadspin likes saying that I'm…promiscuous."

"Someone just needs to drop Deadspin in a black hole," Kathryn grumbles, wrinkling her nose like she's caught a whiff of something particularly disagreeable. There are nods of agreement around the entire table.

"Hey, no argument here." She slumps against her seat and Emma slings an arm around her, carding her fingers through her tousled bob. "Anyway, when some of the guys found out, they…well, they didn't react the way they would if it were one of them."

Mary Margaret scowls. "As in, they didn't high-five you and congratulate you on scoring?"

"Some did. Like Victor."

"He would," Mary Margaret laughs, prompting an answering smile from Ruby. Victor had been on the Hawks, and was traded to Nashville the same time Ruby was drafted. Victor is Ruby's best friend on the team, as well as her partner on defense.

"But the rest put it on you," Regina states quietly. "They shamed you, even though you're a grown woman who's fully capable of making her own decisions."

"Pretty much." She reaches for her martini, tosses half of it back. "Look, it was a year ago. They apologized and it took me a while to forgive them but I have. It just…it hurt." She doesn't say the rest, but it's pretty clear to the rest of them anyway.

When you're a team, you develop a bond. You need to be able to trust your team to support you no matter what. It would've been hard enough coming in as their only female player, but to have them drop the ball so thoroughly her rookie year, over something they would have been celebrating had she been male? It's another one of those ridiculous double standards.

"Hmph." Kathryn leans over and taps her champagne flute against Ruby's glass. "And they say women are spiteful. If you want me to check any of them the next time we play, just let me know." It's almost hilarious to think of how classy, statuesque Kathryn is also on D, but she's a particularly sly one, coming from women's leagues where she wasn't allowed to hit opponents.

"Thanks, but Regina took care of that."

Regina shrugs nonchalantly, ignoring Ruby's scowl. "Think about it though, I didn't score during your icetime at all. It certainly drove most of the point home."

"Hear hear!" Mulan intones, raising her glass.

"To the ladies!" Mary Margaret cheers.

"Harder, better-" Regina begins.

"Faster, stronger!" the rest of them chime in, clinking glasses and then dissolving into giggles, not caring at the looks that are being tossed their way.

"Okay." Ruby slams down her drink. "No more of this. We know we're amazing. We're here at the NHL awards, three of us have trophies – which, damn Regina, do you have to win one every year?" It's silly to ask and they all know it, seeing as they'd all voted for her to win the Lindsay anyway. Regina rolls her eyes. "We're also smoking hot. This means shots. And dancing."

There's plenty of dancing that night. Emma allows herself to get pretty tipsy, but no farther. She remembers going from partner to partner, whether it was the other girls, or even some of the other guys. Victor and Graham from Ruby's team, James Nolan (who is David's complete opposite, with hilarious results), and even Killian's brother Liam, who is simply lovely.

Eventually, she ends up dancing with Killian himself. "Have I told you how stunning you are tonight, Emma?" he shouts over the music.

"You're cheesy!" she shouts back. "Come on, let's go get some air!"

The beer garden is full of people escaping the music and the drunken dancing, but they manage to park themselves on some free seats. "Having fun?" he inquires, running a finger around his collar before giving up and taking his tie off entirely. He's already cut his hair and trimmed the majority of his playoff beard, thank goodness. Killian looks great with facial hair, but doesn't pull the mountain man thing off so well. At least it was better than the mullet and peach fuzz Thomas had.

"Heck yeah. I haven't danced this much since…well, before playoffs."

"Agreed."

"How about you? You've been pretty much glued to your brother all night." It's always fun to see the hockey families together. David, Kathryn, and James had come together and they made a pretty impressive sight, all of them tall, blond, and beautiful. Killian and Liam were equally compelling together with their identical smiles.

Speaking of – Killian waves to his brother, who's standing across the beer garden from them, deep in conversation with Regina and some of the other captains. "What can I say, we've missed each other."

She can understand that. There are times when she misses Ruby and Granny more than she can ever put into words. "You should have got the Calder, you know."

Killian's eyebrows shoot up. "What?" he queries, genuinely shocked.

"You're a better playmaker than I am." It's easy to admit because it's true. He's a hard worker and one of the best centers in the league and she thinks it should be acknowledged. It's not like he was that far behind her in points. He gets so many assists and in a way, that's much more important than goals because it shows how much of a team mentality he has, apart from being able to make the plays.

He's already shaking his head. "Emma, you're incredible," he says softly, reaching out to take both of her hands in his. "Do you know what it's like to watch you play – hell, to play with you? You're magic on the ice and no one deserves that trophy more than you, I promise you that."

Emma's not one for blushing, not at all, but she can feel the heat blossoming across her face. It means so much, more than she thought possible, really, to hear those words from him. "Thanks." She ducks her head because the moment's feeling somewhat overwhelming. "I couldn't have done it without you though, you know that right?"

"Well, you did manage to thank me in your speech, so…"

"Oh, good. I can't remember what I said at all." She glances up at him through her lashes. "I could have been reciting the lyrics to 'Chiquitita' for all I know."

His laugh rings out across the garden. "Now that would have been something."

"Emma!" Ruby calls from the door. "Report to the dance floor now, missy! You too, Killian!"

The two of them exchange bemused glances, before shrugging and obeying. It is the NHL awards, after all. And they're Stanley Cup champions. What more reason do they need to dance the night away?

The post-season is mostly spent in Boston with Granny and Ruby. It's like being a kid again, living at home and training at some of the old rinks. The Hawks have her doing a lot of press, so she's flying all over the place, but it's nice to have Boston as a home base.

Killian and Liam spend a little bit of time with relatives in the UK, and during that time he and Emma are constantly texting and calling on Skype. He tells her about how Team GB is scrambling to get together men and women's hockey teams.

"But you guys and Graham are the only British players in…any league!" she sputters, hopping into her car after a morning of self-led drills. "They can't build a team around you and expect you to hold it up, that's just crazy." True, they'd end up with one spectacular line, but one line does not a team make.

"Would you believe they've been talking about poaching the players who don't make the Canadian men and women's teams?" he grunts, unimpressed. "It's pushing the envelope on what exactly constitutes the Commonwealth."

"That's cheating!" Emma's well aware of the type of jockeying that occurs with any Olympic team but it's a little ridiculous. It would also give Team GB a completely unfair advantage, considering the number of fantastic players that wouldn't make the cut for Team Canada.

"I admit that it is, but it would be a boon for us. Is Regina still pulling to play for the men's?"

"No, I think she's given up on that after all the drama in Vancouver. They'll make her captain again this year. Mary Margaret will definitely have one of the As."

There's noise in the background wherever he is, the clink of glasses and the low murmur of voices. Emma calculates the time differences and figures he's probably at the pub. "And what of Team USA?"

"Kathryn doesn't want the C. She told the committee being in the NHL it doesn't make her a better leader. She thinks Duggan or Chu would be better, though she'd probably take an A if they offered it."

"You don't want one?"

She barks out a laugh at that one as she pulls into the driveway at Granny's house. Granny had refused to let Emma and Ruby buy her a new house, saying that there were far too many good memories here. She had, however, allowed them to pay for renovations, both on the house and on the diner. "Hell no, I'm perfectly happy where I am, thanks."

"You should think about it though," he insists. "Maybe not now, but in the future."

"Killian, I am not leadership material."

"I think what you are would surprise you." And she's left blinking on her front stoop at that little nugget. "Emma love, sorry, but my mates have arrived. I'll talk to you later, all right?"

"Yeah," she says a little dazedly. "Later, Killian."

The season starts slowly. Emma takes a hard hit in the opener against the Senators – one that results in an undiagnosed concussion.

She's beset on all three sides when David, Killian, and Mary Margaret catch on to her symptoms. "Emma, the trainers told you what to watch out for, they told you this after the game!"

"I thought I was having migraines, David, lay off!" she snarls, sprawled on the couch with a pillow over her head. She has to admit, her overall level of bitchiness should have been a major clue, but she'd attributed it to a major dislike of bed rest and overall boredom. Being banned from practices and games sucked, and now it looked like she was going to be out even longer.

Mary Margaret sighs and sits by her head, gently removing the pillow. "Don't you think you should have told the doctors even if you thought it was just migraines?"

"That's too sensible."

"Right," Killian decides, finally cutting in. He's been silent up until this point, radiating worry, anger, and a little bit of hurt, which in Emma's opinion is much worse than David and Mary Margaret's disappointment and concern. "Up, Emma. We're taking you to the doctor."

Emma whimpers and curls into a ball, and the movement kind of makes her want to throw up. "Light hurts." That's why she had the pillow over her head, even though it was late afternoon and the sun was already setting.

"I'll get your sunglasses. David, why don't you get the car ready?" The two of them bustle off, leaving Emma and Killian alone.

"Do you want me to help you up? Are you nauseous?" She nods. "Then we'll do it slowly." He has her on her feet, one arm wrapped securely around her waist, when Mary Margaret comes back with Emma's purse and sunglasses.

She slides them on for her, takes one look at her face, and heads for the kitchen. "I'm going to get some plastic bags!"

"Do I look that bad?" Emma mutters to Killian.

"You really do." He doesn't really want to laugh because it's not a funny situation. Concussions are serious. But she just looks so adorably pathetic with her sunglasses and green-tinged complexion. "Try not to let this happen again, love. If not for our sake then for yours, since you hate being injured."

"That's why I did this in the first place," she grumbles.

Killian can't resist a little bit of needling. "And that bit you in the arse, didn't it?"

"Oh my god, just shut up and get me to the doctor."

Granny and Ruby read her the riot act, of course. Granny threats to fly to Chicago and Emma begs her not to because they're just going to end up killing one another. Instead, she takes the time to listen to podcasts - wait, wait, what's icing? Is particularly awesome and she tweets her appreciation, laughing as the commentators freak out.

It's also a particularly good excuse to really take the city in. She takes long walks around Chicago, bundling her hair under hats and wearing ridiculously oversized sunglasses. She mostly sticks downtown because it's within easy walking distance from their place in River North. It's nice to just wander and take everything in, especially when she takes the time to go to the Art Institute and Shedd Aquarium.

It's even better to give back without being under media scrutiny. She slips into a few soup kitchens and shelters and does what she can, though mostly it's dishing out food. The change is nice and gives her something to focus on other than her injury. If anyone recognizes her, they don't say a word.

She nearly walks into a pole the first time she spots someone wearing her jersey on the street. She sees them at games, but this is completely different. She almost wants to run up to that person, hug them, and ask why on earth they chose her over anyone else on the team.

Maybe that's just the concussion talking. Still, it's humbling and makes her even more determined to shake this off and get back on the ice.

It's time to get back to work.

The doctors clear her in time for a series of away games starting in Arizona. Emma makes a face at Killian, rolling her eyes towards where David and Mary Margaret are chatting in the middle of the hotel hallway. He makes an equally ridiculous face back at her and lets himself into his room, snickering.

"Are you going to sexile me, Mary Margaret?" Emma asks innocently when her roommate finally makes it in.

Mary Margaret trips over Emma's bag, arms flailing as she tries to keep herself upright. "What?" she yelps. Her expression is pure gold.

"I mean, you should just let me know so I can bunk with Killian," she continues blithely. Really, it's been months since the Stanley Cup. She's actually a little hurt that neither David nor Mary Margaret have said anything to her or Killian. "That way we don't have any awkward talking around the subject or worse, me walking in on you guys." Ew. That's something she never, ever wants to see.

"I don't know what-"

Emma drops her phone, props herself up on her elbows, and glares. "Are you really going to look me in the eye and deny everything?" she asks incredulously. "I saw you guys."

Mary Margaret drops to the end of Emma's bed, staring. "When?"

"When we won the Stanley Cup. After the game. Even if I hadn't seen that, I'm your roommate and I'm not blind."

"Mon dieu." She buries her face in her hands and Emma rockets up, alarmed.

"Hey – shit, Mary Margaret, I'm sorry. I don't mean to be a dick, I was just wondering why you guys weren't saying anything?"

Her voice is muffled behind her hands. "Emma, you know how the media is, if they found out we were dating – David's the captain, you know how seriously he takes that responsibility. I couldn't bear if-"

"Okay, first things first. I – or rather, we, as in the team – are not the media. You know we'd be happy for you, right?"

Her head pops back up. "Wait, are you saying the team doesn't know?"

"Doesn't know what? That you two are stupidly in love, or that you finally got your act together? The answer is behind door number two, by the way. I'm pretty sure only Killian and I know. Maybe Lance." She scoots over until they're sitting side by side. "Hey, I'm sorry if I've upset you."

"No, no." Mary Margaret shakes her head. "It's just…you startled me. I thought we were being really careful."

"You are. I saw you, remember? And I live with you." Now probably wasn't the best time to mention that Killian caught David sneaking back into their room during the away games when Emma was concussed.

"Yeah. No, that makes sense. I'm sorry I freaked out." Mary Margaret drops her head down to Emma's shoulder and sighs. "You know why I did, right?"

"Of course." The media would jump on it, citing relationships between men and women as a source of conflict, never mind that teammates fought all the time. They would call it a conflict of interest, though there would only be a conflict of interest if a player were dating the coach, general manager, or owner. "Although I can see them spinning your relationship like a fairy tale or something. You're the golden couple."

She shudders. "I'd rather not think about that, thanks. We're just…taking it slow. You don't have to worry about sexile. He came over while you were out, but we won't do that on the road anymore."

"Hey. So long as you know you don't have to hide it from us."

"I think we'll let the team figure it out on their own." Her grin is mischievous. "Who do you think will be the last to find out?"

"Leroy!" they say at the same time, and burst into giggles.

The the final rosters for Sochi are announced. Emma hits the nail on the head: Regina becomes captain of the Canadian women's hockey team for the second time, with Mary Margaret and Caroline Ouellette as her alternates. Meghan Duggan is named captain of the US women's hockey team, with Kathryn and Julie Chu as alternates. Team GB wins the right to take unselected Canadian players onto their team, much to everyone's disgust. Liam Jones is named captain for the men's team. Killian and Graham are his alternates.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Killian confesses to Emma over a Sunday roast, a week before she's due to fly to Russia. "I'm ecstatic to have the chance to play, but I can't shake the idea that everyone's going to snub us. Then they're going to crush us."

"Aw, I won't snub you," she reassures him, systematically destroying the Yorkshire pudding she's saved for last. "But I can't deny that you probably will be crushed."

"Thanks," is the dry reply.

"Any time. I'm serious about hanging out, though. If our schedules match up, we should go grab food. Watch games." Her eyes light up. "It'll be pretty awesome."

Her enthusiasm is infectious. "All right. It's a date." He backpedals when she raises an eyebrow. "I mean, it's not a date date, just-"

She waves her fork at him, shoulders shaking with mirth. "Calm down, Killian, god. I get it."

"I don't think you do," he says under his breath.

Mulan, Emma, and Ruby are all selected for the US women's team and they're absolutely delighted to have that honor. The US Olympic committee immediately have them doing promos for the games alongside their captain and alternates in order to drum up interest. There are also endless interviews, of course. "How do you feel about playing against your own teammate, Emma?"

"Look, it's difficult for us to see the person behind the opponent when we're playing a game. That being said, I'm really excited – not just to play Mary Margaret, but the team as a whole." It doesn't hurt to remind them there are other women on the team, fantastic women, and that Mary Margaret and Regina are not the be-all, end-all of Team Canada.

"Have the two of you talked about it at all?"

She snorts. "Mary Margaret loves to remind me that hockey is Canada's sport. But you guys know, USA hockey is do or die."

The interview airs later that night, and she receives a swift response from Mary Margaret: Dude. Don't wake the dragon.

A text from Regina comes not long after: It's on, Swan.

Emma grins. Sochi's going to be great.

Sochi sucks, she texts Killian. I'm not allowed to hit anyone. And I have to wear a cage, wtf.

It takes him a little while to respond (and when she checks the time difference, she realizes it's still stupidly early in the morning, whoops), but when he does she can't help the smile that spreads across her face. Well they have to challenge you in some way, don't they?

I guess. Kathryn and the others are giving us pointers.

We'll be watching your games before we fly out. Score some goals, Emma. I have money riding on you.

"Why are you smiling like that?" Ruby asks, coming out of the bathrooms. They've seen the media coverage about other accommodation in Sochi, but the Olympic Village isn't bad.

"Killian's being a dork." If you win money on me, you'd better split it with me.

"Uh-huh," Ruby drawls.

Well, that's not ominous or weird or anything. "Are you implying something?"

"Perish the thought," she sing-songs.

"Whatever," she mutters, slumping down on the bed.

Ruby throws up her hands, like she's asking for patience from some deity. "Oh my god! I cannot even with you. Come on, get up, we're going out."

"Our first game is tomorrow!" Emma protests.

"Emma Swan. We are in Sochi. We are in the fucking Olympics. GET UP."

"Ugh, fine." She fires off another text. Ruby's dragging me out. Seriously, if you win money on me you're taking me to dinner or something.

I always make you dinner, you greedy little-!

Their wins are won by pure team effort, as Emma told the reporters a week earlier. She gets goals and assists in their first two wins over Finland and Switzerland no problem, but it's nothing short of amazing how the other women create their own opportunities. She wants all of them in the NHL, damn it. And playing with Kathryn, Ruby, and Mulan is another experience entirely. Kathryn and Ruby make the most intimidating pair on D she's ever seen, and it's amazing to be playing on the same line with Mulan again. She's almost forgotten how talented a center she is, especially the way she can split the opponent's defense with one stride.

Killian finally arrives in Sochi, though Emma doesn't manage to see him until the morning after he arrives. She finds him in the dining hall, clad in Team GB gear and staring blearily at his tea. She feels a tug of sympathy and snags another mug for him. Transcontinental and oceanic flights are murder. "Hey there stranger," she says gently, sliding into the adjacent seat. "Sleep well?"

He grumbles, throwing an arm around her waist and wrapping himself around her. "I slept, but my body disagrees. I'd forgotten how much Liam snores, too." She pats his head.

"I snore?" Liam Jones scoffs, settling across from them. "Pot, kettle, little brother." He grins at Emma. "Hello Emma, nice to see you again. Excellent last few games."

"Thanks." Breakfast is a quiet affair. Emma and Liam discuss the games while Killian refuses to budge, making monosyllabic answers every once in a while. She tries prompting him with a series of increasingly lame chirps and Liam glances between the two of them constantly, his expression growing more amused by the second.

She checks her watch. "Right, I'm off. Will I see you guys at our game later?" They're playing Russia, and needless to say it's going to be their toughest one yet.

"Of course, Swan." He disengages reluctantly and just can't help himself, trailing his fingers along one of her ever-present braids. "We have practice so we may be late, but we'll be there."

"Tell David and he'll save seats for you in the athlete's section." She doesn't really want to leave and she knows she's already played two games without him, but it's still odd. "Have a good practice."

"Good luck, Emma." Killian watches her walk away and turns back to find Liam smirking at him. "What?"

"You should name your first son Liam," is the contemplative reply.

"Piss off."

The game against Russia is their first real test. The Russians score twice in the second period and Emma and Julie answer back with one apiece. It's one of the most hostile crowds Emma's ever played (barring St. Louis), and she's really, really glad that she doesn't understand Russian.

Monique nudges her as they skate out for face-off in overtime. "Hey, looks like you have quite the entourage," she says, nodding towards the athlete's section. Emma squints, spots Mary Margaret, Regina, James, David, Killian, Liam, and Graham. Emma waves, and laughs when both David and Killian stand up to wave frantically back.

The game goes into shootouts. Vetter is spectacular on goal, absolutely unshakeable. Emma's called up to shoot and she doesn't know what it is about the atmosphere or the ice, but it's one of those times where everything goes to plan. She just knows where the puck's going to go and it goes – four times out of six.

Her last goal is the one that cinches it for the US with a final score of 3-2. She skates straight into her teammates' arms. "Do or die, baby, do or die!" she screams in Mulan's ear.

When she manages to look over at the athlete's section, the only thing she sees is Killian, clapping and whistling and just beaming.

The thing about highs is that they're often followed by the lowest lows. The gold medal game is the worst kind of nightmare, like watching your dreams slip through your fingers. She manages to congratulate Regina and Mary Margaret after the medal ceremony because she can be happy for them and heartbroken at the same time. The interviews are a bit of a struggle – putting failure into words always is – but she gets through that too.

She wanders aimlessly through the Village for a while, not wanting to talk to anyone (her phone keeps buzzing and it's easy enough to ignore). Still, she somehow ends up at Team GB's quarters because she can't stand the thought of going back to her room, not tonight.

Killian opens the door, blinking fuzzily. "Emma?"

She shoves her hands in her pockets and musters up a miserable smile. "Hey. Can…can I stay here tonight?"

He doesn't say anything, just looks her over, and pulls the door open farther. She follows him into his room, shedding her Team USA jacket, and slides beneath the covers. After some hesitation he joins her and she immediately fits herself against him, tucking her face between his shoulder and neck. His arm curls around her shoulders and she feels the ghostly press of his lips against her forehead. "I was worried about you."

"I needed to clear my head." That's when the tears come and she's helpless to stop them.

"Hey, shhhh. It's all right love, cry it out."

She sniffles. "I hate losing."

He hums under his breath, rubs his hands soothingly over her back. "I won't deny that, love. You just have to make sure you win next time. You have four years to get them back."

"That's such a long time from now."

"Plenty of time to plan your revenge."

It's quiet for a long time, long enough for her sniffles to die away and for her tears to dry. So long that Emma thinks he must have fallen asleep. "Thank you, Killian."

He reaches out for her free hand, tangles her fingers in his. "Always, love."

Emma wakes up in the early hours of the morning. She's still wrapped around him, one leg thrown carelessly over his, and him with one hand buried in her hair. She sighs, realizing that she probably has to face reality at some point, and wriggles out of bed as quietly as possible. Killian doesn't stir, but his brow furrows and his arm splays out across the bed as though searching for her. It's unbearably sweet and Emma can't help it – she leans over and presses a kiss to his brow. "You're the best," she whispers.

She works off the disappointment of the Olympics by getting back in to the swing of things. It's a relief to work with David and Killian again. They make the playoffs again that year but are eliminated in the semi-finals. It's absolutely heartbreaking, but they've still finished with a pretty damn good season overall. Killian wins the Masterton at the NHL awards and Emma's glad someone's noticed his contribution to the sport. Training camp brings Emma her first rookie. His name is Henry Mills. He's Regina's cousin and is essentially sunshine incarnate.

"I watched you in the Olympics!" Henry blurts to Emma when David first introduces them. His dark eyes sparkle and he's painfully earnest. "Those penalties were amazing, can you please teach me?" He blanches a little, and Emma ignores the guys snickering behind her. "Not that I only saw you in the Olympics because I always watch your games – but not in a creepy way, I swear!" He flushes and stops.

She exchanges an amused glance with David. "Relax, kid," she laughs, only just stopping herself from reaching out to ruffle his hair. He's nineteen and probably won't appreciate that coming from someone who's only a few years older. "I get it. Come on, let's get on the ice." Sidney's making them switch the lines up again and wants to see how Henry's going to perform.

The rookie's eyes go wide. "With you two?"

"Yep." She remembers her first team practice, too. She doesn't remember having any fear though. All she'd wanted was to get out there and play and prove to the management that they weren't making a huge mistake signing her. It helped that Killian had been with her every step of the way.

Henry, on the other hand, looks terrified. But the moment his skates touch the ice he's a different person. It's clear from the get-go that everything he's learned, he's learned from Regina. He's lethal with a puck in the defensive zone and handles it beautifully. When Thomas, playing from the opposing side, tries to push him wide he allows it, but puts in a rush of speed and deftly roofs the puck into the net with his backhand. Leroy doesn't stand a chance.

There's a moment of stunned silence on the rink before Emma whoops and converges on him, slapping his back. "Well, well, rookie! I think you're going to fit in just fine." Henry just beams up at her.

Sidney skates up, his expression considering. "Very good, son. Can you do it again?"

Henry straightens and nods. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Show me."

Emma pats Henry on the back one more time and off they go again. She's not entirely sure why David's asked her to take Henry under her wing rather than Killian, but she's happy that David trusts her enough to do so. Besides, Killian has enough responsibility on his hands because Lance is traded to the Habs and he's given the A in his stead. It was a hotly contested decision because Lance was an integral part of their defense as well as an amazing alternate captain. Emma texts Mulan: You guys better treat him right.

Of course we will! I'm excited to work with him.

Regina actually calls Emma at the end of Henry's first week of practice. "So, how's he doing?" she inquires casually.

Emma bites down on her automatic response, which is to chirp her. Regina rarely asks for anything beyond everyone's best. "Henry's great, Regina. He's fitting in just fine."

"Is he?" the older woman sounds a little wistful. "Look, I know Henry better than almost anyone, and I know how good he is. But he's almost too sweet. I don't want this life to change him too much."

She leans against the kitchen counter. "You can't control that, you know." The NHL has an atmosphere like none other and it impacts all those who come into contact with it. It's especially true if you're young when you come into it.

There's a frustrated sigh on the other end of the line. "Yes. I don't like it, though."

"Understandable." Killian wanders into her apartment, a bag of groceries in hand. He waves in greeting, moving around her kitchen with easy familiarity as he starts putting dinner together. "Mary Margaret and I are looking out for him, okay? And he has Killian and David and the other guys. He'll be fine." Especially on the ice, but that goes without saying.

"That's all I can ask for. Thank you, Emma."

"No problem." She contemplates her phone for a moment before tucking it into her pocket.

Killian jolts her out of her reverie with a gentle hip-check. "Regina?" he queries, one eyebrow raised. She nods. "Checking up on Henry, I imagine?"

"You wouldn't be wrong." She hooks her chin over his shoulder to peer at the cutting board. He stiffens and then relaxes just as quickly, which is funny considering how touchy-feely the entire team is, let alone the two of them. She must have startled him. "What are you making?"

"Jamaican beef stew." He nods over at the bag of groceries. "You can start on the rice, if you like." It's one of the few things they can trust her with when it comes to cooking.

"You got it, chef."

Henry scores a goal in his first NHL game. The Kings are tough on him, though, and Emma's never been a huge fan of theirs. Therefore it's no surprise when she throws it down when one of their players slams Henry into the boards.

Deadspin goes with the headline: Swan flies into rage over duckling.

Unfortunately for Henry the nickname sticks, especially amongst the team and Chicago fans, who use it with much affection. "As far as nicknames go, lad, it could be much worse," Killian says, just barely managing to maintain a straight face when Henry walks into the locker room to find his stall decorated with rubber ducks.

Henry stares at it with consternation and then just shakes his head, his lips twitching. "I guess so. I'll take it."

He gets Leroy back for the ducklings by stretching clear packing tape at face height across one of the doorways, then taping his reaction as he walks into it.

Emma grins to herself as Henry, Killian, and David collapse in a hysterical pile on the floor. She takes a photo and sends it to Regina. Told you. He's in good hands.

Emma realizes that she's in love with Killian in the middle of a playoff game against the Flames, which is an all-around inconvenience if she's honest. She's in the box again and just praying that the Flames don't score on the power play because that's just a recurring thing with her. Instead, Killian makes a beautiful play, stripping his guy of the puck and scoring on a breakaway. He skates right up to the penalty box and points at her with one of those dumb grins of his before the rest of the guys swamp him.

Her stomach just drops. The feeling is not unfamiliar, but the kicker is that she finally recognizes it. It's been simmering inside her for years and probably sprang into being during that first IceHogs practice, when a blue-eyed Brit complimented her on her dekes.

She manages to stand and pound her glove against the glass despite the absurdity of the entire situation. She's fallen in love with her best friend – how cliché is that?

Frankly, Emma's just surprised that she's not making a laundry list of ideas of why it's a bad thing. She could care less what the media says these days. She's learned to deal with them, with the stupid questions and the careful answers or even the not-so-careful answers. It's not like she's above the scrutiny, not at all. But she finally has the hardware to back up her skills and there's not much more that can be said to tear her down.

They can call her a fighter, a brawler, or a bitch and she won't care. Those are some of the qualities that have made her the player she is. She wouldn't have gotten this far if she wasn't a fighter.

Emma could cite team dynamics as a potential obstacle, but all she needs to do is look at David and Mary Margaret to know that's not true. The two of them are consummate professionals in the locker room and on the ice and are excellent at leaving any personal baggage behind. They even have the harder position, being captain and alternate. And it's not like they're the only couple in the NHL. Kathryn's childhood sweetheart is the goalie for the Lightning, and if Regina doesn't have something going on with the Capital's newest trade from the Wild she'll eat her helmet.

No, the only thing that worries her is their friendship. Killian is her best friend and she'll be devastated if she screws it all up because of these pesky feelings. But she can't shake the feeling that this has the potential to be the best thing that has ever happened to her. Hell, Killian's one of the best things in her life, if not the best.

Emma runs through this entire gauntlet of emotions in the short time that she's in the penalty box, so she's more than ready to blow off some steam when they finally let her out. Her churning emotions put plenty of fuel on the fire, resulting in a very nice hat trick and two assists.

She stews in her newly recognized feelings for a few days before she finally decides to consult the ladies. She's reluctant to bother them because playoffs but all the indecision is giving her vertigo.

Guys, I'm in love with Killian, she texts into the group message.

Fucking finally, is Ruby's response.

Mulan's follows not long after. Thank god. The whole hearts-eyes thing was getting really old.

Emma's jaw drops as she stares at her phone. Whaaaaaaat?

Mulan's right. You and Guyliner have been making eyes at each other for ages. The world really has no idea how snarky Regina can be. Emma doesn't know if she should be grateful they don't, or sad they don't know that side of her.

Wait, am I missing something here? Kathryn writes. I thought you two were already together.

Me too. That's from Ashley, the Blues' newest rookie (Emma doesn't hold it against her, she's actually very sweet).

The apartment door bangs and all of a sudden Mary Margaret's crashing into her room. "Emma Swan, I am your goddamn roommate and I have to hear about this over group chat?" she demands, completely affronted. "What the hell?"

"Aren't you supposed to be at David's?" she asks blankly.

"This is more important." She types busily into her phone. Feel free to leave your sage words of wisdom, ladies. I'm taking Emma offline for some face-to-face girl talk. With that done, she puts both of their phones aside and looks at Emma steadily. "So. You've finally figured it out."

The wording makes her feel very, very uncomfortable. "Did everyone know but me?"

"I'm pretty sure everyone on the team knows, except for Killian. As for the girls-" she shrugs. "That's pretty self-explanatory."

Well, this is embarrassing. "I'm still stuck on the fact that some people thought we were already dating."

"Emma," Mary Margaret's face is the very picture of exasperation. "I know I don't have much of a leg to stand on considering everything that happened with David, but really? He cooks for you most of the week. You keep toothbrushes in each other's bathrooms even though you live in the same building. When people ask questions about best buddies or something for BHTV or the convention, you always pick him and he always picks you."

"That's because he's my person," she says faintly, then rolls over and buries her face in her pillow. Wow. She's such an idiot. Now the odd things that people have said over the years make eerie sense. Like how Granny keeps asking if she's going to bring him for Christmas.

Mary Margaret pats her on the back. "I'm glad you finally realized."

"But…how do I-?" Emma's so terrible with emotions, especially when she's not fighting. Fighting's easy. Anger's easy. This? This is so not easy.

"I can't tell you what to do. But I promise you Emma, no matter what you do? You're going to come out on top."

It's easier said than done, trying to figure out a way to confess to Killian during the playoffs. They're all so busy working themselves into the ground that between practices and flying cross-country nearly every other day it just doesn't happen. It would be frustrating, except that Emma is far too exhausted to dredge up that kind of emotion. Even Mary Margaret is too tired to push her.

But then it doesn't matter because they've won the Stanley Cup again and Emma feels like she's on top of the world.

It's no wonder that she and Killian find themselves alone in one of the tunnels after the celebrations are finished. Emma idly notes that it's the very same hallway where she found David and Mary Margaret when they first won the Cup and wonders if it's a sign.

Killian's smiling at her and she's observant enough at this point to realize that too is a very familiar expression. She's seen it on his face for as long as she's known him and she doesn't know quite what to do when a guy looks at her like she's hung the stars and moon.

Well, maybe she does. This is Killian, her best friend and teammate. He's always been there for her, been one of her biggest fans and pillars of support since she started this crazy journey. And she wants him with her for every step that comes after. Once she mulls that over, there's really only one thing left to do.

"Emma?" Killian asks, puzzled, as she steps into his space. "What-?"

She brushes her lips against his lightly, tentatively. When she finally pulls back, he's gazing at her with a mixture disbelief and utter and complete joy. It's kind of humbling, actually. That decides her and Emma moves right back in, clutching his jersey in a white-knuckled grip as she slides her tongue into his mouth, wet and dirty and oh so fucking right. Killian makes a desperate, anguished noise at the back of his throat and his hands clench on her hips, jerking her away.

"Emma, love, please." He's breathing hard like they've just come off the ice. "I know we won and emotions are high, but I can't do this if – if you don't-"

They really have been idiots, Emma thinks ruefully. "Killian, I'm only going to say this once, all right? You're my teammate and my best friend and somewhere along the line I've fallen in love with you." And praise all the hockey gods, he's giving her that hung-the-stars look again and it's making her knees weak in a way that has nothing to do with the fact that she's been playing hard for the last few hours.

One of his hands drifts up from her hips to cup the back of her head. "I hope you're not going to say it just once, Emma, because I feel the same way and plan on saying it every day hereafter."

That promise echoes all the way down to her toes. "Oh yeah?" She raises an eyebrow in challenge because otherwise she's probably going to start crying. "Prove it."

Killian's smile is brilliant and blinding. "Emma Swan, I've been in love with you since we were rookies. It's just…it's always been you." And then he's spinning them around, pressing Emma to the cinderblock wall, his playoff beard a rough, gorgeous scrape over her skin as he kisses her back. She gets her hands in his hair, blunt nails scraping over his scalp and he shudders, biting down none too gently on her bottom lip in retaliation.

When they separate, they're both breathing like they've skated back-to-back games. "My place," Emma gasps.

He groans, bumping his forehead to hers the way they do after almost every game. "Bloody hell, Emma. Yes, of course."

They don't speak a word from the United Center all the way to their building. Emma keeps waiting for doubt to rise up and to start second-guessing herself because that's what she does when it comes to the opposite sex. She's had a few flings here and there but nothing's ever stuck, especially once she got into the NHL. She doesn't want to risk some guy blabbing everything to Deadspin and besides, the guys who try to pick up hockey girls aren't generally the greatest kind of guys.

However, there's no doubt or second-guessing when it comes to Killian. He's integrated himself into her life to the point where she can't imagine it without him. The simple truth of it is staggering. Emma Swan, orphan and foster child, had nothing but dreams when she was growing up. Now she has her dream, a home, and a family. And Killian? Killian's the best of all of it.

She must have made a noise in the back of her throat, because Killian is turning to her in the elevator, his eyes questioning. "Emma? Are you-"

She takes one of his hands in both of hers, presses them right over her heart. "I'm perfect," she reassures him and his shoulders drop a little bit in relief. He licks his lips and her eyes zero in on the movement and really, she can't help herself – she leans forward and nips at his bottom lip much like he'd done to her in the tunnels. Just like that, the level of anticipation notches up and it takes a hell of a lot of willpower for both of them to stumble out of the elevator.

Emma nearly drops her keys, fumbling the lock because she can feel his breath on the back of her neck, can almost see the smile as he tries to keep from chirping her. Finally, finally she gets it open, spinning around as he shuts it behind him. They stare at each other for one beat, then two, before Emma smirks and crooks a finger at him. "Well?"

"Fuck," Killian mutters, crossing to her in two long strides and kissing her hard. Emma keeps walking them backwards until her back hits the wall, needing the support. It's not enough, and she slides her hands impatiently beneath his shirt to get at all that lovely skin stretched over solid muscle. She tugs it over his head with a satisfied noise and sets her teeth on his neck, fascinated by the way his muscles shift under her searching hands.

She's seen him naked (and vice versa) plenty of times over the years. It's one of the hazards of sharing locker rooms. There's something inherently sexless about it. Nothing's less sexy than the way that place smells after practices or games.

This? This is different. Here, she can look and touch, a frustrating prospect when she doesn't want any space between them. Emma rises onto her toes, kissing a trail up to his ear and he moans, the sound harsh and a little broken. His hands skim down her torso, land on her hips, and hitch her up until she can get her legs around him. Emma's head thuds back against the wall because the position is just right, one of his thighs pressing deliciously between her legs. She swears, hips grinding down in tight little circles.

"Emma," he pants, nosing along the hollow of her throat, fingers tightening convulsively on her hips.

"Bedroom, Killian," she demands, her hands punctuating the statement by sliding down to his ass and squeezing. Again, she has to spare a bit of thanks to the hockey gods because it's a thing of beauty.

He chuckles breathlessly, brushing sweet little kisses along her jaw. "How can I say no?" He carries her over to her room effortlessly, and that show of strength really does something for her. Killian stops by the foot of her bed and lets her down slowly, the slow friction of her body sliding down his driving her nuts. She shoves him back a little, peeling her shirt off. "Yeah, the rest of the clothes need to go."

"Bossy," he teases, that blue gaze raking over her appreciatively as they both step out of their jeans. It's gratifying because she's seen the parade of petite blondes through his life and let's face it, there's nothing delicate or petite about her. She's a professional athlete, heavily muscled and because it's hockey, constantly covered in bruises in various stages of healing.

But then he breathes, "Beautiful," bending to catalogue her bruises with his lips, gently guiding her back onto the bed and following her down, covering her just the way she wants. He's shifted gears on her, took it away from bright flashes to a slow, simmering burn. There's nothing she can do, really, but shudder and moan, tangling her fingers in his hair. She arches her back when he removes her bra, filling his hands with her breasts and scraping his teeth over a nipple.

"Killian-" She really feels like she should be doing something to reciprocate, anything, but it's so hard when her brain just keeps shorting out.

"What do you want, love?" His chin is propped on her hip now, and he gives the bone a little nip as his hands smooth down her torso and slide around to cradle her ass, gently squeezing. She should have known that he'd be an ass man.

"Come on," she pants, shoving at his head. He smirks again, the bastard.

"That's not very specific," he chides, slipping one hand between her legs to run his thumb in slow, lazy circles over her clit. He sucks in a sharp breath, eyes darkening. "Christ, Emma, you're-"

Yes, she's almost embarrassingly wet but there's no room for embarrassment when she can grind down on his fingers and the pressure is perfect, so perfect, she could come this way in no time at all. And she does, body arching up and her breath exploding on a sob and something close to his name.

Emma's still coming down from that high when she feels his shoulders nudging her legs farther apart. She just barely manages to look up and get the words out. "Killian, what-"

He grins at her, dark and wicked and she squirms, wanting whatever it is he's promising. "This all right?" he questions, sliding down.

"It'll be better when you actually do something," she growls.

"Don't worry, Emma, you know I'm good for it."

She can't help the laugh that bubbles out of her, because how much of a guy can he be? "You're good for it, god Killian, are you seri-fuck," she gasps as he licks into her, sucking at her clit as his fingers resume their slow slide in and out of her.

Her hands fist on the sheets and then she's just saying nonsense, really, because she's kind of going out of her mind. He takes the second orgasm slower than the first one, building her up with his tongue and fingers. It's clear that Killian's getting off on this too, from the muffled sounds coming up between her legs, and the way his hips are twisting down into the mattress. The sight of it is just really fucking hot and it's what tips her over the edges, shaking and crying out.

Killian shifts up the bed while she tries to get everything together, lips closing softly over hers. "Told you I was good for it," he whispers smugly.

"We're not done yet," Emma replies somewhat breathlessly because even here, she can't resist the challenge and the chance to push him, push both of them. She flings a hand out, fumbling around her dresser drawer until she can find a condom, sliding her hands down his body to take him in hand. He's hard and thick and he swears as she takes her time rolling it down, eyelashes long and dark against his cheek. "You still have time to score."

His eyes fly open and they stare at each other before dissolving into laughter. "Oh my god," she groans, pressing a hand to her eyes and he drops his forehead to her collarbone, shoulders shaking. "It's official. I spend too much time around you filthy-minded boys."

"I'll show you filthy," Killian half laughs, half-groans as he finally presses into her, pushing all the way inside. "Fuck." He sets their rhythm to a slow, dirty grind, reaching up to cradle her head in his hands to he can kiss her, deep and messy.

She draws her legs up around his hips, arms wrapping around his back. "Yes, Killian-"

"That's it, beautiful, come on." He rears up and he's miles of skin and muscles, his blue eyes hot and bright as he works a hand between their bodies to circle her clit once more. It's enough to send her over one last time, tossing her head back and screaming as she grinds down, riding it out.

Killian buries his head in her neck, breath hot on her skin as he comes, hips flexing and sinking in deep. "Emma, Emma," he murmurs, his full weight pressing her into the mattress.

A moment later, when she's caught her breath, she punches his shoulder weakly. "Good game, bro," she mumbles, hiding a smile into his shoulder.

He props himself up so that he can look down at her. "You're ridiculous, Emma Swan," he declares, eyes shining. "It's a good thing I love you."

She hums happily. "I love you too."

"I had a crush on you before I even met you," Killian confesses later, when they're curled lazily together on the bed.

Emma lifts her head to stare at him. "What? You're kidding."

"I'm afraid not." He tangles his fingers with hers in that old, familiar gesture. "I watched the tape on all of my potential teammates. But you…you were something else. You were only in the junior leagues and no one could touch you. I knew that we'd play well together but I never imagined it would turn out the way it did, playing with you." He shakes his head, a little awed. "It's never been like that before. I suppose…falling in love with you was rather inevitable."

She reaches up, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, loving the way it tilts up. "Sorry I took so long to figure it out. Some of the other girls thought we were already together."

"Well, we kind of were," he concedes. "And I want you to know, Emma, that I would have gladly waited however long it took."

"I guess I had to take care of a few things first." She'd worked so long for one goal that she wouldn't have been able to see anything else. Emma Swan was a classic case of "eyes on the prize." She needed to achieve those goals and be happy with herself before she could even consider the possibilities of something more. "But I found my way to you eventually."

"I'm very glad you did."

One year later, Emma and Killian's contracts come up for renegotiation with the Blackhawks. They sign matching seven-year contracts.

Please review!

Some hockey terminology:
C = captain
A = alternate Captain
D = defense
Chirp = trashtalk
USHL = top junior hockey league in the US
AHL = professional hockey league where NHL draftees often train before going to the NHL proper
Calder Cup = trophy awarded winner of the AHL playoff champions
Deadspin = trashy hockey gossip rag
Celly = celebration after a goal
Conn Smythe = trophy awarded to the MVP of the playoff champion team
Calder Memorial Trophy = awarded to the most outstanding rookie
Ted Lindsay Award = awarded to the league's most outstanding player, as voted by the other players
Bill Masterton Memorial Award = given to the player who best exemplifies the qualities of perseverance, sportsmanship, and dedication to hockey
Cage = full helmet (most NHL players only have a visor or nothing at all)