#will scarlet's instagram from the second wedding is epic

[welllpthisishappening]

The PyeongChang Triple (14/15)

It’s the Olympics. The. Olympics. And Emma’s running out of post-it notes to write schedules and plans on and there are more games and more expectations and not enough time for any of it. She’s fine. Totally. Absolutely. If she could just sleep. Or stop feeling as if her knees are going to give out every time she stands up. Or get Ruby to stop staring at her like that. It’s fine. After all Killian Jones, captain of Team USA, keeps promising it will be.

He’s going to win. Again. At the Olympics. And Killian’s not nervous. Not about that. It’s hockey. He could play hockey in his sleep. Probably. He’s never tried that. But he probably could. And, sure, there are expectations and games and schedules and barely any time for what he wants to actually be doing, but winning a Gold medal isn’t bad. After all, Emma Swan, temporary New York Rangers Olympics team social media manager, keeps promising it will be.

They’re fine. They’re going to win. Together.

Rating: Mature. Swearing, hockey-type violence, lotsa making out. Word Count: 9.4K of family fluff. Family. Fluff. AN: The final couple of moments in this chapter were sitting in the back corner of my brain from the very first moment I started writing this story, so I’m super psyched that they’re finally going to be out there on the internet. I cannot thank you guys enough for every click, comment, message, flail. All of it. It’s the best. You’re the best. I’ve written so much Olympic fic. This story would be nothing without @laurnorder​ & @distant-rose​.  Also on Ao3 and FF.net

“Cap!”

Killian’s head snapped up, eyes going wide at the sound of Ruby’s voice and the clack of her heels and he was half certain a reporter had been elbowed in the eye when she tried to push their way in front of his locker.

“God,” Ruby hissed. “Get out of the fucking way.”

Will chuckled, stuffing his gloves onto the top shelf and tugging a sweatshirt on over his team-branded t-shirt. “Lucas, you’re going to scare off that guy from SI, they’re doing some kind of super important, feature on Cap.”

“Shut up, Scarlet, jeez,” Ruby glared, shoving another reporter out of the way and the Sports Illustrated guy did look a little scandalized, eyes narrowing and pen flying across his notebook like he was taking stock of the chaos in the New York Rangers locker room. “Now, Cap,” she continued, kicking at his foot for good measure.

He hadn’t taken his skates off yet.

He hadn’t showered yet.

He’d scored two goals and answered questions about some kind of threepeat and tried not to think of the possibility of missing anything in the middle of the home opener, the pre-game walk down an obnoxiously blue carpet feeling just a bit longer than normal when he knew Emma wasn’t there.

Or, at least, wasn’t supposed to be there.

Killian had a sinking suspicion she’d been in her office anyway – walkie talkie in hand and several different lists on her desk. He’d caught sight of Merida at one point, in between signing autographs and posing for photos, hair a bit more wild than normal as she jogged back towards the stands and an anxious looking Mary Margaret.

David, curiously enough, was nowhere to be found.

“Uh, Killian.” He glanced at the voice – the Sports Illustrated reporter and his notebook and, really, who used notebooks anymore? Why was he worried about a reporter’s notebook? Ruby groaned loudly. “Do, you, uh,” he continued, glancing back down at the notes. “Do you want to just talk for a couple of minutes and then I can get out of your hair. I bet you want to shower and, uh, we can just follow-up later this week?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine Andrew,” Killian answered cautiously, hoping the guy’s name was actually Andrew. He was only half listening.

There was, after all, a game to play and a wife to worry about and it was October – three months after the elopement that didn’t really count as an elopement since everyone knew and there was a reason Emma wasn’t supposed to be at opening night.

October meant nine months and nine months meant Matthew Jones.

Oh fuck.

Killian’s thumb skid along the back of his palm, hand suddenly shaking too much to put his wedding ring back on and Ruby made some kind of impossible noise in the back of her throat, something that sounded a bit like I was trying to tell you, as he practically jumped off the bench in front of his locker.

“Got there, huh?” Ruby asked knowingly and he couldn’t breathe.

He was a walking cliché. Well, no, not walking. He couldn’t move. He was frozen to the floor in the Rangers locker room, pads clinging to his skin and hair matted to the back of his neck and the world was spinning far too quickly.

“You should probably shower,” Robin said, nodding at Killian and he still hadn’t moved. Will was practically cackling.

“Cap,” Ruby said slowly, taking a step towards him and he jerked back when her hand landed on his chest. “You’ve got to move. You know, at some point.” There were still reporters – a semicircle around his locker with phones out and recorders out and Killian could vaguely make out the sound of a camera clicking somewhere. That was probably Sports Illustrated.

“Shit,” he breathed and Will laughed even louder, doubling over as he clutched his side. Robin glared at him, taking a step around Killian to smack against his shoulder and mutter shut up, God.

Will hummed, smile still plastered on his face when he stood upright. “Right, right,” he said seriously. “Because this isn’t the funniest thing you’ve ever seen in your life.” Ruby still hadn’t moved her hand and Killian knew he was breathing – he had to be – but there didn’t seem to be much proof that he was thinking, mind going blank before it raced forward, shifting ahead at some kind of impossible speed.

And all he saw was ideas – hopes and maybes that he’d come up with in the better part of the last nine months, a tiny boy with Emma’s eyes and a stick in his hand and it was always snowing. Every time he pictured it, there was always snow on the ground and they were always outside, on a patch of ice in the park with smiles on their faces and laughter hanging in the air and all of it had existed in some weird, nebula of maybe for as long as he could remember.

Until now.

“Shit,” Killian repeated, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes closed like he was trying to wake himself up. “We’ve got to go. We’ve got to go right now.”

Ruby rolled her eyes, throwing her hands up dramatically. “Yeah, see, that’s what I’m saying.” “When?” “Excuse me?” “When, Lucas?” Ruby shook her head, mouth hanging open slightly and her hands were still in the air. The camera clicked again. “Oh my God,” Killian sighed, tugging his pads up over his head and throwing them in a pile at his feet.

“Kristoff’s not going to appreciate that,” Will murmured and Killian glared at him.

“Deep breaths, Cap,” Robin said, hand falling on his shoulder. “Lucas,” he continued, glancing at the slightly stricken media relations director. “He’s asking if Emma was here when she went into labor.” Killian sagged forward slightly at the word, eyes going wide and it felt like the entire goddamn building had collapsed if the rushing in his ears was anything to go by. Robin’s hand tightened on his shoulder.

“Scarlet, go get him a shirt, will you?” Robin asked and Killian wondered when he’d decided to seize control of the entire situation. That was probably for the best. “And, uh, maybe go find, A too. His hands all fucked up.”

Will nodded deftly, a blur of team-branded merchandise and his phone already pressed against his ear. “My hand is fine,” Killian mumbled, tugging it back to his side so the small army of reporters around them wouldn’t start asking questions about the slightly nasty bruise that was blooming just above his wrist.

Robin hummed – a quiet agreement that felt a bit like he was just placating Killian – and Ruby had turned her attention to the scrum, shouting orders and denying requests for comments with practiced ease.

“Out,” she said sharply, pushing on the shoulder of a reporter and waving her other hand in front of a camera when a flash went off. “I’m serious. We’re done. You guys have to go talk to Arthur anyway. Don’t you want to talk to Arthur? Of course you do.” “She looks like the fucking Pied Piper,” Killian mumbled and Robin chuckled lightly. He still hadn’t moved his hand, but he’d pulled his phone out of his pocket at some point, screen flashing with half a dozen messages.

Henry kept popping up.

“Yeah, I’m not sure that’s how that story goes,” Robin argued, laughing softly and his phone made another noise. Henry was calling now. “If I walk away from you right now, are you going to actually fall over?” “No, he’s going to make a goddamn fist,” Ariel shouted, appearing in the room as quickly as if she’d teleported there and for a group of people who, just a few minutes ago, wanted him to move, Killian suddenly felt like they were all one, giant obstacle.  

“Red, we don’t have time for this,” Killian sighed.

“Can you not walk and make a fist at the same time? Because if you can’t do that then we’ve got even bigger problems on our hands. Ha, I made a joke.” “Ariel.” She widened her eyes meaningfully, pulling her hand away from his side and Killian hissed when she pressed her thumb against his wrist. “Jeez, relax,” she muttered. “She’s fine. They all went with her anyway.” “What?”

Killian’s head whipped back towards Ruby – an apologetic look on her face and the reporters were all gone, but Robin’s muted voice just a few feet away sounded like he was actually interrogating Henry.

“Middle of the third period,” Ruby said, finally answering Killian’s question.

He sighed, running his free hand through his hair and Ariel kept pressing her thumb against his palm, pushing his ring back down his finger. “She wasn’t supposed to be here,” Killian grumbled and Ruby shrugged.

“Ah, well, opening night. There was blue carpet to worry about. How did you not know she was here? Didn’t you leave at the same time?” “No,” Killian shook his head. They hadn’t. He’d left two hours before he was supposed to be on the ice for morning skate, Emma wrapped up in blankets and a small mountain of pillows behind her back, several stacks of paper taking over his side of the bed.

He hadn’t wanted to go.

It was, per the calendar on the wall, any day now territory and the last few preseeason games had been nothing short of terrifying, the prospect of missing something lingering in the back of Killian’s mind for the past week.

He hadn’t scored until the home opener. There was probably a cliché there. He’d have to ask Mrs. Vankald.

Oh shit – the Vankalds. Someone should call the Vankalds. He should call the Vankalds. And Liam and El and Anna and maybe David and Mary Margaret? No, no, they were at the game.

“Cap, you can’t flex your hand like that,” Ariel mumbled, prying his fingers apart and Killian blinked twice, refocusing on Ruby.

“I knew she’d try to get here,” Killian said, but there was a sense of pride in his voice that was probably obvious, even to the reporters sitting in post-game with Arthur.

“Of course she did,” Ruby grinned. “Waited until after you scored too. Something poetic about that, huh?” Killian sighed, but his pulse had picked up at some point and Robin was still mumbling on the phone.

A kid.

They were going to have a kid.

Killian smiled at Ruby, eyebrows lifted slightly and, well, there was something vaguely poetic about it. Maybe they’d let him keep that puck. He’d have to ask Kristoff.

“Here,” Will said suddenly, tossing a t-shirt in Killian’s direction. “Where’s Locksley? Why aren’t we leaving yet?” “We can leave now,” Robin answered. “Or, we should leave now.” Killian stared at him, a hundred questions on the tip of his tongue and Robin just nodded at him, twisting his lips when he tried to make a sound that was supposed to be encouraging.

“Should?” Killian repeated, a flash of terror shooting down his spine. She wasn’t supposed to be at the Garden. He shouldn’t have played. He should have been home and she should have been home and he should have been there when it happened.

Robin nodded again. “Henry said they got to the hospital like fifteen minutes ago. The doctors are in there now, and, uh, I guess we’ve got some leeway time-wise, but we should go. Put a shirt on, Cap.” “Henry’s there?” Killian asked and Robin chuckled lightly.

“David and Mary Margaret too. David is, and I’m quoting here, completely freaking out.” Ariel laughed softly, knocking her knuckles on Killian’s shoulder and he still hadn’t actually put a shirt on. Or taken his skates off. “You smell terrible,” she muttered. “And your hand is fine. How did that even happen?” “I just played a hockey game, Red,” Killian said, running his hand across his face. “God, where are my jeans?” “Cap, you didn’t wear jeans,” Will answered. He pushed a pair of dress pants into Killian’s hands and kicked his shoes closer to him. “Happy home opener.” It took an almost inexcusable amount of time to get his skates off, fingers trembling just a bit with anxiety and excitement and he had to squeeze his eyes closed at least three different times to try and keep his breathing even.

There was a car waiting for them outside the team entrance – he’d have to thank Regina at some point – and Killian somehow ended up in the middle of the backseat, Ariel and Robin on either side of him.

Will propped his feet on the dashboard, earning a quiet reprimand from Ruby as leaned into the backseat. “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” she promised. “Tell Em... “ She sighed loudly, shoulders heaving slightly with the force of it and Killian couldn’t even bring himself to make fun of the slightly glossy eyes in front of him.

“It’ll be fine,” he said, not sure if he was trying to convince himself or Ruby.

Ruby grinned, tapping her finger against his wedding ring. “Of course it will. You guys are...agh, whatever, sentiment is stupid. Make sure you let her know you won. She wanted to know what the score was when she left, probably texted you in the back of the goddamn car.” Killian nodded, mouth just a bit dry and smile tugging on the ends of his mouth. “Probably,” he agreed and he couldn’t think of a single thing he’d ever loved more than Emma Swan.

“Go be an awesome dad,” Ruby finished and Will’s foot fell off the dash. She slammed the door shut and Killian’s stomach flipped. Or maybe his heart sped up. And his lungs felt like they were shrinking and expanding.

None of it made sense.

They were going to have a kid.

Will was talking a mile a minute in the front seat, planning Matthew Jones’ life and his college options and the merits of being a defender in the National Hockey League and Killian didn’t hear any of it. He twisted slightly, trying to pull his phone out of his pocket without Robin or Ariel noticing.

It didn’t work – he could practically feel their eyes meet over the top of his head, knew they were staging some sort of unspoken conversation and, probably, just a bit concerned about his current mental state.

There were several dozen text messages – Mary Margaret must have updated the entire Vankald family, both Elsa and Anna demanding updates and status and time in between contractions and Mrs. Vankald had left a voicemail.

Killian barely stopped scrolling long enough to notice any of them, thumb tracing down the screen and Ruby had absolutely been right. He knew she was.

Emma had absolutely texted him in the backseat of the car.

Hey, so...I broke the rules. And I know you know because Mer was absolutely terrified you were just going to start yelling on the carpet pre-game. But breaking the rules also means I’ve kind fucked up our schedule here.

You see where I’m going with this? I hope so. Otherwise this is weird. And you’re on the ice still. Nice shot, by the way. Totally froze that goalie.

Henry said it’s because the Islanders are crap again. They are, but it was a nice shot too. Good first goal of the season.

Oh fuck. God, did the websites you read mention how much this fucking hurts? Like a lot. A shit ton.

Killian froze, thumb hovering over the top of the screen and he could feel Robin staring at him, heard the soft crack of his jaw when he opened his mouth to ask if everything was alright and he just brushed him off.

There were two more text messages.

Anyway. David and Reese’s are here and Regina took Rol home, but he thought it was a good goal too. And we’re leaving. Left. Past tense. Have left. Ruby’s supposed to pull you out of post.

I know I was supposed to be home when this happened and you were supposed to be home and the schedule’s all fucked, but...we really want you here.

He dropped his phone and Robin did ask are you ok and everything alright and Killian nodded slowly, heart, apparently, trying to work its way out of his chest.

“Drive faster,” he said, not sure if they could or how they’d get twenty blocks downtown with so much traffic on a Friday night, but he was absolutely positive he didn’t care.

Will chuckled and Robin leaned back against the seat, resting his head on the edge with a smile on his face. Ariel took a picture, muttering something about play-by-play and Colorado and Killian, almost, didn’t care about that either.

“Sure thing, Cap,” the driver agreed, weaving through cars, his hand never leaving the horn until they worked their way out of Chelsea.

“You’ll be fine,” Robin promised, leaning forward to push Killian’s phone back in his hand.

It took half an hour to get downtown and Killian’s ears were ringing from the sound of honking horns and near accidents and none of it mattered when he practically sprinted through the automatic doors of the hospital.

He didn’t know where to go.

They were there and he had no idea where to go – David hadn’t answered his goddamn phone.

“Come on, Cap,” Ariel said, nudging her shoulder into his. “There’s got to be a hotel directory somewhere. Or, you know, something for you to do than just pretend to be some kind of statue in the middle of the doorway.” “Ah, at least he’s promoting the team though,” Will muttered, shooting a smile over his shoulder when he brushed past both of them. “Emma’ll like that. Relating to the community even through impending fatherhood. Insert cliché about taking one for the team here.” Killian couldn’t even muster a shut up, Scarlet, far too focused on finding a human being who knew where Emma would be.

Or, rather, just Emma.

He just wanted to find Emma.

It felt a bit like those car horns – her name playing on a loop through his head until he was almost certain the letters were pounding on the inside of his brain, some kind of ridiculous mantra that he hoped would just set him moving in the right direction.

“There’s got to be a receptionist right?” Killian asked, gaze darting towards Ariel who nodded, supportive smile on her face like she was encouraging her eight-month old to stop throwing toys across the room.

“You want us to split up, Cap?” Will asked, mouth twisting slightly and Ariel hit him. The two of them glared at each other for half a moment and he wasn’t sure if that’s what did it – the fighting and the arguing and this stupid team, but Killian’s feet were moving before he’d even realized he’d decided, walking towards a waiting area and a woman in patterned scrubs.

She gasped softly when she realized who he was.

“Oh,” she mumbled, nearly knocking a chart off the desk in front of her and the sound of Ariel smacking Will again were only dimly noticeable over the rest of the waiting room. “You’re Killian Jones.” “I’m looking for my wife,” Killian said, bypassing greetings and anything even resembling polite. He just wanted to find Emma.

The woman's eyes widened and for one, vaguely terrifying moment Killian’s mind darted to all the things that could have been wrong, everything that could have happened in the half an hour it took to get downtown and David had never answered his phone.

There were shoes behind him suddenly and footsteps and two hands on his either one of his shoulders and they probably looked as ridiculous as Killian felt – Robin and Will flanking him and all three of them in a ridiculous amount of team-branded merchandise.

“He’s freaking out,” Will muttered traitorously, flashing the woman a conspiratorial smile.

Robin groaned loudly. “Emma Swan,” he added. “Probably came in about an hour ago. Two other people with her, teenage kid too.” “Absurdly pregnant,” Will continued. “Also likely shouting.” The woman stared at them, eyes still wide when she started typing and the computer in front of her made a noise that, apparently, it wasn’t supposed to. “Emma Swan?” she repeated and Robin nodded. “There’s no one here under that name.”

“What?” Will snapped, leaning over the counter like he was going to teach the computer some kind of lesson. Emma-protection mode, activated. “How is that possible? We’re in the right spot, aren’t we? God, listen, if you lost Emma, Cap’s probably going to rampage through this whole hospital.”

The woman shrugged slightly, tongue darting over her lips as her eyes bounced between all three New York Rangers in front of her.

Oh.

“Jones,” Killian said quickly and both hands fell off his shoulders. He could feel a pair of incredulous stares boring into the side of his head and he shifted on his feet, trying not to actually stutter over the words. “It’s, uh, she probably used Jones.” There was more clicking and a slightly different computer noise and the woman’s eyes weren’t quite as dangerously wide when she looked at them again. “Third floor. 331. Follow the yellow line on the ground until you hit the corner, take a left, another left and you should be right there.” Killian nodded, half turned towards the stairs with Will and Robin on his heels when he heard good luck, Cap echoing behind him.

He took the stairs two at a time – Ariel shouting to slow down, jeez, you’re going to pull something. He didn’t.

He practically jumped over the fucking last step.

“Yellow line, yellow line,” Killian muttered as soon as his feet hit the third floor and it wasn’t quite as loud there as it had been before, everything feeling a bit slower and more important and this was real. This was happening.

Mary Margaret found them first – she was probably waiting for them – leaping out of the seat she’d been slumped in and tugging on a fist-full of Killian’s t-shirt as soon as she reached him. “Is everything…” he started and Mary Margaret beamed at him.

“Go,” she said, nodding towards the room next to them. “You might have to fight David though. He’s gone full dad-mode.” “Yeah, that’s kind of my gig now,” Killian muttered before he could stop himself and Mary Margaret’s smile got even bigger. She pressed up on her toes, kissing his cheek quickly before pushing him bodily into the room with so much force he nearly stumbled over his own feet.

God, there were a lot of machines – everything beeping and the TV on in the background and David sitting in a chair next to Emma’s bed, reading something off his phone that sounded like in-game stats.

The floor creaked slightly when Robin and Will leaned against the door frame and David stopped talking abruptly, twisting around in the chair.

And it felt like everything stopped – frozen in the middle of a hospital room with an absurd amount of machines and half a hockey team a few feet away. Emma tilted her head when her eyes met his, the smile on her face shooting straight through Killian, like it had landed right in the center of him or something equally absurd.

“Nice shot,” she said, gritting her teeth tightly as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

Killian moved out of instinct, hand wrapped tightly around hers in an instant and Emma glared at the bruise on his wrist. “It’s fine, Swan,” he said softly, left hand reaching up to brush away the hair that had fallen across her forehead. “I’m fine.” “That makes three of us.” He nearly fell over. And he wasn’t sure who squeezed the other’s hand harder, trying to will every single human emotion into one movement.

“Yeah?” Killian asked and his voice felt like it scratched his throat.

Emma nodded. “I mean, saying better now seems pretty lame, right? So, yeah, we’re fine.” “The doctor?” “Around,” Emma shrugged and he sighed softly. She’d done it for the reaction. He knew it. “Was here a few minutes ago. Apparently we’re almost to the active stage, which sounded kind of menacing, but means there’s epidural options. So, you know, cool.” “Cool,” he repeated. He should probably stop doing that. He should probably remember a few other words. Or maybe sit down. He couldn’t sit down.

David had started reading hockey stats again.

“Uh, David,” Killian interrupted and Emma’s eyebrows shot up her forehead. “I, uh, I got it. I was there. I can relay stats pretty easily.” It wasn’t the get out it probably should have been, but David seemed to understand, nodding slowly as he stood up. He kissed the top of Emma’s forehead, mumbling something under his breath that left her laughing slightly, body shaking on top of another pile of pillows.

“How’d you get so many pillows?” Killian asked after David left, nodding towards the collection behind her back.

“David stole them.” “Stole them? Emma nodded. “Went on some kind of room-to-room search, demanding their pillows for a needy expectant mother with back issues. It was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen.” Killian barked out a laugh, but he was still standing up, shuffling his weight between his feet and trying to remind himself how fine all of this was going to be.

“Sit,” Emma said. “You’re freaking me out.” “I’m freaking you out?” Killian asked and they were back to repeating. Emma twisted her eyebrows slightly, one side of her mouth pulled up at the challenge and Killian ran his hand through his hair, tugging tightly on the back so he wouldn’t start just yelling words at her.

“What happened to your hand?” “Got hit in the last couple of minutes. They pulled the goalie. Was trying to get the puck out of the corner.” Emma hummed in understanding and she couldn’t really cross her arms, but she had a tight hold on the sheet. “I didn’t see that part.” “So I heard.” She sighed softly, head sagging forward and he’d jumped so quickly from frustrated to worried, he was certain he actually had whiplash. Killian’s hand darted forward again, pulling her fingers away from low-thread count fabric and Emma’s eyes widened slightly at the vaguely ridiculous overreaction.

“Jeez, stand down,” she muttered, but there was a smile on her face again. “Still as fine as promised.” “Swan…” Emma clicked her tongue, squeezing his hand again and tracing her thumb over a raised scar, moving up towards his ring. “I totally fucked up, huh?” “What?” “You’re mad I was there,” she said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Mer said you looked somewhere close to terrifying on the carpet. She couldn't find a single picture of you where you weren’t glowering.” “Glowering?” “Her word.” “I wasn’t glowering, love,” Killian argued, tilting his head when Emma tried to shift to the side of the bed so he could sit on the edge. “God, Emma, stop moving. You’re going to hurt yourself.” “That doesn’t even make any sense.” “Just...stop.” “Ok, I know you’re mad I was there and I wasn’t supposed to be and I knew, I knew, everything was going to be fine,” she started, rushing over the words like she was nervous he was going to interrupt her if she didn’t. “And I get that. I shouldn’t have been there, but I wanted to make sure everything worked and the pictures went up and…” She trailed off slowly, huffing out her breath and staring at him with a distinct challenge in her gaze. “What?” Killian asked.

“I couldn't miss the home opener,” Emma whispered. “I mean, we’ve won every year and you guys were going to raise another banner and I couldn't...I know I wasn’t supposed to. There were rules about taking it easy or something absurdly old fashioned, but, well, I wanted to be there.”

He gaped at her, twisting slightly so he could try and meet her gaze or maybe kiss her and he didn’t get a chance – Emma wincing and squeezing his hand again and he hadn’t really been timing, but that seemed very close to the last one.

Active stage.

That’s what the website had called it.

“Swan,” he mumbled and she shook her head tightly, eyes squeezed shut. Her grip on his hand was probably doing damage to his blood flow. And that bruise just above his wrist – right where her thumb had landed.

“Don’t be mad,” she said, hissing out the words through her teeth and there was a knock on the door, the hinges creaking slightly when it opened.

Killian brushed his lips over the top of her hair, free hand finding the back of her neck and the curve of her shoulders and she thought she’d fucked up. They were the two dumbest people in the entire goddamn world.

“I’m not,” Killian promised and Emma made a disbelieving noise in the back of her throat. “I promise, love. I was...terrified.” “What?” “You’re right. You totally weren’t supposed to be there, but I knew you were and I knew why you were. That doesn’t change the fact, however, that I wasn’t there.”

The doctor had shown up at some point and was, quite clearly, trying to do her job – muttering instructions and something about shifting Emma’s feet and the time in between contractions – but neither one of them moved, staring at each other with something that felt a bit like wonder.

“I don’t understand,” Emma admitted.

Killian took a deep breath, the knot of something that had been wrapped around several of internal organs since Ruby found him in post loosening just a bit. “I wasn’t there, Swan,” he sighed. “I should have been there when it happened. Not on the ice, God. What would have happened if it had been last week?” He shook his head slowly, laughing in spite of himself and Emma stared at him like she’d never quite seen him before.

“I want…” Killian continued slowly, “I want to be there for everything, Swan. And I already wasn’t. The very first thing and I was playing a game.” She blinked once, tears falling down her cheeks and her mouth opened twice before she spoke again. “I can’t actually kiss you because you’ll probably tell me it isn’t safe or something stupid,” she said with a watery laugh. “And you didn’t miss anything. Nothing’s happened.” “Emma.” “No, no, we’re not doing that,” she said, pushing a finger against his arm. “You are...you’re not missing anything. And I know you won’t. I know you’re here.” “Indefinitely,” he promised and Emma nodded.

“Yeah, that was kind of the plan.”

It took six hours and forty-two minutes.

They were, easily, the longest and shortest six hours and forty-two minutes of his entire life.

Active stage had, apparently, been some kind of lie and Emma had rolled her whole head at that particular bit of news, grumbling under breath when the doctor promised an epidural soon.

Soon, however, was two hours later and then more waiting and then active and he didn’t move away from Emma’s side once, hand practically glued to hers.

Six hours and forty-two minutes.

Six hours and forty-two minutes later and there was crying in that hospital room, a noise that seemed to seep into every inch of him and through him and then back in – just to make sure that it hit all those dark, desperate spots that never believed he deserved any of it.

Emma slumped back on the pillows, hair sticking to her forehead and tears in her own eyes and Killian had lost track of all of his emotions, a mess of happy and overwhelmed and fighting the urge to scream about how goddamn lucky he was for the rest of his life.

They’d taken the baby away as soon as he’d started crying – the websites said they would – and Killian couldn’t pull his eyes away from the doctor, back turned and bent over a baby that didn’t have an officially announced gender.

Emma squeezed Killian’s hand, not quite as tight as it had been six hours and forty-two minutes before, and he bent down to kiss across her temple, brushing his lips over her forehead and the bridge of her nose and her mouth, tracing out some kind of nonsensical pattern over her entire face while he mumbled out every compliment he could think of.

Brilliant. Perfect. Incredible. Amazing.

He felt her smile against his cheek, hand coming up to rest on his forearm. “Is he ok?” she asked softly and Killian nodded before he could stop himself.

“Of course he is.” The doctor coughed quietly behind them and the crying hadn’t stopped yet. “Mr. and Mrs. Jones?” They snapped around at the sound and Killian was never going to stop smiling. Ever. Even if they didn’t win another game the rest of the season.

He ran into the waiting room ten minutes later, chest heaving as he rested his hand on the back of one of the plastic chairs. They were all still there – Ruby and Mary Margaret each with a head on one of David’s shoulders and Regina had brought Roland back at some point, both of them curled up against Robin while Henry and Will were sprawled out across two rows of seats, team-branded sweatshirts under their head.

Robin woke up first and Killian refused to even consider all the reasons for that, something about game-day schedules and spending far too much time together. He blinked blearily when he looked up, running a hand across his face, but his eyes widened as soon as he saw Killian standing there.

“Yeah?” Robin asked.

Killian nodded, a shaky laugh working its way out of his chest while he tried to stay upright. “It’s a boy.” “Class of 2036,” Robin said, glancing over his shoulder. “Scarlet,” he hissed. “Scarlet, wake up.” Will groaned, knocking his sweatshirt on the ground when he swung his legs off the seat. “What happened?” His head moved like it was on a swivel, darting between Killian and Robin and back to Killian. “Cap?” “Matthew Jones,” Killian said, a rush of pride shooting through his whole body.

“Holy shit.” Exactly.

Roland shifted against Robin, a soft grumble at the idea of being woken up, and Killian had no idea what time it was. It must have been early. Or late.

Six hours and forty-two minutes.

“Go,” Robin said, nodding back to the yellow line and Emma was a few away holding their son. They had a son. “We’ll wake ‘em all up and bring them in soon’ish.” Killian barely even nodded before moving back towards the half-open door around the corner, pushing open slowly and his breath caught in his throat when he took in the sight in front of him.

She was still holding him – Matthew Jones cradled against Emma and wrapped in a hospital-provided blanket that they’d have to switch out for the one Mary Margaret bought them before she came into the room. Emma didn’t move her head when he walked in, but the quirk of her lips made it obvious she knew he was there, finger tracing over the curve of Matthew’s arm and around his elbow.

“Any of them awake?” she asked, eyes darting towards Killian.

“Locksley and Scarlet.” “Figured as much.” Emma glanced up at him and all those organs that had been tied up and tied down and just a bit too close to self-deprecating a few hours earlier, felt like they were going to burst, emotion flooding every inch of his system.

“He stopped crying,” he muttered, leaning forward to brush his thumb across the top of a foot. God, he was tiny.

“Seems like a win already.” “Parents of the year. We should get a trophy.” “Put it in the kitchen.” Killian laughed softly, kissing the top of Emma’s hair and if this was it, if this was as good as it ever got, then he’d never be able to come up with a single complaint or regret.

“I love you so much,” he said, words mumbled against her forehead. Emma sighed, resting her head on his chest and he could hear footsteps on the other side of the door.

“I love you too.”

Mary Margaret knocked. Of course she did.

Emma laughed against his stomach, closing her eyes lightly, but there was still a smile on her face and no one had woken Matthew up yet.

Parents of the year.

“Hey,” Mary Margaret whispered, twisting around the doorframe with a hopeful expression on her face. “Can we see him?” Emma nodded, eyes just a bit glossy when Mary Margaret and David walked into the room. “Oh,” Mary Margaret breathed, hand finding David’s immediately. “He’s...oh, Emma.” “That’s super articular, Reese’s.” “Matthew,” she whispered, reaching out a cautious hand towards the blanket they hadn’t actually changed.. “Hey, Matthew.”

“Matthew Jones,” David repeated slowly and it sounded like he was testing out the name. “It’ll look good on the Cup.”

Emma glanced at Killian, lip tugged tightly in between her teeth and he nodded in response to her unspoken question.

They hadn’t told anyone that part yet.

David’s head snapped between them, eyes narrowed just a bit as he rested his hand on Mary Margaret’s shoulder. “What?” he asked.

“You didn’t ask his full name,” Emma muttered. David froze – detectives were, after all, good at picking up on clues. And Mary Margaret was somewhere in the realm of weeping, tears streaming down her face, leaving streaks through her slightly smudged eyeliner.

Emma rolled her shoulders, sitting up a bit straighter and it all felt incredibly official. “Matthew David Jones,” she said, emphasizing every letter and every syllable and no one said anything for what felt like several decades. Matthew had probably already been drafted.

David shook his head, exhaling loudly and he didn’t even try to hide the tears on his cheeks. “Em,” he said, a stunned sound that seemed to echo off the walls.

“Thanks, Dad,” Emma mumbled and the whole room was a mess – red eyes and tear-stained faces and Ariel had worked her way in at some point, camera shutter clicking in the somehow still-silent space.

Mary Margaret sniffled, dragging her knuckles underneath her eyes and Emma let out a shaky laugh, shifting the baby in her arms slightly. That woke him up – and the silent space wasn’t quite so silent anymore, filled with cries and half the Rangers roster and demands from all of them to see the baby and hold the baby and provide the baby with tips on how best to hold a hockey stick.

They were all ushered out half an hour later, promises of updates if anything monumental managed to happen in the next day and none of them looked particularly awake, but they’d all stayed. They’d all waited.

And there were murmurs of congratulations and a few more photos and promises that he’d go first overall before they did actually leave, Scarlet actually pushed out the door by a very determined nurse, and Killian sank onto the corner of the bed as soon as the door closed behind them.

“We did it,” Emma mumbled, head falling against his shoulder and there wasn’t nearly enough space in that bed for her, let alone both of them and a baby on her chest, but he’d be damned if any of them moved.

“He’s perfect, Swan.” “You’ll get no arguments from me.” “Good. I’m too tired for that.”

She scoffed, burrowing her head further against his neck and Killian’s hand fell on Matthew’s back. His legs were tangled up with Emma’s and the sheets and it all kind of hit him at once – almost like getting checked into the boards the night before.

He’d told her once – wrapped up in different sheets and a different bed on the other side of the country – that she was it, everything he’d ever thought he’d wanted in some kind of mythical happy ending, he’d found in Emma.

And he hadn’t been lying.

He’d meant it then with every ounce of him, every part of him that was so completely in love with her, he couldn’t ever quite believe it.

It wasn’t even remotely close to enough. Not if this was it. If this was it, if this was happily ever after, then Killian couldn’t even come up with the words to describe it, couldn’t quite pinpoint the exact adjective to describe the feeling and getting everything he wanted might be selfish, but it felt pretty damn good too.

“He’s going to BU,” Emma muttered sleepily. “So you should probably just tell Locksley that now. You guys are both going to lose your bet.

“Go to sleep, love.” “You’re only saying that because you know I’m right.” “You want to bet?” “Sure. Stakes.” “Nothing, Swan,” Killian answered honestly and Emma made a noise in the back of her throat at the abrupt shift from banter. “There’s not anything else left to get. And I’m not betting on any of this.”

“Sap,” she accused.

He hummed in agreement. “We’ve got a kid, Swan.”

“A perfect one.” “Exactly.” “I am kind of exhausted.” “Go to sleep, love,” Killian repeated. “I’ll be here.”

“This is easily the dumbest idea we've ever come up with,” Emma grumbled, hissing the words into the phone and Killian had to agree with her.

“Tradition, Swan. It’s supposed to be tradition.” “It’s stupid.” “You married a superstitious athlete, Swan, I don’t know what you expected.” “Exactly,” she snapped and Killian’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. “We’re already married. This is some kind of weird, formality so our friends get off our backs.” Killian shifted, stretching his legs across the mattress and the bed was frustratingly large without another person next to him. “What? You don’t want to get married again? That’s romantic, love. Plus half of this idea was Mary Margaret’s, I refuse to take full blame for it.” “Yeah, well, she’s just as stupid.” “Sentiment.” Emma groaned, a bed creaking on her end of the phone. “They have given me the bed,” she admitted. “Something about getting beauty sleep or something absurd. We. Are. Already. Married. For two years! Almost two years. Whatever. Two years, Killian!”

“I’ve been here, Swan.” “You are impossible,” she sighed.

“And rumor has it your dress is somewhere close to incredible.” “Stop gossiping with Ruby.” “You know what my tux looks like,” he accused, grabbing another pillow to prop under his head and it was far too quiet in the apartment as well. That seemed like a problem. Killian sat up, eyebrows pulled low like he was waiting for the inevitable explosion or crash and it came five seconds later a shrill da coming from the room across the hall.

“There it is,” Killian muttered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and Emma sighed softly on the other end of the phone.

“Dumbest. Idea. Ever.”

“He was asleep,” he reasoned.

“Was being the operative word here. And I know about your tux because Ruby doesn’t know how to keep her mouth shut.”

There was another cry – this one a bit more desperate than it had been before and Killian gripped the phone a little tighter when Emma made a noise in the back of her throat. “It’s fine, love,” he promised, but he was trying to reassure himself as well.

It was the dumbest idea in the history of the world.

“What’s the matter, Matt?” Killian asked, shuffling cautiously through the line of toys and Rangers gear and a, frankly, absurd amount of hockey sticks.

Everyone kept buying him hockey sticks.

It didn’t make sense at all.

They were all four feet taller than him.

“Mama?” Matt asked, eyes wide and hands gripping the blanket in his hands tightly.

Killian swallowed, the note of terror in Matt’s voice catching him off-guard and maybe they shouldn’t have done this.

He hadn’t really wanted to – the prospect of sleeping in that giant bed with too many pillows not entirely appealing at first consideration – but Mary Margaret had been adamant, something about tradition and the rules and Emma’s jaw had tightened when she’d referred to it as the do-over wedding.

It wasn’t a do-over anything.

It was an excuse to get dressed up and give into friends and family who’d been asking for two years. It was a repeat, that was all, a wedding defense that felt a bit like a penalty kill at the same time, fighting against the sheer force of Mary Margaret and Ruby’s combined will when it came to tradition and dresses.

So, they’d agreed to most of it – there would only be four appetizer choices – and nodded their heads at the prospect of sleeping in two different apartments before they got married. Again.

“She's just gone for tonight,” Killian promised, sinking onto the edge of Matt’s bed as he tried to pull his fingers away from the blanket.

Matthew made a noise that seemed to scream unconvinced and Killian’s heart hammered against his chest. “She’s with M’s and Uncle David. So that she can get ready with them before tomorrow.”

The explanation didn't really work, far too many complex words for a sixteen-month-old toddler who seemed determined to try and rip Killian's shirt apart, but there were some garbled words and the tears seemed to be slowing. 

Killian hummed and Emma laughed several dozen blocks away. “We’ve explained this,” she mumbled, clearly trying to keep her voice low.

“It doesn’t appear to have sunk in,” Killian said softly, what felt like a glove sticking into the bottom of his spine.

“Retract that parent of the year, two years running trophy.” Killian scoffed under his breath and it was definitely a glove, one of the fingers bending when he tried to lean against the wall behind him. “Here, come here, kid,” he said, twisting his body in some impossible angle so Matt could crawl against his side, a pretzel of arms and legs that, somehow, both seemed to threaten hitting him in the face.

Matt mumbled another string of sounds, something that sounded suspiciously a lot like M's and Killian was slightly stunned at his son’s apparent ability to repeat words back verbatim.

“You hear that diction, Swan?” he mumbled and he could practically hear Emma rolling her eyes.

“Speaker,” she said sharply and Killian stuttered at the tone of her voice. There wasn’t much room for argument.

“Swan.” “Swan?” Matt asked knowingly. He was far too wide awake for whatever time it was. They seemed to be going backwards.

The phone clicked and Killian pulled back quickly, staring at a blank screen. She’d hung up. He was half a breath away from calling Emma back - ringtone in Mary Margaret and David’s loft be damned – when his phone started to ring, her photo flashing across the screen and he was smiling before he realized.

She was goddamn brilliant.

Matthew yelled, blanket forgotten in his determination to try and climb up Killian’s side and pry the phone out of his hands. Nearly two years and two seasons of hockey later and Matthew Jones might be the most advanced toddler in the entire world – at least when it came to FaceTiming his parents.

Road trips were, now, nothing short of torture.

“Hey, Mattie,” Emma smiled as soon as Killian swiped his thumb across the screen and the boy’s eyes light up in the dim glow of the phone.

“Ma,” he shouted, arms tightening around Killian’s neck.

“How come you’re awake?” Matt made a noise, burrowing his head into Killian’s shoulder and he wrapped his arms tightly around him, trying to hold him against his body while keeping a grip on the phone. Emma sighed softly and this wasn’t just a dumb idea, it was idiotic and stupid and they were already married.

“That’s not a very specific answer,” Emma muttered, a wry smile on her face that looked like she was trying to avoid falling directly into disappointment.

“I think he misses someone,” Killian said. Matt made another noise, a mix of a whine and an agreement and it was after midnight.

Emma scrunched her nose, holding the phone a bit closer to her face like she was trying to will herself several dozen blocks away. “That’s why I left after he fell asleep,” she grumbled. “You’ve got to go to sleep now, Mattie, ok? And try not to choke Dad.” Killian rolled his eyes, but Matt didn’t let go of his neck, a knee finding its way into his side for good measure. Matt mumbled something against the collar of his shirt and Killian tried to will the glove out of his back. There was no getting away from it.

“Matt,” Killian started slowly, sitting up to try and disentangle the limbs from his body. He was met with wide eyes – bright green and so like Emma’s it sometimes left him just a bit breathless. They, those eponymous people who knew what his kid looked like, were always quick to point out how much Matthew looked like Killian – dark hair and a very specific set of his jaw already that Elsa claimed would be perfect for intimidating goalies – but he never really noticed much of that.

Killian always noticed the eyes, staring up at him like he was the greatest thing to ever lace up skates.

“What if Mom came home?” he continued and Matt’s eyes, somehow, got wider, mouth dropping open like he was about to start yelling or possibly jumping on the bed. There wasn’t enough room for that. Killian’s legs took up most of the space.

Or like he understood those very specific string of words in that very specific order.  “What do you say, Swan?” Killian asked, lifting one eyebrow and tugging Matt back against his side. Eventually they’d get him to learn how to smirk and they’d be able to take over the world. “Think you can stage a jailbreak?”

“I’m going to tell Reese’s you said that.”

Killian shrugged. “Come home, love. You’re right, this is stupid.” Emma didn’t say anything for a moment, lips twisted in thought as she glanced towards the living room where Mary Margaret and David were, likely, sleeping. She nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I want to do that.” She found them back in their bedroom – Matt draped across Killian’s stomach, with his head resting on his chest.

“I left a note,” Emma whispered, toeing out of her shoes and dropping her bag lightly on the floor. “Like I was sixteen and sneaking out of my parents house.” “Just think what a good story this makes, Swan,” Killian reasoned. “Perfect to tell the grandkids.” “Are we onto grandkids now? I hadn’t realized we time-jumped.” “Just planning, love.” “Yeah? And will this plan also require a lot of sentiment and stupid, antiquated traditions that don’t make sense for people who have been married for two years?” Killian stared at her, smile tugging on the corners of his mouth and bad luck be damned. It didn’t matter. He wanted to sleep next to his wife before they got married. Again.

“No,” he promised. “None of that.” “Trying to fall asleep without you sucked.” “It always does, Swan.” “So let’s not do that anymore, ok?” “Ok.”

Mary Margaret hadn’t been angry – shrugging and promising she totally knew Emma was going to end up back home by the end of the night. Killian laughed, the sound making his whole body shake as David pulled him towards one side of the loft, Matt trailing along behind them. Or, at least, he tried.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Killian muttered, pulling out David’s grasp to lean forward and kiss Emma as quickly as he could. “See you later, Swan.” “Jones,” she corrected softly, tugging on the bottom of the t-shirt he still had on. “For the last two years. Get with it, Cap.”

“I’ll see you at the altar, Mrs. Jones.” David sighed loudly, hitching Matt farther up his side and grabbing Killian’s shoulder tightly. “This is gross,” he muttered. “Come on.”

He didn’t complain once – not during the photos or while trying to get a one-and-a-half year old into a tux and a tie and into a seat with Mary Margaret when Killian took up his designated spot at the altar.

That last part didn’t last long, Matt practically crawling over Mary Margaret to get out of the seat and he stumbled up the aisle, nearly tripping over the white runner before Killian ducked down and grabbed him around the waist.

“Dad, dad, dad, dad,” Matt chanted, kicking his feet out like he was trying to settle into a skating rhythm. “Up. Up. Up!”

Mary Margaret sighed loudly, resting her head in her hand and Killian tugged Matt up, draping him across his shoulder in the way he knew would work a laugh out of him. It did.

And Killian’s heart nearly stopped.

Although he wasn’t sure if that was from the sound of his son or his wife at the end of the aisle, a small smile just visible through the veil over her face and Ruby had absolutely been lying. The dress wasn’t incredible.

She was incredible and it was, easily, the most sentimental thing Killian had ever thought, but he couldn’t stop staring at her, smile settling on his face and laughter ringing in his ear and Emma’s shoulders moved slightly when she took a deep breath.

Matt kicked his side, the toe of his shoe probably leaving a scuff mark on Killian’s jacket and Emma tugged her lip in between her teeth, head tilting at the sight in front of her. David kept her hand trained in his, twisting their arms up together and Killian would have to have a talk with Mary Margaret about the length of the aisle.

Matt tried to move – Killian grimacing slightly when his shoe landed in the vicinity of his thigh and a very large bruise that was still purple after blocking a shot two weeks before. “Ma,” Matt screeched, shouting the word more into Killian’s ear than at Emma.

She laughed softly, blinking when David pulled her veil away, brushing his lips across her cheek.

“He got impatient,” Killian explained, rolling his shoulder and inducing a fresh round of laughter.

“Yeah, so I can see,” Emma smiled. She reached up to tug on the back of Matt’s jacket, brushing her hands over the fabric. “He’s not a jungle gym, Mattie.” And they could have been back in their apartment and the only people in the entire goddamn world for as much attention as they were paying to anyone else. The officiant Mary Margaret hired several months before coughed pointedly.

“Oh, right,” Emma muttered, hand still on Matt’s back when she spun on the spot. “You know we’ve been married for two years already?” Killian laughed, Matt’s whole body shaking against him and he ducked his head before he could come up with all the reasons it would probably upset Mary Margaret, lips finding Emma’s easily and quickly and it meant as much as it had years before in a practice facility.

They didn’t buy new rings.

That was one of the things they’d absolutely refused.

Their rings were theirs and they hadn’t even taken them off before the repeat ceremony, something feeling decidedly wrong at even suggesting the idea.

He kept Matt on his shoulder through the entire ceremony.

And they were supposed to write their own vows, were supposed to stand up there in front of everyone they’d ever known and probably a few people they didn’t and dive into the deep end of sentiment, but neither one of them seemed able to come up with anything more than simple.

“I love you,” Emma said, shrugging slightly like she was admitting to it for the first time. “And...I just. I can’t picture anything except this.” “I knew I loved you two months after I met you,” Killian said. Matt’s arms knocked against his back. “It’s...it’s all I ever wanted, Swan.”

There were more words and cheers and no one really had to say you can kiss the bride because they’d been married for two years.

To be fair, they didn’t really wait for the words anyway.

Killian was never certain who moved first – him or Emma or maybe they both closed the space between them at the same time and that had happened more times than he could count, the ease to take that next step forward, always a bit desperate to be just a half a step closer.

“I love you,” he said again, resting his forehead on hers and it felt like he was trying to breathe her in.

“Straight to the point.” “Simple vows, Swan. The pinnacle of romance.” “Yeah?” “You tell me.” She pulled back slightly, nodding as Matt tried to shimmy down in between them. “Yeah,” she promised. “You want to scandalize all of them and make out some more?” “Absolutely,” Killian said, ducking his head and he could feel her laughter when he kissed her.