It’s a transition. That’s what Emma’s calling it. She’s transitioning from one team to another, from one coast to another and she’s definitely not worried. Nope. She’s fine. Really. She’s promised Mary Margaret ten times already. So she got fired. Whatever. She’s fine, ready to settle into life with the New York Rangers. She’s got a job to do. And she doesn’t care about Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers. At all.
He’s done. One more season and he’s a free agent and he’s out. It’s win or nothing for Killian. He’s going to win a Stanley Cup and then he’s going to stop being the face of the franchise and he’s going to go play for some other garbage team where his name won’t be used as puns in New York Post headlines. That’s the plan. And Emma Swan, director of New York Rangers community relations isn’t going to change that. At all.
They are both horrible liars.
Rating: Mature Content Warnings: Swearing, eventual hockey-type violence AN: I wrote most of this chapter during a playoff basketball game, in case anyone was wondering. The angst. It’s looming. But have some flirting in the meantime. And Graham Humbert. As always, you guys are tremendous and every click, comment, message, passing thought, is fantastic. This would not have existed without @laurnorder, @distant-rose and @beautiful-swan. Also living on Ao3, FF.net & tag’ed up on Tumblr.
He could get used to this.
No, scratch that. He was used to this. He was used to the feel of her next to him and the way she tugged the blankets over her shoulders, tight enough that Killian was half certain she was going to choke herself with them, and the way her feet were never quite warm, closer to blocks of ice that frequently hit up against the front of his shins when she pulled them up.
It didn’t make much sense, but Killian was used to it and could get even more used to it and maybe wanted to stay used to it for the rest of his life.
While the police frequently harassed butch-looking women on the streets, the worst police harassment took place inside the gay bars. In many cities, as long as a bar owner was willing to pay for police protection, the bars seemed relatively safe—unless it was close to an election period in which the incumbent felt compelled to “clean up” the gay bars for the sake of his record. During those times raids were frequent. The bars sometimes took precautions against raids. At the Canyon Club in Los Angeles, a membership bar patronized by both gay men and gay women, dancing would be permitted only in the upstairs room. If the police appeared at the door, a red light would be flashed upstairs and the same-sex partners on the dance floor would know to grab someone of the opposite sex quickly and continue dancing…
A bar raid during the 1950s or ’60s could be violent. Marlene says that in San Francisco during the early 1950s the raiding police were accompanied by police dogs. In a 1956 raid at the San Francisco bar Kelly’s Alamo Club, thirty-six women were hauled into the city jail and booked on the charge of “frequenting a house of ill repute.” D.F. remembers a Los Angeles raid in which all the patrons’ names were collected and everyone was made to strip and was searched. At raids in the Sea Colony, a Greenwich Village bar, women would be pushed up against the wall and the policemen might put their hands in the women’s pants and say, “Oh, you think you’re a man. Well, let’s see what you’ve got here.”
Lillian Faderman, Odd Girls and Twilight Lovers: A History of Lesbian Life in Twentieth-Century America