It's been a long time since Emma Swan has cried in a bathroom stall because of people talking shit.

intentional grounding.

She doesn't notice it at first.

Well, she does, but she chooses to ignore it because she's dealt with this before - catty women who think she's something she's not. First in high school when the popular girls mocked her swollen belly and she had to eat her lunch alone in the bathroom stall to avoid their snickering laughter and not-so-sly remarks and then again - when she was older, pushing Henry through the supermarket with bags under her eyes and tight leather pants, still wearing makeup from the bar because it was a job and they needed money and snagging bounties was great, but Henry was growing like a weed and the tips she made at the bar were enough to cover new sneakers and the cereal he really liked, even if the comments from half-drunk men kind of (really) sucked.

She knows what they say about single mothers. She's not an idiot.

So when she sees Katie Karkin whisper something to Janet Gallagher, the both of them shooting her some suspicious side eye, she ignores it - chooses instead to cross her legs at the ankle and watch Henry cover the massive kid from North East High and take another bite of her hot dog. Killian is wearing his baseball hat backwards and she tilts her head to the side as she considers him, watching as he paces up and down the sidelines and tries not to lose his shit on the ref. She grins to herself, and starts to brainstorm some ideas on how he can expend that energy later.

-/-

"She calls him Killian - in this sappy, sweet tone. It's disgusting, and there's no way they aren't sleeping together." She almost falls down the bleachers, steadying herself on the railing as the two women cackle together in delight. Color floods her cheeks and honestly, she should be used to this by now, but -

"I just think it's inappropriate that you can sleep you way into getting your son more playing time. I mean I'm not saying she's a slut, but have you heard - "

She breathes in sharp through her nose and clambers down the rest of then way to the field, her stomach rolling in anxiety and pressure building behind her eyes. It's the end of the game, parents and students and faculty members swarming out of the stands and trying to navigate their way to the parking lot and she's never been more glad for the anonymity. She's sure Henry is with Killian - they typically find her together after games - so she makes her way to the school building instead, taking steadying breaths in and out, in and out, before she can get into a bathroom stall and bolt the door.

She stares at the fuck the patriarchy scribbled in sharpie on the back of the muted green paint that's peeling at the edges and wills herself not to cry. It's been 17 years since she cried in a bathroom stall, and she's not about to start again now. Not because of fucking Katie Karkin. Or Janet Gallagher and her tacky Ugg boots.

I mean I'm not saying she's a slut, but -

She presses the heels of her hands into her eyes until she sees spots, her phone buzzing in the pocket of her jacket. Henry and Killian will be waiting by now, the both of them starving and campaigning for pizza, no doubt.

She runs her fingertips beneath her eyes and stands, practicing her smile in the mirror and only leaving when she feels like she's convincing enough.

"Hey Mom, where were you? Can we get pizza - whoa - " Henry stops shorts, his helmet under his arm, his eyebrows pulled together. "Are you alright?"

She forces that same grin, the one that stretches her face until she feels borderline homicidal, and runs her fingers through his hair. She makes sure to keep her gaze away from Killian.

"Yeah, kid. I'm good." She turns and heads for the car, her arm thrown over his shoulders and his bulky pads. He's almost as tall as she is now, and she's having a hard time dealing with that. "Pizza it is."

-/-

"What is it?"

She burrows down further in the sheets, pressing her nose into the v of his t shirt and sliding her palm along the hem of his sleep pants, hoping to distract him with her fingers on his skin. "What is what?"

He sighs and tangles his fingers in her hair, guiding her head back until he can give her a disapproving look in the quiet stillness of her bedroom. He's been staying over more and more lately, and the key she had made for him three weeks ago is practically burning a hole in her bag by the door. She wants to give it to him, wants him to finally move in here and bring those god damned flannel sheets she loves so much with him, but -

- sleep you way into getting your son more playing time -

But that.

"It's nothing. It's just been a long week." She shifts up until she can press her lips to his, smoothing her thumb along the tip of his ear. "Can we go to sleep?"

She can feel the tension in his shoulders but she ignores it, turning on her side and fitting her hips back against his. He presses a kiss to the back of her neck and nuzzles down in her hair in the way that he likes, his heavy breath of defeat warm against her skin. She almost starts to cry again.

"As you wish."

-/-

She practically takes out a stop sign in her haste to park the car when she gets to the school, trying to get out of the seat three times before she realizes she needs to unbuckle the belt before she does so.

Suspended. Henry has been suspended.

For fighting. Of all things.

He's sitting in the office when she bursts through the door, his face a storm cloud and his arms crossed over his chest, the knuckles on his left hand already bruising. But there's no marks on his face as far as she can tell and she had an oddly-timed twinge of pride - that her kid can get in a fight and emerge unscathed. Apparently all those self-defense classes with his overbearing uncle paid off - not that she intends to mention that to David any time soon.

"Henry," She drops to her knees in front of him, her purse sliding against the linoleum. "What happened? Are you alright?"

His jaw clenches and unclenches and she's not sure she's ever seen him this angry before. Not even when she banned him from using his xbox for a week, and that meltdown had been pretty apocalyptic.

"I'm fine. Can we go now?" She blinks at him, not knowing if there is paperwork she needs to fill out, or someone she needs to speak to. She really hopes there isn't some counseling segment attached with this suspension thing, because the last thing she needs is someone to tell her how to raise her kid. She opens her mouth to respond, but is cut off by the door she just came through creaking open, an unamused scoff somewhere in the space behind her.

"Of course it's you." She turns her head and regards the woman, recognizing the shiny bob and eyebrows tweezed to within an inch of their life anywhere - Katie Karkin. "Of course it would be your son to attack mine."

She feels her spine straighten at the obvious malice in the other woman's voice, the prickle of a good fight brewing between her shoulders. Henry shifts out of the corner of her eye, and she takes a step closer to him, angling her body between the bitch in the knock-off Prada and her son. "Excuse me?"

"I'm not surprised it's your child who flew off in a rage and attacked mine."

The door to the office opens again and this time it's Killian who strolls in, blue eyes blown wide in concern. Emma has a single moment of calm reassurance, his gaze finding hers as Henry continues to sulk in front of her and Katie Karkin makes an interesting noise of contempt low in her throat, and then the principal's office door opens and all hell breaks loose.

As soon as Principal Mills emerges with the boy her son obviously punched right in the face, a purple bruise already blossoming in the hollow of his eye and along the bridge of his nose, Katie Karkin loses her shit. Her son, however, immediately launches himself at Henry and Killian just barely manages to insert himself between the two boys, palms pressed against either chest as the boy with the mangled face shouts something about "cheap shot, coward move, spineless little shit" and she's not about to stand here and watch her son get torn apart, especially when Katie Karkin opens her plastic mouth and mutters something about "like mother, like son" and she's so busy focusing on the train wreck of a woman next to her that she doesn't hear what Henry mutters under his breath, just sees Killian go ramrod straight, that interesting tic in his jaw and -

"Enough!" Regina Mills is every inch queen of the castle as her voice booms around the office. "I suggest you both leave before I increase your suspensions." She arches an eyebrow and Emma feels an actual shiver roll down her spine. "Now."

Apparently, the paperwork can wait.

She gathers Henry and Killian and his things in silence, the three of them making a quick exit to her bug parked haphazardly in the spot closest to the door.

They sit in silence once the doors shut, her blood humming beneath her skin and her jaw set. She can feel the tension radiating off Killian next to her, and she tries to remember the breathing exercises she learned in the stress management course David forced her into six years ago.

"Lad," Killian doesn't turn around in his seat, just keeps facing forward and attempting to set the tree aflame with his mind, apparently. "Was Thomas talking negative about your mother?"

Henry snorts - a dark, humorless sound. "He called her a whore and I punched him in the face."

A smile twitches at the corners of her mouth. Killian finally turns around in the passenger seat.

"We're going to get ice cream."

-/-

The next home game she's sitting in her usual place on the bleachers, her usual hot dog in her hand, when she spots Killian making his way up to her with his careful, measured steps. He sits down next to her and pulls the book folded in his back pocket out, flattening it against his knee and leaning over to take a bite out of her hot dog.

"What are you doing?"

He smiles through a mouthful of roll and processed meat, her thumb swiping at the mustard on his bottom lip without thought. "I'm eating. I haven't had dinner yet."

"Shouldn't you be down there with your team?"

He goes for another bite and she moves it out of reach, narrowing her eyes at him when he pouts. "It's not my team anymore, love. Robin is taking over. I'm strictly statistics now." A smile starts to tug at his bottom lip. "You're more important to me than managing a bunch of hormonal teenagers. I'll not have that infernal woman say another word about you."

She stares at him, her mouth opening and closing several times as something warm and overbearing pushes at her chest. He's looking at her in that steady way he sometimes does - like he does early in the morning when she snores herself awake and he's gazing down at her with sunlight on his skin, like he does when her and Henry are bouncing about, pretending they are ACDC in the golden years and he's shaking his head and doing his best to keep dinner from burning. She shoves the rest of her hot dog in her mouth and blinks her eyes rapidly against a very different kind of burning.

"Do you wanna move in with us?"

His smile grows, that one that makes her a bit breathless and weak in the knees - god damn him. "About time you asked, Swan. That key's been in your sock drawer for close to a month."

She kisses the smile from his lips, and maybe flicks off Katie Karkin while she does it.