#obviously she has not looked directly at my pancreas but we were talking about how quickly i get low blood sugar

[lbhslefttiddie]

life in shambles brain a puddle of useless dysfunctions BUT my doctor friend told me that i have an immaculate liver and pancreas :]

[welllpthisishappening]

Undisputed, Photographic Evidence

Y’all can blame quarantine, my overall stress level regarding the immediate future of sports, John Carlson, the Moscato in my fridge, a New York Yankees souvenir glass and the following people: @shireness-says​ @distant-rose​ @initiala​ & @optomisticgirl​ for the nearly 3.5K words under here. 

What are those 3.5K words, you ask? Robin Locksley has the best ass on the New York Rangers and no one on the New York Rangers can cope with it. 

It is as absurd as it sounds, I guarantee. 

----

“Look at this.” Killian groaned, leaning away from Will’s outstretched hand and the phone clutched tightly in it. “Look at what, exactly?” “How can you miss it?”

“Well, you’re clearly not great at holding things, so.” Killian moved again, trying not to elbow Emma in the process, but she was already twisting around him and—

“Oh shit,” she muttered. 

“Right?” Will cried. “Did you know all of that was under there?” “I’m going to be brutally honest and tell you that I wasn’t really looking, but—” She clicked her tongue, a quick glance in Killian’s direction that probably would have had more of an impact if he knew what the hell was going. “Maybe I will now.”

Will snickered, another step forward and there wasn’t really that much space between him and Killian’s left shoe. He mumbled a few choice words under his breath when it became clear Will was not going to leave and was also trying to sit down, and all three of them sitting on the same side of a booth in the restaurant was not particularly comfortable. 

“You have very bony elbows, you know that?” Killian grumbled, but Will wasn’t paying attention to him. He had started pointing at the phone. 

And it only took a few more moments to realize it wasn’t actually Will’s phone. 

“Are you stealing phones now?” “Don’t be an idiot,” Will sneered, barely audible over the music and the TV and Emma’s laughter directly in Killian’s ear. There really was not much space on one side of the booth. Maybe he’d mention that to Eric later. 

If he could get out of the goddamn booth. 

“Cap, I need you to look at this. Seriously, it’s really—” Killian sighed, tugging the phone out of Will’s hand and he actually felt his jaw drop. It was absurd. As was the pinch between his eyebrows, furrowed slightly because he was suddenly a little confused and a little stunned and—

“Wow,” he muttered before he could stop himself, and he barely noticed Emma’s hand fly to her mouth. It didn’t help silence her laugh. 

Guffaw, really. Complete with wide eyes and shaking shoulders and Will kept nodding. Killian wasn’t sure what he was agreeing too, really. 

Maybe just the concept of this picture. 

Of Robin Locksley, laying flat on his stomach in what was clearly his living room, legs stretched out behind him with a t-shirt and shorts on. The shorts were really the crux of the problem. The very tight shorts. 

And the very obvious size of—

Robin’s thighs. 

Among other things.

“Shit,” Killian breathed, and he hadn’t really planned on saying that. His eyes were starting to water. Presumably from the lack of blinking, but Killian was almost positive that if he blinked the picture would disappear and he couldn’t really believe the picture was there at all. 

“Why do you have this?” 

Will clicked his tongue. “Gina told me to look at some email about some endorsement thing.” “And that led you to her camera roll?” “Oh my God, who says camera roll? Honestly?” “He does bring up a pretty good point,” Emma said, having to move her hand away from her mouth so she could speak. And hold both hands up in mock surrender when Killian’s head snapped her direction. “I just—” She leaned forward again, an arm on Killian’s shoulder because there was no room in this booth. 

He didn’t mind that part much. 

He minded...everything else. 

“Did you know this was a thing?” Killian asked. 

Will sneered. “Did I know that Locksley was packing that kind of ass under all that padding?” “Oh my God, why did you say it like that?” Emma mumbled. 

Will ignored her. “No, obviously not. That’s why I came over here to ask if you knew about it. Honestly I figured most of the ass was his pads, but this is—” “—Proof otherwise,” Killian finished. 

“Exactly.” Emma’s head fell, her whole body shaking with the force of her laugh and Killian was only marginally worried he was going to dislocate his shoulder when he moved his arm around her middle. “I think part of it’s the shorts,” Will added. “You know they’re...tight?” “Oh, phrase that like a question again, please.” “Do you not think those shorts are questionably tight?” “Have you not seen the pants Killian wears?” Emma asked. “He is not the person to ask about the overall tightness of fabric.” Killian’s jaw dropped again. He wasn’t entirely sure when he’d closed his mouth. “I’m sitting right here. We’re all aware of that right?” “Almost painfully so,” Will said. 

“That’s because you’ve got bony elbows.” “And you’ve got the second best ass of anyone on this team.” “Eh,” Emma objected. “I don’t know about that.”

Whatever heat exploded on either one of Killian’s cheeks was as surprising as it was nice, misplaced embarrassment that didn’t make any sense at all because he really did want his wife to think he had the best ass on this professional hockey team. 

“You know,” she continued, hair dangerously close to his mouth, “he has to order jeans. Like specifically sized for him?”

Will’s eyes widened to a circumference that could not have been healthy. “Seriously?”

“That’s because I’m a better skater than Scarlet,” Killian reasoned. 

“I don’t see how one has to do with the other.” “What’s your inseam measurement?” “That’s rude, Cap.” “You are stealing phones!” “Yell that a little louder, huh?” Emma laughed. “Here, here, let me look at that.”

The phone moved again, Killian doing his best to sit up a little straighter, but the booth was fairly unforgiving and Will’s elbow seemed determined to work its way into his pancreas. “I don’t know Scarlet,” she said. “I think your shorts theory is just that.”

“No, no, Em look—it’s because he’s laying on the floor, so the front of the shorts ride up and that makes everything look tighter.” “How do you explain the thighs then?” “I can’t think about Locksley’s thighs when there is so much ass to distract me.”

She dropped the phone, both Killian and Will making near identical noises that might have just been the word careful hissed out through gritted teeth and it really was only a matter of time before they drew an audience. 

“Why are you all sitting on the same side of this booth?” Ariel asked, sliding in across from them with a drink in her hand. “And what’s wrong with Cap’s face?” Will didn’t answer, just pushed Regina’s phone across the table. And Killian wasn’t sure what reaction, exactly, he was expecting, but it certainly was not passive indifference. 

Ariel shrugged. 

“Oh, yeah,” she said, “did you guys not know about this?” “This,” Killian echoed in disbelief. “You mean Locksley’s absolutely enormous ass? And thighs?” Will shook his head. “We just talked about this. We’re only focusing on the ass right now.” “Say that again,” Ariel challenged. Will was going to knock something over if he kept waving his arms through the air at his current rate. His right hand came very close to Killian’s water. 

“Why do you know about this?” Killian asked, well aware that it came out like an accusation even before Ariel’s eyes went dangerously thin. 

Emma was bordering very close to hysterical. “Are you under the impression that I don’t know what all of your asses look like?” Ariel asked, calm and even and Killian had no idea what to qualify the noise he made in response as. 

It was sharper than a scoff and harsher than a sigh, the feel of it scratching at his throat and the back of his teeth. Will appeared to be choking. 

On air, maybe. 

Or Ariel’s steady stare, wholly unperturbed by them and their reaction and the overall size of Robin’s lower body. 

And there were more footsteps coming their way. 

Belle dropped two plates of onion rings in the middle of the table before muttering “shove over,” to Ariel, seemingly unaware of what was happening or had happened and Killian still hadn’t closed his mouth yet. 

Emma’s right hand was back over her mouth. 

“Babe,” Will said, “are you aware that A is keeping track of the details regarding our glutes? And is now bragging about that?”

“I never once bragged,” Ariel argued. “You’re twisting my words.” “Someone’s twisting something here,” Emma murmured. 

Killian smirked. “Was that a workout joke, Swan?” “A bad one, maybe.” “Yuh huh.” To her credit, Belle only blinked once at their general ridiculousness, head at a slight angle, before her smile threatened to take up most of her face. She shrugged too. “It’s a medical thing, right? For Ariel, at least. I mean it’s not like you guys are constantly wearing pants during PT.” “This is the weirdest conversation we’ve ever had,” Will said. “And your fault,” Killian added, grunting when Will elbowed him purposely in the side. His pancreas might not survive this conversation. 

Ariel stuck her tongue out. “You’re the one making it weird, Scarlet. 

“Why are we talking about Ariel’s recollection of your guys’ glutes?” Belle asked. Will tapped the top of the phone, Ariel handing it off and it was probably inevitable that everyone in that restaurant got the opportunity to voice their opinion. “Whoa,” Belle said. “Is that Robin?” “I’m glad you haven’t memorized all of our asses,” Will mumbled. “Well, I’m fairly confident I could pick you out of a crowd, so—” “—Oh God, do we have to be here for this?” Killian grumbled. His arm was starting to ache a bit, still twisted around Emma and her laugh-prone body. She kissed the side of his shoulder. 

“I could tell it was you, waist-down,” she announced. “Without a doubt.”

“You think?” “You couldn’t?” Killian made another not-quite-human noise, regretting his middle seat more than ever. If only because he was almost willing to sacrifice his pancreas in order to find somewhere to make out with his wife. “I mean, the well-fitting jeans would definitely help,” Emma admitted. “But I think I’d be able to do it even if there were sweatpants involved, or something.”

“Where are you getting your pants tailored?” Belle asked, glaring at Killian like he’d been keeping state secrets. 

“Not tailored,” he corrected. “Just ordered from a specific company. Fits my thighs better. Why?” “We own so many belts. Like, it is absurd how many belts we own and how they’re threatening to take over the entire closet and it’s just—” “—I think she’s suggesting you’ve got small hips, Scarlet,” Ariel grinned. 

He flipped her off. “Can we focus? Please? And babe, seriously, you don’t think Robin’s whole situation here is getting accentuated by the shorts?” Belle’s eyebrows jumped, gaze dropping back down to the phone while her mouth twisted thoughtfully. “Nah,” she said after what felt like a small eternity. “That’s, uh—I think that’s all pretty natural. Look at how tight the shorts are around his thighs.” “I told you,” Emma said. 

“But how did we not know about this?” Will asked. “I mean it’s not like Locksley’s skating more than us.” “This is really messing with your head, isn’t it?” Will nodded quickly, chin nearly colliding with his chest in the process. And Killian’s other shoulder. “I cannot wrap my mind around it. Like—” Another over-enthusiastic arm wave. Killian pinched the bridge of his nose. “Under all that super dad exterior, and, you know, almost mild-mannered bullshit—” “—I once saw Locksley check someone so hard they nearly dislocated their shoulder,” Killian said. Will ignored him too. 

That seemed like a theme. 

He was almost waiting for Will to stand on the booth. 

“Beneath all of that,” Will continued, voice rising on every letter, “was the ass of a Greek god. Carved out of like marble or something. What did they carve Greek gods out of?” “I don’t think anyone was carving the gods specifically,” Killian said. Emma might have been crying. 

Ariel’s laugh was loud enough that it probably affected the ozone or something. 

“Ok, I’m not suggesting we literally carve up anyone,” Will argued. “God or otherwise. Just that...you know, Locksley’s got an ass.” “As opposed to not,” Belle said. 

“Babe! Look at this ass!”

That, it seemed, was the tipping point. Will’s voice cracked and he stood up so quickly, the table wobbled precariously, more than one hand reaching out to steady drinks and avoid any water damage to a phone they were not supposed to have. 

And drew another set of footsteps. 

That clacked pointedly when they moved. 

“What the hell is wrong with all of you?” Regina demanded. “Scarlet, did you read that email? Because we’ve got to get ahead on this and—”

Her teeth clicked when she snapped her jaw, gaze sweeping the table and the still-filled glasses. And the distinct color on every single one of their cheeks. 

Ariel tugged her lips behind her teeth. 

Regina didn’t say anything else for a moment — which was ten-thousand times worse than the opposite, a fact Killian was only too confident she was aware of. It kind of felt like they were about to get grounded. 

For the rest of their lives. 

Or, they just had to be on the receiving end of what Regina said next. 

“You could bounce quarters off that ass.”

Killian’s jaw was going to snap in half. His eyes watered again and his mouth went dry, every molecule of oxygen his lungs had previously possessed rushing out of him in a huff that actually forced him forward, the edge of the table colliding with his stomach. 

Will’s left knee bent awkwardly, as if it couldn’t possibly be expected to support his weight anymore, and Emma noticeably slumped on Killian’s other side. Ariel’s head fell to her arms, hitting the table with a soft thump, while both of Belle’s hands found her cheeks. 

Regina shrugged. 

“It’s true,” she said, nodding for even more absurdity. “Just like—comes right off. At a perfect angle and everything.” None of them responded. None of them were breathing. 

At least Killian wasn’t, staring at Regina like she’d yell psych at some point, but he was fairly positive that word wasn’t part of her vocabulary and he was really confident she would have been more upset about the phone-stealing thing. 

“Do you think we’re dead?” Will asked, the words not entirely sounding like words. “And like—I don’t know, this is hell or something? Purgatory, maybe?” “You’re really on this religious kick, aren’t you?” Emma quipped. “Between that and the Greek gods. Why only Greek, by the way? Do you think the Romans didn’t have good asses?” “I’m sorry, what?” Ruby snapped, appearing out of seemingly nowhere with her own phone out and maybe there were just magnets involved. Because her eyes fell almost immediately to the picture, darting back up only to flash back down. Several times. “Wow,” she said. “That’s—good for you, Gina.” “I know, right?” Regina asked, sounding especially pleased with herself. 

Killian was going to have to buy several packages of ChapStick if he kept breathing out of his mouth. “How are you not more mad about this?” “About my husband having a better ass than all of you combined?” Ariel guffawed, tears on her cheeks. “I don’t know, Rook is packing some pretty solid back-end stuff.” “Oh my God, phrase that better,” Will objected. “Do you all have opinions on this that we didn’t know about? Am I in last place?”

“Obviously,” Killian nodded. 

“Shut up, Cap.” “You brought this on yourself, Scarlet. I don’t know what to tell you.” “You have a dad butt.” “I’m sorry, what?” “Dad butt,” Will repeated slowly, like that would make it sound more insulting or less ridiculous. Neither one worked. And Killian glanced at Emma before he could stop himself. 

“Not true,” she promised. “Your jeans fit absurdly well. And—” Whatever else she was going to say was lost in yet another round of footsteps and questions and even Regina tensed slightly when Robin appeared next to her, an arm around her shoulder as soon as he was close enough. “Why are you guys all sitting on the same side of the booth?” “Nothing,” Will said at the same time Killian mumbled “no reason” and he could practically hear Emma’s eye roll. 

“Yeah, that all sounded real honest,” she sighed. 

“What kind of workouts are you doing?” Will asked sharply, and Belle’s head was buried in the curve of Ariel’s shoulder now. “Is it a lunge thing? Just a shit ton of lunges? How often do you lunge, Locksley?” “Are you insane?” Robin challenged. 

Killian nodded. “It’s entirely possible. But, seriously, if you had to ballpark, how many lunges would you say you do at home?”

Robin stared at them for a moment, the pinch between his eyebrows almost impressively deep before Regina whispered something in his ear and—he laughed. Louder than Ariel had and easier than he probably should have, not a hint of color on his cheeks. 

Which Killian found kind offensive, all things considered. 

“No extraneous lunges,” Regina replied. “He’s just better looking than all of you.” “Good use of the word extraneous,” Ruby muttered, both Emma and Belle humming in agreement. 

Robin’s arm noticeably tightened. “Do you guys not have lower-body muscle like that? You should learn how to skate better.” “Skating has nothing to do with it,” Killian argued. 

“I’m definitely a better skater than you, Cap.” “No. Absolutely not. Why are you posing for weird photos on Gina’s phone?” “Ok, several things,” Robin chuckled, holding up one finger when he started to list them off. “First, why are you guys going through my wife’s phone?” “Scarlet had to look at some email thing.” “And that led to looking at my camera roll?” Regina asked knowingly, Killian making some sort of triumphant noise. 

“See! I told you, Scarlet. Camera roll was not weird.” Will shook his head brusquely, eyes closed as if he couldn’t bring himself to look at any of them any more. “Doesn’t count, Cap. You and Gina have always had that weird mind-meld thing and—”

“—I’m not sure I want to meld minds with Jones,” Regina objected. 

“What’s thing number two?” Emma asked. Robin winked. Maybe this was actually some very lucid dream. “Thing number two,” he repeated, “is that I was laying down because, as you can see, with the photographic evidence, we were doing some pretty serious map-drawing for Rol’s social studies class and I needed more room to work.” “Because your ass is so big?” Will drawled. “More room for all that junk in your personal trunk?” “Jeez, Scarlet,” Ariel whined. “What was that about phrasing?” He rolled his eyes. 

And neither Robin nor Regina looked all that put out by any of this. Proud, even. 

It had to be a dream. 

“I do a normal amount of lunges,” Robin said. “For a normal person. Who just so happens to have been blessed with a much better ass than either one of you. That’s all there is to it.” “Honestly,” Regina added. “Something about a natural hockey player.” Killian and Will made more noise. Neither one of them were particularly dignified. “Buy shorts that fit,” Killian said, but the words failed to sound like the insult he wanted them. 

“Not your best work, Cap,” Will sighed. 

“Dad butt is not a thing.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Robin chuckled. “Does any part of this conversation make sense?” “The part where you’ve got the best ass,” Regina answered, eyelashes fluttering when Robin kissed her temple.

“Oh, yeah, that’s definitely true. Although Rook’s isn’t bad.”

“Flirt.” “This is an alternate universe,” Will declared. “And I am having no more of it. Locksley, I hope your massive ass slows you down on a breakaway at some point and then Gina will stop being so smug about this whole thing.” Regina held her hand out, waiting for someone to give her back her phone. So she could immediately stuff it in her back pocket. “Did you want me to be less into this?” 

“Gross, I hate it.” “Your fault, Scarlet,” Emma said again, only to get another glare and another middle finger and she threw an onion ring at him. 

He caught it. 

Ariel clicked her tongue in distaste. “That’s dumb. All of it and all of you. Absolutely stupid. And dad butt is not a thing. Medically, at least.” “Thanks a lot, Red,” Killian muttered. 

Emma pulled herself closer, the toe of her shoe hitting Killian’s ankle in the process, but he forgot about that rather quickly. As soon as she kissed his cheek and tugged on the front of his shirt. “I do not think you have a dad butt.” “You’re a beacon of support.” “Lunges are overrated anyway.” He scoffed, but the sound quickly became a smile and he’d never actually moved his arm. That made it easier to kiss her. 

And ignore the rather vocal cries of objection from the peanut gallery around them. 

They finished both plates of onion rings fairly quickly after that. 

[welllpthisishappening]

A Two-Man Advantage

That gif has absolutely nothing to do with this story! I don’t know that Killian and Roland ever actually interacted on the show! It doesn’t matter! So today this gif set posted and @shireness-says​ said she would like to see some pre-Blue Line Killian and Roland, so here is about 5K of just that, set in, like, September 2013. So, this is the start of the season Killian comes back to the Rangers after he gets hurt. With a side of snarky Ariel, Vankald-type emotions and allusions to things that happen at the very start of Blue Line. It’s all coming together, guys!  

-----

“Just for five minutes.”

“I don’t—“ Killian said, but Robin widened his eyes and the rest of the words appeared to evaporate. Right on the tip of his tongue. He slumped, practically going concave in front of his locker and it wasn’t that he was nervous, per se, but he was—

Nervous. 

There was really no other word for it. 

Well, maybe terrified. 

Killian had never been terrified of this game. Or the ice. Or the possibility of those two things together. But that was before everything else happened and the apartment he’d only just recently moved into felt impossibly large and far too small all at the same time. 

It was messing with his head. 

A lot of things were messing with Killian’s head. 

Because they were closing in on the end of camp and his hand didn’t hurt that much anymore—or least not as much as it had right after the accident and that had to count for something, even if Ariel was determined to take all the credit, and they had a game to play in three days. Seventy-two hours. Two more vaguely restless nights of something that could possibly be referred to as sleep. Honestly, he hated the paint on his apartment’s walls. 

And the look on Robin’s face. 

Imploring, that was the word for it. 

Killian was practically a walking thesaurus. Or something less lame sounding. He really hadn’t slept in a very long time. 

“Five minutes,” Robin repeated, like Killian wasn’t almost painfully aware of the constant passing of time. His eyes couldn’t get any wider. It couldn't have been healthy. “Maybe even less. Three, if I can get away with short sentences.” “They’re interviewing you,” Killian reasoned. “You’re not getting out of there for fifteen minutes at least.”

Robin grimaced. “I mean, you never know. If we rush through stuff and—” “—Then they’re only going to think that you’re trying to blow them off.” “I am. Obviously.” Killian barked out a laugh, some of the tension that had taken root between his shoulder blades over the last year and a half loosening slightly. That was unexpected. 

All of it was, really. 

He was terrified of this game. 

The return. That’s what one column had dubbed it, which was almost too heavy-handed, but Killian had already lost track of the number of times he’d read it and he didn’t even need the link saved to his bookmarks anymore. 

He could probably recite it verbatim. 

That would annoy Ariel. Maybe Killian would do that later, then. 

“The starving public wants your opinion on our chances this year,” Killian shrugged, and he hoped it wasn’t a sign when he fell off the stool. 

“And I’m the only one capable of forming coherent sentences on this team.” “Wow, scathing.” “Five minutes.” “Did we not just agree to at least fifteen? This conversation doesn’t make any sense.” “Yeah, well, get used to that,” Robin muttered. “Because the conversational tendencies of a three-year-old are not much better.” “Almost four,” Killian objected. He wasn’t sure why he was arguing on behalf of Roland. “And,” Killian added, “as much as I’d love to hang out with the kid while you give sound-bites—” “—This is an interview for the Daily News, weren’t you listening to me before?” Killian shook his head. “Absolutely not.” “Are you sleeping?” “Absolutely not.” Robin sighed. Killian did his best not to bury himself in the back corner of his locker. That probably would have done damage to even more of his body. And then Ariel would never let him skip PT again. 

“Maybe this will do you some good, then,” Robin said. 

“Babysitting your kid?” “I’m going to punch you.” “Don’t do that, Red will get mad at me.” “Yeah, well,” Robin shrugged, “you’re setting yourself up for it, at this point. You’re really not sleeping?” Another head shake. That one hurt a bit — as if Killian’s brain was bouncing off his skull as well, and one of the media relations people was already calling for Robin from the other side of the locker room. 

“And it’s not really baby-sitting,” Robin continued. “It’s more like—fifteen minutes of making sure he doesn’t break anything.” “Ask Scarlet.” “Are you kidding me?” Killian scoffed. “I’m going to tell him you said that.” “Seriously, does my punching threat not actually threaten you?” “Not at all, no,” Killian said, pushing up when he noticed the small blur in the corner of his eye and Roland Locksley always seemed to be holding a hockey puck. It was equal parts endearing and confusing. Killian couldn’t imagine where he kept getting them from. 

“Hook! Hook! Hook!”

“Rol, Rol, Rol,” Killian echoed, and his left knee cracked when he ducked down. Roland slammed into his chest anyway, still chanting directly in Killian’s ear at the same time his arms flew up, an elbow colliding with a shoulder and the word game was shouted more than once. 

Whoever gave Roland the hat he was wearing did not understand the concept of children’s sizes.

And Robin’s lips had very quickly disappeared behind his teeth. 

“Scarlet would end up on the ice with him, or something. And I can only ask him to do this so many times before it starts to get annoying.” “You're asking Scarlet to watch your kid a lot?” Killian asked. 

“Five seconds ago you told me to ask him right now.” “We’ve really got to work on your concept of time.” Killian exhaled, which might have been a very large mistake or another way to help ease some of the pressure currently accumulating at the base of his spine. “First it’s five minutes and then fifteen and now this conversation’s only been five seconds long. What’s your obsession with fives, by the way?” “When do you think you’ll be able to sleep?” Killian made a ridiculous noise — the feel of it scratching at the sides of his throat and those evaporated words, weighing down his tongue in almost perfect harmony with the weight of the three-year-old suddenly hanging from his side. He wobbled a bit when he stood back up. 

Mostly because Roland’s knee was digging into something that might have been his pancreas. 

He’d never graduated college. 

This was all he had going for him. 

That probably explained the insomnia. And the issues with his spine. He was a very depressing person. 

“He wanted to hang out with you,” Robin added softly, like that would make a difference. Killian grit his teeth. It totally made a difference. 

He leaned back — all too aware of the location of Roland’s knees and the puck that was already trying to move into the spot his fourth vertebrae was currently occupying — only to be met with equally wide eyes and a smile that wasn’t worried about the first preseason game of the year. 

Roland was very excited about the first preseason game of the year. 

His hat was falling dangerously close to his eyes. 

“Alright,” Killian said, only a little annoyed that the word came out a bit like a sigh. “But you should make sure to tell whoever interviews you that you play dirty, Locksley.” Roland hummed, a knowing sound made all the more obnoxious when he crossed his arms lightly over his chest. And rocked back on his heels. “I don’t see how that’s true at all. You were requested, Jones. By name. Or, you know—nickname.” “Yuh huh.” “Ask Gina if you want to double check.” “And where is Her Majesty right now?” “With Scarlet, talking about some kind of something that—” “—Is that the official name, then?” Robin didn’t look impressed. His arms definitely tightened, at least. And Killian’s smile threatened to do permanent damage to his cheeks, a weird stretch they absolutely were not used to in the inherently depressing string of moments that had become his life over the last year. He shouldn’t go out on the ice any time soon — the bitterness in the very center of him would probably melt it. 

“You fall back on sarcasm when you are freaking out about things,” Robin announced, and Killian didn’t quite freeze, but he also wasn’t sure how much more of this his spine was going to be able to handle. Roland’s knee dug deeper into his side. 

“Freaking out is very juvenile, don’t you think?” “No, I do not. And I get it, I do. But—” He clicked his tongue, a half-hearted shrug. “The game’s still the same and you’re—” “—Not,” Killian finished. “Far from it.” “Something about evolution, I guess.” Killian let out another laugh, darker than the first, hissing in a breath when Roland tilted his head up at the sound. “Something like that,” Killian mumbled. Someone called for Robin again, footsteps joining the voice, and it probably wasn’t a good idea to stay in the locker room with a nearly four-year-old kid. “Ok,” he added. “What do you want to do for fifteen minutes while your dad tries not to embarrass the franchise, Rol?” “No one’s embarrassing anyone,” Robin argued, waving a quick hand towards an impatient journalist. 

“Except maybe the kid. In this hat.” Killian tugged lightly on the fabric, pulling it over Roland’s ears, but that only served to press his hair across his forehead and the laugh that rang out around them was as loud as it was comforting. 

“The hat was a gift,” Robin said. 

“From who? Someone who wanted to make sure Rol doesn’t see anything?” “I can see, Hook,” Roland objected loudly, squirming in Killian’s hold and none of this was probably great for his hand. He wasn’t very worried about his hand at the moment. 

“Yeah, how many fingers am I holding up?” He shifted his weight — and the weight of the kid in his arms — ignoring Robin’s pointed stare and the increasingly loud huffs of the understandably annoyed reporter, so he could hold up several fingers. Someone was tapping their foot too. That might have been the new media relations person. 

Killian couldn’t remember her name. 

He was an asshole. A worried, terrified, absolutely exhausted asshole. 

And Roland had to push up his hat to see, smile somehow getting even bigger when he yelled “Three! Like me, right, Hook?” “Exactly,” Killian nodded. “Tell your dad to go away so we can hang out, huh?” “Dad, go!” Whatever noise Robin made at that was a little strangled, but Killian was admittedly far more preoccupied with the state of his lungs and their ability to function better in the last twenty-four seconds than they had in the last twenty-four weeks. 

It was annoying when Robin was right. 

And, strictly speaking, he wasn’t sure what had changed — that anything had, really. But there was this kid and this team and they both wanted him to do something good when he got back on the ice in three days. So, Killian figured he owed it to both of them to at least try. 

“Ok, ok,” Robin muttered, a step forward so he could kiss the top of Roland’s head. Or, hat. “I will call you guys when I’m done and—” “—Dad, I want to hang out with Hook!” Killian smirked. “I’m cooler than you, it seems.” “Yeah, you’re something,” Robin muttered. The reporter was starting to sound out of breath. Killian had to press his forehead to Roland’s shoulder to stop himself from laughing. “Alright, fifteen minutes and—” The reporter made a noise. It didn’t sound particularly pleasant. “An indeterminate amount of time,” Robin amended, “and I’ll be back and—just, please try not to break anything. Bones or otherwise.” “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Killian said. “We’ll be fine. Right, Rol?” He nodded enthusiastically, enough movement on his chin that it probably would have impressed several major league baseball scouts. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, what are we going to do, Hook?”

“Who bought your hat?”

Roland opened his mouth — presumably to answer the question, or just to shout more plans, but then the reporter was trying to ask his own questions and Killian gave Robin an exaggerated wink before walking out of the locker room. 

“Your dad thinks you’re going to break a lot of things, doesn’t he?” Killian asked, doing his best to get Roland back on his feet. It didn’t work. “You have a habit of doing that?” Roland blinked. “What’s a habit?” “Oh. Uh—well, it’s...you do it a lot. More than once. Like you seem to have a habit of knocking things over and moving your limbs a lot.” No response. And Killian wasn’t really sure where they were walking, but his feet kept moving and, technically, he was supposed to be at PT in ten minutes. He hadn’t mentioned that to Robin. 

It absolutely did not matter. Because the footsteps approaching Killian’s back were far closer to a sprint than they probably should have been and he swore he could taste Ariel’s frustration in the air. 

“Killian! Where do you think you’re going?” He turned slowly, not able to stop the way he winced at Ariel’s expression. The size of her eyes rivaled Robin’s, but there was a spark there that Robin hadn’t had — a determination that probably could have fueled most of the Tri-State area, or at least the island of Manhattan and—

Roland waved. 

“Hi, A,” he yelled. Directly into Killian’s ear. Again. 

She didn’t soften, really, was still doing her best to glare at Killian — but Ariel’s shoulders dropped slightly and she definitely exhaled, a step into Killian’s space. “Hey, Rol,” she said. “What are you doing here? With Killian?” “Hook and I are hanging.” “Hanging?” “Hanging,” Killian nodded. “And I wasn’t going to skip, Red. Honestly, I just—” “—Was going to bring a three-year-old to your PT appointment?” “Depends on how long Locksley takes with that reporter.” “Interviews?” “Unless you think Locksley’s giving up state secrets or something,” Killian said. “What would we call our scandal? GardenGate?” Ariel scowled. “That’s not even creative.” “Please, that’s hysterical. You’re trying not to laugh, Red, I know it.” “I’m trying not to do something, but—” She made a face, pushing up on her toes so she could fix Roland’s hat and the stupid thing was just determined to fall over his left eye. “Where did this come from?” Ariel asked. “Is this a hat for a giant?” “No,” Roland grumbled. “It’s mine!” “Yuh huh. And you’re not a giant, right?” “No, no, no, A. I’m three!” “We did this part, already,” Killian added, grimacing when Ariel flicked his bent elbow. “And we’re open to suggestions on activities that don’t include the ice or broken things.” “Concern over broken things gives me pause. And you act like you're not going to try and get on the ice at some point. That’s admirable.” “Apparently that’s a habit of Scarlet’s when he’s the one babysitting. The broken things.”

“Thanks for the clarification.”

Killian shrugged, trying to stay casual or nonchalant or something that didn’t betray his lack of sleep and growing concern over how well he’d skate, but then Roland started yelling, repeating the word habit in quick succession until it sounded like one syllable and a very large letter. Maybe Killian should have been more worried about his potential hearing loss instead of the state of his left hand. 

Or his preseason conditioning. “Are we honestly calling what you’re doing right now babysitting?” Ariel asked. “How do you think that’s going for you?” Killian rolled his eyes. “You flatter me, really, you do. These are also not suggestions.” “I wasn’t asked to babysit.” “Yeah, well, you’ve got that very important job to do.” She stepped on his foot. “Hey, c’mon,” Killian snapped, but he couldn’t really stumble backwards when he was still holding Roland and he was positive Ariel had planned it that way. Her smile had taken on a very pleased look. “We are open to suggestions and extra additions to the hang.” “Are you inviting me into your top-secret club?” “I don’t think it’s really all that top secret. I mean, you found us in the hallway.”

Ariel chuckled, a quick click of her tongue and fingers tugging lightly on the back of Roland’s team-branded t-shirt. “You’re very annoying. But, yeah—ok. My afternoon was mostly focused on you anyway, might as well hang out with someone I like.” “The compliments have to stop.”

“God, this is an unorganized conversation. Well, if you’re not going to the ice and you can’t stay in the locker room, then you can come upstairs.” Killian tilted his head, suspicion finding its way up his spine. He was thinking far too much about his spine. “That sounds like you’re just trying to get me to go to PT, Red.” “Wow, imagine that.” “Taking advantage of the situation.” “Please,” Ariel objected. “I’m offering you a place to sit down instead of just wandering the hallways for however long Locksley’s interview lasts.” “Probably longer if it does involve state secrets.” “Idiot.” “Mhmm,” Killian agreed. “What do you say, Rol? We go find some tape in Red’s office and—I don’t know, learn how to wrap ankles or something?” Ariel groaned, throwing her whole head back, which felt like overkill, but Killian didn’t move his gaze away from Roland or his slightly flushed cheeks. He nodded again, quick and a little jerky, more than enough movement that the hat fell off in the process and Killian couldn’t say anything before Ariel was ducking down and tugging the stupid thing over his head. 

“Wow,” she drawled. “You’re a fashion icon.” “Ha ha ha.” “No, no, you look good, really you do.” He wasn’t sure he got enough frustration into his narrowed eyes, but Roland was laughing again and maybe that was the only thing that mattered. “You haven’t given me an answer yet, you know,” Killian said, hitching Roland further up his side so he couldn’t yank on the hat. “We go get your ankles taped so you don’t get hurt when you do inevitably get on the ice?” “I’m not helping you sneak this kid onto the ice, Killian,” Ariel hissed. 

“Did I say that?” She sighed. 

Roland beamed. 

“Yeah, I think this is a good plan,” Killian said, a quick nod and smile flashed in Ariel’s direction. She stuck her tongue out. “This is your moment to shine, Red. Show off your skills. We could time you, if you wanted.” “Has anyone ever told you are strangely competitive?” “I think it’s been mentioned once or twice, yeah.” Killian didn’t add that it hadn’t been the case in the last few months, but if anyone knew that it was Ariel and, presumably, the person who was calling the ringing cell phone in his pocket. He assumed it was Elsa. It usually was. 

He was ninety-two percent positive she and Ariel had regularly scheduled video chat meetings to talk about him as well. 

Killian ignored the vibrating piece of technology, swinging Roland onto his back to avoid muscle strain in his forearm and that left him gasping just a bit when a knee moved again, but he was also walking already and Ariel had to jog to keep up. So, as far as victories went, that was a pretty good one. 

They marched upstairs, Roland’s quiet commentary a steady soundtrack up several flights, and Killian wasn’t out of breath exactly, but a three-year-old was deceptively heavy and maybe he should have rethought this plan. 

He hoped that wasn’t another sign. 

Of something. 

His phone started ringing again. 

Killian dropped Roland onto the nearest table, a mess of limbs and laughter and a foot that immediately collided with his right thigh, both of them ignoring Ariel’s glare. “I’m starting to see how things wind up breaking around you, Rol,” she muttered, already rifling through drawers and throwing a roll of tape at Killian. He caught it. “God, that’s going to do horrendous things to your ego.” “You act like I’ve got one,” Killian argued, and that was more out-of-place depressing nonsense. 

“Oh man, now I feel bad.” “Don’t Red. It’s not a big deal and—” “A, A, can we tape now?” Roland asked, barely getting one word out before he was on to the next one. He hauled his legs up, elbows on knees and a gaze that made it seem as if taping his ankles was the single greatest thing they could have been doing. 

Killian had no idea what was happening in the middle of his chest. 

Not quite warm, not quite uncomfortable, just kind of — nice. In the most basic form. He glanced at Ariel, one eyebrow arched expectantly and the roll of tape twisting around his index finger. 

She scrunched her nose. 

“He’s got a repeating thing, doesn’t he?” 

“He’s three,” Killian said. 

“Yeah, yeah—oh shut up,” she added quickly, when he opened his mouth to point out she was doing the exact same thing. “Luckily for us, repeating is a key part of taping ankles. Ok, Killian, take your sandal off.” “Wait, what?” “Gotcha there didn’t I?” “I don’t—” he started, but Ariel was already trying to tug his sandal off and the whole thing had reached absurd levels far quicker than he expected it to. He was going to lose the babysitting competition to Will. 

That was disappointing. 

And unspoken. 

“I can’t teach Rol how to tape ankles if he doesn’t get to do it,” Ariel explained. She held her hands out, getting Roland back on the floor and Killian wasn’t sure when he’d sat down on the table instead, but he’d lost control of the situation as soon as the situation began, so it probably wasn’t important. “Give me the tape, Killian,” she added. 

He threw it. It landed on the floor. 

“Not helping,” Ariel growled. “Ok, Rol, so see how Killian—” “—Hook,” he interrupted, and Killian couldn’t help the smile tugging at the ends of his mouth. 

Ariel nodded. “Hook needs to flex his foot for me.” “How am I going to push off then?” Killian asked. “You’ve got to be able to have some movement even with the tape, Rol. Otherwise you won't be able to go fast and—” “—I want to go fast!” “That’s definitely the point.” Ariel rolled her whole head. “I’m not going to make you immobile. God. Just—do you turn your ankles a lot when you angle in on net?” “Eh,” Killian shrugged, a fairly pitiful deflection when Ariel’s eyebrows shot into her hairline. “Sounds like a yes. Why didn’t you say that? We should probably avoid that.” “We’ve got other things going on.” “Self-sacrificing is not a cute look on you, you know.” “Am I trying to be cute for you? When am I going to meet this guy you’ve been dating?” “There is a child here,” Ariel sneered, swatting at Killian’s shins when he grinned. 

“I bet he’d like to meet your boyfriend too. He owns a restaurant, right?” “Yes, uptown. And, uh—I don’t know, maybe we can go up there after your game.” “My game personally?” Ariel gnashed her teeth, another victory in a competition Killian was very likely having with himself. He wanted to score in the preseason game. If only to prove something to himself. “Rol,” Ariel continued, “can you grab that can off my desk?” He rushed over, knocking several other things over in the process, and Killian yelped when Ariel sprayed his foot. “That is freezing!” “What is it?” Roalnd asked. “Pre-tape,” Ariel answered. “So things get a little more sticky and Hook stops hurting his ankles when he takes that wide angle to get into the high slot.” “And score?” “Absolutely.” “Is that a note of confidence I hear, Red?” She flicked his shin again, Roland talking a mile a minute about goals and angles he absolutely did not understand, and Killian’s chest was doing that thing again. Expanding. To fit his larger-than-normal heart. “He’s going to score, don’t you think?” Ariel asked Roland. 

He jumped. Killian assumed that was the answer. 

And he knew he was going to score in now, less than seventy-two hours. 

“Here,” Ariel continued, tugging on pre-tape and actual tape and moving Roland’s hands so he could twist both of them around Killian’s foot. “Yeah, just like that, make sure you get it on his skin. You’ve got to find a rhythm, almost. Killian, stop moving.” “I’m not trying to,” he groused. “Stop moving, Hook,” Roland yelled, and he was running out of oxygen to sigh as dramatically as he wanted to. 

“You’ve created a monster already, Red.” “Please,” she muttered, “look at those hands, he’s made for this.”

Roland nodded, more twists and tears, far more tape on Killian’s ankle than he’d used in his entire career. “I think that just means he’s got quick wrists,” Killian said. “Makes him good in shooting lanes.” “Is that all you think about?” “Should I be thinking about other things?” “Hook, Hook, you should get a power play goal,” Roland announced, letting Ariel move his hands when he circled the arch in Killian’s foot half a dozen times with tape.

“You think? Killian asked. 

“It’d be good.” “I mean, any goal would be good, but—yeah, ok. A power play goal and tell you what, if I score, you can keep that puck and then you won’t have to keep stealing them from wherever you’re getting them.” Ariel flushed. 

Killian’s jaw cracked when it dropped. “Oh my God, Red. Are you getting pucks for this child?”

“No. Of course not.” “No?” “No.” “A takes them from the room,” Roland said. 

“What room?” Killian pressed, the color in Ariel’s cheeks starting to rival her hair. “The equipment room? Does the equipment manager of this team know that?”

Ariel’s face might have been on fire. 

And Killian refused to control his laughter, free and easy and something he hadn’t felt in a very long time, Roland joining in even if he didn’t entirely understand the reason behind it. “From the room,” he said again. “But, but—what’s his name, A?” “Kristoff,” she grumbled. “Yeah, he gets mad sometimes.” “Because people keep stealing his pucks?” Killian suggested. 

“Ok, that is not what’s happening. And, you know what—it’s fine. This is a professional hockey team and they absolutely have the money to spare on the few pucks I’m—” “—Stealing.” “Shut up, Killian.” He snickered, another nod that was definitely more sarcasm than anything else. “10-4, Havfrue. I deflect to your area of kleptomaniac expertise.” “God, you are insufferable. I take it back, you can’t come to the restaurant or meet the very nice people I met the other day who live a couple blocks away.” “Just them specifically?” “I bet Scarlet is a better babysitter than you.” “Wrong, nothing’s been broken yet. So. Rol, just keep taping, kid.”

Roland did as instructed, bending at the middle so he could look at the underside of Killian’s heel, and he was using far too much tape, but no one said anything to him and—

“Ah,” Killian gasped when Roland somehow yanked on his leg. In a way he was not at all prepared for. Everyone in the room froze, Ariel looking like she wasn’t breathing at all and Killian only felt a little absurd when he slid off the table, trying to balance on one foot when he crouched down. 

Roland refused to meet his gaze, lips disappearing almost exactly like Robin’s had. He flinched when Killian rested his hand on his shoulder. 

“I’m fine,” he promised softly. 

Roland blinked. Several times. And there weren’t tears, but the threat of them hung heavy and, if asked, Killian would guarantee that’s why he did what he did next. He was also very curious. And very...sure. 

“Who got you the hat?” he asked, a finger pointed at the thing still barely clinging to his hair. “Mr. or Mrs. V?”

Ariel gasped. 

And Roland’s eyes got very wide, a slower-than-usual nod. “Ms. V did. She—she said it was for good luck. For the games.” A chest-thing hat trick was happening — all warmth and feeling and now Killian was actually going to have to call El back if only to make sure she knew what a giant pair of saps her parents were. She probably already knew. 

Killian took a deep breath, tongue darting out to lick very dry lips. Roland kept staring at him, nervous obvious on his face, and Killian’s knees weren’t all that happy about his prolonged crouch, but he didn’t try to move and he didn’t really want to. “For luck, huh?”

“Yuh huh. Good goals.” “I think we can work on that this season, don’t you?” “Yeah?” It was an impossibly large question. After everything — accidents and slap shots, hospitals and beeping machines, good and bad, wins and losses, careers cut short and second chances that Killian knew he couldn’t waste again. He nodded. 

“Yeah,” he echoed. “Good goals and lots of wins. And—” He reached up, pulling the hat off and it wasn’t easy to stay balanced when he got it back on Roland’s head, but they also avoided getting hair in the kid’s eyes, so that was another victory. He was going to brag to Will about his babysitting prowess later. “I think this means you’re Mr. and Mrs. V’s new favorite, which means you’re basically family, right?” Ariel made another noise. Not quite a gasp, but absolutely more emotional and Killian didn’t look at her. 

He didn’t need his own eyes going glossy. 

The lump in his throat was problematic enough. 

“I mean,” he continued, “Mr. and Mrs. V are pretty much—” “—Your mom and dad?” Roland asked. 

Killian hissed, not sure of that answer either, but that wasn’t the conversation he wanted to have and the lump was definitely getting bigger. “Something like that,” he admitted. “So, you’re like—grandson once removed. Or something.” “Something,” Ariel mumbled. She was sitting on the table now, hands moving quickly when she tried to brush away incriminating emotional evidence on her cheeks. 

Killian smiled. “My point is, Rol, you’ve got this great nickname for me and I don’t have one for you. That’s a bad family look.” “I get a name too?” Roland exclaimed. 

“Should be something good. As good as Hook is. That’s—” “—Nautical,” Ariel said. “You know, Captain Hook and all that.” “Is that offensive?” “Are you offended?” “I mean—” “—What about mate?” she cut in. “You know, like...first mate? You’re definitely Hook’s best friend, Rol.” “That’s true,” Killian nodded, if only to make sure the look on Roland’s face stayed there for a few more moments. Like he was hearing the greatest news in the world. 

“You’re my friend too, Hook,” Roland said. Definitely the greatest news, then. 

“Good. That’s—that’s good. Ok then, mate. Now that my ankle’s all taped up, what do you say to sneaking onto some ice? Bet we could get Scarlet to go along with it?” Roland didn’t answer, just started jumping again, arms around Killian’s neck and legs circling his middle when he stood back up. That made it more difficult to get his sandal back on, eyes flitting Ariel’s direction, but she didn’t say anything, just smiled and shook her head in something almost like acceptance.

“C’mon,” she said, “I know a place where we can steal some pucks.” And it wasn’t hard to get Will to agree to the quasi-practice, grabbing skates from the equipment room as well until Robin swung open the door to find them practicing one-timers in front of the far net. “Why am I not surprised?” he yelled. 

Killian stopped moving, dousing Roland with a snow shower of ice. “You want to come out here now that you’re done promising how good we are?” “Are we not as good as I promised we were?” “Depends on what you were quoted,” Will said. “C’mon, Locksley, we’ll go up against Killian and the kid. Show ‘em how it’s done.” “Done what, exactly?” “I don’t know. Winning or something.” “Yeah, that sounds super confident,” Killian laughed. Robin got on the ice anyway — and they let Roland score no less than sixteen times, a puck in his pocket when they finally went back to the locker room to get changed. 

And three days later, once Killian scored on the power play in the first period of the first preseason game of the year.